Night Games (9 page)

“Your penis.” I blatantly stare at the bulge in his jeans, and he hastily gets off the bed, stomping away to throw the remnants of ice in the sink.

“I’m clean! All right?” he shouts from across the room.

“Glad to hear it,” I mumble. But I’m not sure if I believe him or not. If he’s slept with as many women as I think he has, there has to be some repercussions for such promiscuous behavior. No one is that careful a hundred percent of the time. Condoms break. Drunken hook-ups get sloppy. Groupies sleep around.

“You know what? I think I am going to sleep in the truck.” He grabs a pillow off the bed and stuffs it under one arm.

Man, I really messed this up. I just wanted Chase out of my face, not out of the trailer. I didn’t even help him take care of his knee yet because he was so concerned about me. I can’t let him sleep all scrunched up in my truck. At six four, he’s super tall. He’ll never be able to stretch out and relax. And I’m going to feel guilty as hell if he can’t take the field because I acted like a total bitch.

“I’m sorry, Chase.” I beg him with my eyes to forgive me. “That was out of line. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“You’re damn right,” he huffs, standing in the middle of the trailer, not making a move toward the door. I don’t think he really wants to sleep in my truck and get eaten alive by the mosquitoes. I have to call his bluff without him getting even angrier with me.

“Here, the bed is all yours.” I hop off and gesture like he just won the ultimate prize on some lame-ass game show. “You’re my guest. I insist. I don’t have work tomorrow, so I can kick back after you leave. Besides, my eyes are so heavy I’ll probably end up dozing off in the chair.”

“You don’t have a concussion, do you? I hit you pretty hard,” he asks, striding forward to examine me.

He leveled me like a freight train, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’m too susceptible to his touch. It makes me feel things I shouldn’t, so I take a step back, dodging his outstretched hand. “No, I’m fine, really. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get something for your knee and grab some extra pillows from the closet. You’ll probably need to keep it elevated, right?”

He nods, a stricken expression on his face. I have no idea what he’s thinking right now, so I back away from him and start collecting the items I need. My back is to him when I hear his shoes drop to the floor, followed by the whoosh of his zipper being lowered. Shit. Is he taking off his jeans? My face feels like it’s on fire. He rustles the sheets as he gets into bed, the frame creaking beneath his weight. Hopefully he’ll be covered up by the time I turn around even though it’s like a sauna in here. If not, I’m going to have a heart attack in the next sixty seconds.

I nearly drop the items I’m gathering when I see his bare shoulders peeking out above the blanket. Yikes, he took his shirt off too? I look down at the floor and see his clothing neatly folded on top of his sneakers. Okay, he’s a neat freak. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks. It’s the tattoos covering the muscular physique of his caramel-colored skin.

“Are you checking out my ink?” he asks with his eyes closed.

My bed looks so small with him in it. His feet are nearly hanging over the bottom. He’s such a big guy. Any thought of sharing my bed with him goes right out the window. I’d have to practically lie on top of him. There’s no room for me, unless he supported my body with his. And that’s not going to happen.

“I didn’t know you had any tattoos.” I try to pull myself together by wheeling my desk chair next to the bed. He smells incredible, like a crisp, clean aftershave I can’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s expensive. He can afford the best. I wonder if Irina Portanova bought it for him. A stab of jealousy shoots through me. She’s probably knows every one of his tattoos by heart.

“Not many people do.” His voice is sluggish, like he’s on the verge of falling asleep. He’s probably exhausted. It’s been a long day for him, what with flying in, playing nine innings…and running away with me.

He stretches his arms above his head, letting out a huge yawn. His arms aren’t arms, they’re guns. He has the body of a professional athlete, and man, is it a work of art. He’s chiseled to perfection in all the right places. It’s obvious he’s taken his rehab very seriously. There’s not an ounce of flab on him. It must have been tough staying in shape with a blown-out knee, but his body is still lean and taut.

He opens his eyes lazily as he catches me checking him out. Instead of razzing me about it, he lifts the blanket up even higher to hide his body from view. But not before I see the blazing heart on his shoulder.

“Who’s J.J.?”

He sighs, nestling himself even deeper into the contours of my bed. The mattress is never going to bounce back from his weight. I’ll be sleeping in the impression of his body long after he’s gone.

