Bottom Of The Ninth: Bad Boys Redemption: Book Three

by Readnour, Kimberly

  AJ

  Current Day

  The cool wind whips around the buildings and plants doubt about the location of my date. Mia shudders beside me and wraps her scarf around her neck. It’s hard to believe last month was unseasonably humid. Now that winter has settled, this six-minute walk seems like forever.

  “It’s not much farther,” I reassure.

  She smiles up at me, and the streetlight highlights the red tint sweeping across her cheeks. I feel like an ass for enjoying her look, but she’s too damn cute.

  “I hope so because being cold isn’t my idea of fun. And right now, I’m freezing.”

  Instinctively, I wrap my arm around her and pull her to my side. Her apparent hatred for the cold runs as deep as mine if her willingness to lean into me is any indication.

  “I don’t know why you can’t tell me where we’re going.”

  “It’s a surprise.” One I know she’ll love once we’re out of this cold.

  “I swear if you’re taking me to the park—”

  “We’re here.” All worry about freezing to death disappears the second we stop outside Philadelphia’s premier demonstration kitchen. Mia’s eyes widen with appreciation as my hand slides to the small of her back, and we step through the entrance. I guide her to our seats as her gaze roams around the room and absorbs the hundreds of books lining the walls.

  “Look at all these cookbooks.” Her voice holds a sense of awe; the glint in her eyes is as shiny as the silver and gold Christmas garland adorning the tops of the shelves. “How did you score this reservation? This place sells out weeks ahead of time.”

  We sit at the bar tabletop where the cook prepares the meal he teaches. It’s rather sweet. A live demonstration on how to make the entrée. And this is one entrée I can’t wait for Mia to learn.

  “Lucky for me, Zach used to live in the apartments in the Rittenhouse Square area. He just happens to have friends, who have friends.” And thank goodness for Zach’s friends. Without his help and promises of signed sports memorabilia, this entire date would not have transpired.

  When I talked to Zach, I made sure to sound enthusiastic. Maybe my upbeat tempo was convincing enough for him to call off the dogs. The girls care. I realize this, but they don’t need to worry.

  The waitress takes our wine order moments before the chef introduces himself. He lays several types of ingredients out, including salmon, on the stainless countertop. When Mia spots the fish, the blues of her eyes brighten, and my chest puffs with pride. It takes a second to register that I’m smiling like a damn fool. I clear my throat to not look like a rookie on his first day in the majors.

  “What is he teaching us?” she asks, an octave above a whisper. She takes on the same look as my teammates did right before winning the World Series. That moment in time when you can feel the win and want to celebrate, but you haven’t quite gotten that last out.

  “Sushi.”

  Her toothy smile is so damn catching, fool or not, I grin right along with her. How could I not? She’s so fucking hot when she’s excited. And I would know. After that last night spent with her at the cabin, I have every pleasurable expression of hers memorized.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  My gaze roams down the base of her throat and straight to the flesh her V-cut blouse reveals. I can appreciate what she’s wearing now that I have full access. I try not to linger and force myself to meet her gaze. I raise an eyebrow to her bemused smile.

  “I can think of a few ways,” I say.

  Instead of the blush I’ve come to expect, her features flatten into the sexiest, most seductive look I’ve seen from her yet. Blood rushes south, and I need to remind myself that tonight is not about the incredible sex we have together. No, tonight is getting to know each other better and proving there is more to us than sexual tension. Even though I may be leaving. My throat tightens as I push that thought aside.

  The waiter pours the wine, and even though we’re not alone at the bar table, Mia is the only person in the room.

  She takes a sip and relaxes in her chair. “What do you do when you’re not playing ball? Like in your spare time?”

  Hmm, I like to fuck, but I can’t very well say that. Instead, I blurt out the second thing to come to mind.

  “I work out.”

  “Dig deeper, Ariel; I know there’s something more fun.”

