A cool voice interrupted. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for someone to talk to Crush Taylor that way?”
Paige spun around to see a blond woman pausing next to their table. Her hair was sprayed to Texas-big perfection and she wore a tailored black suit and a thin chain that disappeared under a thin pink shell.
“Mayor Trent,” Crush said, rising to his feet like the gentleman he occasionally bothered to be. “Must be my lucky day, I get berated by my daughter and scolded by my mayor all at the same time.”
“Your daughter?” The mayor turned to Paige with a curious smile. “I’m Wendy Trent, it’s good to meet you.”
“I’m Paige.” They shook hands. All of Paige’s life, even during the times Crush had been married, women had pursued him, and she knew the signs well. One of them was the way women looked at her—assessingly, as if to figure out if she was friend or foe.
Wendy Trent didn’t look at her like that, but there was something there . . . curiosity, surprise. “Crush must be very protective of his family, since I had no idea he had a daughter.”
Paige smiled winningly. “To be honest, I’ve been locked in the basement for the past twenty-four years.”
The mayor laughed, and winked. “Probably safer, knowing the type of people Crush hangs out with.”
“Those people are called ballplayers.” Crush looked back and forth between the two of them. Nervous? Alert? Something. Paige found the undercurrents fascinating.
“Indeed.” The mayor’s smile took the edge off her cool tone. “Well, Paige, welcome to Kilby, and if I can do anything to make you feel at home here, you make sure to let me know.”
Some instinct told Paige to jump at this opportunity. “Actually, I’m looking for ways to volunteer while I’m here in town. Maybe you could point me in the right direction.”
“Well, sure. We love volunteers around here. How do you feel about slugs?”
Crush coughed into his hand as if hiding a laugh.
“Excuse me?” Bewildered, Paige looked from one to the other. They seemed to be in on a shared private joke. Interesting. “Actually, I’m more interested in working with troubled kids.”
“I see.” Wendy directed a sweet smile at Crush. “Have you exhausted the possibilities right where you are? The troubled kids with the catfish on their caps, putting Kilby in the news every time I turn around?”
“If that’s a dig at my players,” Crush said, “no go, Mayor Trent. The only thing they’re at risk for is gaining multimillion-dollar contracts. And the stray bullet now and then.”
Paige found it downright fascinating, watching their interaction. She’d never seen Crush outmatched by any woman before. Not even her mother.
Another man appeared at the mayor’s shoulder. Eagerly, he shook hands all around, ending with Crush. “It’s an honor to meet you. I happened to catch your perfect game in Austin. Unforgettable night, truly fantastic. Great day for the state of Texas all around.”
“It was a long time ago,” Crush said stiffly. Paige stared in amazement. He usually loved talking about his perfect game, or any game, for that matter. Apparently he didn’t want to chat with the mayor’s date. More and more interesting.
Crush seemed deep in thought as they drove back to Bullpen Ranch. Paige wondered if he was thinking about Mayor Trent or about his wayward daughter. Or maybe he was thinking about his most troublesome player. Was it true what Crush said, that Trevor kept screwing up his own chances of making it to the Friars? And why was Trevor so worried about people learning about his work at the Boys and Girls Club? Why did he keep everyone away with his “don’t tread on me” attitude? The man was a mystery. One Paige intended to solve, no matter what Crush said.
The next morning, she waltzed into Catfish Stadium bright and early, excited for the first shoot. Not many people knew what ballparks were like first thing in the morning. At that hour, the stadium belonged to the groundskeepers, to the vendors and the cleaning crews, to the management staff and the trainers. It had the same atmosphere as a theater hours before the curtain rises, or a college campus while the students are on spring break. Giant beer delivery trucks backed up to the unloading ramp. The souvenir shops unpacked boxes of Catfish caps and bright blue T-shirts.
