League of Her Own

by Faith O'Shea

  “There’s a theater in the basement.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as if he had an ulterior motive.

  “Is there? I haven’t been down there.”

  “Reid had it built after they moved in. One night when I was here last year, we binged on the Fast and Furious series.”

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind him. He flipped on the switch and made his way down the carpeted stairs to find another living space, a hallway and a room off to the side that held cinema-type seats and a professional screen. When Reid did something, he usually went overboard.

  He’d felt some resistance as they entered the darkened space and asked, belatedly, “You do like movies, don’t you?”

  “Not without some candy.”

  “Your favorite?”

  “Twizzlers.”

  “Mine’s Mounds. Let’s investigate, see if they keep a stash.”

  He opened and shut cabinet after cabinet, to no avail. Throwing up his hands, he exclaimed, “How can they not have anything munchable down here?”

  She was examining every inch of the room as if she’d never seen one of these before. Almost absent mindedly, she reminded, “We still have the cheese curls.”

  She was right. He’d also picked up some chips, pretzels along with the cheese and crackers.

  “You go through the movies and find one you like while I scrounge around upstairs.”

  He raced up the stairs, and as he assembled a platter of finger foods they could pick at, he realized he was enjoying this. He’d never been on this side of things, most women falling all over themselves to satisfy him in every way. Instead of wondering what would be presented, he was making those choices and he wanted them to include what he thought Fifi would like. She didn’t seem to have the kind of sweet tooth he did, so it probably wouldn’t matter that there’d be no candy. His sister Leia was a picker. She opted for salty. Where he might eat half a cassava cake, she’d eat a bag of chips. When he had stuffed as much on the platter as he could, he opened the refrigerator, hesitating only a minute before grabbing two beers. One Heineken couldn’t hurt him, could it? He made a promise to himself to switch to water later. He shoved the beers into his pockets and carried everything carefully down the stairs. Hoover was bumping his butt the entire way, in the hopes a morsel would fall into her waiting mouth.

  She was sorely disappointed. Even more so when he told her to go lie down.

  As he proudly set the feast down between two seats, he noticed several movies Fifi had picked out as possible screenings. A couple were science related, one was about dogs being trained as seeing-eye companions, and the last sounded lame.

  “These are your choices?”

  “They’re sitting there, aren’t they? Do you know they have dozens of them?”

  And you picked these?

  He gave her a quizzical look. There were dozens to choose from. He tended to like action or sports related. Even the new Marvel movies would have been preferable. She obviously had no taste in movies.

  “It’s become a family thing. Probably why they have Pick of the Litter. We probably should have discussed what kind of movies we liked before we got down here.”

  Or at least what genres he could do without.

  “I used to like movies. I haven’t been to one in years. This might be fun.”

  He looked down at the cover again and doubted it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Enrique didn’t look impressed with her choice, not that she could blame him. She’d almost chosen something else after reading the description, but these two actors had starred in a film she’d watched as a kid, one she’d enjoyed. They hadn’t been together on screen in almost ten years and it proved too much of a curiosity for her to put it aside.

  As soon as he’d set up the video, he sat down beside her. The screen flashed with the intro credits and she settled in to watch the story unfold. It only took a couple of minutes for her to know she’d made a very bad choice and that the movie was going to be a dismal failure. She munched on a piece of cheese, already bored with the dialogue, a ping-pong game of verbal banter, every line falling flat. She had one word for both the characters: insufferable.

  She turned to look at Enrique’s profile, trying to gauge his expression. His face was scrunched up as if he was being tortured and she almost laughed.

  “We can shut it off.”

  “We might as well give it a chance.”

  When the banter moved in location, it transitioned from bad to worse. There was no point to the endless harangue of their useless lives. Needing more stimulation than the scene provided, and prompted by the title of the movie, she asked, “Would you ever have a destination wedding?”

  He’d been munching crackers, the sound of the crunch carrying over to where she sat. It held more entertainment than what was on the screen.

