For a Little While (One Strike Away Book 1)

by Mary J. Williams

  Unfortunately, Blue's itinerary didn't leave time for a snack in the green room. An entire meal where she could sit down and get to know a few of the players she'd be working with during the next baseball season was out of the question.

  The second the Cyclones' segment of The Today Show ended, Blue rushed to the hotel, grabbed her bag, checked out, barely making her flight back to Seattle.

  Blue only had herself to blame. Vance Sutter wanted her to cry uncle. She was determined to stoically take whatever the jackass had to hand out. When she saw the ridiculously tight schedule he had her on, she should have protested. Instead, she took it as a challenge. She'd make every flight, do her job, and be in the office, at her desk, bright and early tomorrow morning.

  Two years of this? Even if Blue lucked out and made every flight—given the vagaries of modern travel, such unprecedented punctuality wasn't likely—there would come the point when her body and mind gave out. No matter how tough she was physically and mentally, she was only human.

  Blue won—she could call her trip a victory. She'd beaten Vance and his evil plan. This time. However, as she sat in the back of the taxi, a wrinkled, wilted mess, she questioned her strategy.

  Should she stick out her current situation? Or would it be smarter to go over Vance's head and voice her concerns now before things got further out of hand?

  Blue needed another perspective. One she trusted. So, instead of heading to her downtown condominium, she gave the taxi driver Jordyn's Queen Anne Hill address.

  "Today sure was mild for mid-January," the driver chirped.

  Unlike Blue, it seemed Josiah Ronald had gotten a good night's sleep. She blinked her bloodshot eyes. The driver picked her up at the airport well after the sun was down. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why he felt it necessary to rub her nose in the fact that she hadn't been here for the nice January day.

  "Sorry I missed it," Blue mumbled.

  "Got to take these moments when they come. Stop and smell the roses. Life's too short."

  The driver's statement—no matter how annoying and cliché riddled—was prophetic. Blue was only a few months into her dream job. She wouldn't say it had turned into a nightmare. But the excitement had dimmed.

  Life was too short. Spending a good portion of it frustrated—bordering on miserable—didn't make any sense. Blue was young. Educated. She had a stellar resume. Finding another job wouldn't be a problem.

  Except another job wouldn't be the job. Blue understood that quitting so soon wasn't an option. She needed a way to turn going to the office back into an enjoyable experience.

  The taxi pulled to a stop outside a charming late nineteenth-century brownstone. Newly renovated, it retained the charm of a time gone by, yet sparkled with a modern coat of love and care.

  The building emphasized the difference in Blue's and Jordyn's tastes. Best friends through and through, they nonetheless had opposite ideas of what made a home.

  Blue craved modern comforts. The view of the city out of her large, floor-to-ceiling windows. Granite countertops. Stainless steel appliances.

  She loved having a concierge in the lobby of her building. The underground parking garage. The fact that one phone call and somebody picked up her dry cleaning, seemingly returning it magically to her closet—no fuss, no muss.

  Modern living at its best.

  Technically, the condominium didn't belong to Blue. When a friend of her mother decided to move to California to be closer to her son and new granddaughter, she'd generously agreed to let Blue move in. She paid rent, the monthly condo fees, electricity, water, etc.

  If at some future date Blue decided she wanted to make the condo her permanent home, the rent paid to that point would be deducted from the purchase price.

  With all her expenses, Blue still shelled out less than she would for an apartment in the same area. A bonus was the fact that because of the downtown location, Cyclone Stadium was only a few blocks away. During the season, she could walk to all home games.

  A sweet deal under any circumstances.

  Jordyn was more about old-world charm than convenience. Not that she lived in the Stone Age. Indoor plumbing was a must. And she couldn't survive without a dishwasher and ice from the little nook in her refrigerator.

  However, Jordyn preferred the feel of the historic Queen Ann Hill to the hustle and bustle of a more modern downtown location. She wanted to know her neighbors. Take a walk in the nearby park. Shop for her food at the little corner store located across the street.

