Scoring

by Kristin Hardy

  Illogically, it gave her a little warm glow to think that he was leaving something behind, some demonstration of his intent to return. She hadn’t expected the idea of him being gone to bother her so much. “Is it tough for you, always being on the road like this?”

  “It’s not all that much different than when I was playing.”

  “Except that then you had a home base that you kept coming back to,” she pointed out.

  Somehow, in a very short time, Lowell had come to feel like home. “I can always go home at the end of the season. It’s only another month.”

  “What, you’re not going to spend winter working the Mexican leagues?” she teased.

  Mace considered it. “I don’t know. I have to get used to the idea of this coaching thing. I mean, I like it, a lot, but life’s been changing pretty suddenly over the past year. I just want things to settle down, you know? Get some time to think about what I want to do next year. What about you?”

  Becka threw an arm over her head and looked at the ceiling. She hadn’t thought about it much, but Mace was right, the end of the season was all too near. And she supposed that meant she really needed to figure out just exactly how she was going to make a living until spring training started again. Assuming she still had a job with the team. “I’ll probably try to find something at a local HMO or hospital, I guess. Sammy’s talked about keeping me on for next year, but nothing’s set yet.”

  “He talks about you like he expects you to be around for the duration.”

  “In my dreams.” Her life was nearly perfect at the moment. Unfortunately, holding onto it was about as feasible as holding water in her fist. The job was going to end—if not for good, at least for the season. Mace would leave and go on with his life. The thought stabbed at her. It wasn’t like she’d thought for a minute that there was any possibility of a future. He had a history of coming and going with women, if the papers were to be believed.

  And if they weren’t? What then? Did she really think they had a chance at a future? “I wish I could just freeze everything right now just the way it is,” she said aloud.

  “You’d probably want to have more clothes on, in that case.”

  Becka giggled. “I adore you,” she said without thinking. “I love the way you make me laugh.” Leaning close, she pressed a smacking kiss on him.

  Mace caught the back of her neck and held her there, and suddenly the intensity and passion were back.

  “How does this happen?” Becka asked, running her hands over that amazing body and feeling the arousal start afresh.

  “What?”

  “We can be completely intense, then laughing like a couple of loons, and then it all goes back to wanting you so much I feel like I would die if your hands weren’t on me right now,” she whispered. “Is it like that for everyone? I’ve never had so much fun in bed before.”

  “Obviously you haven’t been doing it right,” he murmured, kissing his way down her stomach. “Did you check the instruction book?” he asked, tracing his tongue along the vee between her legs.

  “I was hoping for private tutoring, remember,” Becka said, her voice strained.

  Mace shifted so he was laying between her legs. “Then I’m your man.” His mouth was hot and avid against her. The feel of his fingers against her bare nipples made her gasp. What an incredible feeling, the silky heat of his tongue as he drove her up, the jolts of sensation from his hands on her breasts. Suddenly, abruptly, she craved him in her mouth. She slid away from him.

  Mace raised his head inquiringly. “What’s wrong?”

  Becka smiled. “Nothing’s wrong. I just think you should be on your back so that I can suck on you.”

  “I want to do something for you.”

  “You had your chance earlier. Now it’s my turn,” she said in satisfaction as she pushed on his shoulder to lay him flat. Finding him hard sent a burst of extra arousal through her. Knowing she was going to make him even harder was intoxicating.

  Mace groaned as she slid him into her warm, wet mouth. Becka moved her head, feeling the fragile skin shift over the thick length of him. There was an immediacy about the act that was unbearably exciting. She could feel the effect of each slide of her lips, each stroke of her tongue, each driving instant that made him that much harder, that much closer to orgasm.

  Her hands roved over the heated skin of his chest, until his breath hissed in. No coarse hair, just silky, sculptured flesh. Her fingers traced the dips and rises of his abs even as the muscles tensed. Then she increased the speed of her motion and brought her hand back down to curl around his stiff shaft and stroke.

  Mace wove his fingers through the silky spill of her hair as his hips rose and fell in an erotic cadence. He moaned as Becka swirled her tongue around him in a caress that drove him nearly mad. Her mouth was hot and insistent, stroking, sucking, driving him relentlessly with an excruciating intensity of sensation, drawing him inexorably to the point of no return. Suddenly, he was hit by the overwhelming need to feel her pleasure, feel her convulsing around him even as he went over the edge. He curled his fingers around her arms and stilled her motion. “I want to be inside you,” he managed through the blur of sensation. “I need to be in you.”

  He pulled her up to straddle him, then tensed as she slid him into her damp heat. It tore a cry from him, but he held onto the barest thread of control as she began to move up and down. He traced a finger down her belly and into the slick cleft between her legs, finding the hard bud of her clitoris, stroking it every time she rose.

  He watched Becka’s face tighten with a purity of pleasure as she neared her orgasm. “Touch yourself,” he whispered. Her eyes widened, then she raised her hands to her breasts, cupping them, caressing them. A wave of arousal swept through him at the sight of her voluptuous enjoyment, carrying him closer to the edge.

  “I want this to last forever,” he said in wonder, fighting to wait for her. “I don’t ever want to lose this.”

