Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance (25 page)

F
or Marcia
and Brock’s story, please read an excerpt from
Playing Without Rules
.

Playing Without Rules
– Excerpt

Copyright 2015 © Rachelle Ayala

Description

A ballplayer’s girlfriend hides his daughter from him because she fears he’s like his abusive father.

Marcia Powers wants nothing to do with ballplayer Brock Carter, especially after she told him to go away and pursue his dreams. She has more than she can handle with an elderly father, a business to run, and a four-year-old daughter posing as her baby sister.

Brock Carter’s back in town to rekindle his romance with Marcia, and this time, he’s not letting her run him out of town. Marcia is unable to resist Brock, but determined to keep her secret.

Brock’s already lost his heart to Marcia once. Will he lose every dream, including baseball, when he discovers the real reason Marcia sent him away?

“The thing about ballplayers is they’re players.” Marcia Powers twisted the stem of a maraschino cherry around the tip of her tongue and eyed the swaggering baseball players descending on her bar, The Hot Corner, in metropolitan Phoenix.

“You should be thankful for spring training.” Her business partner and best girlfriend, Jeanine Jewell, adjusted her stance at the counter to best position her bounteous breasts. “Keeps the tab rolling and the money flowing.”

“Not to mention the groupie traffic.” Marcia sniffed, but cleared her face in time to smile and take orders from the men in business suits idling at the bar. Their attention was split between the ballplayers and the women. Probably scouts sizing up players for pre-season trades.

The traffic was definitely good for business and made up for the dry times. Phoenix was the spring training home to fifteen off-season baseball teams. It hadn’t always been this way, but the dry spring weather and lower real estate costs than California made Arizona attractive enough to draw the franchises as well as provide affordable games for locals and tourists alike.

Marcia passed a tray of girlie cocktails to Jeanine who sashayed past the businessmen to the booth bubbling over with blondes and booze. Jeanine, ever the flirt, bent low in front of the players’ roving eyes. Leers from the men and sneers from the babes followed in her wake.

Jeanine would have her fill until the ballplayers moved back to their major league cities, collecting one-night stands like baseball cards. Somehow, she was impervious to being hurt. From the moment the umpire yelled, “Play Ball!” in the opening game to the closing fireworks show signifying the end of spring training, Jeanine played: infielders, outfielders, pitch and catch with an occasional trainer or coach thrown in for good measure.

“So, who’s in your field of dreams?” A deep, throaty voice drawled so close to Marcia’s ear she almost dropped the whiskey tumbler she was polishing.

Her breath hitched as she jerked around in time to see Brock Carter’s leer dissolve into a grin. “What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me?”

“Ordering a drink, and it’s good to see you again.”

It definitely wasn’t good seeing him—a troublemaker and heartbreaker—especially since the heart he’d trampled on was, at this moment, beating to break out of her ribcage like an excited puppy leaping for a doggie treat.

“I thought you were traded to the minors, what was that team again?” Marcia hoped her voice wouldn’t give away the urge she had to leap over the bar counter and either punch him in the balls or sock him one in the kisser—ruin his action for any other female stupid enough to be sucked in by those misty green bedroom eyes and smooth downhome Southern drawl.

“Minor setback.” He cracked his knuckles and licked his lips. “But I’m back in a big way, and somehow I knew I’d catch you right here, where it all started.”

Arrogant dick. As if he’d known she’d never leave town, never live the dreams she had years ago before her father’s retirement required her to take over the bar, never have the ideal family she’d pictured with a husband manning the BBQ and children playing in the pool.

“Order your drink and get it over with.” She didn’t want to be rude to customers, but Brock Carter was in a different league altogether. He’d certainly filled in since he left town years ago. Sandy-colored hair poked from under his baseball cap. His freckled face was more rugged, sporting a manly cleft while his muscles strained solid under his practice jersey.

Brock shifted his weight, still leaning over the counter, his forearms flexing. “Buy you a screaming orgasm.”

Marcia swallowed as unbidden images of just how hard she and Brock had strained over and under and around the sheets threatened to undermine her outward calm.

She desperately scanned the tables for Jeanine. Her friend would put Brock in his place—give him a polite nod before shooing him off. She knew what damage Brock had done and why Marcia could not ever let him know her secret.

“I take that as a ‘yes.’” Brock pinched her elbow.

Marcia jerked away from the counter as if she’d touched an electric fence. “Take your screaming whatever and drink it yourself. I’m working.”

His bushy eyebrows lowered, Brock’s chin took that stubborn set she knew only too well. “What’s with you, Marsh? I would have thought five years was enough for you to get over whatever snit you had against me.”

