Out of His League

by Cathryn Parry

  She didn’t care. She loved it, in fact.

  She slid her hands beneath his shirt and over his chest. She loved that she was getting to know him more and more, inside and out. She could see now that it bothered him to have people fail to appreciate him, just as she desired so desperately to keep her self-reliance.

  “I see you,” she whispered. She ran her fingers over the sprinkling of chest hair over his pecs, over his heart. This man was constantly getting in trouble because it was his natural bent to look at the people around him, to observe what they needed, and to do what he could to help everybody out. It was what Jon did; it kept his demons at bay. And she would no more change that about him than she could change her own studious nature.

  It calmed her to see this.

  “Let me help you,” she said. “I’ll drive to your apartment and pick up some clothes. You can stay here with us as long as you like.”

  “You want me to stay?” he asked in that low, mystical voice.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WITH A LOW MOAN, Jon lowered his mouth to Elizabeth and kissed her, slow and deep, as if he never wanted the kiss to end...or her to leave. She felt his hunger and his desire, his hand that cradled her head and his tongue that swept inside her mouth, mingling with hers. She felt dizzy, standing on tiptoe to press closer to him. Her body melted against his, the full length of her torso to his. He felt so nice. She dragged her hand through his shorn hair. Over his strong, capable, bulky shoulders and around his neck.

  He sighed, breaking the kiss, leaning his forehead to hers.

  “Auntie?”

  Elizabeth jumped. She’d forgotten about Brandon.

  Jon gave her an amused, secret wink with those remarkable blue eyes. He squeezed her hand and then stepped around her to her nephew. “I’m staying for dinner tonight, buddy. It looks like we’re having...uh...” He checked the counter by the stove where she’d been interrupted preparing their dinner. “Hot dogs with gluten-free buns.” He made a grimace.

  “Are the Captains going to kick you off the team?” Brandon asked.

  “Brandon!” Elizabeth said. “That’s not a nice question.”

  “It’s okay, Lizzy,” Jon said, kneeling to face her nephew. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I told you, I’ll fix this.”

  “How?” Brandon asked, echoing her concern. “You’re not a free agent yet. And you’re not a 10-5 man yet, so you can’t veto a trade.”

  “What is he talking about?” Elizabeth asked Jon. “What’s a 10-5 man?”

  “It’s inside baseball talk,” Jon answered. “Like knowing how hot dogs are made. You’re better off not knowing.”

  “I like knowing how things are made,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “Yeah, Lizzy, you would.”

  “I’ll explain it, Auntie,” Brandon said, picking up his baseball from the table and tossing it into the air. “It means that Jon isn’t under contract, so the Captains don’t have to keep him on the roster for next year if they don’t want to, because he hasn’t been with the team for seven years. But, if Jon had ten years in the major leagues, and five years with the Captains, then he would be a 10-5 man, and that means he’d be under contract and could veto a trade to another team.” He tilted his head to Elizabeth. “Did you get all that?”

  Not really. “More or less,” she said.

  But when Brandon’s back was turned, Elizabeth whispered to Jon, “How are you going to get the Captains to keep you?”

  “Do you want to help me?” Jon said. “Because there’s that Sunshine Club fund-raiser event at the hospital coming up. Vivian Sharpe will be there. You could go with me as my date.”

  Go out in public with Jon like that? “I...don’t think I can do that.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Jon laughed, teasing her. He spoke close to her ear. “Then come to me tonight when Brandon is asleep. We’ll lock the bathroom and take a shower together.”

  She gasped at him. “Jon!”

  “What? Your door has a lock, doesn’t it? We’ll be quiet.”

  She felt breathless. Daring. Alive.

  After dinner, she climbed into her Prius and drove the fifteen minutes into Boston to Jon’s apartment tower. Once inside his lobby, she kept her head low and headed for the elevator. When she got to Jon’s penthouse, she took the key he’d given her and let herself in.

