Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance (13 page)

K
irk had
a few hours before he absolutely had to be at the clubhouse. He’d been running late. No surprise, since he’d spent the night on a lumpy futon by himself after putting himself firmly in the friend-zone with Jeanine.

He had to. After she froze on him in bed, his ego had taken a beating. Sure, he’d passed it off like it was nothing. She had a problem with sex addiction. She had issues. She needed treatment. She had some trauma that was keeping her from being able to relax.

But deep down, how could he not take it personally?

When morning came, he’d gone with Jeanine to her apartment and stood with her while she called the locksmith to change the locks and a security specialist to sweep for electronic monitoring devices. Afterward, they’d said an awkward goodbye with the obligatory “I’ll text you,” which meant nothing, since he wasn’t going to bark up her tree and annoy her.

Now, he was back in his apartment which felt strangely empty. He walked into his bedroom and crunched the sheets that Jeanine had slept in into his fists, holding them to his nose. Her scent lingered, intoxicating and musky, sultry like the dark, rich perfume she wore. It got his heart beating like a hit of espresso and adrenaline, addictive, but ultimately frustrating. He’d never, ever had to leave a woman’s side unsatisfied. Ever.

She was apologetic, overly so. They’d agreed to be friends. Friends only. Friends without benefits. Which meant he should start dating again, or at least hooking up. He needed to get back on the horse as soon as possible. Coming off that almost-sex situation with Jeanine had him primed with nowhere to go, and he needed to get going.

He stuffed the sheets into the washing machine and started the cycle. Kirk never mooned over any woman, and he wasn’t going to start with Jeanine. He’d thought she wanted him, too, but apparently, he was only a hurdle for her—someone to sleep with to prove to herself that she desired sex, that she liked it and wanted it.

Kirk went through his bathroom and removed all traces of the fact a woman had stayed. He emptied his trash and threw out the makeup wipes she left. He should never have broken his rule by bringing a woman to his place. It was a good rule, and he’d lived by it since the day he caught his ex-fiancée fucking another man in his bed.

He pulled clean sheets onto his bed and changed the pillowcases. No one would ever violate his bed again. Especially a woman out to prove something—as if having sex with him was distasteful—a chore she had to get over.

He picked up a long, blond hair from the headboard and drew it through his fingers. No other woman had crawled under his skin the way Jeanine had, but he wasn’t going to punish himself and wait it out. Tonight, after the game, he was going to have sex. There were plenty of bars and plenty of hot, sun-kissed women in Arizona who were ready and willing.

Kirk let the hair drop into a wastebasket and went to the kitchen. After pouring himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of Wheaties, he thumbed through his phone, reading email.

His brother wanted to know if he’d given the love letters to Jeanine or not. Why was it he couldn’t escape from this Jeanine Jewell, no matter where he turned?

He typed a message informing him that he wasn’t going to forward the letters to Jeanine. Whatever game Mom was playing was not one he was going to participate in—especially delivering letters from some down-on-his-luck chump. She’d probably thrown him over the barrel, too.

Were the letters even signed? The guy had called Jeanine his lucky charm. Was that his nickname for her? If he were a real man, why wouldn’t he send the letters to her directly? Even better, send email.

But then, maybe this was not a sane person. A chilling thought ran down his spine. This could be one of the stalkers, looking for an opportunity to make himself known.

Kirk dug the packet containing the letters out of the closet. He opened one after another. None of the letters were signed by name—only nicknames—which usually meant a married lover. The sheets of paper were yellowed and crinkled. How old were these letters?

D
earest Jeanine
, I can’t get over how lucky I am to find you. Even though it took a long time for you to open up to me, it was worth the wait. You are a fresh and tender flower and I feel so privileged to be the one you turn to whenever you’re sad or scared. Have no doubt. I will never let anyone hurt you. I will always protect you because you are so precious to me. I hope you realized that the other day when I found you crying. You were hurt because some people said some very mean and hurtful things about you. I was able to take those tears away, wasn't I?

So never worry, my heart. As long as I’m on this earth drawing breath, I will always love you and protect you.

