Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance (2 page)

K
irk ambled
into the clubhouse early the next morning. He’d like to believe he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed compared to the other guys who allowed a woman to wear them out all night—and that included married guys who had to stomach all night nagging or babies waking up for their bottles or diaper changes.

Spring training was serious business, and any guy who thought it was one long party was in for a big surprise once the roster was announced. Whereas a major league team filled their rosters with twenty pitchers, they usually only had room for two or three catchers.

Kirk was the new catcher this year. Despite his multi-million dollar contract, he could bet his cleats the other Rattler catchers weren’t going to make it easy for him. Which went the same with the pitchers, each with their favorite catchers. Cocky bastards, every last one of them, but they didn’t know their own throwing abilities as well as the guy behind the plate who’d be calling the pitches.

Sure enough, pitchers Ryan Hudson, Tim Li, and Jay Pak Ahn, walked in with the Rattlers’ starting catcher from the previous year, Josh Johnson, who’d suffered a concussion in a post-season game after being hit by the backswing of a bat.

Kirk gave them a nod, and they barely acknowledged him before turning to their lockers. He unzipped his gear bag and started dressing for practice. The pitchers and catchers had shown up earlier to get acquainted, and he was pretty sure he could read them as well as their own mothers.

His job as a catcher was to intimately know the pitching staff: their strengths, weaknesses and quirks, and be able to manage them throughout the game. Josh would have that knowledge as well as the ongoing relationships. He claimed to be healthy this year, but Kirk wasn’t going to lay off of him. He came to Phoenix to win the starting position. After all, the Rattlers had traded hotshot slugger Keith Mountford after he came off the injury reserve list to the Minutes for him.

Brock Carter, the third baseman who’d replaced Mountford, swaggered in. Despite his bleary eyes due to a three-month-old baby boy, he raised his hand in a hearty greeting and walked past the pitchers to place his gym bag on the bench next to Kirk. He and Kirk were teammates back in their minor league days in Louisiana, and Brock and his wife, Marcia, were one of the few friendly faces in this dry desert town.

“Awesome out at the plate last night,” Brock said, giving him a clap on the back.

“Hey, I knew Buster was going to charge me. Guy used to play football.” Kirk brushed off the compliment. Last night was his first game against his former teammates, so the coaches had decided to start him in the opener. “How’s your baby, Brock Jr.?”

Brock rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “A real screamer. Was tough last night because Marcia had to work late at the bar.”

Oh, right. The Hot Corner was owned by Brock’s wife, Marcia, which meant Jeanine was Marcia’s business partner. Even though it burned that she’d turned him down, in retrospect, it looked like he’d dodged a bullet. She was now officially off-limits. Hopefully Phoenix was a big enough city where he could play catch without running into her and her friends.

“You got diaper duty?”

“That and breast milk bottle feeding. I swear, the kid hates plastic bottles. Fussing through the whole ordeal. Wasn’t even fooled by the bean bags I stuffed in his hands.”

“He wants the boobies while he’s sucking.” Kirk laughed. “Don’t we all.”

Brock changed into his jersey and shook his head slowly. “Everything changes once there’s a baby in your bed. He gets first dibs and I can’t suck on them because Marcia wants everything clean and hygienic for the baby.”

“Ha, ha, pushed aside by your own son.” Kirk slapped his buddy’s back. “I like Marcia, but you can be my wingman when we go out and I’ll be your chaperone.”

“You kidding? I can’t even stay awake to go out with you.” Brock tugged his cleats over his stocking feet. “You got your ‘catch’ last night?”

Kirk simulated catching a pitch with his catcher’s mitt. “Yep, caught and released. Not even sure what her name was.”

“Will Phoenix be big enough so you won’t run into her again?” Brock quirked his lips, ready to tease. “Is it going to be catch and release or catch and recatch?”

“Catch and release, always.” Kirk straightened and tucked in his jersey. Unlike the rest of them, he wasn’t done dressing. Once he hit the playing field, he’d have on a mask, chest guard, leg guards, and helmet. Heck, he might as well wear armor. Not only were ninety-mile-per-hour fastballs thrown at him, but the batters taking a swing could wallop him upside the head, and that wasn’t counting the foul balls popping off their bats right into his face mask.

“You ever think about settling down?” Brock helped him pull his gear from his jumbo bag. “Then we could double date. Marcia and I, you and your girl. Can’t beat the home field advantage.”

