Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance (11 page)

“
I
respect your wishes
,” Kirk said at the end of the Jetway after he and Jeanine deplaned. “I won’t be coming to your bar, calling or texting you first. Is that understood?”

“Yes. It’s what I want.” She blinked and let go of his hand, but didn’t turn away.

“I apologize if I stepped over some boundaries. I know you’re doing well.” He held her gaze and fell into the flow of people headed for baggage claim and ground transportation.

“You didn’t overstep.” She dragged her roller and walked at a steady pace. “You’re a good man, Kirk Kennedy. You care. There’s not many like you.”

Then why are you running away from me? Why am I pushing you away?

“I do care. If you ever want to hang out, go out for drinks, you know where to find me. I have one day off in the middle of the month. I’d like to spend it with you.”

“Now you’re flattering me,” Jeanine said. “You make friends easily. Look at those four women you befriended. Dr. Susan called me this morning to check on me and told me how you entertained them by signing autographs, taking selfies with them, and being a good sport.”

Oh, so, he’d been outed as a nice guy. No wonder she hadn’t questioned him about his supposed cougar foursome.

He put his hand lightly on the small of her back as he guided her onto the Sky Train people mover, keeping her from being jostled by the other travelers.

“You don’t make friends easily,” he said. “But you have me now. I’m new in town and want to do something fun on my one day off.”

“What makes you think I’ll be any fun?” Despite her words, she leaned toward him without attempting to disengage the hand he pressed on her back. Was she flirting with him?

“Why don’t you pick the activity? Anything you want.”

She rocked on her feet as the automated train zipped toward the next stop. “Anything you’re scared of? Animals? Speed? Ghosts?”

“Nothing. How about something outdoors—in the desert. Whatever you’re good at.”

She seemed to toss the idea in her mind, bobbing her head. “I don’t do outdoor sex—well, maybe I could be talked into it.”

“Wasn’t thinking about that.” His face heated as he glanced around at the business crowd. It wasn’t as if they were alone in the train which was slowing to a stop. “Surprise me.”

“Surprise you?” She licked her lips. With her one-track mind, she was probably imagining a half a dozen kinky things. “You sure you’re up for anything?”

He spread his hands wide and gave her a grin no woman could resist. “Anything, babe. I’m all yours.”

She gave him that disbelieving look with a smirk that said she had no doubt he was flirting with her, and turned toward the platform.

“Okay, well, guess this is it.” She stepped from the train with him tailing her.

“We could share a cab,” he suggested as they walked out onto the curb.

“You tempt me.” She threw him a smile and waved at the taxi line. A driver emerged from his cab and opened the back door.

Since she hadn’t told him to get lost, he picked up her bag and stowed it in the trunk along with his, and slid into the backseat with her.

“You can’t ride with me.” She glared, but her smile gave her away. “Unless you kiss me.”

“Oh, you drive a hard bargain.” He turned to the driver. “Take her home first and I’ll pay for both our rides. And don’t mind us, okay?”

After they gave their addresses, Kirk pulled Jeanine onto his lap and brushed her hair from her face. She didn’t immediately press her lips to his, but stared into his eyes, silently communicating a boatload of unspoken words. He saw himself mirrored in her bright blues—a lost soul who’d chased after nothing but empty beds, temporary pleasure, running, always running because his mother preferred her lovers over her own son. If Jeanine had a sexual addiction problem, then so did he. If he wanted her to go for counseling, then he should go first. He should figure out what kind of man he wanted to be before claiming her, saving her, and much, much more.

Her eyes relaxed in that half-closed sexy way that veiled her true desires. The passion burning behind those lids couldn’t be denied. Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth and let her take control.

He felt her breath whisper against his lips, infused with her sultry scent—of night and spice, yet surprisingly shy. She barely touched his lips, but sparks of electricity spread across him and caught him in her web.

She kissed tenderly, almost tentatively, none of the tigress who’d attacked him in the alleyway, sliding her lips over his, sucking lightly on his upper lip, then lower, before slanting her head and taking him deeper.