When she was little, she’d been awed by the big, smiling baseball players who paraded through her life like friendly giants. Then, at a certain age, she’d seen baseball as the enemy, the thief of her father’s time. Now it felt different. For the first time in her life she was working in baseball. Working with her father. Baseball wasn’t the enemy, it was like a sexy, fascinating new friend she was just getting to know.
She hurried down to the dugout. As she reached the door, she heard raised voices, but didn’t pay much attention. Ballplayers—probably arguing about who got the highest score in Grand Theft Auto or something. The smell of wet grass greeted her as she stepped inside the weather-beaten structure. Sprinklers were generating misty clouds of condensation in the outfield. A low wooden bench stretched the length of the dugout, whose walls were painted a baby blue, like a kitchen appliance from the sixties.
Some kind of quarrel was unfolding in front of her. Dwight sat on the bench, bent over a magazine, shielding it from view with his elbows. Shizuko was peering over his shoulder, his black hair flopping over his forehead. Trevor was trying to snatch the magazine away from Dwight.
“It’s none of our fucking business who she was married to,” he snarled at the other two. “Hand that shit over before I kick your ass.”
“Two against one, T,” teased Dwight. “You know I’m a Nessa fan, so step off.”
“Everything’s easy with Nessa Brindisi.” Shizuko sang the show’s theme song, adding his own twist.
“Our Paige is a nice-looking chick, but just look at that rack.” Dwight whistled, holding the tabloid farther away from his face, as if to view the entire landscape of Nessa’s chest.
“Say one more word . . .” Trevor growled, ice and murder in his voice.
“Relax, T. We’re not the ones who cheated on her in front of a whole foreign country.”
Shizuko was trying to read the article. “Hudson got signed by the Golden State Warriors. Nice. The upgrade must have helped his career.”
Trevor made an inarticulate sound and ripped the tabloid out of Dwight’s grip.
Paige couldn’t take another second, couldn’t stand to see Trevor looking at pictures of her ex-husband and Nessa Brindisi. Just when she’d stopped picking at the scab of her divorce, the ballplayers’ words ripped it off all over again. She tiptoed backward, stomach clenching, humiliation washing over her. No matter how far away from Italy she went, she’d never escape this story. The entire world, forevermore, would be talking about the cooking show star and the basketball player.
In her confusion, she didn’t notice the rack of bats in the corner until she bumped into it. It teetered precariously; she put a hand out to steady it, but then one bat rolled free and bonked her on the forearm. She snatched her hand back as a cascade of falling timber crashed around her like thunder. Crouching down, she shielded her head with her arms, tears flowing into her fingers.
And then she was being whisked up and away by a force so strong it felt like a tornado.
Chapter 9
TREVOR WAS CARRYING her out of the dugout, through the corridors of the stadium. His scent filled her awareness. Leather and spice, spiked with grass and something else, like the nose-prickling ozone smell that indicates an oncoming rainstorm. He was hauling her through the tunnel like a sack of potatoes. He kicked open the door of a room filled with exercise balls and other medical items and set her on an exam table covered with a white cloth. He kept both hands on her, his warmth penetrating through her clothes. For a player known for his icy control, he sure put out a lot of body heat.
“Do you hurt anywhere? Did any of those bats hit you?”
She tried to answer no, but it came out as a hiccup. Great, now she was making weird sounds on top o
f everything else. Mortified, she covered her face with both hands. Of all moments to revert to her awkward, gangly worst.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” murmured Trevor. “Those guys would be flipping out if they were in a magazine. They have no fucking feelings, that’s their problem. Now do you have any bruises? If you don’t answer, I’m going to have to put my hands all over you, and I know how you feel about the ‘pact of denial.’”
“Give me a minute,” she finally managed. The “putting my hands all over you” part sounded pretty appealing, but that would be big trouble, and they both knew it. Trevor stepped back, allowing her a little space. When he returned to her field of vision, he stuck a box of Kleenex under her nose. Gratefully, she took a handful of tissues and blotted the tears off her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“Take a few breaths. You’re in the head trainer’s room, in case you’re wondering. I can go find Terry, if you want. She’s a little scary, but she might be nice to you since your father signs her paycheck.”