  The differences in Blue and Jordyn's tastes were proof that two people didn't have to agree on everything to get along. They were truly kindred spirits when it came to things that mattered. Loyalty. A sense of fair play. Honesty, whenever possible. Core values instilled in them by their parents.

  Friendship, like any relationship worth having, took work. Blue and Jordyn argued. They hit the occasional bump. But one fact remained constant—irrefutable since the day they met.

  Blue and Jordyn were sisters in every way but blood.

  As she picked up her bag, Blue looked at the steps that led to the front door and sighed. She must be tired. Normally, she zipped up the brick and mortar without a second thought. Today, they looked like a mountain.

  "Need a hand?"

  Startled, Blue dropped her suitcase, letting out a yelp that to her ears had all the force of an undernourished kitten. She knew that voice. With a sigh, she turned her head.

  Spencer. Naturally, when she was at her worst, he looked like an advertisement for a health spa. She could have posed for the before pictures. Spencer, the after.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I could ask the same of you." Spencer picked up the sturdy carryon—the one Blue had owned since college—giving it the once over. Recognition sparked in his eyes, but he didn't comment. "Why are you back so soon? And why do you look like you were pulled behind the plane by a long rope? I know the economy sucks, but come on. The Cyclones can afford a seat inside."

  "You'll have to forgive me if I don't laugh. I left my sense of humor at the Phoenix airport."

  "You flew out of New York to Phoenix?"

  "Via Chicago." Blue started up the steps. If Spencer wanted to follow, let him. She was too tired to worry about it.

  "What the hell, Blue." Spencer easily reached the top ahead of her. Punching in the security code, he waited, holding open the door. "When did you leave New York?"

  "Around noon."

  Spencer did the math. "It took you nine hours? How did you come? By covered wagon?"

  "You should write these down, Spencer. If the baseball thing doesn't work out, you can take your comedy routine on the road."

  Closing the door behind them, Spencer set down the suitcase.

  When Blue swayed a little to the right, he took her arm, leading her to the living room sofa.

  "You look like hell. Sit down before you fall on your face."

  "There's that charm I remember so well." Blue was exhausted, but she could still spew some sarcasm when the situation dictated it.

  Gently, Spencer pushed her onto the sofa.

  "I'll make you a cup of tea."

  "I'd rather have a shot of that excellent Irish whiskey Jordyn keeps for special occasions."

  "Any kind of alcohol, excellent or not, will knock you out like a light. Tea. The herbal crap Jordyn is always pushing."

  Blue dropped her head onto the back cushion. Now that she was settled in a familiar, comfortable spot, her depleted reserves faded fast.

  "I'll take a cup of green tea. I've had enough crap on every level the last few days to last me for some time." She yawned. "Where's Jordyn? And why are you here?"

  "Unexpected business trip. There's some woman in the wilds of Whidbey Island who has a cream Jordyn has to get the rights to. As for me? I'm here strictly as forced labor. Seems there's a mirror that needs hanging."

  "Right. And it's lotion, not cream," Blue
corrected.

  "What the hell is the difference?"

  "Quite a bit, according to Jordyn. I think she mentioned the woman lives on Bainbridge Island."

  "For the sake of her business, I hope my sister reels in her latest concoction. Otherwise, lotion, cream, or whichever damned island, I don't really give a flying leap." Spencer handed Blue a steaming mug, careful that she had a firm grip on the handle before letting go. "You can call her if it's important."

  "I needed to vent. That's always best done in person."

  As Spencer joined her, Blue's eyes narrowed when she noted the glass in his hand contained a splash of that very fine whiskey.

  "Vent away," he said from his side of the sofa.

  "Thanks just the same, I'll wait for Jordyn."

  "You used to tell me your troubles."

  Blue froze, the cup halfway to her lips. She used to tell Spencer everything. She thought he did the same. Turned out she was mistaken. The lesson had been hard learned. One she wasn't about to forget.

  Taking a sip of tea, Blue shook her head.

  "I should go."