  She turned on the light, and immediately pressed her hand to her chest. His home was truly gorgeous. Huge and airy. In the dark of the night, she could see all the lights of Boston beyond his balcony windows. It was a beautiful place, for a beautiful guy.

  But she had work to do. Jon had given her a list of things to gather and an empty duffel bag. She went into his bathroom first. There was so much intimacy in this simple errand. She snapped on the light and marveled at the walk-in shower, the big Jacuzzi tub and the clean, open space. From his list, he wanted her to gather his toothbrush and his own soap and shampoo.

  “No offense, Lizzy,” he’d said, “but if I smell like a flower in the locker room, I’ll never hear the end of it.” She used products with essential oils of frangipani flowers, her current favorite. Jon had insisted he liked it on her, but she could see where it would be too much for a man.

  She found a travel case sitting open on the counter. Jon said he traveled so often that he still hadn’t unpacked all his things. She zipped the travel case closed and placed it in the duffel bag she carried. Then she went into Jon’s bedroom.

  Everywhere, it smelled like him. Feeling light-headed, she sat on his bed. King-size, with a thick comforter and firm pillows, as if he liked spending time sleeping comfortably. The sad thing was, she could picture herself sleeping here peacefully, too. She picked up his pillow and inhaled deeply, feeling contented with the desire that just couldn’t seem to be extinguished, no matter how many times she saw him.

  She carefully placed the pillow back on the bed. Of course, the arrangement between her and Jon was still just for the short term, wasn’t it? When Jon had his contract signed and Brandon was returned to his mother, weren’t they going back to their own separate lives again?

  Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she wanted that anymore. She wasn’t sure what she wanted.

  Feeling unsettled, she turned to leave. On the bureau at the end of the bedroom, near the windows, was a framed photo. This was the only photo or piece of artwork she’d seen in Jon’s apartment, and it was of his family, grouped in a studio shot. His father, about Jon’s age now, looked proud and happy. Very faintly, Elizabeth could see Jon in him—in the color of his hair and the shape of his eyes and chin. A woman sat in the photo—Jon’s mom—and Elizabeth could see that Jon was definitely her son, too. She had the same easy smile, intelligent eyes and lines around her mouth.

  Elizabeth felt sad all of a sudden. She came across people with sick family members all the time in the course of her job. Sometimes the stories didn’t have happy endings but, always, Elizabeth had felt a layer removed from it. She’d had her barrier, her distance.

  And she was losing that with Jon.

  She tilted the photograph and studied the young Jon, and felt her heart cracking open. That was the only way to describe it. In the course of knowing him, he was opening her up. She wasn’t sure she liked that.

  She set the photo back on the bureau. Took note of the other two small boys. One, an infant, was posed on his mother’s lap. The middle boy, closer in age to Jon, stood with his hand gripped on his older brother’s elbow.

  This told her everything she needed to know. Jon was the glue in his family. His family needed him, and he needed them to need him.

  She would never need him. Because she didn’t need anybody. She was...an island of competence.

  Jerking open the drawer in front of her, she found T-shirts and a few pairs of jeans, professionally folded, as if he used a service. She grabbed one of each. Just one, because Jon was staying at her
place for only one night. That’s what he’d specified.

  A single item remained on his list. Underwear. He’d teased her about it—“I know you’ll get your jollies going through my underwear drawer, Liz”—but after spending two weeks doing laundry for a little boy—a messy little boy—the novelty of handling male undergarments was lost. She’d never grown up in a house with a male, after all, but now it was getting to be old habit.

  Still, her fingers lingered in the drawer. Soft underwear. Gray. The pair had fit Jon so well. She remembered him, standing in her apartment. How his erection had looked in them. The way he’d peeled them off.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. And her phone rang, causing her to jump.

  She dug it out of her purse. “What is it, Jon?”

  “Just checking that you got there okay.”

  “I’m perfectly capable.”

