“Now, now dear.” He began to spritz water on her hair. “A good stylist never clips and tells.”
“Oh.” Meg was disappointed. Not that she was celebrity-struck. She barely glanced at tabloid headlines while standing in line at the grocery store. Still, it would be fun to say she’d had her hair cut by a stylist to the stars—and be able to back it up with some famous names.
“I take the stylist-client relationship very seriously,” Stan continued as he detangled her unruly curls. “Whatever you say here will go no further than this room.”
She considered that for a moment as Stan continued taming her hair with a comb and water bottle. She itched to tell someone her secret, and the stylist who’d just pledged to keep to himself whatever she said was as good a candidate as any. After all, with him being down in Phoenix, she doubted she’d see him again.
Sure, he was a man—and she’d already ruled out telling Matt because of his Y chromosome. But stylists belonged in a gender-neutral category all their own. Talking to a good hairdresser was like confessing to a priest. They both listened and offered advice.
An overwhelming, and likely hormone-fueled, urge to share with the man who was making her hair behave prompted her to blurt it out. “I’m pregnant.”
Stan’s hands froze in mid-comb stroke. “Pardon?”
“I’m thirty-two, unmarried and knocked up,” she elaborated, sharing the short version of her story. “My boyfriend ran off to Vegas about a month before I found out.”
“That’s a tough break,” he said as he started combing again. After a few moments of silence, he continued, “So will you be wanting a hairstyle you can do quickly with minimum effort?”
“You must be reading my mind, Stan.” His lack of shock didn’t surprise her. He’d probably heard wilder tales than hers. And as long as he kept his vow, she had no worries about Matt finding out before she was ready to tell him.
“Just leave it to me, sweetie. You’ll be gorgeous in no time.”
“I’d settle for not looking like Don King.”
“No one—not even Matty, who can sometimes be pretty clueless—would ever mistake you for Don King, dear.”
“That’s a relief.” Meg settled back in the chair and surrendered her hair to Stan’s capable hands. She liked and even trusted this guy with whom she’d formed an instant bond, and she knew he’d work whatever magic he could on her hard-to-tame hair.
Sure enough, when he escorted her to the mirror, Meg was pleased with her reflection. For once, her hair was behaving. She looked good. Darn good. Even if it was a little— “Shorter than you thought, huh?”
Meg nodded, no longer surprised that this super-stylist knew what she was thinking. Why, she might just have to make a trip to the Valley once every six weeks. She could always grab gourmet groceries at Trader Joe’s while she was down there to get a trim. Who couldn’t use more Thai-spiced cashews and crunchy cookie butter in their life?
“With a little one on the way, you wanted something easy to do, and nothing’s easier than this. You just use a little product, run your fingers through it and voila! No hair dryer required.”
Skeptical, she eyed her reflection. “Are you sure I’ll be able to make it do this?”
“You will. Just put a little mousse or gel in your palms and smooth it into your hair.”
“Okay.” She’d heard that before. Stan must have recognized her uncertainty, because before she could stop him, he had his hands in her hair, undoing the work of art he’d just finished.
“Now you’ll see you, too, can get it to look like that.” He grabbed her hand and squirted a dollop of mousse in her palm. “Rub your hands together and run your fingers through the curls.”
Meg did as he told her and was surprised to see that her hair settled right back into the style Stan had just finished demolishing. That clinched it: She’d have to see this man for all her hair styling needs. With summer nearly here, it was a good thing her VW had air conditioning.
“You just secured yourself a new client.” She reached into her purse for her checkbook. “How much do I owe you?”
He smiled and shook his head. “This one’s on me. I’m just glad you love your new look. Besides, I should be thanking you for giving me an excuse to see Matty. He’s always so busy.”
She wondered what he meant by that. Matt hadn’t looked all that busy when she bumped into him at the Crazy-I. She didn’t have time to ask for clarification, though.
Stan reached over and tweaked a few of her straggling curls into place. “Beautiful! Now, should I call the lobby to tell Matty to come back up?”