  “If I am married in Brazil, it will be one for those who live here.”

  She slid to the side of the chair so she could talk face-to-face.

  “That’s true. How many will have to travel?”

  He pulled his leg under him and seemed more comfortable with this dialogue than the endless stream of nothingness that was coming over the speakers.

  “Izabella, Reid, Leeni and Alex. Jaco and Terry. Keith and Sofia, with their kids…”

  “Who’s Keith and Sofia?”

  “Keith’s my agent and attorney. Sofia is his wife. Izabella introduced me when I was offered my first contract. He’s one of Reid’s best friends.”

  He must have thought he’d satisfied her curiosity because he’d stopped there.

  “Okay, go on.”

  “Probably Melinda and Bill.”

  She was surprised when they were added to his list.

  “You know them that well?”

  “They’re at most of the celebrations, holidays, birthdays, so well enough to consider them family. And of course, some of my teammates, past and present.”

  “It sounds like there’ll be lots of people.”

  “More than likely. My family is quite extensive.”

  There was a lull and she put her attention back on the movie, hoping there’d be a bump in activity, excitement, something…

  He’d finished his beer and got up. “I’m going to grab a water. Want one?”

  She nodded. Her beer was empty but more from needing something to occupy her mind than taste. “Pause it if you want before you go.”

  “No…I’m not sure I’ll miss much in the next five minutes.”

  She gave him a weak smile and watched him leave. The plot was one dimensional and the two characters weren’t very stimulating. Neither was their conversation. She should have chosen Wonder Woman, like she wanted to but thought it too female driven. In his absence, she had no alternative but to put her attention back on the screen. The only thing it gave her was another topic of conversation. When he finally got back, glad for the diversion that was him, she asked, “How did your parents meet?”

  He slunk down in his seat, his legs out in front of him, his hands holding on to the bottle. Her chair was raised in recliner fashion.

  “At a function. Papi was the president of a bank in São Paulo and Mama was one of the vice president’s secretary. He was still with Julianna, Izabella’s mother, but left her soon after. They tell me it was love at first sight.”

  That was a fairy tale if ever there was one.

  “Do you believe in that?”

  His full mouth set in a grim line. “I don’t know. I have never felt that kind of…instant connection to a woman. I can’t doubt them, though, because they are still very much in love close to thirty years later.” His brows lifted and he drew back to study her face. After a moment’s pause, he asked, “How about yours? How’d they meet?”

  She frowned thoughtfully. “In college. Math class sophomore year. It wasn’t love at first sight, at least they never talked about it like that. They’re both logical and analytical so affection was at a premium in our h
ouse. I can’t see them madly in love with anything except their work.”

  “That’s kind of sad.”

  She felt wounded by the truth but shrugged it off. “It worked for them. They’ve been married almost as long as yours.”

  The conversation was going strong now that they’d pretty much given up on the movie. It had become background noise, the kind that didn’t annoy.

  “How many times in your life have you been in love?”

  He smiled. “I think I can answer better to how many times I thought I was in love. The first time I was all of five, in love with the little girl down the street who could beat me at foot races during recess. For some reason, I like a challenge. I went to her house every afternoon to play for a couple of months, and then one day when I got there, she was entertaining one of my friends. I was devastated.”

  She returned his laughter and asked, “How long did it take you to get over the heartbreak?”

  He flashed her a sexy, wicked smile. “Maybe three days. Then it was the little girl with the curls who caught my eye.”

  She chuckled mockingly. “Did you call her Fifi?”

  “Of course not. It would have hurt her feelings.”

  “You had them then. When you were five. Feelings.”

  “You have pierced me to the core.”

  She doubted that given the smirk on his face. Wanting to wipe it off, she said, “Maybe I’ll start calling you Bailey. It’s the number one dog’s name for males, you know.”

  He looked affronted. “Do I look like a Bailey?”