Your lover

S
omething
about the letter made Kirk’s skin crawl. The handwriting looked masculine and hard, the paper showing indentations from the pen ripping through the pages. The writer had been angry that someone had hurt Jeanine, but Kirk couldn’t picture Jeanine crying because somebody said something about her. She was more likely to tell them off than to cry.

Troubled, he opened another one.

D
earest Jeanine
, I hope you enjoyed your sixteenth birthday party. I want to let you know how proud I am of your behavior and demeanor. Some of your friends acted very childish when they shut down the roller coaster we’d waited so long for, but you didn’t join in as they jeered the park workers. Later when I took all of you to the movies and they wanted you to sit with them in the front row, you knew I couldn’t stand looking up at a giant screen so close—that it made me sick, so you agreed to sit with me in the back. I knew at that moment how truly you loved me and I am again thankful that you came into my life. I can picture you as a young lady, all grown up, and when that day comes, I can hardly wait to make you mine. Love always, Your honey.

G
ag
. Kirk choked over the Wheaties, and milk spurted through his nose. This man who was in love with Jeanine was obviously older than she and most likely someone who was trusted to take her and her teenaged friends out to celebrate her birthday. The writing style was strange, and Kirk couldn’t picture himself or any guy he knew writing such a sappy, sugary letter to any woman or girl, for that matter.

What was Jeanine’s reaction to these letters? Obviously she must have thrown them away. How did his mother get a hold of them?

It was time for some answers. Kirk wiped up the milk he’d splattered on the table and called his mother.

His mother surprisingly answered. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t done her bidding to give the messages to Jeanine made her decide to talk to him.

“Darling, how wonderful to hear from you,” she crooned in her high society accent. “Matt tells me you’re burning up the ballpark. He thinks you’ll get the starting job.”

“This isn’t a social conversation,” Kirk said through his irritated throat. “I need answers. Who wrote those love letters to Jeanine and why are you sending them to me?”

“Oh, that,” She yawned audibly. “I’m helping out a friend. She claims to have known this Miss Jewell growing up, and she asked me to track her down.”

“Why you? Why didn’t she mail them herself or pay her a visit?” Kirk wouldn’t put it past his mother to lie for the sheer joy of ruining people’s lives. His mother thrived on drama and trouble. If she had her way, she’d be the star of her very own soap opera. God knew she tried hard enough.

“Oh, Kirk, darling. You know I can’t spill something told to me in confidence.”

“Never stopped you before.” He grunted at the obvious hypocrisy. “I’m mailing the letters back. If they’re so important to this old friend of yours, she should contact Jeanine directly.”

“Oh, you’re such a difficult boy. Why can’t you be more like Matt? Except he’s gay. I’ll hand it to you for being straight, but in every other way, Matt acts like a son and you don’t.”

“Because I see through you.” Kirk gritted his teeth, feeling the pain for his brother who sought to gain his mother’s approval by sucking up to her. “The letters are going back. Don’t involve me with your dirty deeds.”

“Dirty deeds?” His mother huffed as if she spewed out cigarette smoke from every orifice of her body. “I’ll tell you who’s dirty. The woman you took off with to Vegas to get into her pants. I hope you took precautions and didn’t catch your death in sex diseases.”

“I didn’t sleep with her, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Then what were you doing? Keeping track of her for a buddy? Because if you are, we might be working on the same side. Why don’t you let me in on what you’re up to so we don’t get our wires crossed.”

“Sorry, I’m not on your team.” Kirk ended the call and fought the urge to throw his phone across the room.

His mother was up to no good.

J
eanine stepped
onto the mat at the Black Tiger dojo and faced Skye, her training partner, for a bout of judo wrestling. The two women bowed respectfully and as soon as Master Tao dropped his hand, they sprang at each other, grabbing fistfuls of heavy cotton.

Skye attempted a hip roll, and Jeanine stepped out of it. She pulled at Skye and turned, trying to throw her onto the mat as the other woman squirmed and strained. She got one leg between Jeanine’s, but Jeanine turned her around while holding onto her uniform. Skye held her ground and pushed, tripping Jeanine.

