by Sykes, V. K.
“So, what did you think?” he said as he took Ridge’s seat and held up his index finger to Lucy, one of his regular servers. Lucy nodded an acknowledgement of his usual order.
Taylor arched her elegant brows. “What did I think about what?”
“About how I played today, or was I just fantasizing about you checking me out?”
Taylor’s lips formed a startled little “O”. Ryan found it cute has hell.
“Ah, fantasizing?” she said. “Such an interesting choice of words.”
Though her face gave little away, her eyes gleamed with interest. At least it sure looked that way to him. “You mind if I call you Taylor? Though I suppose it really ought to be Ms. Page, or maybe ma’am. What with you being a big time senior executive and all.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Taylor will do. Formality might give me a swelled head. I suspect you aren’t about to entertain the possibility that a baseball executive might not have an inflated ego.”
Ryan laughed. “Like players don’t?”
“You’ve got a point.”
She hadn’t taken a sip of her beer yet. Maybe she thought it was impolite to drink while he was still waiting to be served. Taylor did seem like a class act, and spoke like she’d probably graduated from some fancy schools. They hadn’t taught him to talk like that at his Jacksonville high school.
It sure wouldn’t be a chore chatting with her all night, but not unless he got what was bugging him off his chest. “I really handed you guys a cheap win today, didn’t I?”
Okay, so tell me what you think of my arm.
She gave a shake of her head, enough so that her fine hair brushed her cheeks. “It was just one play in a meaningless game. And I must say I found your assault on the big cooler to be rather charming in its youthful vigor.” She pursed her lips in a sweet gesture that seemed to mock and commiserate at the same time. Her easy charm could suck even the most hardened cynic right in.
“Instant stress relief,” he joked. “But are you going to answer my question? Were you scouting me today or not?”
She hesitated then said, “Given that the Hornets left you out there for the full nine innings, it would be my guess that there were more than likely quite a few people scouting you today.”
Huh. Talk about a non-answer.
Maybe she’d just been staring at him at the batting cage because she liked the look of his ass in a uniform. Yeah, that’s it.
He decided to take a different tack. “Did Ridge tell you I was on the trading block?”
Lucy thumped a Jai Alai IPA on the table, giving him a knowing look. She probably thought he was finally about to score tonight for once, instead of sticking close to his buddies as usual.
Taylor’s poker face was thoroughly in place. “You know I can’t answer a question like that. But I will say that Joe and I go back a long way.”
“Listen, Taylor, I’m not blind and I’m not stupid.” He took a long draft from his bottle, making her wait. “I can figure out when I’m about to be screwed,” he finished in a hard voice.
She looked down, twisting the ring on her right hand, one with some big gemstone in a bluish purple shade. “Then let me ask you a hypothetical question, Ryan, if I may. If you were put up for trade, where would you like to end up?” She unleashed another bone-melting smile in his direction. “Obviously, you’ll have a say in the matter since you’ve got five and ten status.”
Five and ten status, meaning players with at least ten years in the major leagues and five consecutive years with their current team. Under baseball’s rules, those players could only be traded with their consent.
Hypothetical, my ass.
“A say? Not much of a one,” Ryan replied curtly. “You know a guy in my position can’t dictate terms. Not many teams are going to want me, given my recent, shall we say, defensive challenges. And if I refuse to be traded at all, the team would just make me ride the bench and then dump me at the end of my contract. By that time, I’d be so rusted out nobody would want me anymore. You know that’s how it works as well as I do.”
She pressed her lips inward, lowering her gaze ever so slightly. She knew he was right. The best he could bargain would be to get the Hornets to make a deal with some other team he could live with. New York, Boston, Cleveland, Baltimore—pretty much anybody in the AL other than the west coast teams or Texas would probably fit the bill. And even that would be a tough go for him and his agent to pull off.
Taylor raised her lovely blue eyes again. “Still, you must have some definite preferences, and I’m sure you’ll make them known.”
