Scoring

by Kristin Hardy

  Becka backed away from him, breathing hard. Slowly, clumsily, she slipped her bra back into place.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No I’m not okay,” she replied. “We were taking a crazy chance there. We’re in the clubhouse.”

  “Fine.” He reached for his shirt. “Let’s go somewhere else and finish what we started.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know how you felt, I felt it, too.” Mace pulled the gray fabric over his head and tucked it into his shorts.

  Shorts that showed the outline of a world-class hard-on, Becka realized, still feeling the tension that bound her up.

  “So you proved your point, you can get me turned on. Big deal. Put another notch in your belt if you want, but keep it buckled when you’re around me.” She walked toward the door and turned back to look at him. “You’re only here for a couple more days. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with notches. And don’t even try to tell me you’re planning to walk away and ignore what just happened here.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Becka said coolly, shutting the door behind her.

  7

  BECKA WALKED OUT of her apartment into the hall to the sound of a stream of curses. Below her, on the stairs, Mallory struggled with a half dozen grocery bags, one of which was slipping out of her fingers even as Becka hurried down to help.

  “Here, let me get some of that,” she said, rescuing some of the bags from Mallory’s hands and carrying them to the landing. “You know, you could make more than one trip,” Becka observed. “It’d be easier on your knees.”

  Mallory set down the bags to unlock her door. “I know, I know. I just hate doing that. I always wind up thinking I can do it and the next thing I know, I’m playing weight lifter on the stairs.”

  “So where do you shop around here?” Becka followed her into her kitchen and set the bags on the counter. “Is there an organic grocery store, or at least a Trader Joe’s? You know, some place where you can get something besides junk foo…” her voice trailed off as she turned to see Mallory tossing frozen burritos and pizzas into the freezer.

  Mallory stopped and gave Becka a suspicious stare. “You’re not one of those health freaks, are you?”

  Becka squinted at the bag of Cheetos in Mallory’s hand. “More or less.”

  “Well, I would be of the other persuasion, so don’t look too close at my groceries,” Mallory said, pushing a pair of candy bars and a frozen steak to one side. “They’re personal.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Becka said, pulling out canned soup.

  Mallory reached past her to open up a cupboard. “So do my eyes deceive me or do I detect whisker burn on your chin?” She leaned a hip against the counter and looked at Becka. “Loverboy strikes again?”

  “That obvious?”

  “Yeah. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I was running, he thought he’d be cute and show up, and then he tagged along to bug me when I was lifting weights. Nothing.”

  “You seem awfully irritated for just nothing.”

  “The guy just won’t go away.” Becka put the can onto the shelf. “I’ve told him I’m not interested. Most guys would back off and that would be that, but he has to try to prove to me he can change my mind.”

  “And of course when he started feeling you up and taking off your clothes you stayed calm and cool and gave him a blow job.”

  “He had my hands tied—” Becka shopped short and shot Mallory a dirty look.

  Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Hands tied up? You have an interesting interpretation of not interested.”

  “I wasn’t tied up. We were in the weight room and they were lifting straps and—” Becka stopped as Mallory burst out laughing.

  “Nothing, huh? Sounds like my kinda nothing.” She stuck a six-pack of soda in her refrigerator.

  “I don’t want to get involved with him.”

  “Just a guess, but you might want to try to be a little more clear about that particular message,” Mallory said, “because it doesn’t sound like you’re all that hot on no either. Why not just have a fling? What does it matter?”

  “Then he wins.”

  “He wins what? You have a bet or something?”

  “Of course not,” Becka said impatiently. “But ever since he got here he’s been coming on to me. I keep telling him to take a hike and he keeps telling me he’s going to convince me.”

  “Ah,” Mallory nodded and opened the crisper to add a bag of grapes. “Point of honor.”

  “I’m not so hard up that I’m ready to be the next willing candidate. Anyway, I don’t have to hold out too much longer. He’s leaving soon.”

  Mallory stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Well if he’s on his way out then just get over it and give the man a tumble. You’re looking like you need one and he’s volunteering. You get the good times without the games.”

  Becka looked back at her, unconvinced.

  Mallory finally shrugged and began gathering up empty bags. “Well, good luck with it, whatever you decide. I do need to talk with you about something else, though. It’s one of your players….” she hesitated.

  Becka looked at her sharply. “What?”

  “I don’t know what his name is, but he comes in most nights. I took a good look at his license because he looks so young. Dark, good-looking. Cocky. Moretti? Morani?”

  “Morelli,” Becka filled in for her.

  “Morelli. Yeah, that’s it. He’s been coming in a lot lately. Drinks like a fish, and last night he switched over from beer to bourbon. Got himself pretty toasted. What’s his story?”

  Becka listened with a sinking heart. “I don’t know. He’s got talent, but he’s got an attitude to go with it.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s also got himself a list of groupies that are just waiting to get all over him.” Mallory shut her pantry door. “He almost got himself in some real trouble last night, though. He started up with some woman who was there with a date. A very big and very nasty-looking date who didn’t take kindly to him coming on to her.”