Flames shot through him, urging him to press her close to mark her as his, but he curbed his need and received her hunger, her lips grinding into his, her tongue wrapped around his, gradually plundering him, taking and drawing from him. She shuddered and grabbed the back of his neck, painting his lips, his jaw and his neck with her passion, nipping and biting and inflaming him with the need to claim her, to brand and possess her.

Except she wasn’t his. Not yet. Not until she’d banished her demons and accepted herself and her past.

As the taxi slowed to a stop, he opened his eyes and palmed her face. “Jeanine. I think we’re in front of your apartment building.”

She licked her lips and curled them into a crooked smile. “Remember. Don’t contact me. I’ll take care of this and surprise you.”

His heart did jumping jacks and cartwheels at the fact she was going to fix things. He trusted her, but now, he had to fix his own issues. Quirking a grin, he winked. “I’m holding my breath, among other things, so you better hurry.”

She dotted a kiss on his cheek and slid off his lap, leaving him with a throbbing hard-on.

His day off was a week away. Could she do it? Could he?

J
eanine jolted
to a stop outside her apartment door. It was partially open and two police officers, a male and a female, were speaking to Tina.

“Oh, you’re back,” Tina said, shaking visibly. “I didn’t have time to call you.”

“What happened here? Are you okay?” She put her hand on Tina to comfort her.

“Someone broke in last night. I hid in the closet until it was safe to come out. I just called the cops.”

“You’re the renter of this unit?” the male officer said. “I’m Sergeant Dawson, and this is my partner Officer Hughes. May we ask you some questions?”

“Sure.” Jeanine shook his hand and dragged her roller bag in through the doorway. “Was anything taken?”

“Your house guest thinks nothing was taken,” Officer Hughes said. “They went through some of your paperwork, bills, things you had in the roll top desk.”

“They also stayed in your bedroom for a very long time,” Dawson said. “That’s why Tina couldn’t call us. She waited until she was sure they were gone.”

“How many were there?” Jeanine asked as she marched into her bedroom. The thought that someone had been in her underwear drawer and seen the contents in the velvet bag had her face blasting with heat while the rest of her shivered.

“I think two guys,” Tina said. “They were talking, but I couldn’t hear what they said. I was scared they’d look in the closet, so I hid under a pile of blankets.”

“You should check if any of your jewelry is missing,” Sergeant Dawson said.

Jeanine opened her closet door and knelt to touch her safe. “I don’t think they opened this.”

Just to be on the safe side, she covered her hand and worked the combination. Sure enough, everything was still inside.

“Nothing taken here. But how’d they get in? Did they break a window or lock?” She stood and walked to the bedroom window.

“Actually, I took out the trash and forgot to lock the door,” Tina said. “It was stupid.”

“You sure nothing was taken?” Officer Hughes followed her to the window. “We need to fill out our report.”

Jeanine wiped her hand over her head and looked around the room. Everything seemed to be in place. A pair of pearl earrings lay on the nightstand, and her collection of driftwood sculptures, including a stork, a leaping horse, and an elk with full antlers still stood on the minimalistic shelves she had over her bed.

“It seems nothing was taken,” she said. “I can let you know later if I discover anything missing.”

“Great, can we ask if you have any suspicions on who might have broken in?”

“There was a stalker I reported who took pictures of me and my friend’s daughter outside of her house. I filed a police report.”

“Ah, so you think this might have something to do with it?” Sergeant Dawson raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I don’t know. Nothing’s for sure, but it doesn’t seem like a coincidence,” Jeanine said. “I’ve been living here for five years and nothing like this has happened before.”

“Okay, we’ll look into the stalker report and ask the neighbors if they saw anything suspicious,” Officer Hughes said. “And if you remember anything or are missing anything, please give me a call.”

She handed Jeanine a business card.

Once the officers were gone, Jeanine turned to Tina. “Are you okay? You must have been scared.”

“I’m fine, but I was so stupid. I left the door unlocked, but what are the chances someone would come in?”

“People try doorknobs, except they would have taken something—like the earrings or the TV, if they wanted to fence something.” Her voice trailed off. This had to be the work of the stalker, or a guy she’d picked up in the past. Did she owe someone money that she wasn’t aware of? She’d fired a few employees in the past, but she thought they understood why she had to let them go. A week ago, she’d run into a guy who used to work for her, and he’d seemed happy to see her.