“Grey, why don’t we stop the twenty questions for tonight? What do you say?” He doesn’t sound angry, more like he wants me to turn my brain off for a while.

I thought I knew everything there was to know about him. But I was wrong. I’ll just have to find some way to stifle my curiosity. I can’t figure out his entire personality in one night. I’m just afraid I won’t have another opportunity to talk to him like this, and that makes me sad.

“Why the long face?” His eyes are trained on me, and I quickly lower my head. He’s so observant. No doubt used to focusing on the pitcher’s mound, anticipating every ball to be hit to him.

I’ve never been around someone so hyperaware of my every expression, my every move. No one usually pays that much attention to me. So I decide to be honest with him, even if I can’t look at him while I’m doing it.

“I’m just bummed that this is all going to be over soon.” I busy myself with drawing back the bottom of the blanket and lifting his leg. His calf is solid muscle beneath my fingers as I tuck a couple of pillows underneath it. His leg is covered with a fine, soft hair barely visible to the naked eye, and his second toe on his right foot is longer than all the rest. I’m getting intimately acquainted with his body and the knowledge I’m gaining only makes me want to explore even more of it.

“What? You like hanging out with me?” He sounds surprised.

“Yeah, I kind of do.”

“Really? I know I haven’t been in the best of moods lately. I don’t think anyone wants to be around me.” He rests his hands behind his head, showing off his biceps to their best advantage, but I don’t think he’s doing it deliberately. He’s staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“Well, you’ve been dealing with a lot and you’re probably crabby because you haven’t been playing. You’re not one to warm the bench. I mean, you’ve hardly ever been on the disabled list. All this time off must be driving you nuts.” I open the jar of ointment that my mom concocted before she got sick. It’s my grandmother’s secret recipe, known to relieve inflammation.

“Yeah, I’ve been going out of my mind.” He flinches briefly when the coolness of the ointment touches his skin, but he doesn’t fight it. He lets me continue.

“Well, this should help.” I rub it in, careful not to apply too much pressure.

“What is it?”

“An old home remedy my grandmother swore by for her arthritis.”

“So you’re saying I’m nothing but a crippled old man?” He raises an eyebrow, teasing me.

“Far from it.” I blush hotly, keeping my eyes away from his as I loosely wrap a gauze bandage around his knee. “There, you’re all set. Do you need anything else?”

“Do have any aspirin?” His eyes dart around like he’s looking for any excuse to keep talking to me.

“Don’t you need something a lot stronger than that?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t taken any painkillers since my surgery and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Okay, let me see what I’ve got.” I pat his leg lightly as I lower the blanket back into place.

Pharmaceutical abuse runs rampant through baseball. Players are required to undergo random drug tests on a regular basis. I can see why Chase doesn’t want to get addicted to any of the hard stuff while he’s recuperating. But man, I don’t know how he can bear the pain cold turkey like that. After his first game back, he’s probably in agony.

I start turning off the lights in the trailer as my feet pad onto the tiled floor of the kitchen area. I light the cinnamon candle that I use as a nightlight and rummage through the medicine cabinet. Popping the lid off what feels like an empty aspirin bottle, I sigh in relief when I see two pills left on the bottom.

After filling a glass of water under the tap, I tiptoe back to Chase’s side, his face awash in moonlight. It feels kind of romantic in here, what with the candlelight and all. But he’s already snoring softly. I nudge his shoulder gently, and when he doesn’t respond, I leave the aspirin next to the water on the bedside table. I don’t have the heart to wake him just because I want to continue our conversation.

I watch his chest rise and fall as he sleeps with his mouth slightly open. This whole evening has been surreal, and now Chase Whitfield is sound asleep in my bed, drooling on my pillowcase. I curl up on the chair next to him and take a sip of his water. I don’t care if I have to sit here all night. I could watch him from now until eternity. He looks so peaceful, so content. Like all his worries are gone.

I hate that he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders as the face of baseball’s most winning franchise. The power of his name alone bankrolls an entire organization. That’s a lot of pressure. What a tremendous amount of stress to have to deal with. I don’t know how he does it.

The Kings are racing Chase back to the big leagues, but he doesn’t seem ready to me. He’s a competitor and wants to help his team win ballgames, but it feels like they’re rushing his recovery. He shouldn’t play tomorrow, but knowing that Beaver Field’s already sold out, they’re going to put him in the lineup no matter what to stave off a horde of unhappy fans.

