Second Thoughts: A Hot Baseball Romance (3 page)

“I don’t believe you just did that!”

“Leave it alone for a few hours. You can log in tonight to see who replies. Now, I have some cinnamon strudel cookies. Want to try them?”

“Don’t try to make this up to me with sweets.” But even as she groused, Jamie had to laugh. Ashley was her best friend. And Ash really
did
only want what was best for her.

Besides, in twenty-four hours, she could delete Shygirl6 and pretend like the entire stupid online site had never existed.

~~~

Nick sprawled on his couch, using his bare feet to kick his unfolded laundry down to the third cushion. The television blared with sports news, endless recaps of the previous night’s playoff games. The Rockets should have been there—
would
have been, if they hadn’t lost their key hitter way back in June, if Ormond hadn’t gone for retirement, if a hundred little things had been different…

He should turn off the TV and forget about the playoffs. This was the off season, whether he was happy about that or not. Hell, half the guys Nick knew were taking vacations to places with lots of sand and sun and drinks with crappy little umbrellas. The other half were getting to know their wives again, their kids, all the people they barely saw over the long baseball season.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Jamie Martin. That’s what.

He should have known she was in town. Ever since being traded to Raleigh, he’d kept in touch with Ashley, having dinner with her every month or two. Looking back, he could see she’d been vague for quite a while. She’d made plans and broken them, saying she was too busy working at that upscale Italian place downtown.

He hadn’t really thought about it. He’d been busy himself, wrapping up the season. The Rockets had been in contention for a playoff berth right until the end.

But now, he knew Ashley’s distance had been because of Jamie. Jamie Martin had moved back to Raleigh, and she hadn’t wanted him to know.

And he couldn’t really blame her.

Jesus, she looked amazing. The short hair had caught him by surprise at first, but he kept wondering what it would feel like if he ran his fingers through it. And that makeup… He could count on one hand the times she’d bothered with the stuff when they were in school. Aside from those little changes, those meaningless things, she was exactly the same.

That wasn’t true. She
had
changed. A lot. Her face was more serious. Her eyes were a lot less trusting. She looked like she’d spent a lot of time thinking, a lot of time worrying about…

What? He had no idea.

She’d obviously built a successful business as a photographer. That had been her dream, after all. And in a twisted way, her dream had become his, after he’d broken up with her. He’d
needed
her to succeed, so he could believe he wasn’t a complete asshole.

He still winced out of reflex when he thought about the small diamond he’d shopped for so carefully, the one she’d twisted off her finger when he broke up with her. The damn thing was upstairs, in his nightstand, shoved all the way to the back with the broken nail-clippers and the pens that didn’t write.

No, they’d
both
ended up living their dreams, just not with each other. Jamie had told him she was going to succeed as a photographer the first time he took her out for coffee, and he’d believed her. After all, in that same conversation he’d said that
he
was going to play professional ball for a living.

He snorted and looked around the living room. This place wasn’t a lot more civilized than the dorm room where they’d broken things off. In fact, it pretty much looked like the double he’d shared with Jimbo senior year, absent the bunked beds in a corner.

Jimbo. Maybe he should give him a call. They could shoot the shit, maybe get in a round of golf that afternoon.

Right. Like Jim could just drop his law practice and take off on a random afternoon. It was that whole off-season thing, all over again.

Yeah, right. Some fucking dream he was living. He was sitting in the middle of a barely-furnished apartment that screamed “bachelor pad,” watching crappy television news, and thinking about the one who got away.

And the worst part was, not one of the guys on the team would understand. Sure, they’d buy him a beer and let him talk. But they’d never really
get
what he was saying. They’d never understand that playing second base for an over-500 team in the majors could leave a hole in his heart as wide as the Grand Canyon.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Nick picked up the remote and flipped through a dozen channels. Crap. It was all crap.

He swore and snagged his computer from the coffee table. Maybe his agent had sent him email. Maybe one of those endorsement deals had finally come through, the one for the local Mercedes dealership, or the men’s clothing shop. Like Nick would ever look like a polished TV spokesman…

He shook his head. It was all smoke and mirrors. If he won the endorsements, they’d do things with makeup and lights, make him seem better than he really was. That was their job.