“They were going through your paperwork,” Tina said, her voice pinched and small. “I heard them opening and closing drawers.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Jeanine dragged Tina in for a hug. “Do you want the day off? I’m going in shortly and I can stay late tonight.”

“No, I’m fine. I need the hours,” Tina said. “I’m trying to save so I can get a place of my own.”

“Only if you’re okay. It couldn’t have been easy spending the night inside the closet.”

“I’m good. I had a cup of coffee. Let me shower and I’ll get out of your way.” Tina forced a wan smile and hurried from Jeanine’s side.

As soon as Tina went into the bathroom, Jeanine rushed back into her bedroom and pulled open the nightstand drawer. Empty. Completely empty. All of her sexy lingerie and that velvet bag containing her sex toys were missing.

The lower drawer told the same story. Sexy lingerie missing, but sports bras and sports socks remained.

Chills seized her and left her reeling, blinking, staring at the empty drawer. Who would want her bras and panties and her vibrator? Who was that obsessed with her?

And worse. Did they want to hurt her?

J
eanine wasn’t going
to freak out. She wasn’t going to let her imagination run wild. Not going to think about George Simpson being out of jail and ransacking her apartment.

The burglars were probably kids looking for drug money and ended up stealing her lingerie for kicks. A slow shudder traveled through her body and she rubbed her arms to warm herself up.

Besides, Tina was the one who had the real scare, hiding in the closet for half the night, and Tina was okay with going to work.

Stiffening her spine, Jeanine changed into her bartending outfit. It was going to be a long day today, and she’d promised Kirk she would figure things out before contacting him.

Marcia was sitting at her desk when Jeanine walked into their office. Her clothes were wrinkled, and she looked like she hadn’t brushed her hair. She wore no makeup.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Marcia sighed loudly. “How was your trip?”

“It was okay,” Jeanine said, pulling her chair to her friend. “How are you feeling?”

She gazed deeply into her friend’s eyes, noting the fine lines and bags under her eyes and the tired sag of her lips.

“Doing okay.” Marcia yawned. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get a good night’s sleep.”

How about Brock?
Jeanine bit back the words on the edge of her tongue. No, it wasn’t about Brock, but about her—she was Marcia’s best friend—she should do something about it.
Just like Kirk’s doing something about you
, a little voice nagged at the back of her mind.

If she wasn’t so self-centered, running around after men and getting hit on to shore herself up for another week of work, she would have noticed how badly her friend was faring, Brock or no Brock.

Jeanine put her arm around Marcia and hugged her. “I’m sorry you’re not getting enough sleep. Is everything okay between you and Brock? I get the feeling things are strained.”

Okay, so maybe she was fishing, but the fact that Brock would take off in the evenings while Marcia worked and leave baby Brock with Marcia’s father was a sure sign things weren’t going well in that paradise called marriage.

“Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” Marcia hugged her back and pumped up a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

“Is Brock helping? Are you feeling supported by him?”

Marcia nodded, sweeping her dark brown hair over her shoulders and tying it into a bun. “He’s doing the best he can.”

She opened the drawer and retrieved several hair clips and bobby pins, avoiding Jeanine’s questioning gaze.

“You can tell me.” Jeanine put a consoling hand on her friend’s back. “It’s me. Jeanine. I won’t say anything to him, and I promise you, I won’t speak badly about him.”

Having dealt with Tina and other abused women, Jeanine knew better than to criticize the purported abuser. It only put the women on the defensive and made them clam up, worried that someone might intervene and cause more trouble than good.

“There’s nothing bad to say about him.” Marcia blinked wearily. “He’s doing everything he can to stay in the big leagues, give Bianca all the love and attention she needs, and help out with little Boo.”

Oh, really? Jeanine couldn’t help quirking an eyebrow. So, this was how Marcia wanted to play the script. Brock was a great husband and father. Her marriage was perfect. Other than the colicky baby, everything was great—just wonderful, peachy.