I can’t help but wonder where his girlfriend is during all of this. Shouldn’t she be here, supporting his comeback? I’m sure she’s busy modeling around the world, but can’t she drag her bony ass to Stockton for at least one game? He needs her now more than ever. He shouldn’t have to go through this alone. I mean, he doesn’t even have his regular teammates around him. I bet until today he didn’t know a soul in the Beavers’ organization. He’s doing this all by himself, and it has to be lonely.

I look at the gorgeous man sprawled out in front of me. The only way he knows how to connect with women is through sex. But I think what he really needs is a friend—someone who’s not after his money or his fame. Whatever happens between us, I’m determined to be there for him while he’s in Stockton.

If only he’ll let me…

Chapter Twelve

Chase

A light breeze tickles my face, causing my eyelids to flutter slightly.

Did whatever chick I was with last night leave a window open? I live on the top floor of a freakin’ skyscraper. I never let anyone open the windows. It’s too loud, too windy. I bury my head deeper into the pillow when I’m assaulted by birdsong. All right, what the hell is going on?

Rubbing my eyes with my knuckles, I roll onto my back, resting an arm against my eyes to block out the sun. I breathe in, stretching out as far as I can go while kicking the wad of balled-up pillows at my feet. That crisp, clean scent fills my head, and I know exactly where I am.

I’m not in my penthouse in New York.

I’m not in my mansion in Florida.

I’m not on the road in some generic hotel.

I’m in Grey Kelleher’s bed. And honestly? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I prop myself up against the headboard and look around. The inside of the trailer appears a little more tattered in the light of day. I can see rust spots in the corners and duct tape on the screen door. According to the baseball-shaped clock on the wall, it’s going on eight thirty.

I thought my knee would be throbbing like it does every morning, but it actually feels good. I shove the blanket out of the way and start unwinding the bandage. Wow, the swelling actually went down and it’s not as red as it was. It’s still a little tender, but for the first time in a while, I’m able to bend it without feeling a searing shot of pain. Grey’s little homemade treatment worked wonders. But where the heck is she?

The front door is held open by a pile of books, allowing the cool morning air to stream in. I should really get dressed before she gets back, but I have to scope out what she’s read. Mysteries, biographies, romance novels—her tastes sure are varied. I recognize quite a few titles mainly because I’ve read a lot of them myself. There’s plenty of downtime in baseball, so I’m never without a book, especially when the team is traveling. Sometimes I just like to tune the other guys out and focus on something else besides the game. For once, it’d be nice to talk to someone who’s actually read the same books I have.

It’s crazy how much I have in common with this girl. She can talk baseball and she’s seriously hot, but there’s like an undercurrent of something deeper I can’t quite figure out. Just talking to her last night hinted at the promise of something more. Something I’ve never experienced before. It’s like she gets me, and I get her, even though we seem like complete and total opposites.

I stand up to clear my head and amble over to the kitchen counter. There’s a pot of coffee waiting for me along with a mug with my jersey number on it. I guess Grey isn’t hiding the fact that she’s my number one fan anymore. She didn’t even bother to leave out any milk or sugar, because I must’ve mentioned to the press at one time or another that I take it black. My Starbucks runs are notoriously documented by the paparazzi. They know it’s where they can usually catch me with one of my celebrity girlfriends the morning after they spend the night at my place, mostly when the team’s at home and there’s no game on tap the following day. My agent actually recommended that I keep these outings on some kind of schedule, so it’d be easier to tip off photographers and have the images leaked to the public. I have to maintain my street cred for being New York’s most eligible bachelor after all. The guy who can get any girl he wants without marrying any of them.

Normally, I’d be freaked out by someone like Grey—a fangirl who seems to know every random thing there is to know about me. But somehow it just feels natural. Like we grew up together as kids or something and we’re reconnecting after spending years apart. I can’t shake the vibe of how comfortable I feel being around her, and I don’t think I want to.

It’s nice.

I raise my arm and lean against the rickety doorway, looking out at the beautiful morning. It seems lately like I exist in a world that’s lived behind closed doors. I’m never out in nature like this. I’m usually chauffeured around in a dark-windowed SUV, hopping from the curb to the backroom of some restaurant, or hustling through an airport on the way to yet another stadium’s underground locker room. Sure, I’m outside at the ballpark, but it’s usually on a field plunked down in the middle of a city, serving as one of the few forms of outdoor recreation for the urbanites who live there. But this—this is something else entirely.