  Spencer looked as if he wanted to say something. Whatever changed his mind, Blue was grateful. She wasn't up to a sparring match.

  "Let me drive you home."

  "Would it do me any good to argue?"

  "Waste of energy. Something you're low on at the moment."

  The as the crow flies trip wasn't a long one. But the traffic that time of night added a good thirty minutes. Spencer was a skilled driver. Buckled into his low-riding Porsche, Blue closed her eyes and relaxed. Trust was still an issue between them, but not when it came to him behind the wheel.

  "I'll be leaving for Arizona in few days."

  "Mm. Spring Training. I'm well aware."

  There were several team-sponsored events in which the players took part—on the few and far between off days. Come March, Blue would collect her frequent flyer miles to and from Arizona, making certain the PR side of the activities ran smoothly.

  "Could we have dinner one night before I leave?"

  Blue's eyes popped open.

  "Why?"

  "There are still a few things we need to talk about. Things I need to say." Spencer stopped outside Blue's building.

  "I don't agree." Blue unbuckled her seatbelt. "Not that long ago, I couldn't imagine sitting in a car with you. We've made a lot of progress in a short amount of time."

  "You deserve an apology."

  "Do I?" Blue asked, curious to hear what Spencer had to say.

  "The way I ended things. I…" he sighed. "I broke your heart."

  What could Blue say? When he was right, he was right.

  "Leaving you wasn't a decision I took lightly."

  Blue waited, expecting—needing more. It didn't come.

  "I was hurt. There were a few days when I didn't want to get out of bed." More like a month. "My heart broke. But not for the reason you think."

  Before Spencer could respond, Blue jumped from the car. Adrenaline carried her into the lobby, across the marble floors, and into the elevator. She punched the button harder than necessary.

  Damn, him, Blue cursed. With relish. Since she had the elevator to herself, she let loose a stream of words that would have impressed the most dedicated potty mouth.

  Then Blue remembered her suitcase was still in Spencer's trunk. With a frustrated growl, she began a fresh tirade.

  Blue was running on fumes. Sleep was out of the question until she calmed down. So, with a glass of her favorite Chablis sitting on the counter, she shed her jacket, the thought of a shower already loosening the bunched muscles in her shoulders.

  Unfastening the button at her waist, Blue started to shimmy the pants over her hips just as the intercom to the lobby buzzed. She considered ignoring it but quickly dropped the idea—no matter how tempting.

  With a sigh, Blue walked across the room, hitching up her pants as she went.

  "Yes?" Blue asked.

  "There's a Mr. Spencer Kraig here to see you, Ms. O'Hara."

  Oh, for the love of God. Blue leaned against the wall, her eyes closing. The venting of her spleen had taken a lot out of her. The last thing she wanted was to go another round with Spencer.

  "Tell him to go away, Rhonda."

  "Give me the phone." Spencer's voice carried to Blue.

  "He wants to speak with you."

  Acting as an intermediary was part of the concierge's job description. However, Blue understood very well how stubborn Spencer could be when he wanted something. Rhonda was no match for his charm and determination.

  "Put him on."

  "Blue—"

  "Go home, Spencer. Whatever you have to say can wait until morning. Make an appointment with my assistant. Or better yet, do me a favor. Keep it to yourself."

  "I don't want to meet at your office."

  "Too bad," Blue interjected. Great. Now on top of everything else, her head had started to pound.

  "You should've stayed in the car so we could finish our conversation."

  Blue sighed. She recognized Spencer's I'm not budging until I get my way tone. Too bad. He could rot in the lobby for the rest of the night for all she cared.

  "Imagine the headline," Spencer continued as if he could read her mind. "Cyclones player arrested for disturbing the peace. How well do you think it will sit with management when they find out I picked up in the lobby of your building?"

  Blue felt her stomach clench. Spencer hit her most vulnerable spot. Well, she wasn't giving in that easily. He might know how to get to her. But he seemed to forget. Unless something big had changed in four years, she knew his most vulnerable spots as well.

  "Fine. Get yourself arrested. What will your mother say?"