“I’ve nothing against you.” Marcia sidled around the counter to the beer taps. She wasn’t the type to hold a guy from his dreams. Since they didn’t involve her and the situation she found herself in, good riddance. She’d do it all herself, and she had.

Marcia made eye contact with the businessmen, who obliged by ordering another round of drinks, especially since a couple of groupies had moved from the players to the suits.

All the while, Brock remained a large, hulking shadow looming under the restroom signs. Out of the corner of her eye, Marcia saw Jeanine serve him a longneck. Minutes ticked by, but he stayed in his spot, solitary, unresponsive to any female or male brave enough to invade his territory.

Jeanine swung behind the counter and nudged her. “What’s he doing here?”

“Can’t you get rid of him?”

“Tried already.” Jeanine tugged at her bra strap. “He looks pissed. Do you think?”

A shot of panic pumped up Marcia’s pulse. Could he have found out her secret?

“He can’t know,” Marcia said.

“Why not?” Jeanine’s eyebrow quirked, and she put a hand on her hip. “Isn’t it about time you let him in on it?”

“He’ll only hurt her.”

“Maybe not. A girl needs a daddy, and your father’s too old to be a real one for her.”

Marcia closed her eyes, breathing in and out, all too aware of the heated gaze burning into her back. “Just so you remember: Bianca is my little sister. My father is her father. I’m her aunt.”

“So you say.” Jeanine glanced at Brock who lifted his empty bottle. “Looks like he’s not leaving until closing time. Let me find out what he’s been up to.”

“Go ahead and play him.” Marcia huffed. “I don’t mind.”

Jeanine primped her hair and tucked a pencil over her ear. “Game’s wide open. I’m onto it.”

J
ay Pak Ahn and Jessica Song
’s romance is fun and steamy.

Description

Jessica Song is tired of being a good girl, staying in a relationship well past closing time. Fresh from a breakup, she takes a walk on the wild side as a sports events intern.

Baseball rookie Jay Pak Ahn has been burned one too many times by good girls, especially his cheating ex-fiancée. When he meets wild Jessica, he throws away all caution to enjoy her to the fullest.

Jessica and Jay agree to a week of enchanting, starry-eyed dates and wild, unrestrained sex to get their exes out of their systems.

Their pasts collide, exposing the secrets in Jessica’s heart and threatening Jay’s position on the team. Jessica must leave her disappointment behind while Jay has to decide whether Jessica comes before baseball. What will they sacrifice to turn their fling into true love?

Chapter 1

Jessica

“I had no idea baseball players are so huge.”

A snarky male voice behind me says, “They’re major leaguers, what did you expect?”

Oops, I whip my head around and catch Todd Martin, my friend and intern coordinator, smirking at me. His bright teeth flash knowingly, and he shakes his head, causing his afro curl hair to bounce and jiggle.

“Something a little bigger than peewees, but these guys are hulks. Sure this isn’t football?”

“Jessica Song.” He wags his index finger and peers over his natty horn-rimmed Johnny Depp style glasses. “Kindly refrain from referring to any athlete as peewee, or I’ll revoke your internship.”

“Point taken, boss.” I straighten the sign-in sheets on my clipboard and stand behind my station ‘A through C.’ “I’ve only ever seen them on TV, and well, wow, in real life, they’re gorgeous.”

“Get your jaw off the floor and let’s sign them in.” Todd cocks his hand next to his mouth and whispers, “If you see one you like, note your room number on the back of his badge.”

“Uh, that’s not what I’m here for. Besides, I’m kinda still hung up on someone.”

“That’s exactly why you need to be here, girlie. You’re supposed to be getting over him. As for ballplayers, three’s never a crowd.” Todd’s eyebrows do the conga line, and he hooks his thumb. “Play ball! Here they come.”

A fluster of heat tackles me as the first group of major leaguers swagger toward my table. Am I really here to snag one of these guys for my bed? I’ve never had casual sex, I mean, I’m not exactly the groupie type.

So they all say,
my snarky inner voice flips me the bird.

Whatever. Here they come. Come? I didn’t mean to have such a dirty mind.

Did you now?
Inner goddess rolls her eyes, as if she has any. Humpf, I’ll make her as blind as Lady Justice or whoever it is who wears those scales. No time to fight her now with those ballplayers looming.

Large hunks of handsome stop in front of my table. My face tilts up, and up, and my voice catches in my throat.

“W-welcome t-to spring training. Please sign in and pick up a name badge. Oh, and your folder, Mr., Mr.? Uh, I don’t know your name, because you’re not wearing a badge.”

Get a grip, Jessie, You’re such a dork.
Somewhere in the confines of my stuttering, goddess has to have her say. Why is she always articulate?