  “Oh, the use of my first name. Hit me where it hurts.” I pound my fist against my heart before taking a sip of wine.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your name.”

  “There wasn’t until I discovered a certain mermaid who, by name alone, threatened my masculinity.”

  Her laugh is sweet, and I feel it against my chest, the vibrations working their way through me.

  I clear my throat and then continue. “Working out can be fun with the right partner.”

  “Agreed, but there must be something you like to do in your spare time. You know mine”—her hand swipes across the bar top—“cooking and, of course, painting.”

  “I don’t know. I guess watching sports clips to study people and stats. You know, the basics—learning about my opposition.”

  “So, you just work all the time?” There’s teasing in her voice, but the cute smirk lining her mouth is sexy as fuck. It’s hard to concentrate.

  “Keeps me out of trouble,” I say with a half shrug.

  “Well, Ariel Jesus Gonzales, we need to change that.”

  It’s bad enough that my full name falling from her tongue increases the pressure in my pants, but when her eyes dilate and practically scream fuck me now, I almost lose it. Yeah, you keep singing those tunes, little mermaid. I’m part of the grown-up world.

  The chef calls for our attention, putting an end to our conversation. The next two hours are filled with laughter, teaching, and eating. Occasionally, the other patrons join in our conversation.

  The couple sitting to our right recognizes me, but other than bringing up the winter baseball meetings, they remain cool. As soon as the guy asks if I’ll be traded, I shoot Mia a look. She smiles warmly at me, but there’s a distance to her stare. I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. Does she feel guilty about Drake filling my spot? Or hate the fact that I’m leaving? It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care. But if I’m honest with myself, I hope it’s the latter. No matter how many times I tell myself we’re just casual, leaving her guts me to the core.

  “There’s a strong possibility,” I politely tell the guy. I feel rather than see Mia’s body stiffen beside me. A tiny shred of hope flares inside me that she may feel the same remorse.

  The guy goes on a rant about the lack of loyalty from team owners and how the game is all about money and greed. I let him vent. I won’t lie—it sucks being on the chopping block—but the Phillies organization isn’t like that. Upper management has been good to me. The time has arrived for them to move forward. They have a great catcher in Drake, and he’ll play many years for them. I’m not bitter, not in the least. I have two World Series championships under my belt. How many players can say that? No matter what happens, this organization is part of my soul. But that doesn’t mean when I face them I’ll lay low. Nope, I’ll be smacking the shit out of their pitches, and that includes Zach’s.

  When the guy’s monologue ends, I tell him thanks and give a slight prayer when the chef lays the matcha kasutera on the counter. I grab Mia’s hand and squeeze as the guy turns back to his date. Her body gravitates to me, but I’m not sure she’s fully aware of her actions. I want nothing more than to be alone with her tonight. By the way her eyes darken to an arctic blue, I wonder if she’s thinking the same.

  When our lesson ends, we grab our coats and file out through the doorway. I practically slam into her when she stops abruptly. “What—”

  Her hand rises to my chest while she hushes me. She nudges her chin to the couple in front and looks upward. Understanding falls on me as I take in the greenery hanging above them—mistletoe.

>   “For fuck’s sake,” I grumble under my breath. The questionable look Mia shoots me almost makes me feel guilty. Almost. My hatred for the stupid plant runs too deep.

  The couple moves forward, and I rush us through the exit. The last thing I’m going to do is kiss under some dumbass shrubbery that sucks the life out of its host. How is that romantic?

  When we make it to the street, Mia gives me a slight grin. “Have problems with the ancient Christmas tradition?”

  “Trust me, Mia, I can’t wait to taste you, but I don’t need a parasite to give me permission.”

  She laughs. “Parasite?”

  “The plant’s only means for survival is to borrow onto its host and suck its nutrients.”

  “And where is your sense of holiday spirit?”

  I drape my arm across her shoulders and snuggle her bundled body next to mine. The sun set hours ago and the winds have died down, but it’s still colder than a witch’s tit.

