Second Thoughts: A Hot Baseball Romance

by Mindy Klasky

  Just as she finished uploading the last shot of Rockets Field, her computer chimed, and her phone buzzed three times. She smiled and switched over to the TrueLove site.

  “Everyone has to play hooky sometimes,” RoadWarrior wrote. “What’s the use of being a grown-up if you can’t break the rules once in a while?”

  “Break the rules?” she typed. “Now THAT sounds interesting. The only rule I’m breaking this morning is having extra milk in my chai while I slave over a new project.”

  There. Response sent. Back to work. She included a close-up of Robert’s workstation, his neat trays of makeup with the array of brushes like a black-and-white rainbow. Another shot—the backdrop behind Anna Benson’s desk, complete with lights and reflectors.

  Chime. Buzz, buzz, buzz.

  RoadWarrior said, “What project?”

  She hesitated before she typed back. She didn’t want to tell him she was a photographer. There weren’t a lot of professional photographers locally, and she wanted to preserve her anonymity a little bit longer. RoadWarrior could still be an axe murderer, even if he wrote interesting posts to TrueLove. Maybe even especially because he wrote interesting posts to TrueLove.

  She typed, “Just some web design stuff. Publicity, promotion, blah, blah, blah. What do you do when you aren’t playing hooky?”

  God, that had to be the most boring text she’d ever typed. Wasn’t she supposed to be flirty? Engaging? Seductive, with the mere power of her words?

  She got another inbox alert, though. She hadn’t driven RoadWarrior away. Yet. “Drive around Raleigh in my Rolls Royce, dropping hundred-dollar bills out the window as I contemplate how to reconfigure my trust funds.”

  She wrinkled her nose as another text came through.

  “Isn’t that what women want to hear about? Rich guys who don’t have a care in the world?”

  “Absolutely,” she typed, laughing. “That, or men who spend their time taking care of orphaned chickadees at the wildlife center, rubbing their Birkenstocks down to nothing as they complete cross-country treks to raise funds for the endangered black-nosed snoot.”

  “Huh. I lose on both fronts. What I’m really doing is trying to figure out how to avoid folding laundry.”

  “You could come over here. I’m avoiding changing the oil in my car.”

  There was a long pause, and she wondered if she’d said something wrong. Change the oil… Did that have some sexual connotation? Was he turned off by something she hadn’t even meant to say? Or was it the offhand way she’d invited him to drop by. What had she been thinking? She wouldn’t tell him her job because he might be a serial killer, but she was hinting for him to swing by her home?

  She started to type an apology, but a message came through before she could string together the words. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m being dragged into a meeting. Chat later?”

  “Later,” she typed.

  She was surprised at the disappointment that settled over her. Just as she turned back to work, though, her computer signaled one more TrueLove message.

  “Truth: I’m totally into skinny-dipping.”

  The message shot straight to her belly. She and Nick had gone skinny-dipping once. They’d sneaked off campus one fall weekend, rented a motel room in a little ocean-side town.

  The water had been freezing, but Nick had wrapped his arms around her. His deep kiss had lit a fire in her belly, and he’d kept her playing in the surf, playing with him, even after her teeth had started to chatter. Only when the chattering turned to full-body shudders had they scrambled back to their motel room, barely wrapped in tiny white towels.

  She’d insisted they take a quick shower together before climbing into bed; she wasn’t about to put up with sandy sheets for the rest of the night. Nick’s mouth had been hot on hers as the shower steamed around them… His hands had scalded her, making wicked patterns against her flesh before she could reach for practical things like soap and shampoo and conditioner. When they finally made it to the bed, she’d pulled the covers over her head and squirmed down the blazing length of his body…

  Forget it.

  That had been the start of senior year. Well before graduation. Well before Nick had walked away.

  She lied as she typed back to RoadWarrior: “I’ve never been. And it’s too cold to start now.”

  His response was immediate. “I’d warm you up.”

