Playing with Fire - A Sports Romance (7 page)

The only place I’ve felt came close to home makes me ill to think about. That night I spent with Corey in my hotel room, when I fell asleep on his chest and woke up in his arms: that felt like home.

“Something happen with Mitch?” Vivian asks.

I put my head back down on the throw pillow and stare at the huge black television screen hanging on the wall. “Nothing happened with Mitch. There’s nothing to happen, Viv. He’s just a friend.”

“Mmm, sure.” Vivian stands up and comes to my side, looking down at me like I’m as sick as I feel inside. “You look heartbroken, Frankie. You break up with him?”

“For crying out loud!” I sit up and pull my legs up under me, still wrapped up tight in my blanket. “For the last time, Mitch and I are only friends. We’ve never been more than that, and we never will be.”

“You two looked like a lot more than friends the other night. Shit, if I had a friend like that, I wouldn’t need a boyfriend. God, he’s sexy.”

“Then why don’t you go out with him?” I cringe. That would be a bad idea. The men Vivian has been with in the past don’t fare well. She’s like her father; she has an overbearing presence and consumes the energy of anyone she’s with. Men wither under her. And the strong ones, like Mitch, fare the worst.

“I don't think you mean that,” Vivian says as she crosses her arms over her chest.

Of course I don't. Vivian gets whatever she wants, whenever she wants. But she’s never taken what’s mine. And if she went after Mitch, we both know that would be the end of my friendship with him. She’d never do that to me.

Instead of answering, I wrap my arms around my legs and tuck my chin between my knees. Vivian is right. I feel heartbroken. Ever since Corey left my office down in Arizona earlier this week, I’ve felt like I might break. It’s worse when I see him. Something about him has changed. He’s stopped flirting with every woman he comes in contact with. Sure, he talks to them. And his charm is always there. The women flirt back relentlessly. Everything about him is more subdued, except for his drive in practice.

I've been down to the field to watch the games more this week than since I first arrived. But really, I'm fooling myself if I believe that. I've been down to the field to watch Corey in practice. I can't help it. I haven't talked to him since he left my office. The first day I went to watch was to see if his animosity had returned. From what I can see, it hasn't. From what I can see, he’s solely focused on his work. Even the banter he’s always had with Cromwell and Rodriguez is subdued.

I don't know what any of it means. I want to talk to him. But at the same time, I know how dangerous that would be. I can't control myself around him. I can't help but want to touch him, kiss him, hold him. I want to know if he feels the same way.

“Is it someone else?” Vivian asks. I’d forgotten she was here, and her voice startles me.

“Someone else?”

Vivian sits down on the couch next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “That’s made you feel this way. Frankie, I’ve never seen you like this before. Even back in school, or when you were in college. Is there someone else?”

I shrug her hand off my shoulder. “There can't be, Viv,” I remind her. “I'll die an old maid, never knowing true love. You know that.”

Vivian chuckles at our old joke. “I don't believe that.” Her voice is gentle, like she’s afraid I’ll blow away if she talks louder. “Someday he’ll understand. Someday you’ll make him understand. You’re not one to back down, Frankie. One of these days he'll listen to you.”

As if on cue, I hear the back door open and telltale signs of someone putting away packages in the kitchen. Vivian squeezes my shoulder, then stands and glides to the doorway. Before she gets there, Marco comes into the room.

“Vivian!” Marco beams a dashing smile. He grabs her by the shoulders and kisses each cheek before he looks over and sees me on the couch. I pull my head out of my knees as he looks back at her. “What’s this? Both my girls home to see me?”

Marco gives his daughter a big hug and releases her. I take my arms out from under the blanket as he closes in on me.

“Tesoro, you look as beautiful as always.” He kisses each of my cheeks and sits down on the couch next to me, an arm around my shoulders. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I thought I’d come home for the weekend,” I tell him. “Take a little break from it all.”

Marco raises his arm and gestures to the beautiful room around us. “You know you’re welcome here anytime, Frankie. Anytime. In fact, you never have to leave. Come, move back home. You don't need to live in that hotel. Your home is better than that.”

“The hotel is fine,” I assure him.

“Where’s Vinny, Daddy?” Vivian asks before Marco can respond. She knows a fight brewing when she sees one. My living at the Savory is a point of contention between the two of us. I throw her a grateful glance as Marco turns his attention to her.