  Spencer paused, making Blue smile.

  "Low blow, Bluebell."

  "Right back at you, Jackass."

  "I'm sorry I threatened you. We both know I never would've followed through. Please let me come up."

  Suddenly, Blue wanted to cry. The culmination of a crappy, tension-filled business trip, little sleep, little to eat, and now, the soothing sound of Spencer's voice. He wasn't trying to manipulate or charm.

  Utterly Sincere Spencer. He couldn't fake it. He never tried. And it got her every time. Letting out a slow, pent-up breath, Blue's head fell back. She couldn't believe she was about to cave.

  "Under one condition."

  "Name it."

  "Grab a couple of sub sandwiches from the place down the block."

  "Gerry's? Italian special, right?"

  "Right."

  "I'll see you in few, Blue."

  As she headed to the bathroom, determined to take her shower before Spencer arrived, Blue knew she shouldn't have been surprised. Gerry's had the best subs in the city. Naturally, Spencer would know the place. And of course, he knew which was her favorite.

  Rather than taking her time as she originally planned, Blue downed a couple of aspirin before jumping under the hot spray of water. Raising her face, she braced her hands against the granite wall. If possible, her entire body let out a heartfelt hallelujah.

  Five minutes later, Blue felt almost human again. She gave her body a quick covering of lotion. Fashioned her damp hair into a quick top knot. Slipping on a loose pair of linen drawstring pants and long-sleeved Seattle Knights' t-shirt, she'd just added some thick, bright yellow socks when the doorbell rang.

  Blue looked at the clock, surprised at Spencer's speed.

  This time of day, Gerry's was usually packed, the line sometimes stretching out the door even when cold and rainy. Though the service was speedy, fifteen minutes on a mild night was impressive.

  Then again, this was Spencer Kraig, not the average guy off the street. Must be nice to be one of the best known and most popular athletes in the country. All he had to do was snap his fingers—or flash that famous smile—and lines of people literally parted in awe of his greatness.

 
; In the face of that kind of constant adoration, a vast majority of the population would be impossible to be around. Spencer had a nice, fat healthy ego. But it had never bloated to the point where it turned insufferable.

  At the slightest hint of such a thing, Spencer's family happily knocked him back down a peg or two.

  "You smell good." Spencer's idea of greeting, he breathed deeply as he entered through the door. "Better than these sandwiches. And that's saying something."

  Despite herself, Blue's lips twitched. Classic Spencer. He could throw out a compliment with utter ease, never sounding forced or too provocative. He had the gift. One he honed to perfection.

  "The plates are in the cupboard next to the refrigerator. The glasses are—"

  "I've got this, Blue. Sit. Relax. Do you want to eat at the dining table or in the living room?"

  "Living room."

  The simple acts of taking a shower and donning freshly laundered clothing had given Blue her second wind. Or was it her third? Maybe fourth? Either way, she no longer felt as if a strategically placed feather would knock her flat on her back.

  A marathon was out of the question. However, if Spencer played nice, she could handle him.

  As she made herself comfortable on the sandy gray sofa, Blue listened to Spencer's hummed rendition of Uptown Funk. He moved to the beat in his head, plating their sandwiches, setting them on a serving tray he rooted out from one of the cupboards. He added, napkins, her glass of wine was still sitting on the counter, and another he poured for himself.

  Blue waited until Spencer joined her, taking the seat next to her.

  "I don't have the energy—or patience—for a fight, Spencer."

  Frowning, Spencer handed Blue her wine. He met her gaze, the green of his eyes a bright emerald. For an instant, she thought he would reach for her. Wisely—remembering he needed that hand to field baseballs—he reconsidered the impulse.

  "We don't fight, Blue. At least we never did. We discuss—heatedly. We argue. We talk things through. But fight? Never."

  When Blue didn't respond, Spencer's frown deepened.

  "I'm right. Aren't I?"

  Once—it seemed like forever ago—Blue would have agreed with Spencer. They talked about everything. On the phone. In person. Before sex. During. After.