  Then it was his turn for surprise as Becka reached out to the bedside table and handed him the camera.

  That was almost the end for him right there, but he managed to hold on. “Are you sure?” he asked, and with her eyes closed, Becka nodded. Then her breath began hitching and she got that otherworldly look on her face as though she were listening to magical chimes that only she could hear.

  And as the orgasm burst through her, he snapped the shutter and captured her glory.

  15

  IT WAS A WRENCHING SURPRISE to her how much she missed Mace in the days that followed. Her runs, a time she’d always considered solo and precious, felt empty somehow without the companionship. She’d look for him during practice, during games, only to remember a split second later that he was gone.

  And she missed him after the games most of all.

  Maybe that was why she found herself at eleven o’clock at night walking through the door of Double Play instead of going home to sleep. The long, polished wood bar stretched along a mirror-covered wall dotted with lighted beer signs and clocks. A couple on what looked like their first date shot pool in the back as Aerosmith played on the jukebox. But it was the televisions that were the draw for the clientele. They were everywhere, showing every sports channel a satellite dish could offer.

  Becka eased onto a stool. Down the bar, Mallory talked breezily with a pair of city leaguers still in their team jerseys. A cropped white T-shirt showed off her smooth, tanned belly where a gold ring glinted at her navel. Low-cut black jeans clung to her hips, accented by a fringed suede sash that she had knotted around them. Silver beads glinted on the dangling suede thongs, clicking together as she moved. She set beers in front of them, laughed at what might have been a joke, and began to walk down toward Becka.

  “Hey, neighbor. To what do I owe this honor?” She pushed her tumble of dark hair back over one shoulder. At the end of the bar, the city league duo watched her with wistful adoration.

  “You’ve got a fan club there,” Becka said with a nod in the
ir direction.

  “Don’t encourage them. I’ll never get them out of here.” She wiped the bar in front of Becka. “What can I get you?”

  “Sam Adams.”

  Mallory moved away to draw the beer. “I hear the team won tonight.”

  “Oh yeah? How’d—” Becka looked at her. “Morelli’s here?”

  Mallory nodded and pointed to a corner where he slumped at a table watching soccer, empty bottles lined up in front of him.

  Annoyance surged through Becka. The guy just wouldn’t learn. “How long’s he been here?”

  Mallory glanced at the clock. “Oh, a half hour, forty-five minutes. Not that long.”

  “Long enough to suck down four beers.” Becka shook her head in frustration.

  “I’d cut him a little slack tonight,” Mallory said quietly. “He’s having a hard time.”

  Becka turned back to her. “What do you mean?”

  “He was up at the bar talking to me earlier.” Mallory leaned toward Becka. “It’s his birthday.”

  “Well, why didn’t he tell us?” she asked, baffled. “He should be out celebrating with the guys.”

  “He tried,” Mallory enunciated softly. “They all told him to take a hike. It sounds like he’s not real popular in the locker room these days.” She set the beer in front of Becka. “I think he’s feeling a little hard done by.”

  Becka turned around to stare at the silent and solitary Morelli. He was just a kid, she thought. She’d been so focused on his screwups that she’d forgotten that he was maybe twenty-two or twenty-three if he was lucky.

  “That’s tough,” she murmured. “No one should be alone on their birthday.”

  Mallory nodded. “I talked with him for a little bit, but he seemed to want to brood.”

  “I might just have to go interrupt that.”

  Mallory winked. “I thought you might.”

  Morelli had isolated himself at a table off to one side and sat staring at a television, his back to the room in a way that screamed “No Trespassing.” The fact that he’d lost the bet to her a few days before wasn’t likely to make her his favorite person. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  Becka walked up to the table. “Hey, Morelli, how’s it going?” She pulled up a chair and sat down straddling it, setting her beer on the table.

  He barely gave her a glance, just took another drink. “Don’t start with the lectures, okay? I’m really not in the mood for it. Just go back over to the park and do your team thing.”

  “Game’s over, remember? I figured I’d come over here and take it easy for once.”

  “Careful, you don’t want people to think you’re not living up to your potential.” His tone was flat, hostile, full of the humiliation of losing to her.

  “Nah, I figure I’ll hang out for a while.”

  “Hey, it’s a free country. It’s not like you’ve got someone breathing down your neck about a curfew, so why not?” He gave her an opaque look before taking a deliberate swallow of beer.

  “I hear that congratulations are in order. Happy birthday.” She held her beer up to toast with his.

  Morelli’s eyes flicked from the beer to her face and back. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he clinked his glass with hers. “How’d you find out?”

  “The bartender’s my neighbor. She mentioned it. How old?”

  “Twenty-two.” His voice turned bitter. “Twenty-two and still in A ball.”

  Becka circled her glass on the Formica tabletop, creating a glossy ring of water. “How long have you been in the minors?”

  “Since last year. They signed me mid-season out of junior college.”

  Twenty-one was old for junior college, she couldn’t help thinking. “I thought you went to the University of Michigan for football or something.”

  “At first.” He took a drink. “Let’s just say the coach and I didn’t see eye to eye. I changed to the junior college by home. That’s when I got signed.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Wisconsin.” Morelli scowled. “Kenosha, Wisconsin. A little town you’ve never heard of.”