“Well, I’m glad,” Jeanine said. “But don’t you guys ever get a break from the baby? How’s Pappy doing?”

“He’s fine. He helps us a lot.” Marcia nodded a little too emphatically. “We’re doing well. Really. I appreciate your concern. In fact, everything went well last night. Tina’s a real natural with the customers. Friendly but firm. She’s a heck of a drink mixer, too.”

“Gets that from our foster mother. She was a real alkie and a smashing bartender until she got fired for drinking up her boss’s three thousand dollar reserve vintage cognac.”

“Ouch.” Marcia rubbed her face and this time, her smile was more relaxed. She had, of course, heard that story a million times. It was one of the few stories Jeanine told of her time with the Simpsons, and it never failed to draw a smile. It explained why she was a bartender with an encyclopedic repertoire of drinks, and it bypassed talking about the man who’d given her a bed, a roof over her head, and a job mixing drinks at his Times Square bar in exchange for sex.

“Let’s hope Tina gets her living situation straightened up soon. She tells me she’s staying at your place because the guys at the motorcycle club told her to pay rent or put out.”

“Yeah, guys are like that,” Jeanine said. “Of course, she can stay with me as long as she needs.”

“Have you met that guy she’s hooked up with? She says she’s not his old lady, that means steady girlfriend, but he tends to guard her against the other guys in the club.”

“No, I haven’t, but if she’s being abused, she needs to stay away and get counseling. Remember that therapist Brock was seeing?” A jitter started in Jeanine’s fingers and traveled to her heart. She’d been the one who had urged Marcia to let the therapist deal with Brock when she suspected him of domestic abuse.

“Sure, I have her email and contact information on my phone,” Marcia said. “She helped Brock, and remember I saw one too? Not the same one, of course.”

“Yours was a man, didn’t he specialize in victims of abuse?”

“Yes, he did.” Marcia’s eyes wavered. “Is this for Tina or someone else?”

Chills seized Jeanine from her throat to her gut. Had Marcia heard anything? Or was she fishing? After all, Jeanine was quick to spot abuse all around her—having grown up with Karen Simpson who used her daughter as a punching bag. Fortunately, Karen hadn’t touched the foster children, because they were the cash cows, so Tina had escaped both Karen’s beatings and George’s attention.

“I’m thinking Tina should talk to both of them and see which one she clicks with. They helped you and Brock, right?”

“Definitely.” Marcia thumbed through her phone. “I’ll text them to you.”

“Thanks,” Jeanine said. “I’m going to open up the restaurant side. Why don’t you go home? Tina’s out there so you can get some rest.”

“Rest? Like at home with the baby?” Marcia’s jaw gaped wide. “It’s actually easier here than at home. But you’re right. I can’t tire Pappy out. He needs a break, too.”

An idea sparked in Jeanine’s mind and she felt as if a light bulb had exploded. Of course. She’d offer to take care of baby Brock and Bianca on her next day off and let Marcia and Brock stay out at a hotel. Pappy could also have a sleepover at his buddy’s place and spend the day fishing.

How hard could it be? She’d have Kirk to help her take Bianca and the baby to the zoo. This was perfect.

“How about this?” She walked back to Marcia and put her hands on her hips. “Next Wednesday, on my day off, I’ll watch both Binky and Boo, take them to the zoo, and spend the night. Then you and Brock can go to Vegas or stay at a local hotel. It’s the Rattlers’ one day off this spring training, so you gotta make the most of it.”

“I don’t know …” Marcia wrung her hands and bit down on her lip. “Are you sure you know how to take care of a baby?”

“He’s what, three months old? Just leave all the milk in bottles, and we’ll heat them up and feed him. As for changing diapers, when I was at one of the foster homes, I was in charge of diaper changing all the little ones. Piece of cake.”

“I wouldn’t exactly use that comparison.” A smile elongated across Marcia’s face and this time, it reached her eyes. “Let me talk it over with Brock. I guess Pappy can be your backup.”

“Oh, no Pappy. Let him have a day off to go fishing. This is on me. I’ll read all the baby care books before next week and be ready for action.” Jeanine patted Marcia. “Okay, got to go open up.”