  “Yup. You’re also the type who won’t ask directions if she’s lost.”

  She sighed. “I am not lost. Actually, I have my hands in your underwear drawer at the moment.”

  He laughed. “Exactly what I’m dealing with here. Brandon was, uh, dancing around with your bra on his head until I rescued it. Word to the wise, Lizzy—don’t leave unmentionables to dry where there are eight-year-old boys roaming around.”

  “That’s great,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Is that what you doctors wear under your scrubs? Black lace bra and panties? Because I’ve always wondered.”

  “Is there anything else you need?” She shut his bureau drawer with her hip. “I’m on my way out.”

  “Yeah. Could you grab an energy drink from the fridge? And bring the loaf of bread. I know you think it tastes the same, but this gluten-free stuff just doesn’t do it for me. Something I’m not willing to compromise on.”

  So he’d compromised on big stuff, but the little stuff tripped him up. “Got it. I’ll be back in half an hour.” She hesitated. “Wait...”

  This “being domesticated” with another human—especially a guy—was a new experience for her. This was not the vision she’d ever had of herself. Sure, she had hoped for it someday—had sometimes enviously watched normal families on the street, but had assumed that she didn’t have what it took to be part of that world.

  This, though, she could handle. Jon let her be herself. He was always present—not absent, like her father—but not suffocating her, either.

  It was nice, actually.

  “Um, is Brandon okay?” she asked him.

  “Yeah. My plan is to wear him out now so he’ll sleep for us. Do you have any pharmaceutical-grade sleeping potions in that doctor bag of yours?”

  She shivered. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  Hanging up the phone, she went to his refrigerator. A nicer refrigerator than hers, and stocked. The sink was clean, too. She glanced back in the refrigerator, dipped her head and saw that the bottom shelf was lined with energy drinks. And beer.

  She paused. No, no, no. She would never have beer in her house. It was just too dangerous.

  Quickly, she grabbed two cans of the popular energy drink, and then took the loaf of bread from the center shelf.

  Before she left, she glanced around his apartment one last time. She had to admit, for a guy who traveled a lot, the place was surprisingly homey.

  She was heading toward the door when it opened. She froze, her heart in her throat. A man with his back to her was busy pulling his key from the lock. Not a big set of keys, like a maintenance man with a passkey, but someone Jon knew, whom he’d given his key to.

  The man turned, and when he saw her, he jumped. “Whoa! You scared the shit out of me!”

  Elizabeth gripped the duffel bag and squinted at him. “Francis? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, I’m Frank,” he said in that low voice so like Jon’s. “Jon’s brother.”

  “I met you,” she said calmly. “The other day. Right here.” She pointed to the couch.

  He nodded slowly. “You were wearing that red dress.”

  “Yes, I’m Elizabeth.”

  Frank’s gaze narrowed. “Jon doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.”

  “Nor do I have time for a boyfriend,” she said hurriedly. “Don’t get the wrong impression. I’m just here picking up a few things for him.” She lifted the duffel bag, but he didn’t seem impressed. “Are the news vans still outside?”

  “No.” Frank shoved his keys into his front pocket. “But I don’t like it. It’s a bad time to be dealing with press. We don’t have a contract for next season.”

  “We?”

  Frank narrowed his gaze at her again. “Jon. You know what I mean.”

  No, she wasn’t sure that she did. “Shouldn’t Jon be the one to worry about that?”

  “You don’t understand how we are,” he said defensively.

  “I think I do understand,” she said softly. “I also think you must have things in your own life that are yours alone. That aren’t part of Jon’s or anybody else’s life. Those are the things you should treasure.”

  “Treasure?” He lifted his chin and scoffed at her. “What do you know about me? What did Jon say?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “I just know Jon, and I know that he’s going to be okay. He’s a strong person and he’ll find his way out of this.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  Frank nodded. “In that case then, why don’t you deliver this message to him?”

