Roshawn nodded. “Don’t make that mistake again, please. I wouldn’t do it to you, so don’t do it to me.”
Chen waved his head from side to side then took a seat against the corner of her desk. “I heard you had a problem with Cedric Guy last night.”
Roshawn rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t have been a problem if he had just kept his crotch off my thigh. The man was humping my leg like a Chihuahua in heat.”
Chen nodded, fighting not to laugh. “We’re a tight-knit organization, Roshawn. News travels fast. Bad news travels even faster.”
Roshawn shrugged. “My body, Chen. My rules. I don’t play that unless I want to. Mr. Guy had to learn that the hard way. He should have just backed up like I politely asked him to do in the first place.”
“Well, if you have any more problems you just let me know, okay?”
“I do know how to take care of myself.”
Chen sighed. He muttered under his breath in Cantonese.
Roshawn smiled. “Stop fussing. I’ll be fine. You can relax.”
Chen stood back on his feet. “If you need me, just call my cell phone. It’ll be on. I’ll drop Ming by to see you when we get back on Sunday.”
Roshawn nodded.
Chen continued. “Angel Rios will be calling to confirm I received his paperwork from Santo Domingo. Let him know everything has been taken care of and he can pick up his documents anytime.”
Roshawn lifted the neatly typed paper from the desk, giving the rest of Chen’s to-do list a quick review. “I guess I need to get busy. You have a good trip and keep my daughter safe, please.”
Chen held her gaze for another quick minute and smiled. “Thanks, Roshawn.”
She winked. “Tell that woman of yours I said hello.”
* * *
Roshawn was well past ready to leave when Angel Rios finally called. The man greeted her warmly, his deep voice resonating with Latino bravado. The tone was low and seductive and it caught Roshawn completely off guard.
“Good afternoon. This is Angel Rios. Is Mr. Chen there, please?”
Roshawn paused without realizing it. The voice on the other end was the epitome of sexy and as she reflected on the sensuality of it everything else went right out of her head.
“Hello?”
She cleared her throat, a wave of embarrassment sweeping over her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rios. No, Mr. Chen is gone for the weekend but he did leave a message for you.” The man nodded into the receiver as Roshawn relayed the information. “Will you be coming this afternoon?” she asked.
This time Angel hesitated before answering. “No. I’m very sorry. I need to keep practicing,” he said. “I don’t think I can get away anytime soon.”
“I can bring them to you,” Roshawn volunteered, the words flying out of her mouth before she could catch them.
“Thank you,” the man responded. “That would be very helpful.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Hanging up the telephone, Roshawn shook her head. The stadium in Tucson was almost a two-hour drive from the corporate office. What in the world had she been thinking?
* * *
After a half-dozen wrong turns and one missed exit, Roshawn finally found her way to Tucson Electric Park. By the time she pulled her car into a parking spot and shut down the engine, all she could think of was finding her way to a restroom. The guard at the entrance door was less than accommodating until she flashed him her employee identification card and dropped Angel Rios’s and John Chen’s names in the same sentence.
“Take the elevator to the upper level,” he said, pointing his index finger. “Bathrooms will be on your right.”
“Thank you,” Roshawn said, rushing past him in the direction he pointed her in.
Ten minutes later, with relief found, Roshawn took in the expanse of the stadium, which was considered the centerpiece of the Pima County Sports Complex. The ballpark was renowned for its proximity to Chase Field, home of the Titans during the playing season, and its six-field practice facilities that the Titans and the Chicago White Sox made use of during spring training. Within Tucson Electric Park there was a major league clubhouse, where the Titans would dress daily, plus clubhouses for visiting teams and umpires. The home clubhouse also boasted an indoor batting cage located on the lower level on the way to the playing field.
From where she stood on the mezzanine, Roshawn could take in the full spectrum of the ball field. The playing surface was symmetrical, measuring some 340 feet down each foul line and 405 feet straightaway to center field. With the meticulously manicured lawns it was truly a sight to behold for any baseball aficionado.