“Ah, off jetsetting again. I hear he’s found a new girlfriend,” Marco says with a smile. He shakes his head. “That boy. Always chasing love.”

“That’s my brother for you,” Vivian says. The laugh that accompanies her words warms the broken spot in my soul. It's good to know at least one of us can find love, even if it is more often than most.

“Have you met her?” Marco asks. “Jess or Jane or something?”

“Jen,” Vivian answers. I whip my eyes up to hers and she gives me a knowing smile. I hadn't realized Vinny and Jen hit it off so well. “She’s a real sweetheart, Daddy, you’ll love her.”

“Ah, good,” Marco says, beaming. “I should fly her out so I can meet her.”

“No!” Both Marco and Vivian stare at me with wide eyes and I try to recover. “I mean, it’s early, Marco. He may decide tomorrow he doesn't like her anymore. You should wait.”

Marco frowns at me. “Is it too much that I want to meet the woman who holds my son’s heart?”

I shake my head. “Marco, you know Vinny. You can't go hearing wedding bells every time he finds a girl he's in love with. Give them some time to get to know each other. If it’s meant to be, you’ll meet her.”

Vivian raises an eyebrow at me, but when Marco glances at her, she nods her head in agreement. “She’s right, Daddy. You know how Vinny is. He was with his last girlfriend for three days, and he was sure she was The One.”

Marco looks back at me and pats me on the knee. “You’re always the voice of reason, Tesoro. You’re right. Now come, let’s eat. I brought home scallop and mushroom risotto from Luciano’s.”

As he rushes off to the kitchen, Vivian takes my arm and walks with me. “Always the voice of reason,” she says, a murmur only loud enough for me to hear.

I know she’s shocked by my outburst. Never once have I tried to convince Marco to do anything, one way or another, regarding Vinny and his girlfriends. Never once have I interceded. I've done so adamantly tonight, and while I know she wants to know why, I can't tell her.

I can't bear for Vinny to bring Jen around. It’s not fair. It’s not safe. I know Marco. We’ve been through this dance before. He won't stop at Jen. He won't stop until he’s met her entire family, or until Vinny breaks up with her. He’ll fly her in for starters. And if the relationship lasts more than a month, he’ll fly in the rest of her family. He’s done it in the past, and I can't let that happen now.

I can't let him bring Corey to the house. I can't let him put that man close to me. It’s not safe for Corey. It’s not safe for me.

“Tell me, Tesoro,” Marco addresses me after we’ve taken our seats in the soft, padded chairs around the circle table in the sunroom. “How are you doing? Is your job treating you well?”

“It’s going good.” I try to relax, to put humor into my voice. I can't have Vivian asking questions. “But the owner of the company, he’s a real slave driver.”

Marco gives a hearty laugh and Vivian smiles around a bite of risotto. “Maybe I should have a talk with him,” he says. After a sip of wine, he asks, “How are the bios coming?”

“Good. I finished the interviews early this week and have everything over to the formatters. The programs should be ready tomorrow. Plenty of time before the opener.”

“Ah, fantastico! How were the players? Did any of them give you a hard time?”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and take a gulp from my wine glass. “They were fine, Marco. Everything was fine.”

He narrows his eyes at me. His face takes on the stern look I've come to loath. “I don't want any of those men near you, Frankie. If any of them so much as touch you, I'll have their heads.”

I take another large gulp of my wine, bracing myself for a fight. “I can take care of myself, Marco.”

“Nonsense. I know these men, Tesoro. They are not the kind of men you should be around.”

I desperately work to keep my voice level, but my volume increases as my anger rises. “I'm not a child, Marco. I'm a college graduate. I have a real job, pay my own bills. I think I’m old enough to make my own decisions now.”

“No,” Marco responds, his voice menacing.

“Daddy—”

“No, Vivian!” He holds his hand out in front of his daughter, stopping her. But he doesn't take his eyes off of me. “I promised my baby sister, on her deathbed, I would look out for you, Frankie. I will not go back on my word. I won't allow you to get hurt because some good-for-nothing ball player can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“I am not my mother!” I slam my fork down on the table, startling my cousin and uncle. “I am not going to get knocked up and leave my child with you when I die. I am my own person, dammit.” I jump up from my seat, splattering wine across the table as my glass falls on its side. I stare down at my uncle, who sits stupefied in front of me. “One of these days you’re going to have to stop trying to control every aspect of my life. The only thing you’re accomplishing is pushing me away from you and harming me in the process.”

