MACE WOKE to the sound of a chirping alarm in the room next door. The first thing he registered was the pile driver headache slamming through his head. The second was that he was alone. The third, was that it was 7:30 and the team bus was long gone.
Becka was long gone.
He sat up and groped for the glass of water he noticed on the bedside table, downing it in a gulp. He blinked at the clock. The display flicked to 7:36. He stared at it stupidly, wondering why something nibbling at the back of his brain was telling him that time was important. Nothing was important except getting rid of this headache, he thought, rolling back over and closing his eyes. Then awareness washed over him.
He had a flight back to Boston at 10:00 a.m. to pick up his truck and head south. It was 7:36, he hadn’t showered or packed, and he had a ten o’clock flight. He was out of bed and into the bathroom before his brain fully registered the fact that he was vertical.
He turned the shower taps to hot, then turned back to the sink to brush his teeth while the water heated. Clean teeth might not cure a hangover, but they’d at least help, he thought as he glanced at himself in the mirror to see how bad the damage was.
And saw the writing on it.
You were the notch on my belt this time. The red letters marched across the glass surface, which was beginning to steam up around the edges. Then he looked beyond the letters and his eyes widened in fury.
On his forehead was a red X.
11
AS MUCH AS SHE LOVED her job, it definitely cut into having a personal life, Becka thought as she biked toward downtown Lowell. She’d gotten out of the weight training session late, and now she was reduced to biking like mad so she could arrive on time, if a bit disheveled. A smart person would have driven that day, but parking in downtown was awful, and after the recent road trip, she needed all the work she could get.
The breeze felt good as she walked into the courtyard restaurant and looked for the brightest color she could find. A flash of magenta caught her eye even before the dark-haired woman wearing it waved her over.
“Why haven’t you called me?” Ryan chided her, even as she wrapped her in a hug. “I’ve been calling you for weeks.”
Becka gazed at her childhood friend. “What are you talking about? I called you to set up lunch.”
“That doesn’t count.” Ryan waved it off. “That’s not conversation, that’s social planning, and you only talked to my answering machine, anyway.”
Becka swept her bangs out of her eyes and ordered an iced tea from the waitress. “So how are the wedding plans going?”
A smile spread across Ryan’s face like sunlight. “Amazing. Becka, I never knew I could be this happy.”
“God, you’re dysfunctional,” Becka said in mock disgust. “Normal people are miserable planning weddings. It’s like it’s this special sort of hell. How can you be enjoying yourself?”
Ryan giggled delightedly. “I can’t help it. Nothing could get to me right now. Anyway, we haven’t had too many headaches. I suppose it helps that I’m not seventeen and fighting with my parents over every detail.”
“I don’t even want to tell you about the battles my mother had with Nellie over her wedding,” Becka said, rolling her eyes. “Two control freaks. They fought over dyeing the bridesmaids’ shoes, if you can believe that. It was like a holy war for my mother.”
“It probably helps that Cade and I are the ones paying for it, so we can pretty much suit ourselves,” Ryan acknowledged.
Becka waved it off as the waitress brought their tea. “Your parents are saints. They wouldn’t give you a hard time even if they were paying for the whole thing.”
Ryan laughed. “I think my parents are just thrilled that I’m getting married, period.”
“Oh, what, like you were on the verge of turning into an old maid?” Becka leaned back and looked at her best friend, admiring the rich dark hair, the bloom on her cheeks. “I swear, you’re even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”
“True love,” Ryan grinned.
“How’s Cade?”
If possible, Ryan’s smile became even more luminous. “He’s wonderful. I don’t know how I got so lucky. It’s so bizarre. I mean, this time last year I didn’t even know he existed. Now I can’t imagine life without him.” She took a sip of her tea. “At the same time, I don’t believe it. I keep making all the arrangements like I think it’s going to happen, but in all honesty it doesn’t seem like it’s real. Three weeks from now we’re going to be married and on our honeymoon.” Her eyes widened. “I keep thinking someone’s going to jump out and say ‘surprise, it’s all a joke, this wasn’t supposed to happen to you.’”
“Of course it’s supposed to happen to you,” Becka said impatiently. “If anyone deserves a fairy tale, it’s you.”
The waitress appeared and they ordered quickly, eager to get back to their conversation.
“So what about you?” Ryan asked, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “How’s the new apartment, by the way?”
“Great, and thanks again for the bed. It’s wonderful.”
“Good.” Ryan nodded in satisfaction. “That bed’s good luck. It’s been charmed with amazing sex.”
“It does give me a little buzz when I sit down on it, now that you mention it.” What gave her the buzz was remembering the feel of Mace’s body on top of hers, but that was a topic best relegated to the past. “What I can’t get over is the fact that your parents stood for you moving in with Cade before the wedding without having you excommunicated.”
Ryan waved it away. “Given that it’s a week and a half to the wedding, it’s sort of a moot point. Besides, officially I’m sleeping in the new house and Cade’s at his place.”
“They don’t buy that, do they?”
“Of course not, but it gives them something to tell Father Ramsay.”
“I also can’t believe you guys got that incredible house.”
