Playing with Fire - A Sports Romance

by Lydia De Luca

  “‘Bout time.”

  “Hey, what do you expect? I figured for sure it’d be over by now.” His big smile shows off a straight line of bright white teeth that glow in the dim blue light of the club.

  I hold my beer up towards Ramon before I take a drink. He’s got his girl, Emily, wrapped around him on the other side of the booth from us. He doesn’t see me. His tongue is too far down her throat to notice anything else. My good fortune is due to him. Matt and I had a bet as to how long this relationship would last. Matt insisted no longer than six weeks. It’s been eight, and they’re still going strong.

  I can see how Matt, or anyone for that matter, wouldn’t see this as a match made in heaven. From the outside, it seems the only thing these two lovebirds have in common is their height and their mutual love of public tonsil hockey. Emily is as petite as Ramon. But his dark Puerto Rican coloring is on the opposite side of the color spectrum from her milky white skin. Her short strawberry-blonde hair is so light it’s almost pink, and the brief smattering of freckles on her cheeks makes her look more like a pre-teen than the woman who holds Ramon Rodriguez’s heart.

  Matt and I made the bet the first day we met Emily. She’s shy compared to Ramon’s constant chatter. Or at least, that’s how she comes across at first. We’ve since learned otherwise. But that first day, Matt was sure Ramon would be moving on from her as fast as he did from Carmen and Denise and Marietta and Rafaela before her.

  I’m not sure what made me take the bet. Something about the way he looked at her, and how she looked back at him, rocked me to my core. There was something there I’d never seen before. Something I wanted, suddenly, and it scared me to feel that inside of myself.

  It still scares me now, as I watch the two of them locked in their embrace in our dark little corner of this club. The strobe lights are pulsing to the quick tempo of the music, which beats like my heart whenever I think of a certain someone. I’m not like this. I’m not the kind of guy who pines over a girl he can’t have, who dreams in broad daylight of a wild night of passion from months ago. I’m the guy who prowls the dance floor looking for that one special lady - the one with a bed I can warm for a night before I walk out of her life.

  Madison has been the one exception to that. She moved into my apartment building the week after me. She’s the type of girl that wouldn’t have given me the time of day before I hit it big. And by big, I mean money. Her little trust fund means she’s never worked a day in her life, and likely never will. Money and image are the only things that matter to her. She’s something else. But she’s got a smoking hot body and is a decent lay when no one else is around.

  Madison spends more time in our apartment’s gym than anyone I know. And her body shows it. There’s not an ounce of fat on her. But there’s also not a lot of muscle. I’ve seen her work out. The heaviest thing she lifts is her water bottle. Short of a yoga class or two, I’ve never seen her do anything other than jog on the treadmill and stare at her reflection in the mirror. Unless you count flirting as a workout. There’s money in our building. Lawyers. Doctors. More trust fund bitches like herself.

  When we first met, Madison gave me a brief once over before she wrote me off. It wasn’t until mid-season, as I was leaving for a travel day, dressed in my nicest suit and dragging a suitcase out of my apartment door, that she finally noticed me. On the elevator ride down, she started talking me up and realized who I was - a rising baseball star on what she says is her favorite team. I’m sure though, whichever team I told her I played for - New York, San Diego, Denver - any of them would have been her favorite.

  My ‘relationship’ with Madison - if you can call what we have a relationship - is one of nothing but sex. I go to her bed whenever I need to blow off a little steam and there’s no one else around. Even though it’s been nearly a year since we first slept together, even though I’ve never been in a relationship for this long with anyone, I don’t see her as someone who will be in my life long-term. Or even short-term, for that matter. She’s not the type of girl you bring home to your parents. She’s no Emily, that’s for sure.

  Ramon finally extricates his tongue from Emily’s mouth, and the girl giggles in his ear like a teenager. She stands and smooths her skirt down from where Ramon pushed it up her legs. I catch Matt sneaking a peek of her milky white thighs, but he plays it off as if he’s done nothing wrong. When Emily saunters off across the crowded club, her ass swaying to the beat of the music, both Ramon and Matt have their eyes glued to her.