I spin away from him before he can respond and brush out of the room. I grab my shoes, jacket, and overnight bag from the floor by the front door, not bothering to put anything on as I storm out the house into the freezing spring night. I can't take any more of his crap. Marco is the reason I'm in this mess. He’s the reason I feel the need to drive my car off a cliff. My life will never be mine as long as he is around, not when he spends every moment of his day trying to protect me from ending up like my mother.

I'm older than she was when she got pregnant with me. What Marco doesn't understand is that protecting me from having a real relationship will not protect me from the promiscuous life my mother lived. Quite the opposite. When I have no one to turn to that I love, no boyfriend, no friends… There’s only one way to find the comfort I seek.

I'm at the bar, sitting down in front of Mitch, before I even bother to slip my shoes on my frozen feet. He takes one look at me and walks around the bar. He pulls me into his arms and holds me close to him. When he kisses my forehead, I turn my face up to his. I slide my hand around the back of his neck and pull him to me, pressing my lips to his.

In an instant, his lips melt against mine. The minty freshness of his breath stings against the sweetness of the wine still left on my tongue. My chest is tight and I'm having problems breathing. I just want to forget. I want a night that will make my troubles go away, take my mind off of Marco, Corey, and my loveless life.

When I slide my hand up Mitch’s chest, he pulls back and grabs my hand in his. “Frankie, you don't want to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” I close my eyes and Corey’s face flashes in my memory.

“No, darlin’, you don't. You know you don't. And if I let you take this further, you’ll regret it in the morning.”

“It’s not fair, Mitch,” I say as I bury my head in his chest. He wraps me tighter in his arms. “I don't know how much more I can take.”

“I know,” he says against my head. “It will get better. Someday. You’ll see.” Mitch moves an arm away from my back, then he’s pulling me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s sit over here and you can tell me about it.”

I glance up at the bar and notice the manager, Carol, come out of the back room and smile at me. She starts taking care of the customers seated around the bar as Mitch drags me to a booth in a dark corner of the room. He tucks me under his arm and I spill everything to him as I lean against his chest and try not to cry like a baby.

C
orey

“
A
Benny and a beer
.” Matt drops beside me on the long, half-circle booth and holds a drink out to me. I take the bottle and the hundred-dollar bill wrapped around it with a smirk on my face.

“‘Bout time.”

“Hey, what do you expect? I figured for sure it'd be over by now.” His big smile shows off a straight line of bright white teeth that glow in the dim blue light of the club.

I hold my beer up towards Ramon before I take a drink. He’s got his girl, Emily, wrapped around him on the other side of the booth from us. He doesn't see me. His tongue is too far down her throat to notice anything else. My good fortune is due to him. Matt and I had a bet as to how long this relationship would last. Matt insisted no longer than six weeks. It’s been eight, and they’re still going strong.

I can see how Matt, or anyone for that matter, wouldn't see this as a match made in heaven. From the outside, it seems the only thing these two lovebirds have in common is their height and their mutual love of public tonsil hockey. Emily is as petite as Ramon. But his dark Puerto Rican coloring is on the opposite side of the color spectrum from her milky white skin. Her short strawberry-blonde hair is so light it’s almost pink, and the brief smattering of freckles on her cheeks makes her look more like a pre-teen than the woman who holds Ramon Rodriguez’s heart.

Matt and I made the bet the first day we met Emily. She’s shy compared to Ramon’s constant chatter. Or at least, that’s how she comes across at first. We’ve since learned otherwise. But that first day, Matt was sure Ramon would be moving on from her as fast as he did from Carmen and Denise and Marietta and Rafaela before her.

I'm not sure what made me take the bet. Something about the way he looked at her, and how she looked back at him, rocked me to my core. There was something there I’d never seen before. Something I wanted, suddenly, and it scared me to feel that inside of myself.

It still scares me now, as I watch the two of them locked in their embrace in our dark little corner of this club. The strobe lights are pulsing to the quick tempo of the music, which beats like my heart whenever I think of a certain someone. I'm not like this. I'm not the kind of guy who pines over a girl he can't have, who dreams in broad daylight of a wild night of passion from months ago. I'm the guy who prowls the dance floor looking for that one special lady - the one with a bed I can warm for a night before I walk out of her life.