Just like it had been Jamie’s job to shoot him yesterday. She’d stood in front of him, holding her camera with the ease and command he’d first seen eleven years before. She’d told him how to pose, reminded him to keep his chin down, and suddenly it was like they were back in the studio of the old classroom building where she’d first worked. He was helping her out with a class project, serving as her ever-willing model, letting her experiment with exposures and backdrops and a million different settings on her camera.

His dick twitched, egging him on to remember more of the time they’d shared, more of the things they’d done for four perfect years of college.

But his brain was a little wiser. He’d destroyed Jamie seven years ago. Scorched the earth, ignoring her every single day since graduation. There was never going to be anything with Jamie ever again. Not a chance. Not a prayer. Christ, he was lucky she’d even
talked
to him that afternoon.

He went back to his email inbox.

There was one of those annoying follow-ups from that dating site where he’d posted his profile. What was it, three months ago? He’d been on the road, feeling sorry for himself in a hotel room somewhere in the Midwest. It must have been the Twin Cities; he’d just finished reading
Main Street
and hadn’t wanted to launch into another book in the middle of the night. But he’d seen the website ads on TV a million times, and he’d decided to post the profile just to make the time go by.

He’d obviously done a piss-poor job of it, too, because he’d had about four hits the entire time he’d been online. That was the hazard of typing in a credit card number and letting the profile ride—he’d pretty much forgotten about the damned thing.

But someone had finally sent him a message.
RoadWarrior, Someone Wants to Meet You!
said the email. Just his luck. The day he finally got back in touch with Jamie, and someone got around to responding to his profile.

Well, Jamie wasn’t going to be part of his life. He’d done his best to drive her away seven years ago, and she was way too smart a woman to come back now. Too smart to come back ever.

He might as well drill the truth into his own Neanderthal skull by seeing what TrueLove had to say. He skimmed past his own profile on his way to reading the response to his posting.

I’m an equal opportunity sort of guy—whatever food they’re serving (as long as it isn’t Rocky Mountain Oysters), whatever music they’re playing (as long as it isn’t opera), whatever movie’s showing (as long as it isn’t one of those jerky old silent films).

I don’t believe a lot of “what everyone knows”—absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder, nothing’s fair in love and war, and apples have absolutely nothing to do with whether you see the doctor or not. But a job worth doing is worth doing well.

My job takes me on the road a lot, but when I’m home, I’m deeply rooted. I prefer eating in to eating out, reading a good book to shutting down a dance club, and talking to you more than any of that other stuff. You know, where talking is a euphemism for all sorts of things.

You’re brave enough to answer this profile, generous enough to give me the benefit of the doubt, and smart enough to know emailing isn’t the end of the road.

Jesus. He was a pretentious asshole, wasn’t he? “Euphemism”? Who the hell put “euphemism” in a dating profile? But his word choice hadn’t stopped someone from finally responding. He clicked on “Shygirl6” to read what she had to say.

“Hey there,” her message began. “I know I’m supposed to be witty and entertaining as I write this post, but my bottle of Seduction Cologne is fresh out. Your profile caught my eye. So what do we do from here?”

He grinned. She sounded about as ambivalent as he felt. The line about Seduction Cologne was exactly the sort of awkward joke he’d make. Without really planning to, he typed back, “How about answering the Five Live Questions of the day?”

Five Live
. What a gimmick. But the TrueLove folks weren’t going to let real romance fade away, just for a few awkward pauses in electronic conversation. Every day, the site posted Five Live Questions, a quick set of short-answer queries to keep the dating ball rolling. He pulled up the current Five and typed his answers without letting himself think.

Favorite pet: Stuffed animal (see profile: I’m on the road a lot)

Favorite wine: Glenlivet. (That counts, right?)

Favorite movie:
Citizen Kane
. Or
The Hangover, Part VII
. No, make that
Citizen Kane
, for sure.

Favorite body part: Yours or mine? They should make these questions clearer.

Favorite sexual position: Not that clear.

He skimmed over his answers and considered deleting the entire thing. But what the hell? If Shygirl6 wanted to respond to his stupid attempts at being sociable, who was he to argue?

He hit Send and leaned back on the couch. Five minutes later, when he caught himself checking his inbox for the third time, he turned off the computer, pulled on his running shoes, and headed over to the stadium for a serious workout.

It was that, or fold the laundry. And he wasn’t totally desperate. Yet.