  There was that flush again, the heat that curled her lips into a smile. Skinny-dipping. There was an innocence to the word, to the act. She’d be turned off by a guy who suggested a roll in the sheets this early in their chatting. But a quick naked swim? What could be wrong with that? She raised her eyebrows and typed, “You have a meeting to get to, don’t you?”

  “If you change your mind, you know where to reach me.”

  She shook her head and closed TrueLove. She did know where to reach him. He was right at her fingertips. Rrrowrrr.

  Easy, girl. Take your time.

  That’s not what Ashley would say. Ashley would say, “Go for it. What do you have to lose?” But Ashley didn’t have a daughter to worry about. Ashley didn’t have Nick to deal with.

  And that was a perfect segue back to work. Jamie returned to her website software. She selected three shots of Nick for her portfolio. There were hundreds to choose from—with digital cameras, the cost was in missing the opportunity, not in taking too many pictures. She found one where he’d been staring into the distance, unaware that she was still working. His eyes were clear, focused far across the room, and his face was relaxed, peaceful and calm.

  She could have taken the shot seven years ago as easily as yesterday, except he was wearing his Rockets uniform, its navy 12 blazing like a beacon. She sighed and saved the draft for the website update, all three Nick pictures ready to go, once she could make them public.

  This was a beginning, adding to her portfolio. She could slip in a few photos of DJ Thomas, too. And, with any luck, the rest of the calendar shoot would go as well. It would be a few days before the team could wrangle any more players to the ballpark. Most of the men were traveling in their time off, taking advantage of the off season.

  Jamie swallowed the last of her tea, grimacing when she realized how cold it had gotten. Maybe her luck actually was changing. Maybe the Rockets would bring her the business she so desperately needed. Maybe RoadWarrior would turn out to be everything he seemed—funny, and smart, and sexy too.

  A girl could hope. In the meantime, Jamie decided to browse through the next Five Live Questions. There had to be something there that would be fun to answer.

  CHAPTER 4

  Patience is a virtue, Nick thought as he turned a dog-eared page on his book. He couldn’t get Olivia out of his mind. No matter how much he’d promised to wait for Jamie to get comfortable, he was ready to meet his daughter now.

  At least he’d kept himself busy over the weekend. A bunch of the guys had decided to fly down to Florida at the last minute to take in the division championship. The Rockets might be out of contention, but good baseball was good baseball—especially when you were with a bunch of roughnecks whose sole goal was to blow off a little steam. Between hanging out with the guys and attending the actual games, sleeping till noon and filling the time before cocktail hour with Bloody Marys, Nick hadn’t had much time to think.

  He certainly hadn’t had time to screw around on TrueLove. The guys would never let him forget it, if he told them he was on the dating website. Hell, they’d probably make up a bunch of bogus profiles, pretend to be women just to lure him into making an ass out of himself. He’d ignored TrueLove, and he’d ignored the whole tangled mess with Jamie too.

  But now that he was back home, he was ready to lean on Twelve a little. He had to be careful. He didn’t want her to drag his ass to court, where he’d be left trying to make his case to a judge. Courts were so fond of absentee fathers, not to mention professional athletes who spent half their lives on the road. Right.

  Instead, he’d starte
d the day on the Internet, pulling up Jamie’s website and tracking down her email address. His message was simple. The subject was “Can We Talk?” For the body, he’d typed his phone number, and then he pressed Send. After that he’d waited—through his workout, through lunch, through a microwaved dinner that promised him all the nutrition necessary for a healthy, growing boy.

  She didn’t call until ten o’clock. He answered on the first ring.

  “Is it too late?” She sounded like she hoped it was.

  “Nope,” he said, setting aside The Old Man and the Sea.

  “It took me forever to get Olivia down tonight.” She was trying to make an excuse.

  “Is she usually hard to put to bed?” He was asking her to open the door a little, even a crack. He was asking for permission to stake his claim to fatherhood. Jamie could hate him for it, but he was Olivia’s father.