There were a number of players on the field still practicing. A few were pitching balls to other players, one or two squatting in catcher’s masks, and there was one player standing outside the batter’s cage in deep discussion with a man Roshawn assumed was probably one of the coaches from the way he was gesturing with his hands.
Nina had been right about eye candy, Roshawn thought, as she removed her darkened sunshades for a better view. These boys were nicely packaged, she mused, an appreciative hum rising from her midsection as she slowly appraised each one. One man in particular had caught Roshawn’s full attention, the player swinging a wooden bat inside the cage. Easing her way down the steps, she made her way to the gate and gestured for attention. The coach looked up curiously before easing his way to where she stood.
“I’m sorry, miss, but the park is closed to the public. You’re not supposed to be on the field.”
Roshawn raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. “I’m looking for Angel Rios. He’s expecting me. I’m John Chen’s assistant.”
The man nodded. “Sorry about that. We can’t be too careful. I’m sure you understand.”
Roshawn looked him up and down, her gaze racing the length of his slightly overweight frame. She didn’t bother to respond.
The coach called Angel’s name, gesturing for him to join her.
“Thank you,” Roshawn said, dismissing him with a quick nod of her head.
The man left, heading in the direction of two players who appeared to be winding down for the day. Roshawn barely noticed what was going on with them as her stare was locked on the beautiful black man sauntering in her direction. The man from the elevator.
Angel Rios was smiling widely, full lips that complemented flawless white teeth lifting easily. As he drew closer he pulled the sweat-stained T-shirt from his body and Roshawn heard herself gasp out loud. His chest was like two slices of a dark oak tree, each pectoral muscle nearly round beneath tight, oiled skin. His upper body was a profusion of muscle, each sinew clearly defined and in perfect proportion. Roshawn marveled at his deep, honey-toned complexion, the color of his skin bronzed warm and golden from the intense sun. His waist narrowed dramatically down toward his hips, his body bulging out again in powerful thighs accentuated by the snug fit of his striped baseball pants. His behind was a tight, rounded mass of solid muscle that one could have easily bounced a quarter off of and there was an exceptionally large and definite bulge in the front of his pants that promised mysteries Roshawn could only wonder about.
Angel recognized her instantly, his gaze running from her head to her feet. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, he thought, admiring the gold silk top and deep purple skirt that hugged her diminutive body. Her dark complexion was flawless, her skin like polished black marble. Her features were delicate, a button nose, dimpled cheeks and full lips that appeared ready to be kissed. He was drawn to the energy that spun in her eyes, light shimmering against her retina. He extended his hand in greeting. “Hello. I’m Angel Rios. It’s nice to meet you finally.”
Roshawn pressed her palm tightly to his, noting the firmness of his fingers as they locked around hers. A current of electricity surged through her as they held the handshake longer than necessary. Energy spun a fine web of heat through her and it shone vibrantly from her eyes as she looked him up and down. “Hello, I’m Ro
shawn. Roshawn Bradsher. Here is your paperwork,” she said, extending the folder toward him as they finally broke the handshake.
Angel grinned shyly, his heart suddenly beating with anticipation. “Thank you. I really appreciate you bringing this. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
Roshawn gave him one of her brightest smiles, dropping her eyes ever so slightly. “No, it wasn’t any trouble at all.” Her gaze was lingering, drawing him in so deep the man felt as if he would suddenly lose himself beneath the depths of it.
Angel suddenly stood nervously, perspiration beading against his forehead. He swiped at the rise of moisture with the back of his hand, his eyes skating anxiously from side to side. His tongue seemed to thicken in his mouth, holding back his words and thoughts as he struggled with what to say. The anxiety of a schoolboy’s crush seemed to rise from nowhere to consume his usual confidence and bravado. The emotion was foreign to him, and as she stared curiously, still studying him, Angel found himself wishing for someplace to turn and run. “Well, thanks again. I’ve got to get back to practice,” he heard himself say, the words rushing past his lips as if on a mission of their own.