Ryan shook her head in amazement. “Cade’s dad wanted to do it. Said Cade had never let him give him anything after he’d turned sixteen. What I can’t believe is that they’re actually talking. Not a lot, and they’re probably never going to be Ward Cleaver and the Beav, but it’s a start.” She blinked back sudden tears. “God, I can’t believe this. I’ve turned into the most appallingly sentimental person in the past month. Weddings.” She swiped at her eyes.
“You’ve always been appallingly sentimental, Ryan.”
“Well, take my mind off it and tell me what’s going on with you. It’s been three months since you broke up with Scott. Are you seeing anyone?”
“I’m not sure seeing is the right word for it.” Becka tried to keep a straight face.
“Oh really?” Ryan looked at her more closely. “And just what is the right word for it?”
“What? There’s nothing going on.”
“Nothing going on my foot.” Ryan leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Fess up, or I’ll tell your mother about the time you flicked paste into Sister Magdalena’s hair during art class.”
Becka stared at her, aghast. “You wouldn’t.” The statute of limitations didn’t exist for Becka’s mother when it came to parochial school crimes.
“Try me,” Ryan invited.
“But you swore to secrecy on the blood oath,” Becka said aggrievedly.
“I only pretended to cut my finger.”
“You violated the blood pact?” Becka yelped in betrayal. “I can’t believe it. It took two weeks for my cut to heal.”
“Pain makes me faint. Anyway the oath’s invalid. So tell me.”
“Okay, I give,” Becka said in defeat. “There’s this guy at work.”
“Not one of the players?” Ryan’s eyes widened in shock.
“Give me some credit, will you?”
“Who, then?”
“He’s an instructor. Was,” Becka corrected herself. “Was an instructor. The team has a whole roster of them who come through on a rotating basis.”
�
��What’s his name?”
Becka blew out a breath. “Mace Duvall.”
“What kind of a name is—” Ryan stopped. “Oh, wait. You mean the guy who plays baseball?”
“Played baseball. He’s retired now.”
“The one who was named Sexiest Man Alive by People?”
Becka’s expression became grim.
“I can see you’ve come up in the world,” Ryan said admiringly.
“Hardly. He was in town, he got bored. I was the nearest target.”
“So what happened? Somehow I don’t see you and him together.”
Becka waved away a gnat that spiraled in toward her face. “I told him I wasn’t interested and he wanted another answer. And let me tell you, when a guy like that decides to go after something, he can be very convincing.” She began at their first meeting, telling every detail she could remember while Ryan listened avidly, hissing and cheering in the appropriate places, and looking predictably horrified by the ending.
The waitress dropped their salads at the table, along with a basket of bread. Becka nibbled on a whole wheat roll. “So that’s it. Maybe I didn’t leave him tied up like certain people I know, but I gave him something to remember me by.”
“He’ll remember it, all right.” Ryan picked an olive out of her salad and popped it in her mouth. “Just watch out. Remember what happened to me.”
“Yeah, you fell madly in love and got engaged. Trust me, it won’t happen here.” Becka forked up some salad. “It was undeniably great and is now undeniably over. The only thing that really bugs me is that I wound up tumbling for him just like everyone else.”
“Oh yeah, ‘everybody else,’” Ryan said mischievously. “You mean like Megan Barnes and Lara Portman, those actress/supermodel everybody elses?”
Becka grinned. “Yeah, well, I wanted to be different. And I don’t like to make a fool of myself by drawing a line in the sand and then crossing it. I’d be humiliated if I hadn’t had such a good time. And if he weren’t long gone and hard to find.” She bit into the lettuce and chewed.
“Don’t be so sure. You might hear from him.”
Becka rolled her eyes. “Ryan, give me a break. This guy is the original Casanova. Compared to the crowd he runs with, I’m small time. He was just keeping limber, like a concert pianist doing finger exercises.”
“You know, there might be more to him than you think. I read a profile on him last year. He sounded like a pretty interesting guy, actually. Real, you know? Not pretentious. Not a word about the whole Hollywood shuffle.”
Becka glowered at her. “Don’t get started on the nice thing. He’s already hit me with that.”
“All I’m saying is that for a playing the field kind of jerk he was cool,” Ryan said innocently. “So are you going to see him again?”
“You don’t seem to hear what I’m saying. He’s a G-boy. He’s had people telling him he was beautiful and talented all his life.”
“Yeah, so?”
Becka let out a breath and searched for patience. “Ryan, you’re hooked up with the perfect man, probably the only one on the planet except for your dad. For your information, most gorgeous guys are creeps, interested only in themselves. Look at Scott.” She sighed. “Trust me, Cade is one in a million. Most men who are beautiful know it, and play it like it’s collateral. I mean, women aren’t people to Duvall, they’re arm candy. The only reason he was even interested in me was because he was stuck in a backwater and he needed something to do.”
“You looked in the mirror lately?” Ryan asked mildly.
“Look, I’m not pretending I’m Cinderella’s ugly step-sister or anything. I know I’m okay. But looking good and looking like Giselle Bundchen are two different things. I didn’t make it into the Most Beautiful People issue. This guy’s out of my league.”