Jeanine held on tight and brought Skye down on top of her. She shoved hard and hooked her leg before the other woman could sit on her. Wiggling and grunting, the two grappled, twisting arms and legs around each other.

Skye rolled Jeanine onto her back and trapped her with a knee on her belly. Panic gripped Jeanine’s throat, and she scrambled to displace her opponent. Grabbing the other woman’s waist, Jeanine held on tight while her legs flailed, trying to gain leverage.

Sweat pinpricked her face, and her heart knocked against her throat. She hated being pinned. Hated being underneath her opponent. Hated being helpless.

Skye wrestled and locked her tight with a smothering embrace, waiting for Jeanine to tap the mat. Pain shot through her joints, and she strained to breathe, her chest crushed and the other woman’s arm in a chokehold around her neck.

Jeanine would not give up. Would not cry out. Would not tap the mat.

“That’s enough,” Master Tao said, after several excruciating seconds had passed.

Immediately, Skye let her loose and jumped to her feet, extending a helping hand.

“You okay?” she asked Jeanine.

Pressure built inside Jeanine’s head, and her pulse thudded like an overweight freight train. She hated that question.
Are you okay? Are you okay?

Of course, I’m not okay. I’ve never been okay. I’m out of this fucking hell not okay. Never in my life have I been okay. So don’t fucking ask me if I’m okay. I. Will. Never. Be. Okay.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Jeanine said. She took her training partner’s strong grip and clambered to her feet. “Ready to do this again.”

And so it went. No matter how much stronger Skye was, or how many times she threw Jeanine, locked her, pinned her, twisted her arm, choked and crushed her, Jeanine always bounced back and said she was okay.

After the workout, Jeanine’s entire body was sore and stretched, twisted as if she were a living pretzel. Sweat burned through the pores of her skin and her joints ached.

“You sure you’re okay?” Skye asked, as they walked to the parking area. “Was I too hard on you?”

“No, never.” Jeanine gave her training partner a light shove. “But I’ll get you back in sparring. I’ll kick your ass.”

“Heard you had a run in with a man, kicked him in the head,” Skye said. “Master Tao mentioned it in the self-defense class I was assisting in.”

“Yep, I thanked him for the training. Came in handy.” Jeanine fished her car keys from her purse.

“Why do you get yourself in such situations?” Skye leveled a serious look at her. “I mean it. You’ve been lucky so far, but I don’t want you to turn into another statistic.”

“I can handle it.” Jeanine unlocked her car.

“Sure you can. What if he held you down? What if he threw you on your back and jumped on top of you? Then what?”

“I won’t let that happen. No one holds me down.” Jeanine swiped the back of her hand over her sweaty face. “I will never ever let anyone crush me.”

“That’s what you say, but not what you do.” Skye pressed her hand over Jeanine’s shoulder.

Jeanine shot her training partner a narrowed glare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re freezing up as soon as your back hits the ground, and that’s when I get the advantage on you. Happens every time. It’s in your head, Jeanine. You’re scared and you’re trying so damn hard to talk yourself out of it. Being brave. Saying you’re okay. Always fine. Doing great. And then taking all those risks. What are you trying to prove?”

Jeanine threw Skye’s hand from her shoulder and stepped into her car. “I am doing great, and it’s none of your business how many men I sleep with. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure you can.” Skye’s lips pressed into a line. “You’ve always been taking care of yourself. Maybe you should let someone else care about you for a change. You look like you need a friend.”

“I’m fine, really. I appreciate the concern,” Jeanine said. “I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.” Skye gave Jeanine a quick wave and backed away toward her car. “Let me know when you’re free. Maybe we can go shopping or hang out sometime.”

“Maybe,” Jeanine said. She closed the car door and took deep breaths to calm herself down.

Why did everyone think she had a problem? She loved sex. She loved her one-night stands, and she loved danger. She was not a victim. She was the master of her own fate.

Yeah, right. Most days she couldn’t even fool herself. She was fucking pathetic. She couldn’t even let Kirk fuck her when she’d had the chance. She wasn’t even brave enough to be the whore she thought she was. She’d acted like a stupid victim. It was better to be a whore than a victim. Always better to have a choice, and whores had choices.