Yikes. This sounded way too cozy and small-townish. Besides, Jeanine wasn’t the type to do second dates either.

She hadn’t even wanted a first encounter.

Kirk wasn’t used to being shot down. That never happened. It had to be the town. Back in New York, he’d had models coming out of his ears. Here? A bartender who looked like a model had his blood pressure jumping. Had to be the water, or lack of it.

Kirk put his cap on backwards. “Looks like I’ll be batting for the visiting team.”

Settling down was just that—settling, and judging by the way his mother and father each had their sidepieces, Kirk couldn’t fathom playing the game of making and breaking vows or some unfortunate woman’s heart. It would be even worse if children were involved.

As tempting as the scene Brock painted was, each of them buddies with beer in hand and their women and children gathered around the campfire, it wasn’t happening for him—at least not in this lifetime.

J
eanine was
late to work the next morning. It wasn’t like her. Usually, she was refreshed and ready to run after the excitement of the hunt, chase, catch, and release. Getting laid fulfilled some primordial need of hers, one imprinted in her genes of tangling with a hot and desirable male.

Except last night’s meeting with Kirk had left her drained and agitated. Tossing and turning the entire night and checking her alarm clock had made it worse. She hadn’t fallen asleep until five in the morning, and that was only after she brought his leather jacket to bed and snuggled with it.

She’d have to return it, and that meant a trip to the clubhouse. She didn’t need another dose of his pheromones, if the way her body had reacted last night had been an indication. Maybe it would be better to mail the jacket or give it to Brock. But then she rather loved the softness of the leather and the way it smelled like Kirk—hot, male, earthy and comforting. Maybe she’d keep it and let him come to her place and retrieve it.

She stepped in the office she shared with Marcia.

Marcia was going over the invoices for the day’s food and drink receipts. That was supposed to be Jeanine’s job.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Jeanine couldn’t help yawning.

“You look like something a Gila monster dragged in,” Marcia said, her eyes wide and appraising. “Let me guess. You didn’t get laid?”

“That would be a first.” Jeanine chuckled. She always scored any man she wanted. Of course, she was careful to pick from ones who were visibly single and unattached, and it certainly didn’t hurt that she resembled a supermodel. Athletes liked models. Most men did, at least to be seen with. She met her friend’s gaze straight on. “Would you believe I had two dates?”

“You didn’t!” Marcia’s eyes popped wide and her mouth dropped. “Is that why you’re bushed?”

Jeanine stifled a yawn and shook her head. “Would you believe I met a guy who operates by the same rules I have?”

“First date or second?”

“Second. I’d left the first guy’s hotel room when I ran into this ballplayer sneaking out of some woman’s room. We went to The Home Plate and shared a hot tamale, some conversation, and that was it.”

“I’m disappointed.”

“What? That I actually had a conversation?” Jeanine woke up her computer. “Let me finish the invoices.”

“Sure. I have to work on payroll and then meet the kitchen inspector.” Marcia pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail. “What’d you guys talk about?”

“We’re cut from the same cloth. We love the opposite sex. Don’t do relationships, and hate complications.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell. He told me if he ever slept with me, he’d never speak to me again.”

“Anyone we know? Team?” Marcia tapped on the number keys with the ease of an accountant.

“One of the new Rattlers. Kirk Kennedy from the New York Minutes, traded for Keith Mountford.”

“Brock’s buddy?” Marcia’s face broke into a huge grin. “Mr. Catch and Release himself.”

“Brock knows him?” Jeanine’s pulse rattled inside her head. “No wonder he won’t come to our bar. He’s hanging out at The Home Plate.”

“Dive.” Marcia’s nose scrunched. “I can’t believe you ate there and you’re not bent over a toilet throwing up.”

“Their tamales were pretty awesome.” Jeanine ducked as Marcia wadded up a piece of paper and tossed it at her.

“Sure it wasn’t Kirk who made the tamales taste so good? Brock says he’s legendary. Frankly, I’m shocked he’d give up the social life in New York to scrap around this dusty town full of cacti.”

“Oh well, I’ll never know. Let’s just say opposites attract and like repel. We’re too much alike, and we can’t pull anything over the other.”

“Might be your perfect match.” Marcia winked. “He’s onto your game and you’re onto his. You two will have no choice but to be open and honest.”

“That’s a choice I can do without, even if it comes attached to the stuff of legends.” Jeanine quelled the regret blossoming inside her at never getting to know Kirk Kennedy and what made him tick.