~~~

“Oh my God, Lauren!” Jamie exclaimed into her phone, pausing in her attempt to collect her camera equipment and get out the door. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Olivia’s babysitter said. “My car is totaled, though. And my neck is sore.”

Jamie shook her head. “Don’t mess around with that. There are all sorts of soft tissue injuries that get worse—a
lot
worse—if you ignore them. Go see your doctor this afternoon.”

“I’ll be fine,” the other woman said. “I can take a cab to Olivia’s school and pick her up. We can go home and play there.”

“Don’t worry about Olivia at all. I’ll pick her up.”

“And do what? I know you’re working this afternoon.” Lauren sounded frantic.

“Listen to me,” Jamie said to the babysitter. “You need to take care of yourself. Make sure you’re healthy so you’ll be there for Olivia in the future. Get in to see your doctor this afternoon, and we’ll figure out everything else going forward.”

Jamie must have sounded convincing. Lauren finally gave in, apologizing another half a dozen times for being rear-ended. Jamie could hear the chaos in the background—a police siren, and a number of loud voices. The accident must have been a real mess. Thank heavens no one was seriously hurt, she thought as she hung up.

But despite her insistence to Lauren, she
was
in a jam. Olivia’s school let out in an hour. Ashley couldn’t get her—she was already at Mangia, cooking up a storm for some office party behind held at the restaurant. Ordinarily, Jamie would consider sending Robert, but she needed him at Rockets Field, setting up the next calendar shoot, for one of the pitchers.

No one else was on the school’s authorized list. She’d have to get Olivia herself.

Just that morning, Jamie had been
grateful
that another ballplayer was in town, that she’d get another few hours of work under her belt. Now, she shoved down feelings of exasperation as she punched in Robert’s number, already fast-walking toward her car. “Change of plans,” she said. “I’ve got to swing by Polk and pick up Olivia.”

“No problem,” her assistant said. “We should have great afternoon light in the dugout.”

“Get the reflectors set up, and put makeup on the guy. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he said with an ironic lilt.

“Don’t give me that,” she said. “You’re loving every minute of this.”

“Men in tight pants, doing whatever I tell them to do? Poor Steven had better watch out, or I might leave him forever.”

Jamie laughed and hung up the phone. Only then was she willing to admit the
real
problem that was making her pulse skyrocket. Olivia was the spitting image of her father. Nick would take one look at her daughter—
their
daughter—and know the truth. He’d know the lie of omission that Jamie had been telling for seven years.

But she was being ridiculous.

For one thing, Nick’s photos had all been finished the day before. There was absolutely no reason for him to set foot in the ballpark that afternoon, not in October.

For another thing, so what if he
did
find out he was Olivia’s father? Jamie hadn’t broken any laws, keeping her secret. Nick was the one who’d chosen to walk out of her life, out of
their
lives.

For a third thing, Jamie didn’t have any other choice, not when it came to picking up Olivia that afternoon. She was making mountains out of molehills, finding distractions just for the sake of distractions. She’d spent so many years demonizing Nick Durban that it was still a little unsettling to realize they actually lived in the same city, that she was working—at least for a little while—where he worked.

Well, she was a big girl. She could handle Nick.