“Well, that’s probably a good thing since you think he’s such an idiot.”
“He’s not an—” Becka stopped and narrowed her eyes, studying Ryan. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“Oh no.” She shook her head. “No.”
“What?”
“You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“That look that says I’m in bliss and I want everybody I know to find the same thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ryan said blandly. “By the way, I’ve got you RSVP’d to the wedding with a date.”
“Don’t you start matchmaking,” Becka warned her.
“I’m not.”
“Because he’s gone.”
“I’m sure.”
“He’s history.”
“Definitely.”
“The guy can’t even commit to a three-month job.”
“Hard to believe.” Ryan kept her face suspiciously deadpan.
Becka took a swallow of her tea. “But he was amazing in bed.”
“What a manipulator,” Ryan said, sticking her tongue firmly in her cheek.
Becka burst out laughing. “I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”
“No, just like a woman who’s had herself a good time and doesn’t want to admit it. I’ve been there, remember.”
“Yeah, but at least you could blame Cade for playing you,” Becka said. “The only person I can blame is myself. Thank God he’s gone, at least. I’d hate to have to face that smirk every day.”
BECKA LOCKED HER BIKE and walked into the clubhouse, glancing at her watch. It was absurd to feel guilty for showing up at the official reporting time. Granted, she was usually in her office several hours ahead, but it wasn’t like the whole organization was going to crumble because she wasn’t early for once. Only a compulsive nudge like her would still feel like ducking her head when she walked through the front office and into the crowded locker room.
Which was currently full of half-naked or nearly naked men.
If she were the cradle-robbing type, there were some amazing bodies standing around the locker room in little more than jockstraps, Becka thought idly.
“He won the Gold Glove three years in a row,” Stats was saying to Chico as she walked past. “It makes sense that they’d bring him back for infield instruction.” Stats pulled his pants up, covering a marble hard-set of buns. Not nearly as enticing as Duvall’s though, she thought. Nope, Duvall had a world-class ass, to say nothing of the rest of him. Too bad she’d never have her hands on it again.
“Hey, I’m not complaining about having him back,” Chico threw back, buttoning up his jersey. “I learned more from him than I’ve learned from the other coaches combined.”
Obviously the new instructor had arrived, Becka thought, wondering briefly who they were talking about. It had to be someone who’d been through previously, not that any of them had been all that impressive, with the exception of… She rounded the corner to Sammy’s office and froze.
He was talking with Mace Duvall.
“Hey, Becka, look who’s back,” Sammy bawled, seemingly oblivious to the horrified look she was sure was plastered all over her face. “We get him for another week.”
“Another week?” she asked faintly, unable to stop staring at Mace. He was tall and golden and definitely but definitely there. “You’re here for another week?”
“Yep.” Whiskey eyes glinted with challenge. “Back for round two.”
12
WHEN THEY’D BEEN tearing up the clubs in her college days, Becka and her friends had had one immutable rule—never change your mind about sleeping with a guy after 10:00 p.m. The punishment for a known offender had been dire, involving, she seemed to recall, public humiliation and drinking designed to induce catastrophic hangovers. Of course, the group had been known to do any outlandish thing they could to keep a friend from breaking the rule, because they always predicted heinous repercussions, the least of which were galloping regrets.
She was older now, Becka thought as she walked to the training room without a backward glance, but apparently not wiser. If she’d started the evening saying no
and had changed it to yes by the end, she had only herself to blame for the consequences, which in this case might make a two-day hangover look mild. She knew the rules. Now, the one time she’d let herself lapse, she was…well, she didn’t know what she was, but it couldn’t be good if it had her facing down a guy who’d scored points on her. No, she thought immediately, he hadn’t scored points on her, she’d scored on him. That was the thing to remember. She’d done the seducing, she’d changed her mind and chosen to sleep with him, for better or worse.
Now she had to deal with baseball’s playboy as her lover. Ex-lover. One-night stand. What on earth the man was doing back in Lowell when he’d said he was quitting, she hadn’t a clue. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was just to annoy her. Now he could run around grinning at her, telling himself that he’d seduced her. Becka felt a telltale heat in her face that she knew meant she was blushing. Hell, he knew things about her body all of her other lovers combined didn’t know.
Having it out with him didn’t scare her—she could give as good as she got. What did scare her was word of their night together getting around the locker room. Now, that would be awkward. Still, he didn’t strike her as the type to kiss and tell. She’d just have to rely on his discretion.
Of course, after the lipstick incident, that discretion was more than likely negligible.
He hadn’t looked all that ticked when she’d seen him moments before, she thought, holding out a faint sliver of hope that the lipstick had rubbed off on the pillow. Or if it hadn’t, that maybe she could take him to bed and work him over to take his mind off it. Of course, that would only compound the problem, not that it wouldn’t be diverting.
An image of Mace naked bloomed in her mind. Diverting was an understatement. Oh, the things that they’d done, she thought with a mixture of glee and mild dismay. The mirror thing had just been the beginning, she recalled. Then there’d been the part when she’d been leaning up against the pillows and he’d straddled her and…
Scoring Page 12