This would be the perfect way to test Kirk, whether he really wanted to be her friend or not, and see if he was any good with kids. With the children around, he wouldn’t be able to put the moves on her as easily—assuming the baby never went to sleep.

T
he game went
into extra innings, dragging through the eleventh, and then the twelfth. The Rattlers had just about emptied their bullpen and now Ryan Hudson, the closer, was pitching.

He was a no nonsense guy and had an array of changeups, sliders, and curveballs. Kirk sized up the batter and signaled for a slider. The batter was at two strikes and would be the second out for the inning. He’d have to protect the strike zone and swing at anything that looked like a strike.

Ryan shook him off, not agreeing. He signaled a fastball.

Was he kidding? A fastball would be a gift to the batter, and from the look of it, the batter was picking up the signal. Kirk could sense the anticipation coming off the batter’s front leg, raring to hit a home run and give his team the insurance run, breaking the tie before the bottom of the inning.

Kirk signaled a dropping slider again, and Ryan shook his head. It was time to go to the mound. Kirk couldn’t let Ryan lose it. Every game counted, and the coaches were watching to see if he, as the new catcher, could take leadership over the veteran closer.

“What’s the problem? You want to gift the guy a fastball?” Kirk grumbled with his glove behind his back.

“Let him think I’m throwing a fastball,” Ryan said. “It’s the bastard pitch. Trust me.”

The bastard pitch looked like a fastball, then turned into a slider on the way out of the strike zone, fooling the hitter to swing and usually miss at the last split second.

“Okay, then, I’ll act like I don’t agree with you.” Kirk shook his head vehemently and glanced at the dugout, as if trying to get the coaches to intervene. He dragged his heels back to the plate, acting like he’d been overruled and was angry about it.

This time, he called another slider, but he was prepared. The ball hung for a moment, coming straight in, but broke down and away.

Swing and a miss.

“You’re out,” the umpire grunted.

The batter threw up his hands and walked off, knowing how stupid he looked. Unfortunately, Ryan could only throw one bastard pitch because the next guy would anticipate it.

He was one of their clutch hitters, a guy who could hit anything, inside or outside the zone. It was time to soften him up, so Kirk called for an inside pitch. Ryan nodded, then wound up, throwing it high and close to the batter’s neck. It was a ball, of course, but the batter jumped back out of the box.

He glared at Ryan and took a few practice swings as if he’d like to knock the pitcher upside the head.

Obviously, the next pitch would be down and away, forcing the batter to dive for it. Kirk called it, but Ryan shook him off.

What was this guy doing? Did he want to hit the batter or what? Kirk called for a curveball, but was shaken off again.

He didn’t want another conference on the mound, as time was getting late, and everyone was impatient to get going, so he accepted Ryan’s signal.

The pitch came in hard and cut inside, hitting the batter on the thigh.

That did it. The hitter jumped from the batting box and charged toward the mound, bat in hand. Kirk was on his feet, grabbing the batter from the back. Before he knew it, both dugouts emptied, and players swarmed onto the field.

The game had been a bear, tied zero-zero, and guys wanted to let off steam. After a few shoves, shouts, and insults, everyone went back to their positions, and the batter took the intentional walk. Ryan most likely wanted to walk the guy, but by drilling him, he showed who was boss. Most people were unaware of what a psychological game baseball was, especially between the pitcher, catcher, and batter.

Fortunately, the next guy was an easy out, a pop fly that Kirk caught with no problem. When it was time for the Rattlers to go to bat, Kirk finished the game with a solo homer.

He was ready for the showers, but he wasn’t looking forward to the after game activities. He’d promised Jeanine he wouldn’t go to her bar, and all his teammates would wonder why. They knew he’d gone to Vegas with her, and in a way, maybe it was better not to go out with them and subject himself to their interrogation on which base he’d gotten with her.

Hopefully, she had a good surprise planned for him, or maybe it was a way of blowing him off—letting him off the hook without directly rejecting him.

Kirk flexed his talented hands and licked his lips. No woman who’d sampled his skills had ever turned away from him. Not one.