  She had to laugh. He certainly didn’t. Bailey would be a gentle golden retriever, funny and playful. That wasn’t Enrique. He smoldered. “I guess not.”

  She didn’t dare ask him if she looked like a Fifi. She was afraid of his answer.

  He’d taken a sip of his water before asking, “How about you? Any tales of romance?”

  “Same age, or thereabouts. There were three boys who lived down the street who I used to catch frogs with some afternoons. I swooned on sight.”

  His eyes widened. “For all three?”

  She shook her head. “For the frogs.”

  “Did you kiss one?”

  “Ugh. No prince is worth that.”

  Before she knew what he was doing, he leaned over and placed a quick kiss on her lips. His clean, spicy scent invaded her nostrils and it would have weakened her knees if she’d been standing.

  “Someday you might find one that is.”

  His voice had gone low, and it vibrated through her.

  Not wanting him to know how the feather-like kiss affected her, she forced a laugh and said,

  “I think I’ll stick to frogs.”

  They were safer than this kind of man. He was way out of her league in every way. If she gave in to the attraction, she’d be left with not only a broken heart or bruised ego, but another reason to stay away from romance.

  His expression shifted slightly. His eyes had narrowed, his lips slightly open as if he was ready to say something of great import. She waited patiently but he added nothing.

  “What?”

  He shook his hair off his face and leaned his head against the back of the chair, refocusing his attention on the movie.

  He hadn’t expected the jolt from her lips. It was like an electric spark had gone off as soon as he touched her. He was going for playful, to counter what she’d said about frogs and princes, but it had shaken him to the core. Amusement evaporated as soon as she said she’d stick with the amphibious. She’d obviously not felt the same mule-kick to the gut.

  He didn’t understand it. She was not his type in any way. Not in looks, not in temperament, not in the social graces. She liked being alone; he loved to party, she was a small-town girl; he was cosmopolitan, she didn’t know the rules to his game; he was addicted to it.

  He glanced over, still trying to decipher the explosiveness that had resulted from such light pressure. What would it feel like to go full tongue? The obsessive need to find out had him squirming in his chair.

  He tried to discipline his mind and body, push thoughts of Fifi away. His brain was not cooperating even as he forced himself to listen to the inane dialogue of the movie still playing. He sat up when one of the characters said that love had nothing to do with like. Was that true? How could you love someone if you didn’t like them? He liked scores of women but felt no particular passion for them and yet the ones he chose to bed, he usually didn’t like at all. Was it possible to have both? Was that what he’d be looking for in a wife?

  He seemed unsure of his mission now. Having grown up in a family where love was a constant, where everyone got along, he knew he couldn’t settle for less.

  “Rique? Are you okay?”

  He flashed his eyes at her and there was a look of concern.

  “Why do you ask that? I’m fine.”

  “You can’t seem to sit still, and you’ve gone pale.”

  He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her lips or tamp down the need to feel them again.

  “Do your parents like each other?”

  She glanced at the screen, then back at him. Did she know why he was asking?

  “I guess so. In some weird way. My mother is a serious scientist, puts most of her energies into her work, and she might be a tad too intense for a lot of people, but my father’s her equal, with the unqualified ability to make her laugh. I think that’s what’s kept them together all these years.”

  “If your mother could be with anyone, who would she choose?”

  “Are you asking if she’d pick my father? I’m not sure. I know she’d like to meet Charles Darwin, Leonardo da Vinci and Florence Bascom but seeing that they’re all dead, and she’s met most of the world-renowned, living geologists, maybe she would.”

  “My father would choose my mother every time. Is that a rare thing?”

  “It might be rare, but I think it would be valuable in a marriage. Are you beginning to realize finding that wife of yours will involve more than you thought?”

  He was. He hadn’t thought along these lines before, even though Izabella had told him as much when he’d broached the subject with her. What he’d counted on were the number of women who’d been attracted to him, the number of women he’d wanted. But he had to look at it in a different context now. Could he want someone for more than a night? For a lifetime? Could he base a marriage purely on lust?