Meg shook her head. “Let’s go down and surprise him instead. We can eat dinner here at the hotel or decide to go somewhere else once we get there.”
“Lead the way, gorgeous!”
Chapter Three
Matt tossed aside the months-old issue of Sports Illustrated he’d been leafing through and let his gaze roam around the lobby. People watching would have to be more entertaining than reading about the start of an NBA season that was now more than half over.
A tired-looking man wearing a suit slumped against the front desk, a suitcase at his feet. A businessman, on the road again and wishing he were home with the family, Matt decided. A few feet away, two kids wrapped in towels raced through the lobby. Since water dripped from their hair, Matt guessed they were coming from the pool.
On the other side of the room, over by the entrance to the restaurant… Crap! The Condors’ rookie catcher, Jim, chatted up the hostess.
Matt groaned. If Jim saw him, he’d have to make small talk for a while. With Jim competing for his job and Meg on his mind, that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Matt quietly stood and edged toward the elevators. Too bad if Stan wanted him to stay out of his room. He was going back up anyway.
Mere yards separated him from his goal when Jim boomed his name. “Matt! Get over here.”
Caught. He squared his shoulders and crossed the cavernous lobby. “Hey, Jim. What’s up?”
“Well, I was just explaining to Cassandra here what I do for a living. She wasn’t convinced, so I thought you could persuade her.”
He glanced at the small, dark-haired and curvy girl. Not his type, but cute all the same. Then he looked at Jim, who seemed completely taken with her, and was struck by a thought: If the rookie was distracted by a pretty girl, Matt would have the edge at home plate.
It wasn’t the nicest thought he’d ever had, but Matt never claimed to be Mr. Perfect, despite what his buddy Dave thought. He was a solid, stand-up guy, sure—but he had his flaws. Everyone did. He was decisive, though Stan called that “bossy.” And he was competitive—maybe too competitive, if he’d resort to distracting the rookie.
He shrugged. At his age, he needed any advantage he could get. Besides, a sweet young thing like the hostess might be good for Jim, who seemed to be a cougar magnet. He ought to date someone closer to his own age.
He smiled at Cassandra. “If Jim told you he plays for the Condors, he speaks the truth.”
“Does that mean you do, too?”
He turned on the charm, in hopes of securing Jim her number. “I sure do, sweetheart.”
“Cool! I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to two baseball players.”
Matt recognized the gleam in her eye, the one that screamed “baseball babe.” Right. She’d known exactly whom she was talking to.
He didn’t feel at all guilty for making the snap judgment. It wasn’t paranoia if they really were out to snare him, right?
He rethought his “sweet young thing” assessment and made plans to escape fast, before Cassandra decided she wanted to do more than just talk to him. Jim was an adult. He could fend for himself.
“Make that one. I have somewhere else I need to be.”
With that, he turned. Meg and Stan hurried toward them. He quickened his pace to reach them before they got too close to Cassandra. No way did he want Meg to discover his identity from the rookie or the ho
stess.
He met Meg and his brother nearly a football-field’s length from the hostess stand and stopped to give her a thorough once-over. “If you’d come down without Stan, I might not have recognized you.”
Her hand flew up to touch her hair, which was now a lot shorter. And under control. “That bad, huh?”
Stan rolled his eyes. “No, Meg, that’s my goofy big brother’s way of saying he likes it.”
“Really?”
Matt nodded. “Very much. You’re—”
“Just say it, Matty,” Stan prompted. “Tell Meg she’s gorgeous.”
Matt slugged Stan’s arm just hard enough to warn his brother to behave. “Quiet, you. Meg was plenty pretty before you got your mitts on her.”
He was pleased when his comment earned a half-smile from Meg. Then she spoke. “You don’t have to butter me up. I already agreed to have dinner with you.”
He started to protest, disliking the way Meg put herself down, but she didn’t give him a chance. “Speaking of dinner, I saw you with the hostess. Did you give her your name?”