“No, don’t leave. I’m okay. I don’t think the bats hit me, they just surprised me.” She didn’t want to talk about the rest of it. The Nessa part.
“I apologize for those guys. I tried to get that tabloid trash away, but Dwight was being a dick. He’s probably going to want to buy you a Mercedes or something to make up for it.”
She sighed. So much for not talking about the article.
“Dwight didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a magazine, it’s meant to be read. Obviously Nessa and Hudson posed for it. They want people to see it.” Her gaze dropped to the tabloid stuffed haphazardly into the front pocket of his jeans. “Let me look at it.”
“No.” Trevor stepped back, but she snagged it right out of his pocket before he got too far. “Why do you want to look at that crap? It made you cry.”
“Everyone else is going to see it. Why not me?” She spread it open on her knees, smoothing out the wrinkles. Nessa, with her voluptuous dark beauty, and Hudson, with his height and sculpted muscles, looked stunning together posed at the TV show’s fake countertop. Hudson held a cupcake in one giant palm, while Nessa put a cherry on top, Betty Boop style, ass sticking out, one hand covering her mouth. She was looking at the camera, while Hudson gazed only at her. Love is easy with Nessa Brindisi, read the caption.
“Hudson doesn’t even like cherries,” she said wistfully. “Cherry anything. He’s really hard to buy cough medicine for, but I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
Trevor shifted uncomfortably. “I had no idea you were married to an NBA player.”
“I wasn’t. I married a shy guy from college who got signed by an Italian league.” She scanned the article, even though it felt like needles stabbing into her eyes. It included a quote from the owner of the Golden State Warriors, saying how happy he was that Hudson Notswego was going to be anchoring their defense. Nessa Brindisi, his fiancée, planned to move to California with him to explore her options in the entertainment industry.
Resentment washed over her. Everything was working out perfectly for Hudson and Nessa. No one seemed bothered by the fact that Hudson had a wife when he met Nessa.
“It looks like that ‘upgrade’ worked out well for him.”
“Shizuko didn’t mean that. He’s an ass. He doesn’t even speak English all that well.”
“Save it, Stark. It’s okay. She’s a celebrity cooking show host, and I’m a college dropout.”
“So? I’d take a thousand Paige Taylors over one egomaniacal Nessa Brindisi.”
Her breath caught. Crazy thoughts cartwheeled through her head. That maybe Trevor liked her. Wanted her. Appreciated her. Afraid to show him how much his statement affected her, she kept her gaze on the tabloid. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better.”
“I told you, I’m not that nice a guy. I mean it. Nessa is all about Nessa, it’s written all over her face.”
The garish photo spread blurred. “You were actually looking at her face? Dwight and Shizuko were pretty focused on other parts.”
“Paige, listen to me.” Trevor cupped her chin in his hand and forced her gaze away from the tabloid. “I’ve been with . . . let’s just say, I’ve seen many women in my time. Bodies are bodies. I’m not knocking them, I appreciate a beautiful woman. Nessa’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. But you have something else, something she doesn’t have.”
He’d called her beautiful. Her blood sang in her ears. Trevor Stark thought she was beautiful. Then he ruined everything with the next word out of his mouth.
“Kindness.”
Kindness. The word might as well have been a wrecking ball demolishing her confidence like a house of cards. “That’s my selling point? Kindness? No wonder he wanted Nessa instead.”
“Yeah? Well, he’s got his head up his ass. If I had the choice, I’d rather have a girl who’d drive to the rescue of a total stranger, who cares about people, who wants to help people. Why were you at the Boys and Girls Club?”
She didn’t answer. Kindness. That’s what Trevor saw in her. Kindness wasn’t sexy. Kindness wasn’t fascinating. Kindness could never compare to Nessa’s allure.