  He kept his breathing slow and steady. He tried to picture Jamie in some cozy bungalow, surrounded by quilts and throw pillows and all the rest of that interior decorating crap. She’d never have a hip-deep pile of unfolded laundry on her couch.

  His mind kept playing tricks on him, though. He could only picture her in her freshman year dorm room, leaning back on her narrow bed, feet pointed toward her yellow Formica desk.

  “Yeah,” she finally said, rewarding his patience. “She can be a challenge. We read a book together every night, but there are plenty of interruptions for drinks of water, and settling the stuffed animals, and checking for monsters under the bed.”

  “It’s the ones in the closet you have to watch out for.”

  “She hasn’t thought of that excuse yet. I’m sure they’ll be good for another fifteen minutes of delay, once she does.”

  “What book are you reading now?”

  “Misty of Chincoteague. She’s crazy about horses.”

  “I bet her favorite color is pink, too. Or is it purple?”

  He could hear Jamie’s grin in her reply. “Depends on the day of the week.”

  “I really want to meet her, Jamie.”

  “I know,” she said. And then, just as he thought she might hang up, she asked, “Hey? Did you get teased when you were growing up? Because you had red hair?”

  He’d been beaten to a pulp more times than he could count—until he’d discovered the weight room at the school gym. “No one ever gave me a hard time twice.”

  “Olivia says some of the girls call her names.”

  “I’ll teach her a few things to say back.”

  “And will you show up at school when she gets sent to the principal’s office?”

  “Sure.”

  And he meant it. He would be there. But he knew Jamie had to be thinking about all the ways he hadn’t been around. Not for Olivia. And not for Jamie either. Still, he pushed. “She deserves a father, Jamie.”

  “It’s not that simple!”

  “It is.”

  “No,” she said, and now he heard real annoyance in her voice. “It’s not, Nick. Olivia will be full of questions—where you’ve been for all these years. How long you’ll stick around. Whether you’ll go to her Fall Chorale at the end of the month.”

  “I’ll go.”

  “You don’t even know her! That’s the point. You don’t know that she’s allergic to strawberries. You don’t know that she likes her toast cut into triangles instead of squares. You don’t know that she sleeps with Mr. Fluffy under her right arm, not her left.”

  “Then teach me. I want to learn.”

  And he did. He’d missed her. A thousand times, he’d considered picking up the phone, calling her, telling her he’d been wrong, that he’d do anything in the world to get her back. But every single time he’d convinced himself it wouldn’t be fair to do that to her. He couldn’t expect her to be there, waiting for him, ready to forgive him, willing to even speak to him again. And that was before he knew about his daughter.

  Jamie whispered, “I need more time, Nick. Olivia and I both do.”

  “Just let me meet her,” he bargained. “You don’t have to tell her the truth, not yet. Just tell her I’m a friend.”

  He caught his breath as she weighed the compromise. He was trying to be fair. He was trying to give her an option so transparently right that she couldn’t deny him. And it worked. She sighed and said, “I’m shooting Josh Cantor on Wednesday. Come to the park, and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Thank you.” He kept the words perfectly neutral, but his pulse had ramped up like he was back in the gym.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said quickly. “Good night.”

