For a Little While (One Strike Away Book 1)

by Mary J. Williams

  Blue's opinions weren't welcome. She was allowed to speak but only if she kept her responses to certain phrases. Yes, Vance. Whatever you say, Vance. You're a PR god, Vance.

  Okay. That might be a bit of an exaggeration. But not much. After two months, the routine was getting old.

  Blue had racked her brain trying to figure out the best way to get around Vance's prejudice toward her. Was it her gender? Her age? Or the fact that she—or anybody who had her job—reminded him that his time with the Cyclones had a finish line.

  Whatever Vance's problem, he was making it difficult for Blue. Was that the idea? Force her to quit out of frustration. Or give management no option but to fire her because she wasn't pulling her weight.

  A task rendered impossible when she was given so little to do. Vance had her doing what amounted to gopher work.

  Vance hadn't the nerve to ask Blue to get him coffee. Perhaps he had a line he wouldn't cross. Or maybe he was just waiting for the right moment, hoping it would be the proverbial straw. The hell with the camel.

  What Vance didn't know was that Blue didn't break. She refused to live her life as a passive observer. Even worse, a victim of a middle-aged man's vindictiveness.

  Frustrated, Blue listened as Vance droned on. She'd bide her time. For now. If she didn't make a breakthrough, she'd have no recourse but to go over her boss' head.

  Blue knew just the shoes she'd wear. Red patent-leather pumps. The spiked five-inch heels would leave some nice gouges along Vance's rapidly receding hairline.

  "Are you listening?"

  "Of course, Vance. I'm hanging on your every word."

  Vance's eyes narrowed as if trying to decide if Blue's words were serious or sarcastic. When she met his gaze—clear and direct—he snorted, letting the moment pass without comment.

  "I need you to go to New York to be with the players during their Today Show appearance. Keep close tabs. It's morning television. Moms. Grandmas and Grandpas. Little kids. Make certain our guys don't say anything out of line."

  "How am I supposed to do that?"

  "Figure it out. You're supposed to be good at your job. I can't hold your hand from three thousand miles away."

  As Vance opened the bottom drawer of his desk, his head no longer in her line of sight, Blue realized he considered the subject closed. She did not.

  "These are three grown men. Veteran players who between them have been in the league for close to three decades. Do you honestly expect me to treat them like children?"

  "I expect you to do the job I've assigned you. Unless you think you aren't up to it."

  "It isn't a job, Vance," Blue said, proud of herself for holding her temper. "It's busy work."

  "I don't agree." Vance's smirk said otherwise. "Watts, Hernandez, and Peterson will be in New York to attend a MLB charity event. Which means they're representatives of the Cyclones. We don't want them embarrassing the franchise, do we?"

  Blue's smartest move would be to nod and carry out the bogus assignment. But she couldn't help herself. The snarky comment just slipped out.

  "Should I bring along a ruler to slap their knuckles if they get out of line?"

  Vance shut the drawer with a snap, his ruddy complexion mottled with color.

  "Is that supposed to be a joke? Or are you questioning my authority?"

  "A joke. For which I apologize." Blue sighed. She didn't want her work environment to be toxic. "We haven't gotten off to a great start, Vance. Can we try again? A reset—so to speak."

  "Is there a problem? I'm not aware of it."

  Vance's overly dramatic look of surprise would have been comical in any other situation. Blue felt a wave of regret followed by a slow-burning anger. She'd hoped that Vance would treat her as a protégé.

  Because at heart, they shared a love for the game.

  Though their styles differed greatly—old school vs. new—Blue believed they could co-exist. Even thrive. The way baseball thrived while embracing its storied traditions.

  It seemed Vance didn’t agree.

  "Do your job, Miss O'Hara. That's all I ask."

  In other words, forget a friendly working environment.

  Blue couldn't accept she had no other option. For the most part, she liked people. And they liked her. She wasn't ready to give up quite yet. But it felt like Vance might turn out to be the exception.

  With a nod, Blue left the office. It looked like she was on her way back to New York. A lot sooner than expected.

  THERE WERE MANY great things about Seattle.