Why did it matter? There were hundreds of men like him, and they all promised the best sex ever, yet fell way short.

“As long as you’re happy.” Marcia reached for her and squeezed her shoulder. “That’s all I want for you.”

Jeanine drew in a deep breath as she brought up the invoice entry screen in the accounting program.

“I’m happy. Real happy.” She repeated what her foster father had always said and shuddered with a bone-freezing chill. He’d maintained his happiness even on the day they’d taken him to prison.

F
riday night
, Kirk was feeling like shit. Other than playing the opener against his former teammates, he’d been manning the bullpen while Josh Johnson and the three other catcher prospects rotated through the lineup.

It was normal for coaches to want to check out all the talent, but the Rattlers hadn’t paid out so much money just to have him sit around. Fortunately, he’d lobbied to play the next day’s doubleheader and Coach had agreed.

Kirk dried his hair as he watched the guys banter around the locker room. He’d have to break into a few pitcher cliques if he wanted to gain their confidence. The place was crawling with pitchers, but he could only afford to talk up the good ones.

The old-timer pitchers hung out with Johnson, but maybe he had a chance with the two Asian guys. Jay Pak Ahn had returned from the Louisiana Copperheads with a minor league championship under his belt. The guy was tall and strong, a real power thrower—nicknamed the Tigerman because he’d come from a Korean championship team named Tigers.

Meanwhile, Timmy Li, a second year rookie, was a cocky, arrogant son of a bitch from Taiwan. He hadn’t quite lived up to his promise, but he was young, strong, and healthy. Kirk glanced at Ryan Hudson, an older guy who was complaining about his elbow.

Let Johnson waste his time with the geriatric crowd.

Kirk smoothed back his hair, stowed his gear, and looked for his jacket before remembering he’d left it with the hot blonde who owned The Hot Corner.

He’d been putting off going over there, because meeting Jeanine again meant friend-zoning her. But then again, her being Brock’s wife’s business partner already killed any logical reason for him to sleep with her.

His dick twitched, disagreeing, and of course, his heart rate, pulse, and every other nerve in his body fired at the thought of getting close to her. Looked like the entire Hot Corner and its vicinity were now off-limits to him.

Kirk grabbed a shearling-trimmed denim jacket and closed his locker. Now wasn’t the time to let his cock lead. Despite the impression he gave Jeanine, he wasn’t having it every night either. He was here for spring training, and ever since his first night out, he hadn’t bothered looking for women—not when a certain blonde intruded in all his thoughts and daydreams.

He’d kept track of her, of course. It hadn’t been hard at all with Brock broadcasting his wife’s days or evenings off, which were opposite to Jeanine’s.

So far, it looked like workaholic Jeanine wasn’t due for time off until Sunday afternoon. He still had plenty of time to catch up with her before she went out man hunting again.

Pasting a congenial smile on his face, Kirk approached Jay and Timmy. He clapped Jay on the back. “That last walk should have been a called strikeout.”

“Tell me about it. It was a changeup,” Jay said. “But the way Johnson swung his mitt, the ump thought it was outside the strike zone.”

“Bad luck.” Kirk rubbed his nose, knowing it wasn’t all luck. “I play close to my chest. No need to go all elbows and knees on a ball nicking the strike zone.”

“That’s why they’re paying you the big bucks,” Timmy said, putting his phone away. “Called strikes
outside
the strike zone, now that’s some skill.”

“It’s the art of catcher framing.” Kirk put his catching hand in position and moved his entire body, simulating a catch with little hand movement. “I know where the ball’s going, so why wave my mitt wildly?”

“Josh’s still gun-shy after getting hit upside the head,” Timmy said. “I’m not sure he can handle my fastball.”

“Yours smokes at what, over a hundred miles per hour?” Kirk slathered on the praise.

The young pitcher beamed. “You got that right. And I never tire, but Josh’s always calling weird stuff. I must have shook him off thirty times yesterday.”

“I should have shook him off,” Jay lamented. “Fast ball down the middle and game would have been over.”

“Maybe next time.” Kirk folded his arms across his chest. Point scored. “Where are you young guys off to? Want to go out for a drink?”

“Pick up chicks,” Timmy said. “Lots and lots of chicks.”

Jay shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You gotta stop calling them chicks. They don’t like that.”

“Hey, I like chicks.” Timmy’s speech was heavily accented. “Fast chicks are the best.”

Kirk nodded and clapped his arm over the young pitcher’s shoulder. “I agree. Let’s get them chicks. You coming, Jay?”