I couldn’t tell last night in the dark, but Grey’s trailer is set up on top of a mountain with an amazing perspective of the valley below. I thought I had a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline, but this certainly rivals it in terms of grandeur. I’m actually a little envious of the view she has, at probably a fraction of the price. Sometimes I can’t even carve out a minute in the day where I can have a moment to myself like this, and she gets to wake up every morning undisturbed, just her and Mother Nature.

No wonder she’s able to see right through me. Her judgment isn’t clouded by the delusions of the world. She’s not caught up in accumulating possessions or striving to reach the pinnacle of what other people deem success. She knows what’s important. Fresh air. Sunshine. Freedom.

I gingerly step outside in my bare feet, not caring that I’m walking around in nothing but my underwear. There’s no one else up here. No one can see me. I could walk around naked if I wanted to, but I don’t want to freak Grey out.

I have this unbelievable urge to see her. She has to be around here somewhere. Her truck is still parked out front. It’s ridiculous but I kind of miss her. I didn’t mean to fall asleep last night, hijacking her bed. I should’ve thought things through when I asked Noah to go after her. I’m usually so meticulous when it comes to sorting out the details, but at the time, I was just so afraid of losing her that I didn’t plot out the whole scenario in advance. I couldn’t take her back to my hotel room, but I didn’t think I’d be sleeping in her bed without her.

And we’re not in the clear yet. This whole thing could still blow up in my face. It all depends on the reaction I receive when I stroll into the clubhouse later today. I know the Beavers’ manager isn’t going to appreciate that I never made it back to the hotel. I’m not supposed to be out philandering until all hours of the night while I’m here. No one cares what I do in New York, but in Stockton, I’m a little more conspicuous. My absence from the hotel will be noted and remarked upon. Hopefully, using my playboy image as an excuse will suffice. Maybe the locals will be flattered that I wanted to experience a taste of their nightlife.

I’m nearly at the edge of the cliff, fixated on the bits of patchy fog still drifting over the valley below. Twigs are snapping in the forest all around me as squirrels scamper through the trees. I thought after last night my knee would be sore, but I’m moving easily without even a limp. Maybe I will be able to play tonight after all.

“Yeah, he’s really a nice guy.”

Grey’s voice trickles back to me from the other side of the cliff.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. It didn’t happen.”

Who is she talking to? Christ, is she talking about me?

“So what if I have Chase Whitfield in my bed? It’s not like that.”

Well, that answers my question.

“You want me to take a picture of him and send it to you?”

I freeze, every muscle tightening in my body. Would she really betray me like that? And here, I thought she wasn’t like that. What if she’s just like everyone else and I’m the fool getting caught up in some stupid fantasy? I mean, I’m practically moseying through a forest like I’m in a freakin’ fairytale. Jesus, how could I be so blind? She could ruin me with one click.

“Sorry. Not gonna happen.”

My pulse slows somewhat as I strain to hear what she says next.

“Yeah, he’s going to be mad when he wakes up, but I have to tell him. Thanks for calling and letting me know.”

I try not to panic. Something went down last night, and now it’s time to deal with the consequences. I knew being so high profile in a town like this that I’d probably end up getting caught with Grey. There’s no such thing as blending in and getting lost in the crowd. Not in Stockton.

“Yes, Erin. He’s big. Very…impressive…”

That’s it. I have to see her face. My toes dig into the dirt as I bend down and peer over the side. And there she is, sunning herself on a wide, flat rock. Her hair is wet and trailing down her back. All she has on is a t-shirt with my name and number on the back. Her legs are tucked underneath her as she combs her fingers through her hair, holding it out to the sun.

And I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my goddamn life.

I don’t hesitate. Pebbles slip beneath my feet as I scramble down the embankment to join her. She jumps, frightened no doubt by the mini avalanche I just stirred up. She tries to pull her shirt down to cover more of her legs, but I’m having none of it. The surface of the rock feels seductively warm as I kneel before her, taking the phone out of her hand and ending the call.