  The music and food scenes were right up there with any city in the world. Activities to match anybody's interests. Mountains to climb. Waterways to explore. Islands on one side. A rainforest on the other. And so much in between. Despite its reputation, the weather—in the summer—was filled with temperate, sunny days.

  Spencer loved this city. He was born here. Raised here. He grew up a devoted Cyclones fan with the dream of one day wearing their uniform. Signing with the team as a free agent was one of the proudest days of his life.

  Baseball? Played in his hometown? In front of friends and family?

  The reality—Spencer was happy to say—had far exceeded all expectations.

  With all Seattle had to offer, the best part for Spencer had to be the time he found to spend with his family. Since he left for college, that hadn't been possible on a regular basis.

  Now that Spencer was back—for good, he hoped—he could see them as often as he liked.

  The Kraig clan was a tight-knit group. Spencer had a childhood that on the surface, seemed to be ripped from a Norman Rockwell painting. Probe a little deeper, and boom! More Rockwell.

  They were the real deal. Normal through and through—whatever that meant. They had dinner together almost every night. Took long, memorable summer vacations. Holidays and birthdays were celebrated with equal parts love, reverence, and exuberance.

  Still, as much as Spencer had missed them, he knew that the time away had been good for him. Some might say vitally important. He had forged his own life. Established his independence. If he'd stayed in Seattle to play college ball. If the Cyclones had drafted him instead of St. Louis. Spencer wouldn't be the same man.

  Not bad, per se. Just… different.

  Besides giving him a better sense of himself, the time away gifted Spencer with a new appreciation of the people closest to him. After watching and listening to other players, he learned that Dorothy and Byron Kraig weren't the average parents.

  Not once had they pushed Spencer to play baseball. They didn't ride on the coattails of his success, or expect some kind of reward just for giving him life.

  Absolute love and support. Those were the gifts Spencer's parents gave to him. The gifts they gave all four of their children.

  Spencer liked nothing better than when the family got together for one of Dorothy's epic meals. The food was plentiful. Mouthwatering. And most of all, made with love.

  "Stop hogging the potatoes, Rick," Reid complained, jabbing his brother in the ribs.

  "Give me the rolls, I'll give you the potatoes."

  "Deal."

  The routine was tried and true. One Spencer's brothers had played out as long as he could remember. A year separated Rick and Reid. To look at them, he wasn't surprised that they were often mistaken for twins.

  While Spencer and Jordyn had dark hair and green eyes—like their father—the oldest Kraig children had been gifted with sandy blond hair, their irises a light brown. Tall. Lanky. They inherited their looks from their mother's side of the family.

  The brothers worked with their father in the family business. Kraig's Hardware. Started from scratch when he was eighteen, Byron had turned one small store into ten. With the help of his sons, they expanded to cover all of Washington, Idaho, and Oregon. Plans were in the works to go national.

  "Honestly," Dorothy shook her head as Rick and Reid squabbled like children instead of married men with growing f
amilies. "Do I need to separate you two?"

  Spencer snorted at the chastisement, earning him a warning look.

  "Sorry, Mom. Other than the welcome additions of Milly, Evelyn, and the kids, it seems like time stood still while I was gone." Spencer took Dorothy's hand, giving it a warm squeeze. "You and Dad never age. What's your secret?"

  Pleased, Dorothy looked around the table. "This. Your brothers and sister. You. Wonderful daughters-in-law. Grandchildren to dote on. Plus, my volunteer work. It keeps me young."

  "You look more like our sister than our mother."

  "Don't be silly." Dorothy shooed away the idea, but Spencer's words put a flush of color on her cheeks. Patting his hand, she turned to Jordyn. "What were you saying before Rick and Reid's shenanigans interrupted?"

  "I spoke with Blue before I left to come over. That jerk Vance Sutter is giving her a hard time."

  "What did she say exactly?" Byron Kraig asked, frowning. Blue was part of the family. Hearing she might be having problems set off his fatherly instincts.

  "This and that. You know Blue. She won't throw her boss under the bus. But I can tell she's frustrated. It's obvious from his attitude that Sutter is the one who tried to block the Cyclones from hiring her."