Roshawn watched as Angel Rios nodded his head in appreciation before turning back to the batting cage, rushing to get back to whatever it was he needed to do. She stood watching for only a brief moment as he picked up his bat and signaled for the pitching machine to be turned back on, briefly turning to stare in her direction one last time. Ten minutes later, she was back on the road headed for home.
* * *
Roshawn had barely made it past the signs announcing the town of Paradise Valley when her cell phone rang. As she paused at a stop sign she pushed the hands-free speaker to answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Roshawn, it’s me, Nina. What are you doing?”
“Hi, Nina. I just got back from Tucson. I had to go to Electric Park to meet Angel Rios.”
“Ohhh, the team’s new crown prince! I hear that he is just absolutely divine. Is he cute?”
Roshawn grinned as an image of the man flashed through her mind. She pulled her car into the driveway and turned off the engine. “Yes, he’s very nice.”
“I hear he’s quite the Lothario though. They say he’s never seen with the same woman twice and he’s usually seen with a lot of women. One hangs off each arm as a matter of fact. Those big-busted, implant-wearing, wannabe Barbie doll types.”
Roshawn chuckled at the idea. “Really? He didn’t come across as much of a ladies’ man to me. In fact, he seemed to be a little shy.”
Her friend giggled. “I don’t know anything about shy. In fact, I was given the impression that he’s a little too confident, downright cocky and very alpha-male macho. Maybe you scared him?”
Roshawn shook her head at the thought. “Maybe. So, what’s up?”
“Do you feel like hanging out? A few of the wives are coming over to my house for dinner. Nothing fancy, just pizza and wine coolers. I’d love for you to come.”
“It sounds like fun.”
“That’s great. You’ll have a good time. I promise,” the woman gushed, digressing into lengthy detail about each and every female who would be attending.
By the time Nina was ready to give her directions, Roshawn and her cell phone had made it into her home. “I’ll see you in an hour,” Roshawn said just before disconnecting the call.
She flipped quickly through the stack of letters that had been in her mailbox. The temporary mail transfer had finally kicked in and her correspondence had been redirected from her Seattle address. The latest issue of Essence magazine was all she had any real interest in, she thought as she tossed everything else onto the kitchen counter.
In want of a hot shower, Roshawn dropped her clothes to the floor as she headed into the master bath. The trail of her garments started with her silk shirt in the hallway and ended with her blue thong falling on the floor just outside the bathroom door. As she waited for the water to warm she studied her naked reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “I look hot for thirty-six,” she mused out loud, grateful for the thin genes she’d inherited from her mother and her grandmother. Even when she’d been pregnant with Ming, Roshawn could have gotten lost in the folds of a size six garment.
Roshawn stepped beneath the flow of hot water, allowing the rising steam to rain around her. The rush of fluid felt great against her skin as she spun in a slow circle beneath the dual showerheads. Thoughts of Angel Rios suddenly washed over her. The man had been polite but had barely paid her an ounce of attention. The sight of him though had incited a rage of wanting between her thighs and Roshawn was dismayed that such a blatant rush of desire had so readily consumed her. John Chen had been the only other man to ever do that to her.
The tips of her fingers lightly grazed the rise of candy-hard nipple, then slid to her abdomen resting atop the flat of her stomach. How her best friend Jeneva had ever endured fourteen years without a man’s touch was beyond her comprehension. It had been a long time since she had been intimate with a man, and Roshawn had no intentions of letting it drag on for too much longer. The last time she’d been touched had been right before Allison waltzed into John Chen’s life and took control. Since then, there hadn’t been a man she’d found worthy of what she had to offer and definitely not one who caused butterflies to flutter out of control in the pit of her stomach.