Ryan narrowed his eyes, as if doing so could help him see into her brain. She had to be trying in a roundabout way to sound him out about going to Philadelphia. Actually, everything being equal, he’d love to play in Philly—it was close to home, close to Devon’s school, and a great city with appreciative and loyal baseball fans. There was one big problem—there was no American League team in Philadelphia.
“Hell, yeah,” he answered, deciding to play along for the moment. Although not the most pleasant topic, he had no desire to break off the conversation. Taylor Page was easy to talk to and even easier to look at. His eyes had taken in every inch of her flawless skin and had dipped a little south several times—too many times, really, which probably made him a sexist asshole—to that tantalizing cleavage of hers. But any healthy male under the age of eighty would have a hard time keeping his eyes off those sweet assets all night. He’d only ever seen her in business attire, and her filmy, sexy top had revealed a surprisingly lush figure.
“And?” she prompted.
“If I can’t stay in Pittsburgh, I only want to go to another team in the northeast. For obvious reasons, it’s got to be an AL team.”
Taylor’s brows arched. “Are you sure they’re so obvious?” She sipped at her beer for the first time since he sat down.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked incredulously. “With the way I play defense these days?”
Oh, Jesus. The Patriots really must be interested in me. Ryan had a sick feeling in his gut, even though he couldn`t imagine why they`d want him.
“Besides,” he continued, “there’s no reason I couldn’t DH for another six or seven years with an AL team.”
Taylor blinked once and her mouth twisted a little, as if she’d had a momentary stab of pain. Ryan got the feeling she didn’t like his answer, and that spiked his concern.
“Sure, you’ve got some challenges on defense because of all those injuries,” she said with an argumentative note to her honey-toned voice. “That’s common knowledge. But you’re as good at the plate now as you’ve ever been. You’re a solid run producer, and you’ve got a lot of baseball left in you, as far as I can see.”
Ryan mentally blinked. Hell, the woman sure knew how to butter up a guy who was feeling down. Though Taylor was only stating what was clear to anybody from his stats, somehow when the words came from that lovely, earnest face they sounded sincere and penetrated deep.
But he shook away the moment of unfurling pleasure. What was she up to, anyway? What message was she sending him? None of it seemed to be making much sense.
“Man, I’d sure like to be negotiating my contract with you, Taylor,” he said with a forced laugh. “I wouldn’t need my agent. I’d just bring along a sack to haul away the cash.”
Yet again she showed him those perfect, toothpaste ad teeth when she grinned. “The only problem with that is that I never get near any negotiations—possibly for that very reason. I’m a behind-the-scenes person. A glorified analyst, really.”
Wow, someone in baseball who doesn’t have an Everest-sized ego. Ryan liked her more by the minute. “If so, you’re hands down the most beautiful analyst I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.”
His words surprised the hell out of him. They’d just seemed to pop out, and he instantly worried that he’d offended her.
A faint blush colored Taylor’s fair cheeks. She obviously hadn’t spent a lot
of time in the sun yet this spring. “Nice line,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
Actually, it wasn’t a line. Ryan had no intention of trying to pick up the AGM of a rival team, for God’s sake. He’d just blurted out exactly what he felt at that particular moment.
“So, why only the northeast teams?” she asked quickly, clearly anxious to get her equilibrium back. “That really limits your options. Not to mention making it hard for the Hornets to swing a deal if they do want to move you.”
Ryan tended to keep his family life under wraps as much as he could, but he found himself wanting to confide in her. Between Taylor’s genuinely empathetic listening style and lovely face, he could talk to her all night long. All night long.
Get a grip, man.
“My daughter goes to a private girls’ school in Westchester County, New York,” he said. “She’s got another three years there after this one. I’d actually take a big salary cut to go to the Yankees because I’d be real close to her, but as long as she’s no more than a short plane ride away, most other eastern cities would be okay, too.”
Taylor nodded, and Ryan got the impression she might already know about Devon. He wondered what else she’d unearthed about him.
“What’s her name?”
