by Kathy Lyons
Actually, I thought she was a great writer. I’d seen her press releases and social media posts. But I didn’t say that out loud. I simply looked at her and waited. In my experience, I could outlast anyone in the silence department. Until her. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at me.
And I broke first.
“I think you’re a good writer,” I muttered.
“So you think I’d be biased?”
“Yeah.”
“For you, not against you, right? You don’t think I’d purposely trash you, right?”
She was sitting too close. I could smell her ginger scent and see the shades of pink and tan in her skin. I wanted so badly to touch her, so I pushed up from the couch. But today’s practice had been particularly brutal on my knees, and I winced as I straightened up, moving like I was 110 years old. I saw her reach out to help me, but I batted her hand away.
I was an athlete, damn it, still in my prime. Yet I creaked when I walked, and my legs always ached. Worse, I didn’t even know why I was standing up, except to get away from her. I grabbed my half-full water bottle and headed for the kitchen. Maybe there was some more boiled chicken I could eat.
I’d gone on an anti-inflammatory diet, and it sucked. Big time.
Meanwhile, Gia kept trying to speak to me rationally. Too bad I wasn’t in a rational place.
“I want to work this out, Connor. I’m writing these articles, whether you like it or not. But it would be better if we could talk about them. If you told me what you’d like me to say. What kind of publicity do you want?”
“None!” I growled, and I knew I was being crazy. Sure, great athleticism got players like me to the MLB, but media helped make them superstars. And that meant more money, more leverage, more perks all the way around. “I don’t want to be a superstar, Gia. Why can’t you focus on someone else?”
“Because the public already knows everything there is to know about everyone else. You’re the mystery. And…” she said, as she held up my prescription pills. “There’s a story to tell.”
She pushed up from the coffee table and walked over to face me directly, close enough to touch but not so near that she crowded me.
“Don’t you think your fans are feeling their age? Don’t you think they all have aches that weren’t there when they were younger? They want to believe that it’s possible to overcome bad knees and still be great. To change direction mid-career and become amazing at something else. You’re already a great catcher. They want to know you can become an awesome hitter, too. What’s wrong with that story?”
I didn’t answer because I couldn’t. It all sounded so reasonable. I couldn’t tell her that more publicity meant there was more of a chance the spotlight would land on Cassie. I feared my fragile sister would break under the media attention. Sure Sophia loved it, but Cassie could shatter—again—and I couldn’t have that.
Meanwhile, Gia pulled out a sheet of paper from her purse and set it on the counter. “This is the first article. It’s going to run the day after tomorrow. At the moment, it’s pretty dry—all statistics. But it would be so much better if you helped me, if I could add your words about how hard it is to be an aging athlete.”
“I’m only twenty-seven!” I snapped.
“I know, and that sucks.” There was a wealth of sympathy in her words. And honestly, it touched me. I was damned good at baseball, but my body wasn’t handling it as well as it used to. And that hurt deep inside, in a place that was soothed by her soft brown eyes and gentle understanding. Which led me to a confession.
“What if I can’t increase my batting average? Then I’ll lose what little leverage I’ve got. You’re writing a series of articles on how my knees are crapping out. That’s not what I want people to know.”
She blew out her breath. “I’m drowning in guys who think they can become Babe Ruth, Cy Young, and Lou Gehrig, all at the same time. And then there’s you. The guy who calls the pitches, the captain who keeps the team from splintering into moods, and who shies away from the camera like it’s got cooties.” She took a step forward. “It doesn’t matter if you can do it or not. It’s the struggle that everyone cares about.”
She was getting to me. Her words were softening my hard line, and that was not what I wanted. I turned away from her and opened the refrigerator. “My job is hard enough, Gia. I don’t need extra pressure from you or anyone else.”
I heard her snort in disdain. “All the players eat pressure for breakfast, you included.” Then she stepped into the kitchen. She came in close enough that I felt the air adjust around her, and my shoulder twitched even before she touched it. “Come on, Connor, help me out here! What deep dark secret are you afraid I’m going to expose?”