She’s breathing heavily as she looks up at me with those big brown eyes. I drop the phone and my hands immediately circle her waist, drawing her into me. In my eagerness, I end up grabbing the hem of her shirt, yanking it over her stomach as I rock back on my heels. My thumbs graze her hips, indulging in the softness of her skin. She shivers as I move my hands farther up the sides of her body. I’ve seen so many women wearing this particular Whitfield shirt at Kings Stadium, but I’ve never wanted to tear it off a woman’s body like I do right now.

But I stop my hands from going too far. I exhale deeply, feeling her body move with mine as my lungs expand against her chest. I remove my hands from inside her shirt, pulling it back down like a gentleman, allowing myself to nuzzle the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. She smells like snowflakes mixed with sunshine, and I’m completely intoxicated. I can’t wait any longer. I have to know what she tastes like.

Her lips are already parted as I cradle the back of her wet head with my hand. She’s so delicate, so petite. My hands feel enormous on her body. It makes me want to protect her, shelter her from harm. The alpha male in me comes alive as I respond to her femininity. Something about her fragility coupled with her inner strength is striking me on a level no woman has ever reached before. I want to claim her as my own. Tell the world she’s mine—all mine.

I tilt my head, crashing my lips onto hers. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. My fingers tangle in the dampness of her hair as she opens her mouth to me, letting me in. Her breath mixes with mine as our tongues meet. Her hands grip my shoulders and my knee starts to ache from bearing the weight of both of our bodies. But I hardly notice, too caught up in exploring every inch of her mouth. Her hands feel incredible as they roam across the width of my back, her fingers tracing every contour. Her touch is way better than any massage. It feels fucking fantastic.

For a first kiss, this is exactly what I had in mind. But that’s all it can be—a kiss. Softly caressing the side of her face, I cup the smoothness of her cheek with the palm of my hand. Even though I don’t want to, I back away, gasping for air. Her lips are completely swollen after I just ravaged them. Her bangs fall to the side of her face as her hands land on my chest while she struggles to catch her breath.

“That’s as good as I hoped it would be,” she whispers in between breaths.

“Even better,” I respond, resting my chin on top of her head.

For a moment, we don’t say anything. We just kneel on that sun-baked rock, holding on to each other for dear life. I took the plunge and she dove in after me. There’s no way I can walk away from her after a kiss like that. This girl owns me, whether she realizes it or not. I’m a slave to her will. No one has ever made me feel like that—ever—especially from just a kiss. I can just imagine what having sex with her will be like. There’s no chance in hell I’m giving that up. I might be a selfish bastard for throwing her life into a tailspin, but I’ll make it up to her if she just lets me worship her body. It’s the least I can do for the media shitstorm I’m about to throw her into.

But I’m not hiding Grey away out of sight. I’m not keeping her out of the public eye. I’m sick of being a fraud. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it all the way or not at all. I want everyone to know that she’s the one. She’s not a casual fling or some publicity stunt. She’s what I’ve been waiting for, and I’ve been waiting for so long. It’s like I finally found my Holy fuckin’ Grail.

“You’re coming back to New York with me when I leave Stockton,” I whisper against her forehead, the water droplets falling from her hair tickling my nose.

“Chase, I—”

And I start to tremble when I hear a note of incredulity in her voice. She has to know that I’m not kidding around. I’m completely serious.

“Grey, you’re coming with me and that’s that.” I sit back, drawing her down with me, my eyes never leaving her face.

“Whoa, Chase. Slow down.” She glances at me nervously as she tugs on her shirt.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that.” I challenge her, holding my breath. If she shoots me down, I don’t think I can handle it.

“Are you kidding, Chase? That kiss was…fucking amazing.”

I laugh at her use of profanity, and she tenderly slides her hand over the day-old stubble along my jaw.

“But you’re still scared?” I wait as she nods. I have to get her to talk to me. I need to say something, anything to break this awkward silence. So I utter the first thought that enters my head. “Why are your feet all muddy?”

She grimaces, lowering her head. “I went for a swim in the lake.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I chuckle as she crinkles her toes.

“Can’t you see? I’m not the kind of girl who belongs with you. I’m not on your level. You need someone who’s wealthy and sophisticated. The world isn’t going to accept you being with someone like me. Let’s face it, I come from nothing.”

It’s killing her to admit what she perceives as her flaws. She has her pride. She’s not naïve. She knows the way the world works. But I couldn’t give a damn about what people think. I’m done with living my life for other people.