  He blurted out, “I would need to like her.”

  Otherwise he wouldn’t want to go home. Not until bedtime. Those hours in between could only spell trouble.

  She issued a deep, slightly aggravated sigh. “Are you saying that’s more important than love?”

  He let loose a breath that was half frustration at the thought, and half disbelief that it might be true. “Perhaps it is.”

  He was going to have to reorganize his list. It would have to include some of those women he liked. If there was no passion, he’d just learn to live without it. His heart ached at the thought. Was he willing to make such a sacrifice?

  “Why don’t you just wait to find the right combination?”

  He felt the intimate probe of her eyes. the dove gray muted but direct.

  With as much determination as he could muster, he said, “It is time for me to settle down.”

  She took a sip of her water and said off handedly, with just a hint of sarcasm, “I didn’t realize men had the same ticking biological clock as women.”

  Irritation flared. She was making fun of him. “We don’t. Not for children. I need a wife so I can stop my wild ways.”

  When she placed her hand on his arm, he felt an unexpected tingle.

  “Rique, you don’t need a wife for that, you need discipline.”

  “A wife will provide the incentive for it.”

  “If you can’t fund that on your own, you’ll always be dependent on someone else.”

  She stood, picked up the empty platter and turned to go. “This movie sucks, and I’m tired. I’ll see
you in the morning.”

  He listened to her footsteps receding and then slouched back.

  She was right. On two fronts. The movie had sucked. And he needed to control his own impulses. If he didn’t achieve his goals, it wouldn’t be because of some unknown person he thought essential to his life, it would be because of some flaw in him. Something he didn’t want to admit, but… What did Fifi say? If the shoe fit…

  He’d have the next two weeks to work on his discipline. That would be his focus, to attend to the tasks at hand, a hundred percent. He’d confine himself to that one thought. He was the master of his mind, wasn’t he? He’d get rid of all distractions, put all his energies into practice, wouldn’t allow himself those few seconds of idleness that took him off his game. No drinking, no women, eight hours of sleep, good food. He had the talent to be great, but so did a lot of other players. It’s how they got to the big leagues. He needed a mental toolbox, with a different variety of attitudes than he’d been packing. Laziness was out. So was wishing he’d do well here. Action was in along with concentration and a dedication to detail.

  Marriage wasn’t being ruled out even though he was prepared to attend to his baseball career, with single-minded focus. He hadn’t told Fifi the whole truth about settling down. He wanted that not only to help him become a better player, but also for himself. He’d seen what love could offer, first through his mother and father, the way their faces would light up as soon as they saw each other. He’d seen what love had done for Izabella and Reid, and what it had given his sister Leia, who’d just gotten engaged. Being in love had changed them. No longer facing the world alone, they were two people working as one, with common goals and dreams. He envied their silent communication, the shared looks, the simple touch that brought a smile to their faces. They had found the person who made them feel special, who was interesting and exciting, who moved the right way, spoke in the most perfect voice, and who physically pleasured them. He was tired of meeting new women, weary of their expectations and assumptions of who he was, disillusioned by his own. He was looking for meaningful, wanted to explore the depths of a potential partner, and wouldn’t settle for less than an authentic relationship. Desperate for the headiness of being in love, he hadn’t taken some important things into account. The woman, for example. His list would have to go. He knew everyone on it, and he could find fault with every one of them. He’d been fooling himself thinking there was one of them he could share his life with. He’d gone out with enough beauties to fill a stadium. He’d been drawn by the externals, turned on by the way they looked. Had he ignored all the rest? The ones who didn’t fit his version of attractive? Did she really need to have long, dark hair? Be a classic beauty? Like the social scene and be better at useless chatter than a homebody who had intellectual depth? He was creating a new image of who might suit, but she was so outside his comfort zone he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find her in just one day. Or one trip home.