“Devon. And she’s fourteen, if that was going to be your next question.”
Taylor smiled. “Of course.”
“There you go, then,” he said, then mentally winced at the lame reply.
“It must be hard raising her on your own,” Taylor said before taking another sip of her beer. If the way she was nursing it was any indication, she wasn’t much of a drinker. Or, she had no intention of letting her hair down in public, especially with a player.
Didn’t seem stop her from wanting him to let his hair down, though. But he figured everybody in baseball from the owners to the guys selling beer in the stands seemed to be in the know about Ryan Locke’s gruesome divorce, even though it was over seven years since his ex-wife flew the unhappy nest. That’s what he got for marrying his high school sweetheart when he still didn’t know his ass from a bag of practice balls. He was convinced it should be illegal for nineteen year-olds to get married. At least idiots like he’d been at that age.
“She’s a good kid, but I make a lousy mother.” He tried to make light of it while acknowledging the truth of her statement.
“I can’t even imagine how you manage it.” Taylor shook her head very slowly. “And the poor kid. It’s beyond me how any mother could abandon her child.”
Ryan sucked in a breath as the familiar old pain jabbed low in his gut. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Taylor knew what had happened to his family all those years ago, since it had been splashed across the gutter press and speedily made its way around the league. Ashley had run off to Guadalajara after falling in lust for a rich Mexican businessman she met at the hotel fitness club where she worked as a trainer. She’d been moaning for years about how his career left her what she’d called a “baseball widow.” Ryan had thought she’d understood what she was getting into when she married him, but it had turned out he was wrong.
“Devon doesn’t either,” he said in a grim voice. “It’s heartbreaking, even now.”
Shut up, Ryan—you never talk about this stuff to anybody. He stared at the colorful label on the beer bottle as if he were trying to break a secret code.
“I’m sorry, Ryan,” Taylor said, sounding like she really meant it.
He couldn’t help brooding as he stared at the bottle. “You know how many times a year Ashley calls Devon?” He made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “Yeah, exactly zero. But, hey, let me give credit where credit is due. On Devon’s birthday, every year without fail, she sends her a card and a stupid stuffed animal or some piece of clothing Devon wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, and signs the card “Mommy.” Two years ago, Devon gathered all that crap up that he’d stored in the basement, took it out to the back yard, poured lighter fluid on the pile and threw a match.”
He smiled at the bittersweet memory. “I was happy about it, because I thought maybe that kind of symbolic act might give her some kind of…closure, maybe.” For the last two birthdays, Devon had made him open the packages without her seeing them and give the presents to a local shelter.
Taylor’s mouth had turned down in shock. “Did it help Devon, you think?”
“Not really. It was like she’d repressed her rage for all those years, and couldn’t do it anymore. It got so bad I thought I might lose her completely. I did everything I could. The best counselors, changed housekeepers whenever she decided she didn’t like somebody, bought her anything she wanted…” Ryan felt his throat tightening as he relived the agonizing memories. “Finally, last spring our family doctor found her a shrink she actually liked and could relate to. Maybe it was because Dr. Rose was barely more than thirty years old. Anyway, somehow the woman managed to convince Devon—and me—that what Devon really needed was more structure in her life. A consistent, enveloping environment that could make her more secure.”
Taylor’s gaze softened with sympathy. “You don’t have to tell me anything more, and certainly not if it’s too painful. I just hope I haven’t pried too much.”
Actually, Ryan wanted to lean across the table and kiss her sweet, lush lips. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had looked at him with such warmth and understanding after he talked about his daughter—not that he’d ever told any of them half of what he’d revealed to Taylor. In fact, it had always appeared to make most of his dates uncomfortable, so he quickly changed the subject. With Taylor, though, it was almost like talking to Dr. Rose.
Still, he knew he had to be careful. Shrinks had confidentiality requirements—Taylor could blab to whoever she wanted, though his instincts said she would never do that.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a casual wave. “Anyway, Dr. Rose managed to convince us to try a residential private school. That’s how she ended up at Edenwood Academy.”
