Your Game

by Skylar Platt

  “But you miss all of this on TV, well I would anyway.”

  I clenched my fists and held my breath each time he came to bat and saw Tara and Maddie do the same. My heart pounding with his. That unmistakable crack signaling a homer. I leaped out of my seat pulling Tara with me screaming at the top of my lungs, launching quickly into the Eagles fight song as he trotted the bases, giving just the tiniest of waves our direction as he disappeared into the dugout.

  Tara and Maddie directed us to the players’ entrance/exit so we could see Anthony and the others after the game. This was when I first noticed the other wives and families who had been sitting around us. Some dressed in their husband’s gear like me, many dressed like they should be headed out to a club or dinner party. Several ladies greeted the girls and said hello, eyeballing me, this outlier on their turf, protective of their exclusive club. Tara responded by grabbing my hand and leading me through the crowd.

  My initial angst at his daughters’ arrival unannounced tonight had turned to immense gratitude.

  She let go of me and bolted to her dad in heartwarming childlike fashion, launching into his outstretched arms. I smiled broadly. “Daddy’s baby girl,” Maddie quipped without an ounce of resentment.

  Maddie high-fived him and then tossed her arms around his neck. “Not bad old man!”

  I caught his eyes over her shoulder. He winked at me, and placed her back on the ground. I was ready to follow suit and throw my arms around his neck but before I could his hands were cupping my face, soft lips crushed against mine, the brush of his goatee against my chin. Momentarily stunned into submission, I’m not even sure I kissed back. His eyes sparkling at mine. In a flash the kiss was done and I was being lifted off ground into his arms. I clung to him, breathless, managing to kiss his cheek and inhale his fresh-scrubbed scent before gravity pulled me back down to earth.

  “Your daughters are great,” I said as we walked out to his car, having satisfied himself they would get home safely and obtaining “permission” to steal me from Olivia. “Your bond with them is fantastic.”

  “Yes, they are pretty cool kids,” He opened the passenger side door of his very nice, but unexpectedly nondescript Ford Explorer. Not what I expected from a superstar athlete with a 9-figure salary. “Maddie is technically my step daughter. She was 3 when I met Lauren, and her father has never been part of the picture, so I officially adopted her when she was 10. Tara is obviously my baby,” he laughed. “And always will be.”

  “Are they close to their mom too?”

  “Yes, Lauren is great and we are still very close friends. We’ve been way better friends and parents since splitting. We didn’t do marriage very well. She’s remarried and it’s all super amicable and boring,” he smiled. “You’ll like her too.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond so I just stared ahead as we drove to his place. I knew nothing about this man aside from what I had read online. But he seemed to contradict every preconceived idea, every stereotype I held to be true of professional athletes, especially the gorgeous ones, and damn he fit that bill.

  I looked over at him. He was wearing the dress clothes he had worn to “work” that night. Dark dress pants and crisp white shirt contrasting with his tanned skin and dark hair. His large hands and long fingers lightly gripped the steering wheel as we maneuvered out of the city limits. I recalled how deftly those hands had controlled that baseball all night, the way the muscles in his arms rippled when he tossed it with seeming ease to first base. My stomach fluttered at thoughts of those hands all over me.

  Just then he floated a hand over to my thigh. I smiled and placed mine on top.

  “Now, about that additional home run,” he squeezed my thigh and I busted out laughing. He was not lacking in bravado, but somehow it didn’t come across as demanding or otherwise offensive. Despite myself I found it sexy as hell.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MEREDITH

  As nondescript as his vehicle was, his house was the exact opposite.

  Located in a posh gated community, I’m guessing he was not the only local professional athlete to call this area home. We drove past monstrosity after monstrosity with towering entry ways and walls of windows to showcase glittering chandeliers visible from the street and ornate fountains with strategically-placed spotlights.

  At first glance, his seemed, by the neighborhood standards, to be the so-called least expensive house on the block. It had the towering entry, the multiple levels, the neatly manicured landscaping. But no fountain, no walls of windows and from the front it actually appeared about half as big as his nearest neighbors’. A large driveway led to a generous four-car garage hidden from street view, as was most of the house.

  His house spread deep into the rear of the property and when I walked in through the garage all I could see was night sky and a dark pool rippling in the moonlight. The entire expanse of the rear of the house was floor to ceiling windows, some of which were disguised as doors. He could open half of them creating the feel of being outside.

  He was grinning at my open mouth.

