Delay of Game (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 1)

by Lucy McConnell

  Despite the few moments where she’d lost her mind, she’d done an excellent job on his legs. And with a little time, he’d feel the difference. One giant fist pump and she composed herself. She had landed right where she was supposed to be—the feeling was too strong to ignore.

  Blake was an excellent warm-up for her first day, his body so responsive to her touch. She peeked out the door and found the room empty, so she went to the sink to wash her hands. The cold water gave her the clarity she needed. Blake’s body had responded to her touch, as if it could read her thoughts, but Blake had been cool at the beginning and then, then … she brushed her fingers over her knuckles.

  Had he felt something too?

  “How’d it go?” Camden asked as he entered the room.

  “Great,” she chirped.

  “Did Rygs give you any grief?”

  “Nope.” She cocked her head. “Should he have?”

  Camden looked over his shoulder at the open door. “He’s got a rep and likes to flirt.”

  A flirt? Elise’s hand closed up. So their moment was just another day at the office for him. She rubbed her palm against her pants. If Blake could brush it off, so could she. And she wouldn’t let it happen again.

  Chapter Two

  Blake stared at the cleats in his locker. That massage was unlike anything he’d experienced in the PT room—or any room, ever—in his life. The feel of Elise’s hands on his skin, penetrating into the muscles, was … not sensual, because she’d been totally professional, but … intimate. Yeah, that was it. Intimate. Like they were connected on some completely new level he didn’t know existed.

  And watching her work, well, it was like watching the sun paint the red cliffs in the morning. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her warm copper hair, the soft curve of her cheek, or her plump lower lip. She was stunning and unassuming all at once, allowing her to slip right under his defenses and put him off his game. When he’d first walked into the torture chamber, as the guys called the PT room, he thought flirting with her would be fun. But the moment their skin came together, his sense of fun shifted.

  Jackson Kimber, a player who was about halfway through his MLB career and a darn good pitcher, sauntered into the locker room. “’Sup?” asked Kimber.

  “Not much.” Blake flexed his legs out in front of him. They felt a little sore. He grabbed a water bottle and chugged to help wash the released acids from his body. He needed to get his mind off that new PT. Elise. Her name whispered across his mind, bringing with it the memory of her high ponytail swooping over her shoulder. Man, he’d wanted to brush it back, run his fingers through it, tease her about the color. Not that red hair was a bad thing. Especially not the way it shone in the light and accented her blushing cheeks. Weren’t redheads supposed to have freckles? Elise’s skin was fair, smooth, and oh so soft.

  “I’m going to hit The Strip. Wanna come?” asked Kimber. He spent more time in Vegas than he did in St. George—said the small Utah town was too quiet for him.

  Blake checked the clock. There was another half hour of practice left, yet Kimber was packing up. The new owner, Harper Richmond, had fired Coach Adams a few days ago, and practices were loosey-goosey. The whole team was loosey-goosey. Blake didn’t like the atmosphere. They already had the worst record in the league; they didn’t need to fall apart. If they could somehow pull it together off the field, they might have a shot at winning a few games. The whole team hated to lose, yet they couldn’t break the streak and it burned. He hoped Ms. Richmond could pull the front office together and hire a new coach soon. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a team left to coach.

  Then what? His agent warned him that if the Redrocks dissolved, flooding the league with free agents, half the players wouldn’t get picked up. His stats were good. Not Jackson Kimber good, but good enough that he was confident he could find a team. Blake didn’t worry so much about who he would play for. What he didn’t like was the uncertainty, the feeling of limbo that greeted him every morning and tucked him in every night.

  He wanted roots. Good, solid, deep roots like the ones his parents provided growing up. Yet he’d chosen a profession that was as mobile as an RV. A trade could come at any time. One day, sure. Kids. Family. The whole deal. But for now, when the future was as clear as a morning fog, he could use a distraction. “Sure.”