  “All my spirit is in my pants.” I give her a sideways glance and deepen my voice. “And it has enough spirit for the both of us.”

  I’m kidding, of course. Sex is off the table tonight. For once, I want to do something right.

  “Good grief, AJ. I don’t even know what to say.”

  My nose nuzzles next to her ear. “Because you know it’s true.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” She’s quiet for a moment, and I think the stupid Christmas discussion is through, but I should know better. Especially when Mia’s involved. “I’m the one who’s usually down about Christmas. I didn’t realize you felt the same.”

  “I’m not against Christmas, just those silly traditions.”

  “But you bought a tree, and that’s the biggest tradition of all. The mistletoe seems…personal.”

  Leave it to Mia to tap into the one subject I don’t want to discuss.

  “Mom decorates the entire house at Christmas time,” I say. “Goes overboard. The nativity set on the same bookshelf. Trees in every room. Garlands strung from corner to corner. I suppose one could say it’s gaudy. Each year, it literally looks like an elf upchucked Christmas at our house.”

  Her small laugh makes me chuckle as well.

  “One staple decoration, though, is mistletoe. Each year, it hangs between the breezeway and the kitchen. I—”

  I pause, and Mia turns her head toward me.

  “You what?”

  Her sweet voice skates through my veins like sodium pentothal, forcing me to tell the truth. She’s my very own secret spy sent to seek out the last of my secrets. I let out a shaky breath before squealing like a traitor.

  “I used to like it, the mistletoe, when I was younger and didn’t know better. Before my dad could leave the house, she made him kiss her. For good luck, she’d say. But as he stepped away, she always looked sad.”

  Mia’s arms wrap around my waist, and the gentle squeeze warms my heart. A small gesture but reassuring all the same.

  “It was Christmas time when he left for good, and I always wondered if he kissed her under that fucking plant before leaving.”

  “Jesus, AJ. That’s horrible.”

  We’ve arrived at the truck, so I open the passenger door for her. As she slips toward the seat, her eyes bore into mine and study me. A moment passes before she speaks. “You’re like me and just need a better memory to associate Christmas with.”

  There is so much emotion packed into her gaze: empathy, sadness, and, most important, heat. With that look alone, I can think of better memories to make.

  It doesn’t take long before we arrive at her apartment complex. Worried about her safety, I walk her to her building’s entrance. She looks a bit flushed, but it may be from the cold. Part of me hopes she’s contemplating asking me inside, but I shouldn’t want that. I was serious earlier; sex is off the table. I want tonight to mean more, and by the way the date went, I think it does.

  “I had a really good time,” I say when we reach the glass door. “Who would’ve thought cooking could be so fun?”

  “It was a blast. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you ticked off a box on my bucket list.” Her eyes gloss over, and it’s like she notices me for the first time or at least sees me in a different light. It’s more than desire. It’s more like appreciation. My heart skitters at the notion as I step closer.

  When her mouth opens, her tongue darts forward and runs along the underside of her narrow upper lip. My gaze follows her path as a low, unavoidable growl escapes. She’s killing my will to be good. I should turn around and leave, but the intensity of her stare pins my feet to the ground. Just one simple kiss.

  I lean forward, and she meets me halfway. The moment our lips touch, desire flickers to life, and I thrust my tongue into her mouth—the cold air no longer a problem as blood boils under my skin. With a gentle swipe, I run my fingers across the nape of her neck and coax her backward until her back hits the door. She places her hands upon my biceps to steady herself as our tongues maintain their wild dance.

  The bulge in my pants grows firmer, and I press against her, letting her know how crazy with need she drives me. Not much skin is exposed, but my mouth grazes across every available surface as I nip and add soft kisses with her panting beneath my touch.

  “AJ, I—”

  A throat clears behind us, and I stop abruptly, my hands covering the sides of her face. I don’t know if my temporary shield is sufficient because I can’t see the guy. My gaze remains on Mia as we shift our bodies away from the door. Red tinges her skin as she sucks in her wet swollen lips. The moment the guy enters the building, she sweeps her eyelashes to me.