Because I’m a goddess and you’re a dork.

Three men with the build of lumberjacks form a dense wall of manhood in front of my table, blocking all light from my eyes and sucking the oxygen out of the room.

I swallow, unable to stop gawking at their strong chiseled jaws, tanned faces, and solid muscles, evident even under their suit jackets.

One of the players chuckles. “You must be new if you don’t know who I am.”

Or blind
, inner me jabs my ribs.

His friend punches him on the bicep. “Better be glad she doesn’t recognize your ugly mug.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me look you up.” I flip to the team roster, barely able to keep the drool in my mouth. Why didn’t I study this last night instead of playing video games with the other interns?

Video games, puh-please. You should have been looking them up. Told you, you’re a dork.

“A. J. Callahan.” A man with a wide mustache points to his name. “I have a suite. Wife and kids visit on the weekend.”

Shut up, goddess. He’s married, okay?

“Thank you, Mr. Callahan.” I check off his name and grab a goodie bag filled by our sponsors. “How many children?”

“Three.” He grins, puffing his chest. “Two boys and a girl.”

Digging under the table, I find the children’s camp backpacks. He loops all three over his wrist and winks. “If you want to earn some cash, call me.”

“Excuse me?” My heart drops and my jaw slackens. A wife and three kids and me?

Sounds like fun
, the snark goddess starts again.

Didn’t I tell you to shut up? I’m sitting on you. That’s right, and I’ll fart in your nose. Now stay inside and shut up, witch. She winces. She hates it when I snuff her out. Ha, ha.

“They’re four, seven, and nine. Girl’s the oldest.” He glances at my name badge and scribbles on his card. “Name’s Jessica too. Tell her what to do and she’ll make the little guys obey.”

The little guys, sounds kinky
, Inner G-spot sputters despite me blocking her air passages.

“Oh! Sure. Thanks, Mr. Callahan.” I pocket the card and move on to the next player. Whew. That went real well. This sluttify Jessica project is not going to happen. I’m not a homebreaker, neither am I a heartbreaker.

Yeah, right, we only have our hearts broken and smashed, we never get to channel Aphrodite, goddess of love.

And who’s fault is that? You’re the goddess, you’re supposed to help me.

The men pile up in front of my table.

Woohoo, pile up, now we’re getting somewhere.

Yeah, and I better be processing them before I get fired. No time to check them out. Sorry, G.

Hands, most of them huge, faces, chiseled and handsome, torsos, damn fine, but because I’m too busy to look up, my eyes are stuck at groin level. A symphony of sexy voices in a multitude of accents scramble in my vicinity. Forget about flirting and being star struck, I’m barely able to keep up with the flow, handing out goodie bags, passes, backpacks, badges, pens, notepads, and folders while answering questions.

I glance over at my fellow interns, but no one has time to chat. Smiles pasted on their faces, they work the lines, sorting players by teams and amenities. Fifteen professional teams descend on the greater Phoenix metropolitan area for spring training, keeping the resort and hospitality businesses hopping. Camps for children of all ages, spas for the wives, and of course, the players, trainers, and coaches all have to be accommodated.

There’s a lull in the check-ins. I’m surprised G hasn’t chimed in. Maybe she’s on hot guy overload, or my farting in her nose threat has her cowed.

Anyway, I wipe my hair from my forehead, take a cleansing breath and slump back into the folding chair.

Boss man Todd ambles over, grinning. “How many baseball cards you collect?”

“One and it’s for babysitting.” I flip it over to show him.

“Ah, too bad,
pobrecita
. Your champ’s still coming in the door.”

“Hey, I’m not looking. Besides, they all have women already, and I’m not getting in line.”

Maybe we should, a conga line sounds fun
, G remarks. She’s sharpening her fingernails, not sure what for.

No we’re not. Especially if there’s a wife or a committed relationship. I have principles, unlike you. I’m not a home wrecker or a boyfriend thief. What’s wrong with wanting a man to myself?

Mathematics, sister. The odds are against us if we don’t share.

Shush. Todd’s speaking to me.

“That’s the problem with women, you want exclusives too soon. Free yourself from that mentality. You don’t have just one best friend, don’t you? Why limit yourself?” Todd perches on the table and flicks the last remaining name tag.

What I said
, Inner bobble-head nods.

“Besides the sleaze factor? No thank you. There’s only one guy left who hasn’t checked in.” I take the name tag and read it. “A. H. N. Never heard of him.”

“Probably a rookie, now’s your chance to make the first grab.”

I throw the tag at Todd. “How do I know he’s not gay? Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

He primps his afro curls and waggles his shoulders. “Jay Pak Ahn, bet he’s Korean. You ever watch K-Pop videos?”