  “Where’s Ellen tonight?” I backhand Matt’s chest and smirk as he glances at me and realizes he’s been caught. He tries to play it off with a shrug.

  “She’s working. Couldn’t make it out. But I’ll see her next week when we’re home again.”

  “You know, hermano,” Ramon says as he drags his eyes away from his girl, “you put a ring on it, she wouldn’t have to work. She could be with you all the time.”

  Matt ducks his head and starts picking at the edge of his t-shirt. I’ve seen this before. He’s terrible at keeping secrets, and this is one of his many tells.

  “Spill it.” Matt looks up at me with a frown on his face. “Spill it, Cromwell. What are you hiding? You planning to propose?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt responds, his fingers tangled in his hem.

  “Bullshit. You’re hiding something. You see it, Ramon?”

  “Ah, sí,” Ramon says after a moment of looking over our friend. “What is it, hermano? What are you keeping from us?”

  Matt throws his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “Yes,” he mumbles. He looks back at the two of us, his dark eyes shining. “I’m going to propose. Don’t say anything to anyone, alright?”

  “Congratulations, hermano!” Ramon’s wide grin splits his face.

  “She ain’t accepted yet,” Matt says, shaking his head.

  “Matt,” I say, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, “how many years have you and Ellen been together now? You really think she’ll turn you down?”

  “She in love with you, you know,” Ramon tells him. He leans forward too, his voice quiet under the pumping bass. “So when you asking?”

  Matt grimaces and fiddles with his hem again. “Next month. We play in New York mid-month. Ellen’s always wanted to go to the Empire State Building, so I plan on taking her up and popping the question then.”

  “Ay, romántico!” Ramon rubs his hands together as his grin gets even wider. “And then you get married and have pequeños bebés, and Corey and I get to be uncles.”

  I laugh at the horrified expression on Matt’s face. “Ramon, you’re going to give the poor man a heart attack talking about bebés. Let him get through the proposal first.”

  “Please!” Matt agrees, then laughs along with us.

  “What about you, Corey?” Ramon asks. “Anyone special we should know about?”

  “Yeah, haven’t heard anything from you in a while,” Matt adds.

  I look off into the club and see Emily’s head bobbing through the crowd as she makes her way back to us. Her face is turned to the side, but I can still see the ridiculously huge smile on her face that she sports whenever she’s in Ramon’s presence. It’s a beautiful thing, and something I never wanted until recently.

  Looking back at the guys, I say, “I got nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Matt asks. “What about that hot little neighbor of yours?”

  I scowl and glance back at Emily as she pushes through the crowd. “Nah, I’ve about had it with her. She’s a little too… I don’t know. I’m just done with her.”

  Matt’s staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. “When did this happen?”

  I shrug and look over at Emily again as she walks up the steps to our little booth. Rather than going to Ramon, she steps over to my side and slides into the booth next to me.

  “Corey, honey, you look a bit tense. You okay?”

  I frown and glance down at my hand as the little woman tak
es it in hers. It’s not unusual, really - Emily has never been one to hold back. But it is a bit unexpected. “Fine,” I respond to her, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.

  She leans in a little closer to me. “I just met someone, and I thought you’d like to meet her. She’s a real sweetheart.”

  Emily glances over her shoulder at the woman hovering right below the steps to our booth. She’s a beauty, that’s for sure. Blonde hair, big chest, narrow waist. Her nose is small and narrow, and it reminds me of Michael Jackson before he died. She’s got a dark tan - much too dark for April back home, but here in Mesa it makes more sense. Much darker than Michael, that’s for sure. She’s decked out in a low-cut tank and skintight leather pants, all black and clingy, like someone heated her up and poured every last delicious morsel inside. This is the type of woman I’ve been with dozens of times before. Hot, sexy, and a little on the wild side, judging from the look in her bright blue eyes as she glances up at me. Her dark red lips curl into an award-winning smile, and I can’t help but think how beautiful they would look wrapped around my cock.