  “Would you like a tour?” he grinned taking my hand and leading me out to the pool. He showed me the full outdoor kitchen and entertainment area, complete with a massive TV and speakers built into the décor in various locations and camouflaged as natural rocks. He flipped a switch somewhere and the dark inky pool turned gold and glowing with underwater lights and others along the edge again “hidden” among the natural stone pool and patio.

  “It’s a nice night for a swim,” I grinned removing my jersey and dropping it on a lounge chair. I kicked off my short cowboy booties and pulled the t-shirt over my head forgetting I had a hat on too which fell to the ground releasing my hair into a tangle around my shoulders. I started to unbutton my jeans, when he took my hands in his.

  “I get to do this part,” he whispered. I couldn’t control the sharp intake of air and shudder when his knuckles grazed my stomach.

  My skin pebbled against his touch. My nipples strained to be released from the confinements of my bra seeming to beg for his lips. A flood of heat and moisture filled my panties with the swipe of his thumb across my nipples and breasts. I tried to stifle the moan, but couldn’t when the heat of his mouth surrounded the nipple, sucking lightly. I tossed my head back and placed an arm on his for balance as my knees were certain to buckle when he unzipped my jeans.

  We chuckled together when we realized there is just no graceful way to extract a woman from skinny jeans. He flung them across the patio inside out when my right foot finally broke free, leaving him on his knees and eye-level with my pulsing mound. A spark shot through me the second his tongue pressed against my clit. I feared the orgasm was going to happen instantly. I felt his lips break into a smile against me. My nails dug into his shirt and he lifted one of my legs over his shoulder. Spreading me open wide with his fingers. I clutched at him for balance and looked down to watch him lick and suck me into a frenzy. I met his eyes and that did it. I exploded grabbing his head pressing his face hard into me as the pulses rippled through.

  I tugged frantically at his pants, made tighter now by his erection, while he unbuttoned his shirt. His shirt wasn’t even off as I sat back on a lounge chair and he plunged into me hard. I was dripping wet, but the stretch required to accommodate him shocked a squeal out of me.

  “Are you OK?” he stopped, brushing hair back from my face.

  “God yes, don’t stop,” I dug my fingers into his firm butt cheeks and pulled, raising my hips to meet him. He went deeper with each thrust quickly returning me to the brink.

  “Let go,” he growled.

  I couldn’t have stopped it if I wanted to. I orgasmed again and in two quick thrusts felt him pulse inside of me and let out a raspy moan into my ear.

  Sitting up on my elbows I drank in the body of the man I was still stunned had just been inside of me. His crisp white shirt fell to the ground exposing the well-defined chest and abs of an athlete. He stepped out of his pants watching me s
can his long legs and muscled thighs leading to the groin and cock that I was already feeling anxious to feel again. Damn he was gorgeous. He turned and dove that perfect ass into the pool.

  We swam around in the moonlight, laughing, kissing, toying with each other. I swear dawn was breaking by the time I heard his breathing shift into deep sleep mode, arms wrapped around me. We’d made love twice more in bed giving him a total of five home runs on the night I giggled to myself.

  I hadn’t even realized I’d drifted off until I heard his phone alarm chime.

  He silenced it and pulled me in close. “Hi there,” he nuzzled my neck.

  “Hi,” I pressed back into him, feeling him grow hard against my thigh.

  “I hate to do this, but I have a plane to catch,” he said.

  “What? Oh gosh, yes, you guys are in St. Louis for the next two games,” I sat up abruptly feeling horrible for keeping him up all night, well sort of.

  We did have to scramble so that he could take me home, not at all willing to let me take an uber. He offered me one of his vehicles, but I only have parking for one car and mine was already there. “I just feel like sending you home in an uber after last night makes it seem like…I don’t know…it just seems wrong to me.”

  I dashed out to the pool naked to retrieve my clothes while he showered and dressed for the road trip. Again, dark pants, a crisp white shirt and this time a suit jacket.

  “Shit, you are gorgeous,” I blurted out when he came down the stairs.

  “Right back at ya,” he winked. I shook my head glad he was insane enough to think so.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MEREDITH

  I’m not one to seek out the sports news first thing in the morning, or ever, at least not until today.

  I am the woman who still likes to read an actual newspaper in the morning. I stepped out onto the stoop of my little row house and grabbed the paper. The Eagles were offering the city and the journalists a nice respite from politics and as such the playoff results were front-page news…even when that news isn’t good.

  They lost both games in St. Louis, including blowing a five-run lead in the 7th inning of the second game. I’d watched the games, pacing throughout, suddenly thrust into the inner-circle of this world, my heart was already lost to him. He had only texted after last night’s debacle, said he was beat and beat down, he would call this morning.

