“Slumming for gossip, I see.”
Jack appeared by Becker’s side, his voice raking Amanda’s nerves.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the rookie intervened. “That’s not a nice thing to say to a lady.”
Jack smirked. “This isn’t a lady. This is the Gossip Queen.”
Amanda felt her temper building. She hated her work being called gossip, but she wasn’t about to let Jack know he was getting to her.
“Yes,” Amanda said to Casey. “I’ve already planned to expose your dirty little secrets. Tomorrow the world will know that you are from another planet and have superhuman strength brought to you by the sun. I’m also going to reveal the really naughty secret. I’m going to tell them about the how silver saps your abilities. Then you’ll never throw another fastball again.”
Casey chuckled. “You’re funny, Amanda.” He gave Jack a pointed look. “You gotta admit, she’s pretty funny.”
With supreme satisfaction, Amanda noted Jack’s irritated expression. She might have pushed him further if Brad hadn’t chosen that moment to appear.
“Jack,” Brad said, giving the man a short nod, before turning his attention on Amanda. The gleam in his eyes was nothing shy of sizzling as he offered her a private greeting. “Hello.” His voice was low, more friendly than when he’d addressed Jack. Even a bit intimate.
He ignored Casey altogether.
“Hi,” she said. “Good pitching tonight.”
“Not as good as I wanted it to be,” he admitted, and quickly changed the subject. “I need to grab a shower before we do that interview. Meet you in fifteen?”
“Okay. Where?”
“Why don’t you join us at Spirals for the postgame party?” Casey interjected. “Then you can interview me, too.” He motioned to Jack. “Your competition will be there, won’t you, Jack?”
The irritation on Jack’s face deepened into a scowl. Any chance to agitate him further added incentive for her to accept the invitation. Not that she would have declined.
“That works for me,” Amanda agreed, smiling at Jack before giving Casey a nod. She turned to Brad. “Does that work for you?”
Brad’s gaze flickered over Casey, and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw irritation in his expression. Before she could be certain, he had his attention on her, his baby blues promising far more than an interview. “That works,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”
His gaze lingered on her a second too long before he departed, walking away, giving her a delicious view of his stellar backside.
“I have real news to report. See you tonight,” Jack said to Casey.
Amanda endured a few more minutes of the rookie’s flirtation, in an effort to get the story. It didn’t work. She needed more to write the article she had in mind. She’d have to work on it at the bar.
When she finally managed to ease away from him and head toward the exit, she couldn’t help but wonder about the rest of the evening. What would she learn about Brad? Who was the real man behind the pitcher?
And why did the idea of finding out appeal so much?
6
BRAD LEANED against the bar, his first beer in hand, barely touched. He didn’t want the damn thing, but someone had shoved it at him, so he’d accepted.
The band on stage delivered a sad country song. Cigarette smoke filled the room with a musty smell that he normally wouldn’t notice, but tonight it irritated him.
It had been Tony’s turn to pick the postgame spot, and he’d gone for the crowd and loud band. As always.
Truth be told, Brad had only showed up for Amanda. He’d much rather be at home, icing his arm in peace. Instead, here he was, trying to ignore his injury and angling for a way to win this bet. His mission tonight: get Amanda naked and in his bed. Any bed, for that matter.
At that moment, Becker edged into the spot beside him and ordered a beer. “What’s up, old man?”
“You tell me, kid,” Brad said. “You don’t know how to read signs or what?” He didn’t want to get into this tonight, didn’t want to get distracted from Amanda, but he was too pissed off to let it go.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When Kurt gives you a sign, take it. That’s what it means. He asked for a curveball and you threw a fastball.”
“You’re Kurt’s messenger now? He can’t talk for himself?” Becker grunted. “And Simpson expected a curveball,” he argued. “I wasn’t about to give it to him.”
“Apparently, he expected heat because he stroked it right out of the park,” Brad countered.
“That was the only hit they got off me.”
“Because you followed the signs after that.”
The bartender slid Becker’s glass of draft across the counter and he tossed a few bills down. “I finished what you couldn’t and you don’t like it.”
Brad wanted to shake the kid for his stupidity. “You’re making the wrong choices, Becker. You shouldn’t be blowing off advice from the guys who have been around longer than you. Show some respect.”
“Maybe you old guys need to show me some respect. I got the arm to put this team in the playoffs if you’d just get out of my way. Management came after me in the draft and waved a big fat contract. Rumor has it they’re not offering you shit. There’s your sign. Your days as star pitcher are over, so step aside and let the real talent in.” Becker grabbed his glass and stomped away.
Brad downed his beer, suddenly grateful he’d accepted it. He’d barely had time to swallow when Jack sat on the bar stool next to him.
“Sucked to lose that record,” he said.
“We won the game,” Brad countered, sick of hearing about his lost record. “In the end, that’s what counts.”
“Tony’s next,” Jack said. “He’s charging after that home run record.” He took a drink. “Think he’ll get it?”
Tony was one of the best hitters Brad had ever seen. “Hell, yes. He’s got rocket fuel behind that bat.”