  “Tell me he didn’t do anything really stupid,” Becka implored, closing her eyes.

  “The girlfriend got the guy to leave without dislocating your boy’s head from his skeleton, but it was a close one.” Mallory pushed her hair back over her shoulders. “A bouncer friend of mine taught me some very nasty tricks for dealing with trouble. I’ve never had to use them before. I thought last night was going to be a first.” She looked at Becka soberly.

  Becka nodded. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll take care of it. I’m not sure how, but we’ll get a bead on him and keep track of what he’s up to.”

  “Better you than me. He seems to have a pretty high opinion of himself.”

  Becka snorted. “Right now, he’s a legend in his own mind. I just need to figure out how to keep him from blowing up before he ever gets out of the minors.”

  “It’s because he’s good-looking. It’s always the gorgeous ones who give you trouble,” Mallory said, shaking her head.

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  LATER, BECKA LINGERED in the training room after most of the players had gone to dinner, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. She’d debated about talking to Morelli herself, but came to the reluctant realization that only one person had a chance of getting through to Morelli.

  Becka tapped on the open door of Mace’s office. For a moment, he simply gave her a leisurely look. “Florence. To what do I owe this honor?”

  “We need to talk.”

  She walked in and shut the door. A glint of amusement stole into his golden eyes.

  “You changed your mind about this morning and you want to finish up where we started?”

  “Let’s forget about this morning,” she said, struggling to suppress the image of them together in the weight room, reflect
ed in mirror after mirror.

  “You make it difficult. You’re very distracting, you know. Watching you right now, for instance. It makes me wonder what you’d do if—”

  He wasn’t going to take her down that road again and turn her mind to mush. “Let’s not go there right now, Duvall.”

  “Later?”

  “Much later.” Like after he was gone, she sincerely hoped.

  “Well, grab a seat.” He picked a pile of equipment off of the chair next to the desk and waved her over. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Morelli.” Becka perched on the edge of the chair, watching Mace lean back idly in his seat. “I ran into my neighbor Mallory today, the one who tends bar at Double Play.”

  “The sports hangout across the street?”

  Becka nodded. “According to her, Morelli’s a regular, and he’s been stirring up trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Getting mouthy. Spoiling for a fight. Making passes at other guys’ girlfriends.”

  “That’s a good way to get pasted. So what do you want me to do?” Mace tapped his fingers restlessly on the desk. “I’m here to teach batting, not manners.”

  “I was hoping maybe you could talk to him, straighten him out a little. He’s at a really important point in his career right now. It’d be a shame to see him screw up.”

  “I barely know the guy. He’s not going to listen to me.”

  “Are you kidding?” Becka gave a short laugh. “These guys worship you. Trust me, you’ll make an impression.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Will you at least try? Just stop by the bar and talk with him, that’s all I’m asking.” Even she could hear the pleading note that came into her voice.

  Mace leaned forward to rest his arms on the desktop. “It really matters to you what happens to these kids, doesn’t it?” he asked, staring at her searchingly.

  She started to downplay it and then stopped. “Yes,” she said slowly, “it does. I want to see all of them get to the majors and I’ll do whatever I need to to make that happen.”

  The seconds passed, and then Mace blew a breath out. “Okay. I’ll see if I can talk some sense into him.”

  “Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “So I guess this means you’re planning to stick around until your assignment’s done?”

  “I’m still holding out hope for you, Florence.”

  “You’re either an incurable optimist or an egomaniac, Duvall. I can’t figure out which.” She laughed and stood up. “Let me know what happens with Morelli.”

  “Does that mean I don’t get a rubdown after the game?”

  “You’re not going to have time for a rubdown. You’ll be heading out for a hard night of partying.” She started out the door then paused with her hand on the knob, wondering what she’d done, setting a playboy up to talk sense into a playboy in training. “Hey, Duvall?”

  He looked up. “Hmm?”

  “Don’t teach him to be any worse than he already is.”

  8

  ONE OF THE THINGS he’d never missed about the minor leagues was the traveling, Mace reflected as he tossed his overnight bag into the luggage compartment of what had once been a Greyhound bus, judging by the faint shadow of the running dog logo that showed through the new skin of blue paint. On the other hand, he doubted most of the players noticed the recycled bus. They were all either fresh out of high school or college. Compared to what they called team buses in his day, the motor coach was plush. Hell, it even had TV monitors.

  He took a casual glance around for Becka. Given that she was the whole reason he’d stuck around, he’d be frustrated if she’d managed to somehow duck the four-hour bus ride to their first road stop. Although, he had to grudgingly admit that he’d gotten a kick out of the training sessions with the team. He’d enjoyed it even more when he saw the players use his tips to get hits. Maybe there was something to this after all, he mused just as Becka drove into the lot.

  The breeze caught her swingy copper hair as she got out of the tiny Toyota. Slinging a duffel bag over her shoulder, she picked a sheaf of files out of the front seat and walked toward the bus. Shorts again today, though this time with a denim shirt thrown over a tank top. Even so, the loose shirt didn’t quite camouflage the delicious body that he knew lay beneath the cloth. Before he left, he was damned well going to see it uncovered, and give them both the pleasure he knew was waiting for them.