  “Okay, what message?”

  Frank scowled and crossed his arms. “Tell Jon that Dad called me. He’s getting married in Arizona, and he doesn’t want us there for it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HIS FATHER WAS getting married?

  Jon hadn’t moved from where he sat on Lizzy’s couch since she’d given him the news. His world was being upended. It was all he could process.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him.

  “No.” Maybe he should go to Mr. Yanopoulis’s house so he could grill his old neighbor for more information about his father’s supposed bride.

  But as Lizzy gazed at him, Jon realized he needed to go directly to the source. He took out his phone and stood. “I’m going to make a call.”

  “You can do it here,” she offered.

  “I don’t want to wake Brandon.”

  She peered at him as if not believing him. Jon just...needed to be alone. He couldn’t bear to see Lizzy’s sympathetic eyes studying him as old wounds opened up and bled. So he threw on a sweatshirt and headed outside. Walked into the dark where he could have space to think, beside Brandon’s pitch-back net on the quiet, lamp-lit lawn.

  So many memories of similar times from his childhood. He sat on the curb and made the call to his father. Everything was changing, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it.

  “Hi, Dad,” he said quietly when his father picked up. “Frank told me you’re getting married.”

  “Ah, hell. It’s just a casual thing we’re throwing together. I told him not to say anything.”

  “Why, Dad?” Jon stood and walked from the sidewalk to the pitch-back net. It pained him to have to ask this. “Who is she?”

  “You know Mary Angela.”

  “Mary Angela Curtin?” That was the sister of the guy whose town house his dad was staying with in Phoenix. She was Jean Yanopoulis’s friend.

  He tried to remember if his mother knew her, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Shit. “Dad, isn’t she the woman with all those poodles? You hate poodles. You’re a cat guy.”

  “Eh. She only has two. The dogs drove with us in the RV. They’re not bad, Tiger won’t mind them.”

  Jon held the phone at arm’s length. Was he in the Twilight Zone? “Where did this decision even come from?”

  “Aw, come on.” His dad sighed. “Look, she’s a great lady. We like it in Arizona together.”

  “Wait—do you mean that not only are you getting ma
rried in Arizona, but you’re gonna move there, too?”

  “Why not? You like Phoenix,” he said defensively. “Remember the good times we had watching you play out here in the minors?”

  “Yeah.” Jon had loved his time there between college and the majors. As far as he knew, though, his father hadn’t been interested in their neighbor back then.

  He hoped not, because Mary Angela’s husband had been alive in those days. A big, barrel-chested cop who’d died of a heart attack in the line of duty. The funeral had been huge.

  She was a widow, like his dad was a widower. Jon couldn’t help asking: “Do you love her, Dad?”

  “She ain’t your mother.” His dad’s voice was faint and sad. “But I like it here with her. Besides, you three are settled now. You’ve got Bobby set up with his college. Frank has the house, and it’s time he had it all to himself. You’re fine—you’ve always been able to take care of yourself. Nobody has ever had to worry about you, no sir.”

  Jon gritted his teeth. “You weren’t going to tell me? You were just going to get married and move to Arizona and then surprise us all?”

  “Why not? I don’t want you to make a fuss. You always make a fuss.”

  “Not this time, Pop.” Jon thought about hanging up the phone, but he wasn’t that dramatic.

  “You have your own problems. Frank called me today, but I already knew about that article. I read it on the computer. Mary Angela has a subscription to both Boston papers. She knows how to set up these things.” His voice filled with pride.

  Jon closed his eyes. “Great.”

  “Be careful you don’t lose everything you worked for over this drinking thing,” his father warned.

  There was no “drinking thing.” And there was nothing more to say. Jon muttered a goodbye to his dad and then ended the call. He trudged back upstairs to Lizzy’s place. He found her dressed in a silky green bathrobe with a gigantic Chinese dragon embroidered on it. She was looking at him thoughtfully.