Trevor was still talking. “You were there to help out, right? To volunteer, see how you could contribute?”
She jumped off the massage table, making him take a step back in surprise.
“You’re so full of shit, Trevor. When you see a hot girl at the bar, do you ask her about her volunteer work? No, you check out her boobs or her ass or how willing she is to sleep with you. All those . . . groupies who want your number. Do you make sure they’re ‘kind’ before you screw them?”
“No, but that’s just sex. I’m talking about—”
“What, Trevor? Talking about what?”
She must have stumped him, because he just stared at her with a confused frown.
“Since you brought up sex, Hudson and I never had a problem in that area until the last year. We had plenty of sex, and it seemed okay to me. But maybe I was wrong and there’s a lot more to it, and Nessa has some magic sex formula I just can’t compete with, and if she does, I really think as a public service she should share it on her show. Like a recipe. Nessa’s recipe for outstanding sex that will keep your man from ever leaving you. She could make millions from that. I’d buy it. But I wouldn’t waste it on Hudson, because screw him anyway. We were friends before we got married, and you don’t treat a . . . a friend like—” The words stuck in her throat like a chicken bone. She tried, but nothing came out, just a sob. Then another one.
Was it just last night that she’d announced to Crush that she’d marry Hudson again, double? She was an idiot, clueless, naïve. She shouldn’t be allowed near men. Crush should have locked her in the basement for the past twenty-four years.
Trevor’s arms came around her, surrounding her with his rock solid weight. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
“No. I . . . I thought I was okay . . . but I just realized . . .” Trembling, she pushed the words out between sobs. “I lost my friend. We . . . we . . . probably should have stayed friends instead of getting married. Now we’ll never be friends again. Sorry, my emotions are just all over the place, I guess.”
Her grief engulfed her like a tidal wave, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Anchored to Trevor’s strong frame, she let it flow over her, around her, through her. With one big hand gently cradling her head and the other stroking her back, he murmured an occasional “It’s okay,” or “Go ahead and cry,” but other than that said nothing.
As her tears slowed, and the emotion passed, a new feeling came over her. It felt as if the core of her body had been replaced with a well of fresh honey. Warmth and sweetness spread through her veins, until her entire body felt boneless.
“I want you,” she whispered to Trevor.
His arms tightened around her. “Don’t say that. You’re upset. You just had a shock. We agreed. Pact of denial.”
“I know all that. It doesn’t ch
ange anything. I want you. You said you think I’m beautiful.” She lifted her head from his chest and tilted it to meet his gaze. His was blazing with heat.
“You are.”
“You said you’d take a thousand Paige Taylors. Well, there’s one standing right next to you.”
“You’re not playing fair. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Because I’m ‘kind’?”
His eyes narrowed, glittering at the scorn in her voice.
“Just a kiss, that’s all. Short. Brief. Right here.” She pointed to her lips, and watched his gaze follow her finger, then stall. Oh, the way he looked at her, like he wanted to plunge inside her and turn her inside out.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered. Her lower belly clenched, hard, with an electric jolt of lust.
He leaned down, those crystal eyes pure green flame. His lips brushed hers, just the barest, slightest touch, but enough to make everything stop.
Then, with his body tense as steel, his lips moved against hers. “You are a very dangerous girl, you know that?” It was more of a growl than a question.
“Why?” A breath more than a word.
“Because you make me forget things I shouldn’t forget.”
Tension arced between them. Everything vanished but this strong, enigmatic man meeting her lips so tenderly, so gently, as if she was something to treasure. As if he wanted her to know she was something to treasure. In that moment, she felt as if she saw into his soul, to the wounded, beautiful, caring man within.
With a visible effort, he straightened and snapped the connection. The loss made her shiver. She hugged her arms to her body, searching for her composure.
“Do you mean our pact of denial?” she asked.
“Among other things.” She could practically see him retreat from the intimate space they’d just shared. “Are you going to be okay?”
Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel Page 9