“He’s practically married.” Timmy’s face squeezed into an exaggerated scowl. “Ever met his girlfriend? She’s a sports reporter.”

Sports reporter?
Kirk coughed and swallowed. What were the chances? But then, the town had to be crawling with them.

“Sports blogger. Big difference,” Jay said. “We’re meeting at The Home Plate. Wanna come?”

“Sure, but I thought all the Rattlers hung out at The Hot Corner.”

“Only, if you’re buds with Ryan and Brock,” Timmy said. “Their women run the place.”

“Women?” A jolt speared Kirk’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

“Marcia is Brock’s wife. You know that.” Timmy shrugged, as if Kirk were a slow student. “As for the blonde, she was the one nursing Ryan back to health last spring when he got hit by a line drive off Brock’s bat. Broke his cheekbone.”

“Nurse him? What does that mean?” Kirk’s hackles rose. Had Jeanine lied to him about only doing one-night-stands?

“She was pretty chummy with him at the clubhouse. I don’t know, but I don’t go to their bar because of all that crap with Marcia’s ex who fixed the stats. You heard about that?”

“Ah, yes, the stat fixing scandal.” Kirk had read that the owner’s son was the perp. “That guy was Marcia’s ex?”

“Yep. I got fined because I paid. Big misunderstanding. I thought it was the way things are done here in America.” Timmy crossed his arms and frowned.

“I had nothing to do with it,” Jay said, which explained why he’d been sent to the minors. “Anyway, Jessie’s waiting for me. You coming with us?”

“After you,” Kirk said. “Which blog does she write for?”

Not that he had a clue which blog the woman he slept with opening night wrote for. He hadn’t even caught her name. But if she were Jay’s girlfriend, she wouldn’t want to draw attention to their night in the dark either. He’d just have to avoid making eye contact and pretend he didn’t know her—which was actually not too far from the truth since she’d insisted on lights out.

Thirty minutes later, Kirk, Jay, and Timmy walked into The Home Plate. It was a tiny adobe enclave with Christmas lights still strung along the roofline. Mexican music filtered from the loudspeakers and the most mouth-watering scents hit him as soon as he stepped inside.

“Kirk Kennedy,” a female voice called. It was the sports reporter. What was her name? Julie? Jennifer? Hopefully not Jessie.

“Jessie,” Jay greeted, walking toward the reporter.

Shit in a taco.
Forget about getting buddy buddy with the Tigerman, he was about to be mauled.

An Asian woman standing next to the woman he’d bedded jumped up and hugged Jay, kissing him lustily.

Close call averted, Kirk smiled at the reporter whose name he’d forgotten. “Thought you were covering the Minutes.”

“I am, but you’re more interesting.” She slid her long, lean body toward him.

Oh sure, she was barely wearing a hot black slinky dress with strategically placed cutouts to show her nonfat waist, her cleavage, and the long, slender back, but he was definitely not up for round two.

“You know Denise?” Jay’s girlfriend turned toward Kirk. “I’m Jessica, by the way.”

Right. Her name was Denise, and she spared no time in wrapping her hand around his waist, claiming him.

“This gentleman is Kirk Kennedy,” Denise said. “A former New York Minute, now a Rattler, and I can safely vouch for him—he’s much, much more than a minute.”

Jessica giggled and patted Denise’s arm. “How high on the Richter scale does he rattle?”

“Let’s just say he rattles my tail.” Denise hip bumped Kirk.

“Buy everyone a round of drinks?” Kirk disengaged himself from Denise. “What are you having?”

“I’ll have a screaming orgasm,” Denise said, rolling her tongue over her upper lip. “Think you can deliver?”

“I’m on it.” Kirk took the drink orders and made a hasty escape to the bar. He flagged down a waitress and handed her a roll of bills, pointing her to the corner where his group had settled and gave her their drink orders.

“You sure you don’t want anything, sir?” the waitress asked.

“All I want is a hot beef tamale to go and the back exit.”

“That would be through the kitchen. Come on,” the waitress led him around the partition separator.

A few minutes later, Kirk skipped out the back door with a steamy hot tamale in a white paper bag. With fifteen major league teams, make that sixteen now that the New York Minutes had joined the conference, the area was crawling with sports bars.

Unfortunately, he’d have to cross off The Home Plate and their hot tamales. Hadn’t he told Denise he was a one-night-only man? Back home in New York, a woman understood, and if she so happened to chance upon him on the streets, she knew not to make eye contact.

