by V.K. Sykes
* * *
After showers and a nightcap, they had made love again that night in the Ritz’s plush bed—the fourth time they’d had sex that day. Nate’s shoulder felt strained and sore after his efforts on the beach, but when he’d awakened at three with Holly’s naked, curvy body molded against his own, he had the mother of all erections and it couldn’t be ignored.
Not that he’d wanted to ignore it, anyway. Making love to Holly was a revelation every time. While she had started out a bit tentative that first night after the golf banquet, she had blossomed into a skilful, creative lover, determined to please.
Holly’s lovemaking could be as refined and elegant as she was in the rest of her life. But she could also be lusty and hot and ready to try anything in bed. Or out of bed, as tonight’s impromptu beach party had proved.
In fact, he’d been thinking about asking her to bring her lab coat home after they got back to Philly. Fantasizing about her bending over to examine him, bare-ass naked under the pristine white lab coat, was one little reverie he had every intention of acting out one day soon.
The noise from the room service waiter rolling in the cart woke him up. Tantalizing scents of fresh coffee and bacon wafted out of the suite’s living room and filled his nostrils. “Good work,” he called out to her, hearing the door shut behind the waiter. “What did you order?”
“Belgian waffles and bacon for you, granola and fruit for me. Plus coffee and tea, of course,” she shouted from the adjoining room.
“Fantastic. I’ll be there in a minute.” He wrapped himself in the plush hotel robe and headed to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Terminal bed-head, he grimaced, seeing his reflection in the mirror. No wonder, after last night’s exertions.
When he joined her in the living room, Holly was relaxing in a leather easy chair, sipping tea and gazing out the panoramic windows toward the ocean. Nate kissed her twice, lingering over her soft mouth, then snatched up the remote and flipped the TV to ESPN. He wanted to catch SportsCenter, exactly as he did every day when he got up during the baseball season. Ignoring the food for the moment, he gulped down coffee as he scanned the crawl that ran across the bottom of the screen. It showed all the previous day’s baseball scores.
Washington Nationals 10, Philadelphia Patriots 2. Nate banged his cup down.
Holly jerked in her chair. “Good grief. What’s wrong?”
His gut churning, Nate moved to the windows, fighting for calm. He stared out at the ocean, trying not to go ballistic for Holly’s sake. But it was all he could do not to hammer his fist into the glass. “The Patriots got the crap kicked out of them last night.”
Holly didn’t say anything, and the room was suddenly soundless. Nate couldn’t even hear the rumble of the ocean through the glass.
After a few moments, he managed to get his anger under control and sat down on the sofa. He knew he should shut the TV off, but something stupid and perverse made him want to watch the video highlights of the massacre his team had suffered the night before.
Reading him right, Holly didn’t speak a word. She obviously got that he needed some space.
Two minutes later, the highlights from the Patriots-Nationals game started to roll. The Patriots had started the young right-hander, Graydon Finn—the kid they called up to replace Nate. Barely twenty-one, and in his first season at the Double-A level, Finn definitely had a lot of promise. Someday he’d be a good one. But he wasn’t ready for the big leagues. Not yet. Not even close. Last night’s debacle demonstrated that, if anybody actually needed a demonstration. By the time the kid was yanked in the third inning, the Patriots were down 6-0 and well on their way to the blowout loss.
It was their fifth defeat in a row.
What a clusterfuck. The Patriots’ management could be such dumb-asses. Calling up a green kid. Stupid head office decisions like that made the thought of a trade to L.A. more and more appealing.
“I know you’re really upset, but maybe it would be better if you talked about it,” Holly finally said in a tentative voice. It might help get it out of your system.”
”Maybe I should try meditating,” Nate said derisively. “Or, better yet, punch something.”
Holly frowned, looking unsure. “Meditation might do you some good. I could teach you.”
“I was kidding,” he snapped. “They were such idiots to give the ball to that kid. There are guys in our bullpen they should be using for spot starts until I get back. Experienced guys who know what they’re doing out there. Jesus, those clowns in the front office never use their heads!” He slammed his fist down onto the sofa.
Holly winced. “Nate, please. I get that you’re frustrated, and I want to help. But please don’t take my head off because the team lost. It’s kind of…disconcerting.”
Her sad, wounded look filled him with guilt. He got up and opened his arms. She rose and pressed herself into him. “Sorry for wigging out like that,” he said. “But I don’t think you really get what this layoff is doing to me. My team’s getting hammered while I’m down here in Florida screwing around.”
She shifted out of his arms and stood a few steps away, her arms wrapped defensively around her body. “And here I thought we were having a fabulous time,” she muttered in a tight little voice. “You were doing this for me, remember?”
Shit. Okay, maybe I’m over-reacting, but why can’t she get it? “Hell, that’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said. “I’m a ballplayer, Holly. It’s what I do, who I am. It’s all I am. I make a difference out there on the field, and the team needs me.” He reached for her again, and she let him pull her back to him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying the time I spend with you. You know I am.”
She massaged the back of his neck, her slender fingers both firm and soothing. “I guess I’d go crazy, too, if I had to take a really long break from surgery. But you can’t let it eat you up, or the psychological impact will be even worse than the physical injury.”
“I know,” he said in a resigned voice.
“Try not to stew about it,” she said with a worried smile. That look made him feel even shittier. “You’ll be back on the field soon enough, and better than ever. I know it.”
“I damn well better be,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