He thought fast. “It was going to be a ninety-minute wait. I’m too hungry for that. Besides, I’m not in the mood for sushi.”
“Okay. What do you want, then?”
From where he stood, he could see Jim and Cassandra, but Meg and Stan could not. When he saw the girl point in his direction, and a knot of tourists turned their heads to gawk at him, he knew it was time for a quick getaway. The last thing he needed was a bunch of fans blowing his cover.
“Steak,” he said, grabbing both Meg and Stan by the arm to propel them toward the door. “Let’s go to the Outback.”
Meg slowed their escape by dragging her feet. “You just said you didn’t want a long wait to eat. It’s a Friday night. The Outback will be just as crowded. If not more so.”
Crap. Just my luck to be talking to a sharp woman.
Meg would keep him on his toes. Maybe he ought to rethink his distaste for baseball babe-slash-bimbos.
He brushed the thought aside and continued toward the door. He pushed it open and dragged her through it just as flashes started going off behind them.
Desperate that she not turn around to try to see what—or rather who—someone was attempting to photograph, he wrapped an arm around her waist and bent his head to kiss her.
Her lips were soft. Extremely soft. Beyond that, she tasted like something he couldn’t put his finger on. Slightly salty, but comforting.
As he maneuvered her away from the doors and into the darkness, he deepened the kiss. She responded in kind, and he forgot where he was. Forgot everything except kissing this woman who didn’t want him only for his talent. Oh, she wanted him all right, but not because he could play baseball. That couldn’t be why; she had no clue.
Spurred by the thought, Matt pushed Meg against the wall. He was about to hike her leg up over his hip to draw her closer when his brother’s voice whispered in his ear.
“Matty, you don’t want people to see you out here like this, do you?”
****
Meg was breathless when Matt cursed and released his hold on her. She had no idea why he’d kissed her, or why he’d abruptly stopped and put six feet of space between them.
“What was that?”
Matt was also out of breath. She watched him take a few deep breaths before answering. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“What if I want it to happen again?”
The words flew out of her mouth before she could censor them. The moment they left her lips, Meg wished she could take them back. She’d just met this guy, for God’s sake. It was too early to be confessing that she wanted him to jump her bones—especially when his brother stood just feet away. What was it about this family that made her feel so at home?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Damn hormones were making her horny and brainless. Even if it were the truth, she had no business getting involved with Matt. Or anyone, really. The baby needed to be her number one priority.
Matt smiled at her. “But I’m glad you did.”
“You are?”
He nodded. “It means I didn’t just make a total jackass of myself.”
“Never.” Knowing she shouldn’t didn’t prevent her from reaching out to rest her hand on his chest. Mmm. Solid. She tried not to wonder what he looked like without a shirt, but it was no use.
The sound of a throat being cleared jarred Meg out of her imaginings. “What makes you a jackass, Matty, is keeping your starving kid brother from his steak. Let’s go.”
“He’s right, you know,” Meg told Matt as Stan led the way to his car, a sporty red coupe. “I’m pretty hungry, too—and you know there’s going to be a wait. And that brings me back to my earlier question: Why the Outback when the wait’ll be just as long as the one here?”
Matt dropped his arm over Meg’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “A good steak’s worth the wait. Sushi, on the other hand, is not.”
****
“We want you to be the face of the Condors.”
Maybe it was because they’d just put in a long day of practice, but Matt couldn’t make any sense of his manager’s words. The two of them stood near the dugout, the only two left on the field. Everyone else had already hit the showers.
“Huh?” They sounded like English, but he still didn’t get their meaning.
“Don’t make me regret the decision, Thatcher.” Jerry handed Matt a Post-it note with an address scrawled on it. “The Caldwells want to put together a new ad campaign, and they asked me to send three players to a planning meeting at the advertising agency tomorrow. You, Reynolds and Bartlesby are going. Nine o’ clock sharp at Tooley, Hamilton & Smith, near downtown. Don’t be late.”