  Matt nudges my shoulder and I glance at him, then Ramon. They’re both staring at me, waiting for me to make my move. That’s what they’re used to. That’s what I’m used to. I’ve done this a thousand times. Only this time, it feels so different.

  I throw a wicked grin at my friends and give Emily a quick kiss on the cheek before I slide out of the booth and make my way down the steps. The woman wraps her arm around mine and we make our way out to the dance floor.

  If her dancing is any indication, she’ll be fucking fantastic in bed. She’s got Roman hands and Russian fingers and has my mind off the one thing that’s been weighing me down for over a month. The music is loud enough we don’t have to talk, and after an hour on the floor, I’m panting and in dire need of either a drink or a condom or both. I drag the blonde back to our booth, where Ramon and Emily are at it again and Matt is texting away on his phone. I flag down a waitress on our way and order a bottle of beer for myself and one for the girl.

  The waitress is back in a jiffy, and after a quick gulp from the bottle, we settle down on the white vinyl booth. Those Roman hands get right to it again, and I’m so worked up I don’t even care that my friends are seated right there with us. Those full lips are calling me, and I’m about to lean in and suck one into my mouth when the girl decides to speak.

  “So what’s your name, gorgeous?” She purrs this into my ear as her hands run down my chest and along the top of my jeans.

  “Lucas,” I tell her. “Corey Lucas.” I wait for the recognition, the laugh I would have gotten with a certain someone else, once upon a time.

  “Hello, Corey Lucas,” she says without a laugh. Her tongue flicks out of her mouth and runs along my earlobe and has me ready to pounce in spite of her missing sense of humor. “I’m Ashley.”

  The second she says it, I pull back and stare at her. “Ashley?” I ask, my brow furrowed. She smiles and leans in closer as her hand runs up from my knee to my inner thigh. I put my hand over hers and force a smile I don’t feel. “I gotta hit the head.”

  I can see the startled look on her face as I stand and push past her. I don’t look back as I jump down the steps and head off through the crowd. Matt yells after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t make my way to the restroom, but instead to the door, to the sidewalk outside, to the taxi on the curb, and back to the hotel. I text Matt, asking him to close out my tab, telling him I feel sick and had to go. I push send as the taxi pulls up to the front door and turn my phone off before I reach the lobby.

  Ashley. She had to be a fucking Ashley. Out of all the people, all the names in the entire world, that had to be hers. I slam the door to my hotel room and pound my head against the wall once or twice. Regardless of her name, I still have an aching in my groin that hasn’t left since we got out on the dance floor. But there’s no way I can let an Ashley take care of this for me. I pull my shirt over my head and slip out of my jeans as I crawl into bed. I close my eyes and immediately it’s there - the gorgeous face, the golden-blonde hair swaying around her shoulders, the curves of a goddess. Looks like tonight it’s just me, my dreams, and Rosie Palm.

  Chapter 8

  Frankie

  I sneak in late to one of the box seats reserved for players’ families right after the first pitch. I sit in the back, burying myself under a stack of papers I pull from my tote, as if I can hide behind them. I tell myself I’m here for work. It’s the same thing I told myself for yesterday’s game and the season opener the day before. It’s the same thing I told myself when I tuned in to the games in L.A. and Phoenix last week. It’s not fully a lie. I mean, if I had been paying attention to the players on the team last year instead of traveling with Vivian, I would have known Corey was on the team, and I would have stayed far away from him.

  I glance around the booth after a moment, as I suddenly think to see who all is here. I’m not usually so flustered, but I feel like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to. Like I could get into trouble for sitting in the box seat that, as an upper-level staff member and, more importantly Marco’s niece, I have every right to sit in.

  I recognize a few of the women seated at the tables and blue padded stadium seats inside. They are the wives of some of the veteran players, the ones who have been on the team since I was much younger and came here more to play with Vivian and Vinny and eat all the hot dogs, peanuts, and ice cream we could. We’ve never spoken, really, and I’m glad for it. It’s easier to hide in the back when they don’t insist we talk.