Madison has been the one exception to that. She moved into my apartment building the week after me. She’s the type of girl that wouldn’t have given me the time of day before I hit it big. And by big, I mean money. Her little trust fund means she’s never worked a day in her life, and likely never will. Money and image are the only things that matter to her. She’s something else. But she’s got a smoking hot body and is a decent lay when no one else is around.

Madison spends more time in our apartment’s gym than anyone I know. And her body shows it. There’s not an ounce of fat on her. But there's also not a lot of muscle. I’ve seen her work out. The heaviest thing she lifts is her water bottle. Short of a yoga class or two, I’ve never seen her do anything other than jog on the treadmill and stare at her reflection in the mirror. Unless you count flirting as a workout. There’s money in our building. Lawyers. Doctors. More trust fund bitches like herself.

When we first met, Madison gave me a brief once over before she wrote me off. It wasn't until mid-season, as I was leaving for a travel day, dressed in my nicest suit and dragging a suitcase out of my apartment door, that she finally noticed me. On the elevator ride down, she started talking me up and realized who I was - a rising baseball star on what she says is her favorite team. I’m sure though, whichever team I told her I played for - New York, San Diego, Denver - any of them would have been her favorite.

My ‘relationship’ with Madison - if you can call what we have a relationship - is one of nothing but sex. I go to her bed whenever I need to blow off a little steam and there’s no one else around. Even though it’s been nearly a year since we first slept together, even though I’ve never been in a relationship for this long with anyone, I don’t see her as someone who will be in my life long-term. Or even short-term, for that matter. She’s not the type of girl you bring home to your parents. She’s no Emily, that's for sure.

Ramon finally extricates his tongue from Emily’s mouth, and the girl giggles in his ear like a teenager. She stands and smooths her skirt down from where Ramon pushed it up her legs. I catch Matt sneaking a peek of her milky white thighs, but he plays it off as if he’s done nothing wrong. When Emily saunters off across the crowded club, her ass swaying to the beat of the music, both Ramon and Matt have their eyes glued to her.

“Where’s Ellen tonight?” I backhand Matt’s chest and smirk as he glances at me and realizes he’s been caught. He tries to play it off with a shrug.

“She’s working. Couldn't make it out. But I'll see her next week when we’re home again.”

“You know, hermano,” Ramon says as he drags his eyes away from his girl, “you put a ring on it, she wouldn't have to work. She could be with you all the time.”

Matt ducks his head and starts picking at the edge of his t-shirt. I've seen this before. He’s terrible at keeping secrets, and this is one of his many tells.

“Spill it.” Matt looks up at me with a frown on his face. “Spill it, Cromwell. What are you hiding? You planning to propose?”

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Matt responds, his fingers tangled in his hem.

“Bullshit. You’re hiding something. You see it, Ramon?”

“Ah, sí,” Ramon says after a moment of looking over our friend. “What is it, hermano? What are you keeping from us?”

Matt throws his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “Yes,” he mumbles. He looks back at the two of us, his dark eyes shining. “I’m going to propose. Don't say anything to anyone, alright?”

“Congratulations, hermano!” Ramon’s wide grin splits his face.

“She ain't accepted yet,” Matt says, shaking his head.

“Matt,” I say, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, “how many years have you and Ellen been together now? You really think she’ll turn you down?”

“She in love with you, you know,” Ramon tells him. He leans forward too, his voice quiet under the pumping bass. “So when you asking?”

Matt grimaces and fiddles with his hem again. “Next month. We play in New York mid-month. Ellen’s always wanted to go to the Empire State Building, so I plan on taking her up and popping the question then.”

“Ay, romántico!” Ramon rubs his hands together as his grin gets even wider. “And then you get married and have pequeños bebés, and Corey and I get to be uncles.”

I laugh at the horrified expression on Matt’s face. “Ramon, you’re going to give the poor man a heart attack talking about bebés. Let him get through the proposal first.”

“Please!” Matt agrees, then laughs along with us.

“What about you, Corey?” Ramon asks. “Anyone special we should know about?”

“Yeah, haven't heard anything from you in a while,” Matt adds.

I look off into the club and see Emily’s head bobbing through the crowd as she makes her way back to us. Her face is turned to the side, but I can still see the ridiculously huge smile on her face that she sports whenever she’s in Ramon’s presence. It’s a beautiful thing, and something I never wanted until recently.

Looking back at the guys, I say, “I got nothing.”