“Some say it’s more than rocket fuel.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brad asked. A warning bell sounded in his head. Jack had been acting differently ever since he took that new job, giving off a vibe that set Brad on edge. For whatever reason, he didn’t trust the guy to write the players’ side the way he used to. This suggestion that Tony was juicing reinforced Brad’s caution around Jack.
“Some say Tony’s rush toward the record came out of nowhere. That he got really good really fast.” He paused. “Maybe too fast.”
Agitated, Brad pushed off the bar, facing Jack. “I don’t know where you’re going with this,” he said, his voice low and tight, “but I don’t like it.”
Tony was doing well, and someone wanted to steal that from him. Brad understood how that felt. The past year had been him trying to save what everyone wanted to take.
“Whoa there, partner,” Jack said. “I’m just giving you a heads-up. It’s floating around. People are talking. They’re saying he’s juicing.”
Brad didn’t believe Tony was taking steroids for a minute. “Who’s your source?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“You’re the only one I hear talking, Jack.” Brad leaned in close so his point would hit home. “Make sure you get your facts straight before you go shooting off your mouth.”
“I’m trying to get the facts right now,” Jack argued. “Talk to me. Help me get it straight.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Tony works hard and it shows.”
“I hope you’re right.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Desperate people do desperate things.”
“You’re crazy, Jack.”
“Maybe I am,” Jack conceded. “But maybe I’m not. What if Tony wants that record so badly he’s willing to risk anything to get it? What if he’s fighting an injury? This is big for his career. He’d do what had to be done to hang tough. Maybe he even has encouragement. Maybe a team doc offers him a solution.”
Brad understood the
fear of losing your career better than anyone. Hiding an injury might not be smart, but it wasn’t the same as using drugs. Tony wouldn’t stoop to that.
“Sometimes players get pretty desperate to save their careers,” Jack added. “I’m sure you can sympathize. Being up for contract renewal and not signing yet. Makes you wonder about that fight you had. Then there was the surgery. Maybe you don’t look like such a good prospect for management.”
Did Jack know he was injured again? Was that what this was about? Brad searched Jack’s face for answers, but found nothing. Jack had been good to him during his fight ordeal by printing stories that showed a positive side to the entire mess. And Brad appreciated that.
“I haven’t signed a new contract because I haven’t decided where to sign. Don’t forget, I’m already in The Show. You, on the other hand, have never quite made it there. Local paper, local news. Nothing more. Maybe you want to make The Show and you’re the one getting desperate. So much so you’d hurt people who’ve given you their trust.” Brad’s accusations weren’t entirely accurate since Jack was doing well for himself. But he wanted the guy to know how it felt to have his Achilles’ heel pushed so he’d back off.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his jaw in obvious frustration. “I’ve always taken care of this team. Never once have I printed a story without getting the players’ side of the issue.”
“That’s true. But desperate people do desperate things. Those were your words.” He paused for impact. “Maybe you’re the desperate one, not Tony. Maybe you’re trying to make a story where one doesn’t exist to snag a bit of attention.”
“You’re wrong,” Jack insisted, his expression stormy.
“Time will tell. Either way, this conversation is over.” Brad didn’t wait for a reply, he just walked away.
That Jack might know about his injury bothered Brad far more than Amanda’s knowing did. Why, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care to examine. He felt in his gut that Jack had become a problem. Yet one more thing Brad would have to keep an eye on.
The tension and frustration he felt spiked and he wished like hell Amanda would get here. He needed a healthy dose of sex-induced amnesia and she was just the woman to give it to him.
POSSIBLE HEADLINES for her feature on Casey Becker played in her head as Amanda entered the noisy bar, feeling the flutter of nerves in her stomach. She could easily blame the nerves on the need to score big with her second column, but she knew it was more than that.
She was nervous about seeing Brad again. The distinct hum of sexual excitement burned within her, all the more enticing because she couldn’t allow herself to indulge. Still, she searched the crowd for him.
Reggie had offered to escort her to the bar, but Amanda had declined, thinking she could meet the team in a social situation without someone holding her hand. But these crazy sensations she had were making her second-guess her decision. With Reggie present, the situation with Brad would stay professional. Temptation couldn’t be given in to.
She stood in the doorway and pondered calling Reggie. At best, he’d be a stalling tactic. She knew herself well enough to acknowledge she couldn’t hide from her attraction to Brad forever. It was there. It wasn’t going away anytime soon. She’d simply have to cope.
Scanning the crowd, Amanda wished she had changed clothes and freshened up. Everyone wore jeans and the women all looked groomed and gorgeous, while she still wore the same makeup and clothing she’d put on twelve hours before. Drab and dull was so not the image she wanted to project.
She stiffened her spine. Leaving wasn’t an option. Establishing rapport with the team was too important. She’d seen Brad’s mistrust of her regarding his arm. Hopefully the fact that she hadn’t made his injury news would win confidence and help sway the team to her side. This bar was the perfect venue to let the players get to know her and trust her. A voice inside her head reminded her she’d betray that trust when she cracked the steroid-use story, but she ignored the nudge. Rapport first, digging for a story later.