  “Okay, everybody on.” Sammy stood by the door as they boarded one by one. “You got the paperwork, Florence?” He glanced over to where Becka was tossing her bag in the luggage compartment.

  “Have a little faith, Sammy,” Becka replied, brandishing her files as she climbed up into the bus.

  Mace followed, snagging a bottle of water from the cooler up front and grabbing a seat. Sammy made a last-minute head count. When he was satisfied, he nodded to the driver and the door shut with a hiss.

  Mace cracked the top off the water bottle as the bus lurched into motion and Sammy dropped into the seat beside him.

  “How’s it going, Duvall?”

  “Not bad, Sammy, how ’bout yourself?”

  “Three wins in a row, I can’t complain.”

  “The team’s looking good.” Mace looked back behind Sammy’s head to see Becka walking up the center aisle to the front of the bus carrying a thick envelope. She was looking pretty good herself, Mace thought.

  “Okay everybody, listen up,” she said briskly, holding on to the back of a seat to steady herself. “I’ve got your per diems here.” She started working her way down the bus, handing each player an envelope with his name on it. “Five days and nights. The hotel has breakfast and there’ll be sandwiches in the clubhouse before the games. Otherwise, you’re on your own. If you use up what’s in this envelope, your next meal is coming out of your own pocket.” She held up a sheet of paper. “There’s also a shuttle schedule. You know the gig, anyone who misses the bus gets himself to the stadium on his own nickel.”

  “And he’d better make it a cheap cab, because I’m going to slap his sorry rear end with a whopper of a fine when he finally makes it to the clubhouse,” Sammy added.

  “Any questions?” Becka asked. Taking the silence for a no, she wove her way down the aisle and back to her seat.

  Sammy leaned over to Mace. “Makes a hell of a traveling secretary. Our old trainer couldn’t keep a trip organized if his life depended on it.”

  “She’s a woman of many talents.”

  “She’s got what you need for a winning team.” Sammy settled back in his seat. “Kinda like you. You’re really getting this teaching thing down.”

  Mace shrugged. “Getting good at faking it, more like.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. I’m gonna ask them to send you out here again.”

  Time to nip this one in the bud, Mace thought uncomfortably. “Sammy, I was just trying this out here this week,” he began.

  “I know you were. You’re good at this, Duvall. These kids are learning a lot from you.”

  “Sammy, they stuck you with me. I know the score. You don’t have to go overboard.”

  Sammy blinked. “Sometimes I don’t get you at all, Duvall. You’re a good batting coach.”

  “You can’t tell that after just a couple of days,” Mace argued.

  “Hey, I’ve worked with lots of instructors in my time. Some guys know what they’re doing but can’t teach a lick. Some guys can’t play worth a damn but they’re good at teaching. Some guys got the gift for both. I think you’re one of them.”

  Mace tried to ignore the quick rush of pleasure. Sammy was probably just telling him what he wanted to hear. “Kind of a quick decision, isn’t it, Sammy?”

  “Hey, I’m paid for my judgment.”

  “I see.” Mace worked to keep a straight face. “And would that be paid well?”

  “We got four more hours to be on this bus. You keep cracking wise and see where it gets you.”

  Mace did g
rin then. “I’m too old to scare, Sammy. Save that for them.” He tipped his head toward the back of the bus.

  “I hear you took the guys out for pizza last night after the game.”

  “I got ’em back before curfew.” Mace rubbed his jaw. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “’Preciate you doin’ it. It means a lot to the guys that you took the time to hang out with them. Gives ’em someone to look up to.”

  Being a role model had never figured into his career plans. He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about the paternal routine everyone suddenly expected of him. “I don’t know if I want anyone looking up to me,” Mace said.

  “Too late, they already do.”

  The place had been a dive, with greasy pizza and cheap, cold beer. Clustered around scarred wooden tables they’d watched women, voted on their Hall of Fame fantasy team, and bitched about interleague play, wild card play-offs, and other aberrations of modern baseball. And it had been fun, he realized with a jolt. He’d missed the easy camaraderie of a team.

  “Hey, tell me what you think,” Sammy said, digging a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. “I want to shift the batting order tonight. I think some of the stuff you’ve been teaching them has taken hold and we should work with it. Let me tell you what I’ve got in mind.”

  Mace couldn’t resist at least taking a look. The notion was too tempting. As a player, he’d always had ideas about how things should be run. Now that Sammy was asking him, he couldn’t help but have an opinion. He bent over to become absorbed in strategy, and the miles rolled away.

  FOUR HOURS WAS a long time to be sitting on a bus, Becka thought as she looked up from her book to stare out the window. At least things were quiet for the time being. It might have been the middle of the day, but the torpor-inducing rush of engine noise and the soft sway of the bus on the road had lulled most of the players to sleep. Of course, the fact that they’d left at 7:00 a.m. might have had something to do with it, too.