  It was all coming clear now. The U of M was practically a city and the coaching staff had a reputation for toughness. Morelli would have been lost there, going from a small town where he was worshipped as a sports star to the enormous university where no one knew his name, and no one had any patience for homesickness. “Big family?”

  “I got three little brothers.”

  He must have been used to being a big fish in a very little pond, she thought. His first try in a new environment had probably been a disaster, judging by the fact that he’d been bumped from a scholarship. Morelli was used to moving through the world like he owned it. Now he was finding out the hard way that he wasn’t as important as he thought he was. It couldn’t be an easy lesson.

  “Why don’t you go back to the dorms and call your family? It’s only 9:30 out there. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “What would have made me feel better would have been to go out for a few laughs. But my teammates decided they had better things to do.”

  “Are they giving you a rough time?”

  He snorted. “Compared to you and Duvall, they’re amateurs. Why’s everybody on me all of a sudden?”

  “It’s because we know you’ve got the potential to go somewhere.”

  He gave her a bitter look. “Twenty-two and still in A ball? Looks to me like I’m going nowhere. I might as well have some fun, at least.”

  “I think you can go as far as you want to. You just have to want it bad enough.”

  “I want it.” His voice was suddenly intense.

  “Then stop partying and work for it. Think about how it’s going to feel the first time you step up to the plate in a major league park and hit one out.”

  Morelli stared moodily at his beer and didn’t answer. The seconds ticked by.

  “It’s almost curfew. Go home, Paul,” she said softly. “Get some sleep and get to the ballpark tomorrow. Your teammates aren’t bad guys, they just want the team to win.”

  “I want the team to win, too.”

  “Maybe if you show them that, it’ll make a difference.”

  He nodded slowly and stared into space some more. Then abruptly he stood up. “I’m outta here. See you tomorrow, Florence.”

  “Sleep well, and happy birthday.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  Becka watched Morelli head out the door, then she returned to the bar.

  “How’d it go?” Mallory asked.

  Becka shrugged. “About as well as it could. He’s 2000 miles away from home and all of a sudden he doesn’t matter anymore. Not to the fans here, not to his teammates. He’s a very lonely kid, is our Morelli.”

  “It makes a lot more sense, what he’s been doing lately.”

  Becka nodded. “Act up, you get attention. I doubt he’s thinking it through that way, but that’s what it amounts to.” She slid back onto the barstool.

  “Work never stops for you in this job, huh? Want something else to drink?”

  “Just water, thanks.” Becka glanced around the rest of the bar. “It’s pretty quiet.”

  “Actually, your timing is perfect. I can talk instead of running around serving the whole time.”

  At 11:30 on a Wednesday night, only a half-dozen patrons still remained in the bar. “How can you stay in business if this is all the draw you get on a weeknight?” Becka asked curiously.

  “Trust me, earlier tonight this place was hopping. We’ve got a whole league that makes this their regular stop after their games are over, so it’s usually standing room only until they start drifting off about nine.”

  “Except for your fans,” Becka said, nodding again toward the end of the bar, where the city-leaguer, now solo, was waving for service.

  Mallory rolled her eyes. “Except for them. Keep yourself busy,” she said, putting a dish of pretzels on the bar in front of Becka and walking down to her customer. His
buddy must have gone to see a man about a dog, Becka thought idly, watching the interchange with interest. Mallory laughed at something the guy said and apparently gave him the wrong answer. His voice rose. “Oh come on, who’s going to know?”

  “I will,” Mallory said sharply, her voice carrying down the bar. She turned her back on him with finality.

  “What did he want?” Becka asked curiously when she returned.

  “My phone number.” She put a glass on the counter and filled it with club soda.

  “You probably get that a lot.”

  “Often enough,” Mallory said dismissively. “I just tell them we’re not supposed to date customers.”

  “Didn’t seem to work with him.”

  “Everybody thinks they should be an exception.”

  “And are there any?” Becka asked curiously, watching Mallory add a lime to her drink.

  “Here?” She gave a laugh. “Trust me, I’ve got better taste than to get involved with some guy who walks into my bar and thinks he can order me up like a drink. I’m not on the menu.” She took a long drink of the club soda and thumped the glass down.

  At the end of the bar, the city leaguer’s friend had come back from the bathroom and the two made for the door. She raised her glass to him as he passed. “You have a good night, now.”

  He threw her a dirty look and stomped out.

  She turned to Becka with a wink. “Somehow, I don’t think I’m missing out on anything.” She picked up the remote that controlled the television over the bar and flipped the channel. On screen, David Letterman laughed with a guest.

  “Well how about outside of work?” Becka persisted. “It seems like we’re always talking about my man problems and I never hear about yours.”

  “That’s because yours are more interesting than mine,” Mallory said lightly. “Anyway, I’m not sure that any of them are worth having, Loverboy notwithstanding.”

  “They do have their moments, though.”

  “For the occasional fling, I suppose,” Mallory allowed. “It just seems like as soon as I get involved with a guy, he immediately wants me to stop doing all the stuff that got us together to begin with.”