“Nothing!” I lied as I slammed the refrigerator shut. Then I turned, using the motion to throw her arm off of me. But she didn’t move away, and my kitchen wasn’t large enough that I could easily go around her. So we stood there, nose to nose, while I thought about kissing her like I had on New Year’s Eve, taking her mouth with abandon. Or maybe I could do it differently. Teasingly slow, as I explored the different textures of her lips. Or with quick darts of my tongue, ones that would have her whimpering with need or giggling because it was fun. I knew a thousand ways to kiss a girl, and I wanted to try them all on her.
But that was crazy. I didn’t get involved with coworkers…or with anyone connected to the media. They got too close and saw too much.
“Talk to me, Connor. There’s got to be a compromise that works for us both.”
I didn’t want to answer her, mostly because I knew she was right. My refusal was irrational. It stemmed from a bone-deep distrust of anyone looking too close. Only one person in the world knew me well, and that was Cassie. No one else could enter the circle, because she was too fragile to handle any more. That was just the way it had to be.
So rather than let the truth slip through my lips, I chose to stop her questions with them. She was easy to grab. I pulled her close, and when she gasped in surprise, I pressed my mouth to hers.
I wasn’t rough, the way I’d been in the bathroom. She was in my place, which gave me a feeling of control, allowing me to gentle my approach. I let her feel my erection hot and hard against her belly. Then I put my mouth on hers just long enough for us to feel each other’s lips.
“I want you, Gia. I’ve wanted you from the moment you first bounced into that New Year’s Eve party.”
We were so close, I felt her lick her lips. The wet brush of her tongue against my mouth went straight to my dick.
“I don’t bounce,” she said primly. The breathy quality of her voice made me even harder.
“Of course, you do.” I smiled, though I had a feeling the expression was more feral than friendly. “I like that you bounce.”
Then I put my hand straight on my favorite bouncy part of her, lifting her breast and molding it with my fingers while my nail scraped across her nipple.
“You’re trying to distract me with sex,” she said.
I was. And it was working.
So I kissed her again, this time with more demand. She succumbed to the thrust of my tongue. Since this was my kitchen, I maneuvered us so I could trap her in the corner between the counter and the refrigerator. Then I rolled in front of her and thrust against her belly while a bonfire lit in my blood.
Her hands were on my head, her legs weak as I pushed a knee between hers. I planned to let her ride my thigh while I stripped her shirt off her and worshipped her breasts. I could tell she wanted it as much as I did. Her tongue pushed against mine with a feverish intensity. And her left leg was dragging me closer. Hotter. Hungrier.
Knock. Knock.
I heard two quick, hard raps before the front door opened and my sister’s voice rang clearly through the room. “Hey! It’s me. You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked. Anybody could walk in.”
Her tone was joking, and I had to leap across the kitchen in a way that jarred my psyche as much as my body. My left knee s
creamed at the sudden torque, and I took a limping step around the door to block Gia from view.
“Cassie,” I breathed, trying to force my voice into sounding normal. I failed. It came out rasping and too high-pitched, and I prayed my sister didn’t notice. “You, um, you made it.”
She frowned at me and then peered over my shoulder, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Gia,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to get an interview with your brother,” Gia answered, her tone perfectly professional. I turned to stare at her. Her hair was in its usual messy knot, and her clothing was exactly in place. She’d folded her arms across her front, probably to hide her erect nipples, and though her cheeks were slightly flushed, there were no obvious signs of what we’d been doing. Geez, you’d think she often kissed guys then turned around and gave interviews on CNN.
Then again, what did I know? Maybe she did.
“And I’m not giving one,” I said, my voice sour.
“Why not?” Cassie asked. “Isn’t she on your side?”
Gia snorted. “That’s what I asked. And you know what he said?”