  It wasn’t the headline and subhead saying that his homers hadn’t been able to save the Eagles that sent my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach like a rock.

  It was the small sidebar boxed into the main story. Palmiero in Talks with Miami.

  I read the headline about 50 times before summoning up the courage to read the story itself. His contract was up, he would be a free agent the second the Eagles season ended. While the franchise had been built around him, he was 38 years old and the Eagles had ponied up big bucks to hold onto their young star pitcher. There was no way they could now pay Palmiero what he was worth. His hometown of Miami was first in line to scoop him up.

  There were no quotes from Anthony or anyone affiliated with the Eagles. There was a party line from his agent about how the playoffs are in full swing, nobody is talking until after the season is over, etc. There were multiple quotes from the manager in Miami expressing how great it would be for Anthony to come home.

  Home!

  I tossed the paper across the room and turned on SportsCenter.

  It didn’t get any better there. I guess after the previous night’s implosion everyone was writing the Eagles off of being able to reclaim the series and advance. Good grief the series was tied! I screamed at the television. And they return to Washington for tomorrow’s game! I added, but they weren’t hearing me. Then it started. They jumped on the Miami news and extolled the benefits of Anthony heading that way to finish out his incredible career.

  I started pacing, breathless, angry and hurt. Then feeling foolish for feeling any of that. I mean we just met. What do I care if he leaves and seriously, he had no obligation to fill me in on any of this. And when would he have? It’s not like we did very much talking the other night.

  My rational brain never wins out for very long and the second I saw his name pop up on my phone, the petulant hurt child showed up and I made the oh-so-productive and adult decision to avoid his calls. All. Day. Long.

  ------------

  I was saying good bye to some clients, handing over my ideas for their wedding anniversary bash when the bells on the door to my little shop chimed.

  The clients obviously knew who he was and gawked at him and said hello and we’re big fans and all that. He smiled graciously, shook their hands and thanked them.

  The smile vanished when he turned to me.

  “Did I miss something?” he asked, coming just a bit closer. I kept the table between us as the buffer I was certain to need.

  “Nope,” I said sharply.

  He waited.

  “We had a moment, and it was a nice moment,” I swallowed hard.

  “A moment?” he growled. “A moment?!”

  I just stared back trying to stand my ground. I was not going to get swept up into this and have my heart broken in a few weeks, even though it was not exactly in one piece at the moment either.

  “The fucking earth moved when I kissed you outside the coffee shop…you cannot tell me that it didn’t. You sat at a game with my girls. And the other night? Don’t you dare tell me this was just a moment, because it was not just a fucking moment for me!”

  His anger caused me to take a step back from the table, even though he had made no move to encroach any further.

  “I don’t want to stand in your way.” I said calmly.

  He furrowed his brow and was about to say something else when my next meeting walked in.

  “I have work to do,” I said quietly. “Good luck in Miami.” I added with as much bite as I could muster.

  The look on his face revealed he had no idea what was going on. Anthony doesn’t do social media, he doesn’t pay attention to sports news that involves the Eagles, he only grudgingly fulfills his own media obligations. He didn’t know. And if I could have handled the situation worse, well I don’t know how.

  He turned and left, again smiling at the well-wishes from the latest set of fans who had walked into my door. They seemed very excited that I knew him. Which is ironic, since I know absolutely nothing of this man except that he was right. The damn earth did move when he gave me that kiss, that insane I-barely-know-your-name-but-I-must-kiss-you kiss.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANTHONY

  Ignoring the fact that my phone had been blowing up all morning, I had gone to Meredith because she was only person not trying to call me and was in fact avoiding me and I needed to know why.

  Now I googled my name on my phone and there it was. Story after story about my imminent return to my hometown of Miami, a place where I was born, but I had not called it home since I was 10.

  I knew Miami had been interested in offering me a short-term contract to play out my career down there. But I had no desire to put on a different uniform. I had not agreed to talks, but I let my agent handle it figuring the media could discuss the many places I might go. I was fine with this as it kept speculation about my real plan – retirement – to a minimum.

  What I hadn’t bargained for is that they would latch securely onto Miami and create a fire-storm of chatter in the middle of the playoffs.

  And I had not at all bargained for Meredith, who I had fallen hopelessly in love with already and meeting her just firmed my decision that the baseball player part of my life was now over. Time to begin the next chapter.

  I knocked on the door of my former house. I needed to make sure my girls hadn’t been blindsided by any of this.

  “Daddy!” Tara never failed to fix everything. She flung her arms around me and squealed like a little girl. At 14 she was smart and strong like her mother, and she was also secure enough with herself to still act like a
little kid around her daddy.