Apparently, Phoenix was still operating with small town manners despite the huge metropolitan area that spread for miles and miles.

After wolfing down the tamale, Kirk strolled down the streets in downtown Phoenix, guided by his cell phone navigation app in search of another watering hole.

“
T
he worst part
about owning a bar with your best friend is you never have the same days off,” Jeanine said to Skye, her training partner at the Black Tiger Martial Arts Center in downtown Phoenix. “Besides, she’s a new mother. No time for this.”

“I’d think she’d appreciate some time away from the baby.” Skye winked and tied her hair back in a ponytail.

She was in her forties and a fitness fanatic who had joined the dojo a few months ago. As far as Jeanine knew, she didn’t have a family or kids, and no one ever came to the tournaments to cheer for her.

“I’m sure she’d rather sleep.” Jeanine shrugged. What did she know about being a mother?

“What about you? Would you rather sleep in or go out with friends?” The woman leaned closer, as if sharing a secret.

They sat on a pile of mats near the mirrors, pulling on their sparring gear: chest protector, headgear, padded booties, and gloves. Jeanine’s were all pink, whereas Skye’s color was blue.

“I don’t have time to go out much,” Jeanine said, retying her black belt before putting on the chest protector. “If Marcia gets a day off, it means I’m working.”

“You should get her to join, anyway,” Skye said. “At least start her on the women’s self defense. We need more women here, and I can show her the ropes even if you’re not around.”

“I’ll mention it to her,” Jeanine said, doubting very much that Marcia would sign up for kicking, punching, and rolling on the mats wrestling when she was bone tired from keeping up with the baby.

“You have any other girlfriends?” Skye strapped on padded booties over her feet.

Okay, that had sounded overly casual, as if it were an offhand remark, but Jeanine couldn’t help wondering whether Skye was chatting her up or simply interested in recruiting more women to take martial arts.

“Not really,” Jeanine mumbled. “Most of my friends are guys—the baseball team hangs out at our bar.”

“I ought to drop by some time,” Skye said with a laugh. “Except I’m allergic to ballplayers and jocks.”

More like she was telling her she didn’t like men, which was okay, except Jeanine wasn’t interested in getting to know Skye outside of the Martial Arts Center.

“There are men here at the dojo, too,” Jeanine pointed out.

“True, but we don’t have to wrestle with them.”

“Good thing. I’m not up for being groped by some pimply teenaged kid.”

“I take it you’d rather have an older, more experienced one.” Skye strapped on her helmet. “You have a boyfriend?”

“No, but I’m into men.”

“I knew that,” Skye said. “We ought to go out together some time. Pick up guys or have a drink.”

“Yeah, sure, except I’m busy tonight. Have to get back to the bar.” Jeanine bit into her mouth guard and turned her attention to the two men sparring for points.

After the men were finished, Master Tao called Jeanine and Skye to the center of the mats. They greeted each other with the martial arts hand sign, the closed right fist covered by the open left palm, and bowed, then took up fighting positions.

As soon as the master lowered his hand, Jeanine threw a punch which was blocked. She then angled around for a kick, landing a point.

Skye beat her back on the next sequence of moves, but Jeanine ducked, then spun around for a kick to the chest, scoring again.

Jeanine blew out a breath and hopped around, facing her evenly matched opponent. Nothing cleared her mind better than fighting. She had only to focus on the immediate and rely on her coordination to dodge, parry, and strike.

After going back and forth, with Skye landing an occasional punch or kick, Jeanine was declared the winner. Her hair was plastered with sweat as she bowed to her opponent.

Breathing hard, she ripped off her gloves and removed her sparring gear, shoving the equipment into her gear bag.

Skye wrapped her chest protector around her helmet, gloves and booties. “Good job, but I’ll get you in judo.”

“You got lucky last time,” Jeanine shot back. Truth was she hated being pinned and placed in a vulnerable position, unable to move her arms and legs.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. You gave up.”

“Did not.”

“Let’s jog around the mats and cool down.” The other woman pulled Jeanine to her feet before taking off around the perimeter of the dojo, her feet slapping quickly on the mats.

Jeanine huffed out stale air and pumped her arms, keeping up. She ran one lap, then two, as another set of combatants sparred. She looked over at them when Master Tao yelled ‘Foul.’ The interlocking mats spun under her feet, and the sound of drumbeats pulsed in her ears, ending with a sharp thud.