Cassie frowned as she looked at me. She was wearing her usual jeans and T-shirt. Her golden blond hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and her eyes were bright. She looked…solid, and my breathing eased at the reassuring sight.
“I’m guessing he just grunted,” Cassie said.
“Yup,” Gia answered.
Well, a grunt and a kiss that still had my dick throbbing. That was when a disturbing thought filtered through my disorganized mind.
“How do you two know each other?”
Cassie dropped her backpack on the floor before she leaned against the back of the couch and folded her arms. “She came to one of my games last year and introduced herself.”
“What?” I demanded, my voice sharp. “I’ve made it absolutely clear that none of the press talks to my family. None.” My fury was directed at both of them. Cassie for talking to Gia, and Gia for finding my sister in the first place. No one was supposed to know Cassie even existed. That Gia had violated that order made me livid, but I didn’t get a chance to say more as Gia raised her hands in surrender.
“I know. That’s why I gave her my card and told her to call me if anyone else ever contacted her, for any reason.”
“She can call me!” I snapped. Then I looked at her. “Why didn’t you call me? You know I’m here for you, no matter what.”
Cassie read the subtext between us. I could see it in her eyes. She knew how awful I felt because I hadn’t been there before. Three years ago, I’d been too busy with my own stuff and had completely missed the fact that she’d had a problem…until I found her on the bathroom floor, an empty pill bottle beside her. That wasn’t going to happen again. But I couldn’t protect her if she didn’t tell me what was going on.
She stepped forward. “And I would if you didn’t completely freak out every time. I’m doing fine. Stop being such a worrier. Besides, Gia’s not the media, she’s the Bobcats’ publicist—”
“That’s the press—” I argued, even though I knew it wasn’t exactly true.
“And she’s been really helpful.”
To the side, I heard Gia sigh. I didn’t understand at first, but then it dawned on me. “She’s been helpful? Have you been harassed? Give me names—”
“Oh, chill out,” Cassie said, rolling her eyes. “Gia handled it.”
“Handled what?” I demanded.
“It was nothing,” Gia said, her voice soothing, which naturally irritated me more. “A young reporter needed to learn the rules of engagement. I straightened him out, and he’s never bothered her again.”
Steam started building behind my eyes. Cassie was supposed to come to me for help. I was the one to protect her. She was my baby sister and—
“Oh. My. God.” Cassie grabbed her backpack. “That happened last year. It was nothing. But if you’re going to go all big brother on me, then I’m leaving right now.”
Fear lanced through me. It was dark out. She was alone. I thought of muggers, rapists, gang warfare, ISIS. All sorts of exaggerated dangers popped up in my mind like ghosts, most of them improbable. The other half of my brain was rapidly thinking of ways to keep Cassie with me. It wasn’t that often that we got to talk, and the last thing I wanted was for her to leave. Well, my dick was still thinking about Gia, but I’d already shoved that part of me into a mental box and slammed the lid.
“Stay for dinner,” I suddenly said. “I made your favorite.”
She abruptly brightened. “Pistachio chicken? With pasta?”
I grinned. “You know it.” Cooking was the only thing I’d worked at that wasn’t baseball. And once I had some basic skill, I’d rapidly figured out Cassie’s favorite foods. “Stay. Eat. We’ll watch your game.”
My sister groaned. “Not this one again.” She leaned over and nabbed the remote, turning off the television with a press of her finger. “I don’t need to watch it. I was there. Besides, it’s creepy that you hired someone to tape my games.”
I shrugged. “Your coach appreciates the video.” Given my schedule, there was no way I could make every game, and it was even harder to see them anonymously. So I paid someone to tape them. Cassie and I would watch the video together while I teased her about her girly dives and tried to find out if she had a boyfriend—and if she did, to discover whether I should kill the boy or not.