  A few hours later Blake found himself at a craps table, shaking a pair of dice in his right hand. Kimber was nowhere in sight. He’d disappeared with a flock of ladies shortly after ten. The tall blonde at his side giggled, brushing herself against him. The leggy brunette on his left kissed his cheek. “For luck,” she whispered in his ear, trying to sound seductive but humming with desperation.

  Blake felt nothing for them. They could have been cardboard cutouts for all the emotion they stirred. Or rather, didn’t stir. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t focus on the game, didn’t recall how much he’d bet on this roll. But he could remember, in vivid detail, the feel of Elise’s hands on his calf, the buzz of the overhead light as her hands trailed warmth down his thigh, and the taste of almonds in the air around her.

  He threw the dice.

  “That’s a five,” called the stickman.

  The girls bounced and cheered. The dealer pushed three thousand dollars’ worth of chips toward Blake, and all he could think about was that redheaded PT.

  Chapter Three

  Elise pulled the rubber gloves off with a smacking sound. “Let that cream work its magic overnight and come see me first thing, okay?” She’d walked Rex Barns through his strengthening exercises, seen him through a round of stretching, iced his knees, massaged the ligament and muscles, and then slathered him with a highly concentrated muscle cream.

  The forty-year-old catcher nodded his head. “Thanks, Elise.” He gingerly stepped down from the table and made his way out the door. The poor guy. Catching was hard on the knees. She should know; she’d been a catcher on her college softball team. The constant squatting pulled on the tendons. Rex’s long career was a rarity in the MLB. God had blessed him with exceptional joints, but even the best of genes couldn’t hold up under the constant abuse baseball heaped upon them.

  The heavy menthol cream should help with the soreness. Elise smiled to herself as she cleaned up. Working on Rex was much easier than working on Blake had been. They talked about the game and his family. The more she’d thought about what happened with Blake, and she’d thought about it plenty last night, the more she berated herself for acting like a mindless fan. As her time with Rex proved, these guys were human. Not the superhumans she’d idolized as a young girl. And she wasn’t that little girl anymore—the look in Blake’s eyes had told her she was all woman.

  She frowned. That sounded bad.

  At least she hadn’t said it out loud this time.

  She glanced at the clock, noting that Camden had slipped out for his meeting with Doc Burningham. The medical staff was in constant communication and Doc was great at making sure they knew what needed to be done to keep each player in top shape. She checked the schedule to see who was next.

  Blake Rygs.

  Her hands went slick and the butterflies, which had been perfectly well behaved all day, decided to throw a party. She went to the drinking fountain, thinking some cold water would quiet them down. If not, perhaps she could drown them. Blake was a flirt, nothing else. And she’d been an easy target yesterday, overwhelmed by the facility and everything.

  Not today. Today she was in control.

  Just as she leaned over to drink, she heard footsteps echo in the hallway. Jerking around, she swiped the water off her chin, hoping she didn’t look like she was drooling. Although, she almost started drooling when Blake’s athletic frame filled the doorway blocking the air.

  No, wait. She was holding her breath. Grabbing the cool fountain behind her, she wondered why his gaze left her boneless. Oh, she knew that bones didn’t actually melt, but dang!

  Blake scowled and hopped on the table without saying
a word. He wore baggy gym shorts today, which she could easily work around, so there was no need for a towel or draping or stripping.

  Is it hot in here?

  “H-hi.” She smiled even though he couldn’t see it with his face in the face rest at the top of the table. She cleared her throat. “How’s that knee treating you?”

  “Fine,” came the muffled response.

  “Have you noticed a difference?” she pressed. One of the reasons she enjoyed working with athletes was that they were in tune with their bodies. Even a slight adjustment was appreciated.

  “Yeah.”