  He stared at the phone after she hung up. He’d won. And he wasn’t at all sure what his next step should be.

  ~~~

  At two in the morning, Jamie finally gave up any pretense of getting to sleep. Contemplating her never-ending parade of disasters had left her tangled in her sheets.

  Disaster Number One: Olivia and Nick were going to meet on Wednesday, and the mere thought made her panic. In the end, Jamie would deal with Olivia the way she always had. She’d tell the truth, breaking reality into child-size pieces and doing her best to be fair. But she could only imagine how many times she’d have to answer the same questions, over and over and over again, because…

  Disaster Number Two: Lauren finally had results from her doctors’ visits. The babysitter’s injury was more severe than anyone had originally believed. The poor woman had to wear a neck brace for three weeks, and she was under strict orders to avoid lifting, twisting, or anything else beyond the mildest physical exertion. In other words, Lauren couldn’t take care of Olivia. The timing couldn’t be worse, because…

  Disaster Number Three: Jamie was frantic to finish the Rockets project. She couldn’t display any of the photos on her website until Anna Benson had signed off on the entire shoot. Getting the players into the stadium was like pulling teeth. She would have thought that guys who spent most of the season traveling would want to stick close to home during the off season, but she was amazed at the number of commitments everyone had. And she couldn’t even enjoy her own down time because…

  Disaster Number Four: RoadWarrior had dropped off the face of the earth. After their skinny-dipping flirtation, she hadn’t heard one word from her mysterious TrueLove match. All day Friday, she’d checked her mailbox obsessively. On Saturday, she’d steeled herself to compose a message to him. Ignoring the nerves that made her fingers tingle, she’d kept it brief and flirty, answering the Live Five for the day.

  Favorite color: Teal

  Favorite cuisine: Italian

  Leather or lace: Depends on what part of my body we’re talking about

  Age when you lost your virginity: I’m not telling you that!

  Favorite sex toy: Eighteen

  At least he hadn’t run for the hills in response to her answers. The system said he hadn’t even seen them. He hadn’t logged in since Thursday night. Now, she wished she’d had the courage to ask for his phone number, to get his email address so she had some way of reaching him outside of TrueLove.

  Part of her worried that something disastrous had happened—he’d been in a car crash or he’d fallen and hit his head and didn’t have any memory of who he was, of ever being RoadWarrior. She knew the chances of those dramatic injuries were slim. The reality was, he’d probably gotten bored with the online game.

  But that didn’t keep her from checking her phone every half hour, no matter how many times she vowed she would just forget about the relationship.

  Relationship! Ha! It was hardly a relationship. Just a little electronic flirting. A little electronic flirting that had been the first thing to make her feel attractive in a long, long time.

  Frustrated with herself, Jamie scrambled out of her well-tossed sheets. She pulled on an old terry bathrobe and poked her head into Olivia’s room, making sure her daughter was sound asleep. No problem there—the kid was sacked out, lying on her stomach, Mr. Fluffy firmly anchored by her side.

  Moving more qui
etly than was strictly necessary, Jamie settled on the living room couch, curling her feet beneath her. She picked up her computer from the edge of the coffee table. Maybe she’d play a few rounds of an online game, lull her brain to sleep with pure animated boredom.

  Her fingers moved of their own accord, though. The TrueLove site looked bright and cheerful. The “Welcome, Shygirl6!” message made her breath come faster, especially when she saw the pulsing heart icon over her inbox. She had one message. A quick glance confirmed it was from RoadWarrior.

  She thought about deleting it unread. Her rapid heartbeat was reason enough—she didn’t need to do this to herself, didn’t need to get her hopes up. She should just log out of the account, let it lapse at the end of the month, tell Ashley she’d tried, but TrueLove just wasn’t for her.

  She clicked on her inbox.

  “Sorry,” RoadWarrior had written. “Things got insane at the office. I got called out of town at the last minute, a command performance I couldn’t break away from.”

  She shook her head. It was stupid to get involved with a workaholic.

  But she had to be realistic. There were plenty of times she’d gotten wrapped up in her own job, let things slide for a weekend or even longer. Hell, when Olivia had one of her ear infections, Jamie could lose an entire week. The guy deserved a second chance.

  “How are you going to make it up to me?” She clicked Send before she could second-guess herself.

  Her computer chimed before she could open one of her games. “That depends. Flowers are too obvious. A greeting card isn’t personal. And I want to be personal, if you’ll give me half a chance.”

  Damn. The sudden pulse between her thighs told her she was willing to give him more than that. What was it about this guy? Maybe she was just turned on by the anonymity of TrueLove. She could type anything she wanted, and she didn’t have to be ashamed. The online forum was like an extension of the music clubs she’d loved in New York. There, she’d hidden herself behind leather and steel-studded belts, behind her camera. Here, she was protected by her keyboard.