“Nothing?” Matt asks. “What about that hot little neighbor of yours?”

I scowl and glance back at Emily as she pushes through the crowd. “Nah, I’ve about had it with her. She’s a little too… I don't know. I'm just done with her.”

Matt’s staring at me like I've sprouted a second head. “When did this happen?”

I shrug and look over at Emily again as she walks up the steps to our little booth. Rather than going to Ramon, she steps over to my side and slides into the booth next to me.  

“Corey, honey, you look a bit tense. You okay?”

I frown and glance down at my hand as the little woman takes it in hers. It's not unusual, really - Emily has never been one to hold back. But it is a bit unexpected. “Fine,” I respond to her, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She leans in a little closer to me. “I just met someone, and I thought you’d like to meet her. She’s a real sweetheart.”

Emily glances over her shoulder at the woman hovering right below the steps to our booth. She’s a beauty, that’s for sure. Blonde hair, big chest, narrow waist. Her nose is small and narrow, and it reminds me of Michael Jackson before he died. She’s got a dark tan - much too dark for April back home, but here in Mesa it makes more sense. Much darker than Michael, that’s for sure. She’s decked out in a low-cut tank and skin-tight leather pants, all black and clingy, like someone heated her up and poured every last delicious morsel inside. This is the type of woman I’ve been with dozens of times before. Hot, sexy, and a little on the wild side, judging from the look in her bright blue eyes as she glances up at me. Her dark red lips curl into an award-winning smile, and I can't help but think how beautiful they would look wrapped around my cock.

Matt nudges my shoulder and I glance at him, then Ramon. They’re both staring at me, waiting for me to make my move. That’s what they’re used to. That’s what I'm used to. I've done this a thousand times. Only this time, it feels so different.

I throw a wicked grin at my friends and give Emily a quick kiss on the cheek before I slide out of the booth and make my way down the steps. The woman wraps her arm around mine and we make our way out to the dance floor.

If her dancing is any indication, she'll be fucking fantastic in bed. She’s got Roman hands and Russian fingers and has my mind off the one thing that's been weighing me down for over a month. The music is loud enough we don't have to talk, and after an hour on the floor, I'm panting and in dire need of either a drink or a condom or both. I drag the blonde back to our booth, where Ramon and Emily are at it again and Matt is texting away on his phone. I flag down a waitress on our way and order a bottle of beer for myself and one for the girl.

The waitress is back in a jiffy, and after a quick gulp from the bottle, we settle down on the white vinyl booth. Those Roman hands get right to it again, and I'm so worked up I don't even care that my friends are seated right there with us. Those full lips are calling me, and I'm about to lean in and suck one into my mouth when the girl decides to speak.

“So what’s your name, gorgeous?” She purrs this into my ear as her hands run down my chest and along the top of my jeans.

“Lucas,” I tell her. “Corey Lucas.” I wait for the recognition, the laugh I would have gotten with a certain someone else, once upon a time.

“Hello, Corey Lucas,” she says without a laugh. Her tongue flicks out of her mouth and runs along my earlobe and has me ready to pounce in spite of her missing sense of humor. “I'm Ashley.”

The second she says it, I pull back and stare at her. “Ashley?” I ask, my brow furrowed. She smiles and leans in closer as her hand runs up from my knee to my inner thigh. I put my hand over hers and force a smile I don't feel. “I gotta hit the head.”

I can see the startled look on her face as I stand and push past her. I don't look back as I jump down the steps and head off through the crowd. Matt yells after me, but I don't stop. I don't make my way to the restroom, but instead to the door, to the sidewalk outside, to the taxi on the curb, and back to the hotel. I text Matt, asking him to close out my tab, telling him I feel sick and had to go. I push send as the taxi pulls up to the front door and turn my phone off before I reach the lobby.

Ashley. She had to be a fucking Ashley. Out of all the people, all the names in the entire world, that had to be hers. I slam the door to my hotel room and pound my head against the wall once or twice. Regardless of her name, I still have an aching in my groin that hasn't left since we got out on the dance floor. But there’s no way I can let an Ashley take care of this for me. I pull my shirt over my head and slip out of my jeans as I crawl into bed. I close my eyes and immediately it’s there - the gorgeous face, the golden-blonde hair swaying around her shoulders, the curves of a goddess. Looks like tonight it’s just me, my dreams, and Rosie Palm.