“Sure thing, coach.” He stuffed the note in a side pocket of his gym bag. It wouldn’t get lost there, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved in some ad campaign that would take away valuable practice time.
As he walked to the parking lot to catch the team bus back to the Radisson, the coach’s words finally started to sink in. If the Condors’ manager and owner wanted him to be in a new ad campaign, it meant he was going to start. They wouldn’t put him in a bunch of ads for the team if they planned to bench him.
So Matt was starting and the rookie would ride the bench. He grinned. As it should be.
He climbed onto the team bus with the grin still on his face and took the first empty seat he found. He wanted to tell someone the good news.
Matt grabbed his phone. He was about to dial Meg’s number when he remembered he couldn’t share the news with her because she didn’t know he played for the Condors. He jammed the phone back into his gym bag. Crap. What was the use of getting good news if you couldn’t share it?
Of course, all he’d have to do was tell Meg about his job. Then he could explain how the rookie had been breathing down his neck since the start of spring training and how he now knew his place in the starting lineup was secure.
But to do that, he’d have to overcome years’ worth of mistrust of women. In just a few days? Not likely.
The bus drew to a stop in front of the hotel. Matt stood to leave. Shortstop Dave Reynolds stopped next to his seat as he filed past. Man, was he glad Dave had decided to play one more year with the Condors, rather than taking a trade to Amarillo. He had Dave’s fiancée, the mother of Dave’s little girl, to thank for that. She’d told him to keep doing what he did best.
“Hey, Matt. Greg and I are going to grab a couple beers after dinner to celebrate this ad gig. Want to come?”
He considered the offer. He could go up to his room and relax by watching a few reruns of his favorite show, Twilight Zone. (It was Twilight Zone weekend on SyFy.) Or he could hit the bar for a few beers with some teammates.
Both ideas appealed, but one involved his being a hermit. With the rookie dogging him and Meg occupying too many of his thoughts, he’d been doing too much of that lately. He’d best do some male bonding, before he b
ecame the team recluse.
Besides, spending time with his buddies was better than sitting alone in his room, thinking. All those daydreams did nothing for his concentration. If he didn’t take countermeasures, Meg would ruin his batting average.
“Sure. When and where?”
“Bartlesby was talking to one of the locals, who recommended the Crazy Irishman. See you there around eight.”
Matt nodded. “Eight it is.”
As Dave stepped off the bus, Matt remembered he’d met Meg at the Crazy Irishman. Damn! He couldn’t escape her even when he tried—not that he wanted to try all that hard. She intrigued him like no one had in years. She made him want to take another chance on love.
That didn’t mean, however, that he wanted her to intrude on the guys’ night he’d just agreed to as a way to stop thinking about her. He’d just have to hope that with work the next morning, she was too responsible to be barhopping on a Sunday night.
A couple hours later, Matt stood in the doorway of the Crazy Irishman. He scanned the room, looking for Meg’s new ’do. He congratulated himself again on introducing her to Stan. The tousled style made her look like she’d just spent a wild night between the sheets.
Unwilling to dwell on that thought, he stepped inside. His hunch had been right: The Crazy-I was practically empty. Most people, including Meg, stayed home on a Sunday night.
Matt wondered if she was spending the evening in her kitchen, baking something. His imagination cooked up a picture of her clad in an apron—and nothing else.
A southward blood rush alerted him to the fact that he’d been daydreaming. Again. Shaking his head, he moved to the bar and ordered a Guinness. Beer in hand and bodily functions back under control, he ambled over to the table where Dave and Greg waited.
He took a seat and nodded to the guys. “Hey.”
“Glad you could make it.” Dave clapped him on the shoulder.
Matt had to fight not to wince. Three days after getting hit by that wild pitch, his shoulder still ached. He made a mental note to mention it to the team doctor Tuesday if it still bugged him. He couldn’t afford to let an injury bench him, especially now that it looked as though he was in the starting lineup.
Beauty and the Ballplayer Page 3