  Apparently Blake Rygs didn’t feel like talking. His tense back and fisted hands said more than his short words. A hundred reasons for his foul mood flipped through her head. A bad batting practice. An upset coach. The fact that they had lost yet another game. A conflict with another player. She gulped. A fight with his girlfriend. Normally she’d encourage the patient to talk about their issues, because getting it out helped release tension in their body. But Blake hadn’t looked like he wanted to talk. That was fine with her—his muscles would tell her everything she needed to know, and the less he looked at her, the more she’d be able to concentrate.

  Rubbing her palms together to warm them, she got to work. Placing her left hand on the back of his knee to introduce him to her touch, she then focused on his tight hamstring. Getting lost in the motion, she followed the map of Blake’s muscles, gently stretching the hamstring and surrounding tissue. He sighed, a sound of contentment that did her heart, and her pride, some good. Mr. Ornery couldn’t stay that way when she worked her magic. Moving down to his calf, she zoned in, using her fingers to find the knots and release them.

  Juan Castillo swaggered in. He glanced at her once and did a double take. “Hola, dulcé.”

  Blake’s calf went rigid beneath her hands. She backed off the pressure, not able to go as deep when he blocked her efforts. “Easy there, big guy,” she murmured to Blake. “Hola, Juan.” She smiled politely. “What can I help you with?”

  Camden wouldn’t be back for another fifteen minutes. She planned just to do the hamstring and calf today and let Blake’s tendon rest before trying to stretch it again. She’d be done in about five minutes.

  “Doc says I need an ankle wrap,” replied Juan.

  “I’m almost done here. You can wait on that table.”

  “You married?” asked Juan as he settled in.

  “No. Are you?” Her tone was friendly, interested in an I think of you as a brother kind of way, not in an I want to apply for the position way. Blake’s leg was stiff as a Louisville Slugger. What the heck? She backed off even more.

  “Nope.” Juan winked.

  “Divorced?” He was. Had been for a couple of years. Not that it was any of her business, but she figured that the more the guys saw her as a buddy, the less likely they were to see her as a potential fling. She’d dated for fun for years but grew tired of the empty relationships. She had her dream job; settling down was the next logical step. Of course, she had to find the right guy first.

  Juan’s flirt turned down three notches. “Yes.”

  “Kids?” she asked brightly.

  “Three girls.”

  “Awww. How old?” Pressing on the back of his knee, she lifted Blake’s foot in the air and moved his leg back and forth in an effort to release the strain. He fought her at first, but finally relented. She laid his leg back down and continued with the massage.

  This time, Juan’s smile was full of fatherly pride. “Five, seven, and nine.”

  “I’ll bet they are just sweethearts.”

  “They are so beautiful.”

  “You’re a lucky papá.” Frustrated with the fight Blake put up, she asked, “What are you thinking about right now?”

  “Why?” he grunted.

  She took a deep breath. “Often we store emotions in our muscles. Sometimes a massage or stretch can trigger memories. Or, if you’re focusing on something in your thoughts, it will manifest in your muscle. Your calf is fighting against me today, so I’m wondering what you’re thinking about.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “Blake?” she asked quietly.

  “None of your business.”

  Elise dropped her chin to her chest. “Can you try to think of something else? You’re making my job harder.”

  “Let’s just stop talking.” He lifted his head and glared at Juan. “All of us.”

  Juan lifted his hands. “Whatever, man. I’m just being nice to the new girl, ya know?”

  “I know exactly what you’re doing.” Blake glared.

  Elise chewed the inside of her cheek. What was going on with these two?

  “You can’t blame me,” Juan defended himself.

  “Yeah, I can.” Blake pushed up and flipped over. His triceps did this awesome ripple thing, and then his chest kind of grew bigger as she stared.

  Thankfully, Blake wasn’t watching her stare at him. He was too busy glaring at Juan.

  Juan smirked. Not a cocky little smirk, but a smirk that said he found the whole situation pretty darn funny. “What’s your problem?” he asked, stirring the pot.

  Blake shook his head and slid off the table. “I’m out.”

  “But—” Elise took two steps after him. “I’m not done.”

  If he heard her, he ignored her protest.