But Angel Rios had managed to light a low flame through her. Roshawn pondered the possibilities. The man was surely intriguing, but she was reluctant to see whether or not he was capable of a full, raging fire. Clearly, there could be nothing between them. His youth dispelled any maturity, the rumors of his playboy behavior indicative of a man still set on sowing whatever oats he thought were due him. She wasn’t interested in playing that game with a man. Roshawn Bradsher had never been a notch on any man’s belt, and shy, or not, Angel Rios surely would not be the first.
* * *
The drive from the ballpark to the hotel always calmed him. Angel was enamored with the magnificence of the landscape. The dry desert terrain and magnanimous rock formations were so unlike his tropical home in Santo Domingo where the pristine beaches stretch for nearly a thousand miles along the blue coastline. He enjoyed the stark contrasts between the two. He glanced to the clock radio, noting the time. It was still early. He could have practiced for another hour or so but the coach had sent him away, telling him to save his energy for Monday and opening day of the major league season.
Angel was so ready to show everyone what he could do on the ball field. It had been his father’s dream for him since he’d been knee-high to play major league baseball in the United States. Angel was anxious for his father to witness him not only do that, but to be a success at it, his reputation in the game likened to the careers of Hank Aaron, Barry Bonds, Roberto Clemente and all the other great players that had preceded him. Angel had been all of twelve years old the day he’d promised his father that one day his name would be inked in the Baseball Hall of Fame roster.
His father’s love of the game had been the catalyst for his love of it. The old man could rattle statistics and trivia like other men breathed. Before he could read or write, Angel had known that Ozzie Virgil had been the first player from his native Dominican Republic to play professional ball in the United States, his nine season career starting with the New York Giants in 1956. His father could tell you the man’s hitting and fielding statistics as easily as he rattled off his own name and birth date.
The two had followed the careers of all the men of color, from Jamaican native Chili Davis to Cuba’s Rafael Almeida and Armando Marsans. Both had idolized the likes of African-Americans Jackie Robinson, Satchel Paige and Don Newcombe, men whose determination and persistence had set a standard Angel was intent on maintaining and eventually exceeding. Angel was determined that nothing and no one would ever keep him from achieving his goals. He would not be distracted.
That woman though had clearly been a distraction. As he navigated
his car down AZ-143-N toward North 44th Street and the Doubletree Hotel, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of her, remembering the look she’d given him, her eyes searching his. The moment had thrown him and he’d had to turn away from her, to hurl himself toward the batting cages in order to regain control. No woman had ever had that effect on him before, inciting an interest that had nothing to do with the raging hardness that pressed taut in his pants. Angel shook his head, determined to think of anything but Roshawn Bradsher.
Making his way into the hotel he greeted the concierge and the desk staff who had come to know both him and his father well. Their stay had already exceeded twelve weeks, courtesy of his new employer, having begun just after the New Year when the Titans had negotiated a trade to secure him. He’d had about enough of hotel living, he thought, as another guest and his family rushed him for an autograph.
The desk clerk, a slim blond man named Bryan Harvey gestured for his attention. “Good evening, Mr. Rios. We have a few messages for you, sir.”
“Thank you, Bryan,” Angel responded, taking the pink message slips from the man’s hands.
“And your father wanted you to know that he’d be in the lounge.”
Angel nodded. “Thank you.”
He made his way across the lobby toward the hotel’s bar and restaurant. Business was booming in The Belvedere Lounge and Grill, singles, couples and families savoring their evening meal and the cooling flow of a wet beverage. Israel Rios was in his usual spot, perched on a bar stool at the far end of the bar. Angel heaved a deep sigh. His father was missing home, longing for the companionship of his old fishing buddies and the easy camaraderie that existed between him and the street vendors who peddled everything from cashews to electronic appliances. Angel was more determined than ever to find them a real home where his father could garden and cook to his heart’s content. He made himself a promise to see John Chen first thing Monday morning for advice.
Love in the Lineup Page 7