Decision made, Amanda began weaving through the crowd, trying to locate the team. She sidestepped a laughing female just before connecting with her high-heeled boot. The next thing she knew, the wayward contents of someone’s glass splashed in her face.
She stood there, unable to move for the sticky dampness clinging to her skin and hair. Great. Just what she needed—a layer of alcohol and soda on top of drab and dull. “This is so not my night,” she mumbled, wiping liquid from her cheek.
“Damn,” a familiar male voice said. “You okay?”
A drool-worthy—and dry—Brad appeared in front of her. And she resembled a drenched rat. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just wet.”
Brad grinned. “A man shouldn’t leave a woman wet and unattended now, should he?”
She would have blushed at the innuendo, but he didn’t give her a chance. “Let’s get you to a bathroom,” he said, grabbing her hand to pull her through the crowd.
They maneuvered through the maze of tables, chairs and people. Amanda couldn’t help but notice Brad’s backside looked as hot in Levi’s as it did in baseball pants. Long before she’d finished her inspection, they stopped in front of the ladies’ room.
“Thanks,” she said, tugging to retrieve her hand from his grasp.
He held on a second longer. “I’ll wait for you here.”
She didn’t argue. She just wanted to clean up. Inside the restroom, Amanda examined her reflection in the long expanse of mirrors and cringed.
With the help of paper towels, the brush from her purse and the hand dryer, she managed to repair her appearance in short time. Even so, she didn’t want to go back out into the throng. She was done with too much noise and too many people. She would much rather be snuggled in bed watching a good movie than pretending to enjoy the bar scene.
But she needed a story. She needed to go back out there and make nice with the team. She needed to face Brad. Her stomach fluttered and she pressed her hand to her midsection. Good lord, the man got to her. One look from his baby blues and her knees were like noodles.
She couldn’t let her nerves get to her. Amanda took a deep breath and shoved away from the sink, forcing herself to start walking. And as promised, Brad was waiting for her on the other side of the door. He rested one broad shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over that broad, T-shirt-clad chest.
The minute he saw her, he straightened, the corners of his lips lifting as he gave her a quick, but thorough, once-over. “You look good as new,” he said.
“Thanks for the help navigating. Size makes a difference,” she said, then realizing the implication of what she’d said felt her cheeks warm. Afraid her attraction to Brad was written all over her face, she lowered her lashes, trying to erase the evidence with several blinks.
Before she could refocus, before she knew what was happening, Brad pulled her close. He leaned down, his mouth next to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “Incoming traffic,” he said. “You were almost trampled again.”
Being pressed so close to Brad was nothing less than explosive. In some remote corner of her mind, Amanda was aware of a large group of women squeezing past them. Remote because it was near impossible to think of anything but Brad’s legs resting against hers, and the intimate touch of his hand low on her back. She wanted his hand to venture south, to cup her backside. Maybe he’d caress her thigh, encourage it to wrap around his leg so that their sexiest parts would be pressed together.
A shiver of excitement raced down her spine, and her body ached in all the right places. No, the wrong places, she reminded herself. Brad was off limits. Too bad the reality check did nothing to stop the awareness ripping through her body, heating her from head to toe.
Somehow, Amanda forced herself to take a step back. He resumed his position against the wall, his expression a mixture of temptation and amusement, as if he knew she was running scared. Which, of course, she was. And it was stupid. Why run?
Well, except for the fact that
she had a reputation to protect—her own and that of the other female journalists who took grief for simply being women. Falling all over Brad wouldn’t do much for her professionally, even if it might be enjoyable.
Anything she might have said was cut off by a female voice. “Hey, Amanda. I didn’t know you were coming tonight. I’m so excited you’re here.”
Amanda turned to see Laura, the pretty blond groupie who could be no older than twenty-two or twenty-three. She greeted Brad, then said to Amanda, “Wait for me. I have a table with a bunch of the guys. You can join us.”
This was a perfect escape, actually. Amanda could use a minute away from Brad to cool off a little. “Sounds good.”
“Excellent,” Laura said. “Back in a second.”
“Hanging with the groupies now?” Brad inquired.
A defensive response slipped out. “You do. Why not me?”
“I don’t,” Brad said.
“That’s not how I hear it.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“And now you’re above all that?” She leaned on the wall, mimicking his posture.
“Now I’m at a different place in my life and my career.”
“Which is where?” she asked.
Laura exited the ladies’ room before Amanda could get Brad’s answer—an answer she’d really wanted to hear. “I’m back,” Laura said, stating the obvious. “The line was too long to wait.”
“Well,” Amanda said to Brad. “I guess I’ll go grab a drink.”
Brad eyed Laura a moment, then motioned for her to give them a minute.
“Oh,” Laura said. “I’ll wait right over there.” She pointed to a corner bar.
So much for escaping. The minute Laura was out of hearing distance, Brad said, “I guess you’re not ready yet.”
Ready? For him?
“Ready?” Amanda asked, her voice not quite as firm as she’d hoped.
“For the interview,” he said, a half smile giving him a sexy dimple in his right cheek. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
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