  "Blue will find a way to make it work. She has a talent for winning people over," Dorothy said with absolute certainty. "But it might not hurt for you to say something to management."

  "I could do that," Spencer nodded thoughtfully as if seriously considering his mother's suggestion. "If I wanted Blue to rip me a new one."

  "Wouldn't be the first time." Snickering, Rick speared another slice of pot roast from the serving plate. "Seems to me Blue owes you an ass whooping. Or two. Stick your nose in her business, Superstar. When she finds out, give me a call. I want a front row seat for the fireworks."

  "Me too." Reid's grin was a bit too anticipatory for Spencer's liking. "Hell, I'll sell tickets. Might as well make a few bucks off little brother's humiliation."

  "Little brother will gladly whip your ass."

  "You can try."

  Said in good fun, Byron chuckled over their antics. Dorothy sighed, her lips twitching. Having her family all together made her heart light. The sounds of gentle, affectionate bickering were music to her ears.

  Jordyn—used to tuning out the idiocy of her siblings—continued as if they hadn't interrupted. "As we speak, Blue is flying to New York."

  "Why?" Spencer frowned. His first reaction was irrational. He had no business asking. However, he didn't like the idea of Blue leaving Seattle without his knowledge.

  "Tomorrow, three Cyclone players are attending an MLB-sponsored charity event."

  Spencer nodded. Any charity that benefited children was hard for him to pass up. He'd attended this one on several occasions. Though asked, this year he couldn't swing it this time. He had too much on his plate.

  "Blue works for the Cyclones. MLB handles all the PR for this event. Why is she going?"

  "Exactly Blue's question. Vance wants her to, and I quote, 'hold the player's hands and make certain they don't say anything that will reflect poorly on the team.'"

  "That's a load of bogus crap," Spencer muttered.

  "I agree," Jordyn nodded. "So does Blue. However, she wasn't left with a choice. Vance is her boss. He said go. So…"

  "Blue went."

  "There is a silver lining. The three Cyclones are major hotties." Jordyn directed her comment to the women at the table. "Especially Jalen Reardon. I advised Blue to make the most of a bad situation."

  "Do you think Blue would…? You know." Evelyn waggled her eyebrows. Quiet by nature, Rick's wife nonetheless had a wicked sense of humor which could surface at any moment.

  "A one-night stand? Blue?" With a wave of her hand, Dorothy dismissed the idea. "She's on a business trip and will conduct herself accordingly."

  Silently, Spencer agreed with his mother. And cheered her for voicing her opinion. Until Dorothy went and spoiled it by adding a codicil to her original thought.

  "However, I agree with Jordyn. Jalen Reardon is all kinds of yummy."

  "Mom!"

  Rick sounded shocked—and more than a little embarrassed—that his mother would say such a thing. Wisely, Spencer kept his thoughts to himself.

  "Don't be such a stick in the mud, Richard."

  "Dad. Are you hearing this?"

  "Your mother's right. She wants to enjoy a little man candy. So what?" Byron winked at his wife. "She never grouses when I admire Jennifer Lopez's shapely backside. So, who am I to complain?"

  "Blue should go for it," Millie piped in.

  "You think so?" Reid asked his wife.

  "Why not? Though I agree with Dorothy. Blue should wait until they're back in Seattle. Having sex on the team's dime would be tacky."

  "What do you think, Spencer?"

  Meeting his sister's wide-eyed gaze, Spencer thought he'd like to give Jordyn a swift kick in the pants. He knew damned well the game she played. Mention Blue's sex life and see what kind of rise she could get out of him.

  Staring back, Spencer sent a silent message. Nice try, brat. You took your best shot. But no cigar.

  "Consider me Switzerland."

  "There's no such thing as neutrality in this family. Everybody has an opinion—and never fails to express it."

  This time when Spencer looked at Jordyn, his eyes held a warning. Keep pushing at your own peril, little sister.

  Wisely, Jordyn decided to err on the side of caution. She dropped the subject. At least for now.