  There’s another woman I recognize, but it takes me a while to place her. She’s average height and has skin the color of chocolate milk. Her long, braided hair is tied back at her nape, and she has an understated beauty about her. I look at the young girl she’s talking to - skin like white milk instead of chocolate, hair nearly pink in the sunlight streaming through the windows. It’s not until I realize the young girl is a young woman that I understand who the other lady is. I’ve seen her picture once. Matt Cromwell pulled it out of his wallet during his interview and told me how he met her back in elementary school. His dog had a bum leg and they brought him to her father’s veterinary practice. Ellen Marshall. That’s it. She’s Matt’s long-time girlfriend, and much more pretty in person than in the faded, crumpled old picture he’d shown me.

  Past Ellen and the pink-haired woman, I can see a small group of people sitting in the outdoor seating. I recognize the young blond man sitting in the front row, his arm around a thin brunette whose back is to me. The man is Vinny. I’d recognize my cousin anywhere - with his narrow shoulders and handsome face, his blond hair swept to the side but somehow always falling in his eyes. He’s the male version of his twin sister, Vivian. Only he’s smaller, fairer, and more fragile, and has been since before he was born. Even in the womb, Vivian was dominating the men in her life, sucking them dry and leaving them to fend for themselves.

  I sit back in my chair and try to pay attention to the game. It isn’t long - perhaps the first time Corey takes the field to bat - before I realize who the brunette on Vinny’s arm is. Jen Lucas, Corey’s little sister. My stomach churns and I flag down one of the waitresses to ask for a ginger ale. I’d prefer something much stronger, but I’m not sure my stomach can handle it.

  Corey gets a strike with the first pitch, but a double with the second. It’s enough to bring home two others on base, and with the next batter he makes it home. The crowd is going wild, even here in the box, and it’s hard not to join in. The atmosphere at the game is electric, and for a while I can forget I don’t feel I belong here. In fact, it’s the seventh inning stretch before I’m even thinking about it at all. The papers I held protectively in my lap when I first got here have made their way back into my tote, and the ginger ale turned into a glass of my favorite beer. I’ve even eaten a hot dog, and the bowl of peanuts I’ve been munching on is nearly empty.

  It’s then, when I have my guard down, that someone slips
into the seat next to me and puts his arm around my shoulder. I’m about to punch him in the face before I realize who it is.

  “Vinny! Shit, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “Hey, cuz. How ya been?” Vinny beams at me, flashing his perfect smile. Before I can answer, though, another runner makes it home and the crowd roars. When we settle back in our seats, Vinny slips his arm around my shoulders again.

  “I’m good, you?”

  “Never better, never better,” he says. He glances over to Jen, still seated in their earlier spot, before turning back to wink at me.

  “I see that,” I say, nodding in her direction. At that moment, Jen turns in her chair and looks through the window, through the box, directly at me. She raises her hand and smiles at me, as if we’ve been friends all our lives. I wave back before I remember I don’t want to be friendly with the girl.

  “Look, I’m not giving you a chance to say no,” Vinny says. “We’re taking you out tonight.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t get a choice, Frankie. A bunch of us are going out, and you’re coming with.”

  “No, I’m not, Vinny.”

  “Frankie…” He stops and looks at me, those blue eyes like a Siberian Husky puppy. “Come on, Frankie. It would mean a lot to me.”

  “No.”

  “Jen wants you there.”

  “No… What?” I ask. I risk a glance at Jen and find her still standing there looking in at me. She doesn’t look much like Corey at all. But, like a teenage girl with her first big crush, I’ve been staring at his picture in the souvenir program for the past two weeks, and I can see a slight resemblance. In the shape of their noses, and the way their eyes squint and shine when they smile. It’s almost unnoticeable, but I can see now what I couldn’t when I first met the girl.

  “She wants you to come. Say yes, Frankie. Make us both happy.”

  “Vinny, she doesn’t know me,” I try to argue.