“You mean Gangnam style? The girls are hot, but I’m not sure about that guy in the dark glasses.” I prop my legs on the table, now that the rush is over. “Do I have to wait for this last guy?”

Inner G pops her head up like a prairie dog.
This I gotta see, a Korean ballplayer? I thought all Asians were short and spazzy.

I play Whac-A-Mole with her and slam her face back into the dirt. You’re staying celibate, might as well get the gin rummy cards out.

Shouldn’t you say, old maid?
G always has to get the last word.

“Holy papa,” Todd exclaims. “Here he comes, Mr. Universe. Yow!”

A tall, Asian man with broad shoulders and messy spiky hair rushes into the lobby. His suit jacket hangs halfway off one shoulder and his shirt’s untucked. His head swivels back and forth with a bewildered gawk on his poster perfect face—smooth-shaven, angular jaw, a straight nose and long, narrow eyes under bushy eyebrows.

“Quick, give me his badge.” I scramble to put together a welcome package.

Todd leans over my table and fans himself. “Gimme some of that spicy kim chee, umm, umm, ummm.”

The baseball player, the presumed Jay Pak Ahn, runs his long, sturdy fingers through his hair and stops in front of the arrows.

“A to C,” he says. “or J, K, L?”

“A to C, over here.” Todd steps forward and grabs the guy’s elbow.

Jay jerks away and gives Todd a puzzled look. “Is this a magic show?”

I almost fall off my chair laughing. The meaning of the colorful bandanas hanging out of Todd’s back pocket is entirely lost on Mr. Jay Pak Ahn.

G must be shocked too, not a peep out of her. Does she like Jay or not?

I’m suffocating here, more air, more air
, she finally squeaks as I let her out of her hole.

Unperturbed, Todd waves an orange paisley in the ballplayer’s face and pulls the man’s badge from under his sleeve. He hands him the badge and points him my direction.
Thank you, Todd.

A gleaming smile brightens the gorgeous man’s face. “I’m Jay Pak Ahn, pitcher. Sorry, I’m late.”

“Oh, not a problem.” I hold out my hand, figuring he’ll shake it, not knowing the customs around here.

“Call me Jay.” He takes my hand and dips his head, bringing his lips to my knuckles and kisses. Swoon. Do men still do this in the twenty-first century? Apparently Jay’s been watching too many BBC dramas.

Behind him, Todd rolls his eyes, sticking out his tongue and making a gagging motion.

An electrifying tingle runs up my arm. Really? That fast? I stifle a giggle as the handsome rookie releases my hand. “First spring training?”

“Yes.” He consults his smartphone. “Did I miss the team?”

I run my finger down the printout. “You’re a Rattler. Looks like they don’t meet until two. Here are your conference materials, room assignment, and gift pack. Wife and children?”

“Not yet, unless they’re in these bags.” He peeks into one of the tote bags and winks.

Zing. Is he flirting with me? My elevated heart rate stirs the butterflies in my belly and I clear my throat, striving to remain professional. “You’re free to go to lunch now.”

“Sure, yes, thanks for asking. Shall we?” And there’s that charming, irresistible twinkle in his eye.

“Uh, I, well, have to clean up, and then, well, my break’s coming up, uh.” Why is my tongue not working? Why isn’t G saying anything? Hello? You, back there? She’s never around when there’s any cleaning to do.

“I’ll pack up,” Todd says. “Show Mr. Jay around. Have lunch, dinner, a massage.” He yanks me from behind the table and pats my behind. “Go get them, tigress. Rrrrr…”

Jay’s eyes widen slightly. “Tigress, I’ll be sure to ask for you at the spa. My neck’s sore from the flight. Sixteen hours and two layovers.”

“Ah, I can show you where the spa is, and I’m Jessica.”

“Just sick? I’m sorry. When you feel better I’ll order the massage. You Korean?”

There goes that eye twinkle or half wink again as if he’s using the ‘I’m a foreigner, I don’t know the language that well’ excuse to mangle my name. Either that or he’s got something in his eye.

“Half. My mother’s Filipina and my father’s from Korea. I know a few words like
Ann-yeong
and
sa-rang hae-yo
.”

“Hello, I love you,” he translates, and his wide mouth stretches over sparkly white teeth.

Oh, please, how cheesy. My goddess blushes with embarrassment. You need flirting lessons, pronto.

That’s what I have you for, goddess of love wannabe.

“Uh, I mean, that’s all I know, my father, you know, that’s what he says to my mom,” I mumble, my face flushed and hot as I redirect his attention to his conference materials. “Got everything you need?”