  She spun around to find Juan grinning like he’d just filled Blake’s runners with shaving cream. “What’s so funny?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

  “My man likes you.”

  “Me?” Elise pointed to her chest. “No. Blake can hardly stand me.” She hurried to the counter, grabbed the cleaner and a fresh cloth, and began wiping down the table.

  “It’s cool.” Juan shrugged easily. “He’s a ladies’ man, though. You know?”

  Her movements slowed. “I’ve heard.” Besides the conversation she’d had with Camden yesterday, she’d grown up discussing baseball and baseball players over dinner. Growing up in the Smith household, you didn’t have a choice. Updating Blake’s file, she wished there was a little post-it on screen that mentioned which players were, well, players, and which ones weren’t. Not that she’d thought about Blake in that way. Okay, maybe last night, right before she’d fallen asleep, she may have allowed herself to think about Blake’s amazing body and the way she’d connected with him. Of course, she’d assumed it was purely one-sided and forced herself to think of other things. Crushing on a baseball player wasn’t professional and she was determined to take this opportunity as far as she could.

  “Hola?” Juan waved at her.

  “Right—ankle wrap.” Finding the tape only took opening two wrong cupboards. She sat on a rolling stool and scooted in front of Juan. He pointed to his left foot and she got to work.

  “So, you date players?” he asked.

  Elise thought she’d put him in the friend zone. “Um … Are you asking me out?” Better to just be open and honest right up front.

  “No, Dulcé. But my bro may be interested.” He jerked his chin to the door Blake stormed out of.

  Would she be interested in dating Blake? The question had her chewing on her lip as she wondered. Probably not. Baseball wasn’t a “settle down” kind of sport. Blake could be traded or sent back to triple-A. Physical therapists stuck with their team. Why date a guy who has a strong chance of leaving?

  But … there was that connection, and she could read his body like a scoreboard. Ripping off the end of the tape, she smiled at Juan. “I guess if he’s interested, he’ll have to man up and ask me himself.”

  “Oooo. My mama warned me about redheads.” Juan winked.

  “Your mama was a smart woman.” Elise flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  Juan stood up and tested the ankle. “You’re going to fit right in around here, dulcé.”

  “Thanks.” She waved as he left. Shaking her head at Juan’s antics, she cleaned up the plastic wrapper from the tape and the scisso
rs. He was funny. Blake Rygs acted as interested in her as a scout in a guy with a broken femur.

  But he did seem awfully upset at Juan for flirting with her.

  Maybe the two of them just didn’t get along.

  Or, maybe he was jealous.

  Or, maybe their huge losing streak was grating at them, leaving raw wounds.

  If he felt even a hint of the way their bodies linked up when they touched, and was already upset about the team’s performance, the connection could overwhelm him. Elise had an outlet for the intense communication—she used it for her job. What would happen if she didn’t have a place to channel that? She shook her head. She’d be as grumpy as … Blake.

  Huh.

  Maybe he was interested.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Sure, she might have a small crush on the guy. She’d had crushes on lots of baseball players. The difference with this one was that he actually knew her name and she was in close proximity to him on an almost daily basis. The closest of proximities. Skin-to-skin proximities.

  Never one to shy away from a challenge or a need to dig deep and bring out the best in herself, Elise shoved every one of those butterflies so deep she couldn’t feel a wing beat. Crush or no crush, she was here to do a job, help her family through a hard time, and make a name for herself in the MLB.

  Blake Rygs could keep his interests, his grumpy moods, and his brooding brown eyes to himself.

  Chapter Four

  Blake dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He didn’t need all this, this, confusion and anger right now. The team was in a state of chaos without a manager. They had a new owner and heaven only knew what she would do with the team. Ms. Richmond could sell it to the highest bidder or disband the Redrocks completely. By all news accounts, she was in the process of interviewing coaches from across the country, but nothing had come of her efforts. The press was having a heyday. Every pre-and postgame interview centered around the issue.