“Interesting. Is it going all right?”
Devon had been okay at first about what she’d jokingly called her “internment,” but when she went back to Edenwood after spending Christmas with him at home, things had started to go south. The fact that he had to spend six weeks now in Florida didn’t help matters, either. “Ask me again at the end of the academic year,” he said.
Taylor paused a moment, and then said, “Did Devon’s struggles take a toll on your play last season? I know your injuries played a role, but…” She let her voice trail off.
Ah, now she’s bringing it back full circle to baseball. Not surprisingly, he felt some deflation.
“But I played like my mind wasn’t always one hundred per cent on the game? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“No, I just thought…” Again she didn’t finish her sentence. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t implying anything. Maybe we should change the subject.”
“Great idea.” Ryan liked talking to Taylor—a lot—but not about how he was playing. Not now, anyway. He picked up his beer bottle. “I’m having another. Can I buy you one more?”
Taylor drained the rest of her glass before giving him a thumbs-up sign.
Ryan looked around the room for Lucy, thinking this might be one of the weirdest and possibly riskiest conversations he’d ever had with a woman, given who Taylor was. But she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, and he sure as hell wasn’t either.
5
TAYLOR DRUMMED HER fingers on her desk—impatient, agitated, energized. Wired. Dave Dembinski was either going to think she’d had a stroke of genius, or another kind of stroke—one that had played havoc with her brain cells.
She’d arrived at the stadium office hours before her boss. The GM was spending the morning at the hotel, trying to wrap up the last of the trade possibilities he’d been working on. Taylor had ambivalent feelings about Dembinski concluding a deal for a first baseman. On the one hand, she obviously wanted
what was best for the team, so if a good deal could be made she’d of course be enthusiastic about it. But on the other hand, she longed for the opportunity to push the GM in the direction of a trade for Ryan Locke. After last night’s encounter at the bar, she wanted that more than ever.
When Ryan strolled over and tapped Joe Ridge on the shoulder, she’d thought her heart was going to jump right into her throat. In fact, she and Joe had just been talking about taking her over to Ryan’s table and introducing her when it had happened. Even now, Taylor still wasn’t sure why he’d made his startling move. At first, she’d guessed he’d become suspicious at her having dinner with his general manager. No dummy, Ryan had suspected her of scouting him that afternoon and had put two and two together. But her assertion that she and Joe were old friends had seemed to shift him off that particular track.
She allowed herself to think of another possibility—that he’d been looking for an excuse to hit on her. That thought had crossed her mind within seconds of his taking Joe’s seat. In her experience, when a man looked at her that way, he had one thing on his mind. Though Ryan had been careful to focus on her eyes rather than her chest—at least most of the time—there was no mistaking the intent of his wolf-like gaze. She was honest enough to admit that she had wanted to attract Ryan Locke’s attention, and she’d obviously done a good job of it.
And, boy, whenever he locked those dark, hooded eyes on her, hadn’t she gotten all squirmy inside? When was the last time she’d had that kind of immediate physical reaction to a man?
Approximately never.
As Taylor had anticipated from his good-guy reputation, Ryan had made no move to hit on her despite the high-voltage electricity that had arced between them all evening. In fact, he’d been a perfect gentleman throughout a conversation that had stretched over two hours and enough beer that she’d decided it would be smart to take a cab back to her hotel.
As the conversation progressed, it had become more fascinating and yet more discouraging, too. Ryan’s predicament had tugged at her heart from the moment he bitterly acknowledged that his career as an outfielder was in tatters. The man had been one of the better outfielders in the game for many years, a productive hitter and a solid fielder with superb range, a smooth glove and a reliable throwing arm. He’d never won a Golden Glove and never would, but he’d always been ranked as an above average defender. Well above average. Then the injuries took their toll, one after the other, and now he was just a memory of his former self when he patrolled left field. She hated to even think about what that kind of precipitous decline must do to a man’s pride. No amount of salary could compensate for that mental agony.