  “Come upstairs with me.”

  Her pant comes out more demanding than in the form of a question. I want to take her up on her offer, badly. I do. But that’s not what tonight is about. We haven’t discussed the implications of my trade deal. Honestly, I’m not sure what there is to discuss; we both know I’ll be traded. With the trade comes a move, and since we’re not exactly in a relationship, making love to her feels wrong. A few nights ago, I let lust and desire take over. But now, it’s as if I’m taking advantage of her. And that’s the last thing I want to do.

  Mia Gunner deserves way better than that.

  “I want to. More than anything.” I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my jaw shut. Fuck, this is just like eight years ago when I made a choice to walk away. But that was before I had a taste of her. Before she wormed her way into me. “But I shouldn’t.”

  Her face falls, and I don’t know why doing the right thing feels like the worst thing in the world.

  “You’re a good guy, AJ.”

  Tell that to my dick. He isn’t singing the same praises.

  I lean in and plant a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call you.”

  Walking away from Mia tonight is the hardest thing I’ve done. I just hope it’s not permanent.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  MIA

  Current Day

  “What do you mean you didn’t screw him?”

  “Geez, Nala. A little louder. I don’t think Mr. Cunningham in three eighteen heard you.” My head turns toward my apartment door as if I could see through the steel to Mr. C’s apartment. “We’re supposed to be discussing the calendar, not me.”

  “Come on!” Nala’s hand slaps the couch cushion in succession with her whiny pitch. “I wanted juicy details. It’s been way too long for me, and Mr. Biggie doesn’t hold the same appeal. I need variety.”

  “Please don’t bring your vibrator into the discussion.”

  “What the fuck ever. You’re the one who gave me the link to purchase it.” Her laugh is infectious, breaking my will.

  “Don’t laugh. I may have to drag mine back out. The perfect date ended in a huge heap of sexual frustration.” The back of my head hits the couch’s inside back cushion as I let out a breath and stare at the ceiling. I’ve seen AJ bring home girls before, so I know he has no qualms against a one-nighter. Plus, we already broke that barrier wh
en we were getting on like Donkey Kong four nights ago. So, I don’t understand his sudden need to do right and be all gentlemanly. My heart appreciates the nobility of his gesture, but that goodbye kiss did nothing but leave me hot and bothered.

  I’ve always been open-minded about sex. I’m not one of those girls who ties sex together with deep-seated emotions. Sure, an intimate bond exists and, yes, I’m giving the best gift I can offer to that person—myself. I understand that, but sometimes, the action is nothing more than a way to fulfill the lust or need between two people. And there’s no denying the chemistry between us is off the chart. God, that man gets me going. Cue in the frustration by getting denied.

  I also can’t deny the sweetness of him wanting to take me out properly. I imagine he doesn’t date much. Quick hookups are all I’ve ever witnessed or heard about. Even though I’d rather have spent last night with him in my bed, the effort and restraint are commendable.

  “You’re going to see him again?”

  Nala’s question cuts into my reverie. “What?”

  “Are you seeing him again?”

  “Yep. Tonight, actually.”

  “Nice. What are you doing?”

  “I’m cooking supper for him.” When he called this morning and asked if I was busy, I suggested staying here. I may have ulterior motives, but I figure this way he’s already in my apartment, so I’m not being left at the entrance to my building again. Last night’s date was beyond my imagination, but tonight, I want to be selfish and keep him to myself.

  “You’ll just have work your body harder, girl. Wear something provocative.” She shimmies her shoulders and waggles her eyebrows, drawing out a laugh.

  “Let’s get off my sex life.” I straighten in the seat and slide into business mode. “What are the numbers looking like?”

  “As you know, we had about one thousand preorders. But since I posted on your website and paid for some social media advertising, we’ve moved about five thousand calendars in three days.”