Normal family stuff, but especially important between Cassie and me. Our mother had died ten years ago, and our father had never recovered. Truthfully, he’d lost it during Mom’s two year battle with cancer and had never come back. He’d died a few years ago, but we’d all given up on him long before that, each in our own way.
Sophia made a big splash wherever she went, making damn sure everyone saw her. I buried myself in baseball, and Cassie… Well, Cassie had been left to suffer alone until three years ago when I realized how I’d forgotten her.
Never again.
“Come on, Tiny Mutt,” I chided as I tugged on her curl. “Stay for a bit.”
She relented with a kiss on my cheek. “Fine, Big Doofus. But you better have ice cream.”
Like I wasn’t going to stock that, even though it was a nightly temptation? Sadly, dairy was not on my anti-inflammatory diet.
Cassie and I worked to put together the meal, but I hadn’t forgotten Gia. Hell, every cell in my body hummed with awareness. But I was focused on Cassie, and I knew that the moment Gia left, my sister would pepper me with questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer. So I didn’t push Gia out of the apartment. And worse, Cassie included her in the conversation as if they were the best of friends.
“Want some chicken, Gia? Don’t forget the pasta. Connor makes it himself. He tried to teach me once, but that was way too much work for me.”
And far from keeping her professional distance, Gia slipped straight into casual friend mode, accepting the food with a delighted air. But while she was smiling her thanks—and making appreciative sounds with her first bite—I could see her mind logging all the new facts she was learning about me. I cooked. I had my own pasta maker. I was desperate for time with my little sister and nearly frantic when she talked about leaving. And Gia was a master at asking casual questions.
“So, how long have you been a chef?”
Cassie answered for me. “He picked it up in the minors. He’s great, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. So did you decide on your major? Did you get the radio gig?”
“Nah. Didn’t have the time with volleyball. Besides, I’ve decided to go pre-med, and that takes a lot of study time.”
I tried to be part of the conversation. “She’s beautiful enough to be an actress. Or a model.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “So he says, but then he keeps the press far away from me.”
True enough. I wanted her to do anything she wanted, as long as she did it from within whatever protective bubble I could put around her.
I knew first-hand how obnoxious the press could be. I wanted her to test her wings slowly. What I didn’t want was anyone asking why she’d tried to kill herself.
“Did you pick Butler because it was close to Connor?”
Yes, she had. That had been my decree—if she was going to college at all, it had to be near enough to Indianapolis so that she could escape to me if things got overwhelming. That, and that she would keep up her weekly therapy appointments with the best psychiatrist in town.
“I picked it because it’s a great school. And close enough to Connor that I can kick his ass whenever I want.”
“You wish,” I drawled.
“And you’re a sophomore?”
I tensed. Cassie was two years older than most of her classmates. That was because of her years in the hospital after her suicide attempt. But my sister rolled right over the question.
“You know I am,” Cassie said. “So tell me about your family.”
I smiled and mentally high fived my sister. The easiest way to evade a question was by turning the attention away from us and onto Gia.
I already knew most of her story—a foster care kid adopted by a huge Irish family. She’d worked hard in school, then at Indiana University to get her marketing degree. She landed her job with the Bobcats after interning with us. Gia summarized it quickly, then Cassie went straight for the personal stuff—stuff I didn’t want to know but couldn’t stop myself from listening to with rapt attention.
Family? She lived with her foster sister in a downtown closet of an apartment.
Boyfriend? Too busy for that bullshit.
Cassie pointed a forkful of chicken at Gia. “What about all that hot Bobcat man meat?”
I glared at my sister, but it had no noticeable effect. Gia just laughed.
“You mean Bobcat children. I swear, I don’t know how grown men can get into so much frat boy nonsense.” We were sitting together in the living room—my sister and me on the couch, Gia in the opposing chair. So it was easy for me to see her expression shift into a thoughtful one. “Except for your brother. Compared to his teammates, he’s a man of mystery.” She popped in another bite of pasta. “I had no idea he was such a good cook.”