  Later that evening, his body happy from good food and even better company, Spencer crawled into bed ready—and expecting—a good night's sleep. However, his brain had other ideas. His thoughts flew right, then left. Up, then down. Never settling. A million little things kept his brain from relaxing as if trying to avoid the one thing that really kept him awake.

  All that talk about Blue and New York. Inevitably, it had stirred up memories.

  Giving up, Spencer sighed. Punching his pillow, he lay on his back, focusing on the ceiling before closing his eyes. Slowly, as if savoring the pictures in a forgotten photo album, he allowed his mind to drift to another place. Another time.

  Blue's first visit to New York. Or rather, the events that led up to the trip.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SIX YEARS EARLIER

  "ONE OF MY best friends is having a day after, the day after, New Year's Eve party in New York."

  Blue, snuggled next to Spencer, raised her head just enough to give him a quick kiss on the chin.

  "The fact that you said that with a straight face makes me wonder how much life in the big leagues has warped your sense of what's normal."

  "I admit it's strange. But so is Crack."

  "Crack? As in the sound the bat makes when it meets a baseball?"

  "So smart." Spencer kissed Blue's temple. "Though the how and why of Crack's name isn't the point."

  "Right. Party. To which you were invited." Sitting up, Blue untangled her arms from around Spencer's waist, removing her leg from where it draped over his. "We've been dating exactly…" Blue checked her watch. "Three weeks, two days, thirteen hours, and seven minutes."

  "What about the spare seconds?"

  "Let's not get anal. On the other hand." Blue paused. Her eyes twinkled. As if considering the prospect, she turned her head, right then left. "Nope. Though a young man once asked me to give it a go and tried to make it sound like a transcendental experience, I pass. The appeal eludes me."

  "Who asked?"

  "Out of bounds, bud. We agreed. What we've done. Who we've done. Off limits."

  Blue made the suggestion on their second date, soon after they realized there would be a third. And fourth. And more. Spencer seconded the idea—wholeheartedly.

  Spencer cupped Blue's face. His eyes went to her mouth as his thumb traced her bottom lip. Air, warm and sweet, escaped her mouth. How had they gotten here, he wo
ndered?

  One unexpected, mind-altering, life-changing kiss was all it took. One second Blue was a friend who annoyed him as often as she made him laugh. The next, he couldn't stop thinking about her.

  When Spencer was alone, those thoughts were of a graphic nature that not so long ago, he'd have deemed highly inappropriate.

  When Blue was with him, he had to touch her. He needed her kisses like a plant needs the sun. Her lips warmed him—inside and out.

  Yet—for reasons he couldn't explain—Spencer hadn't made a move to take their relationship to the next level. Blue was a woman. Mature, willing, and fully capable of knowing what she wanted. No question about it. She made it clear that she wanted him.

  Something had to give—and soon.

  Part of Spencer's reluctance—the part he could identify—had to do with the lack of privacy due to their respective living arrangements.

  Though initially surprised, nobody in his family had raised an objection when they found out Spencer and Blue's relationship had turned romantic. Something told him that would change if he asked if Blue could stay the night. With him. In his childhood bedroom.

  Blue had the same problem. Her dorm was closed for the holidays. And though Connie and Clark O'Hara seemed fine with Spencer's new role in their daughter's life, he doubted they'd condone a sleepover.

  Three weeks, two days, thirteen hours, and seven minutes—Blue wasn't the only one keeping track. They'd shared countless kisses. Night after night, they steamed up the windows of a borrowed Chevy sedan. By heart, Spencer knew the shape, feel, delectable taste of Blue's lovely, perfectly shaped breasts.

  "You're a tease, Spencer Kraig," Blue told him last night as he walked her to the door.

  Spencer could see the frustration in her eyes. Hear it in her voice. Since he felt the same, he sympathized.

  "Our first time won't be in the back of a car."

  Blue took Spencer's hand, lacing her fingers with his. She kissed the back of his hand and shrugged. "I had a solution, but you shot me down."

  "The bathroom at the Dairy Queen? How is that possibly better than the back of my brother's old Chevy?"

  "Maybe not better. But it’s private."