Crushing It: A Love Between the Bases Novella

by Jennifer Bernard

  “This is a booty call, isn’t it?” he complained as she walked him across his own living room, ripping off his shirt as she went.

  “And your point is…?”

  “My point is—” He broke off when she unbuckled his belt. “How am I supposed to remember my point when you do that?”

  “Do what?” She widened her eyes innocently—then snuck her hand down his pants. He dropped all of his protests after that. Wendy was calling the shots here. It drove him a little nuts—it was both arousing and maddening. He’d never been in this position before, that was for damn sure.

  Wendy didn’t mention his Hall of Fame invitation again, and neither did he.

  The Catfish had their Opening Day game on April 2. The promotions department did a spectacular job with the Championship hoopla. Crush invited Wendy to sit in the owner’s box, along with other prominent Kilby citizens. They managed to sneak some brushes of hands and hot glances. Amazingly, Crush was more aware of Wendy than he was of Jim Lieberman’s three-for-one performance and “Killer” Garrett’s game-winning line drive. He noticed every time she smiled at the handsome young city council member seated next to her. Hell, he noticed every time she patted down a strand of hair caught in the wind, and every time she took a sip through the straw of her soda.

  Now that he’d seen those full lips wrapped around his cock, he was never getting that image out of his head. Nor did he want to. He’d just have to live with the discomfort.

  Chapter Eleven

  Teri was assigned to the Single A team in Prentiss instead of Double A. Crush was disappointed; in his opinion, a man with her curveball would have been put right into Double A. But she didn’t let it faze her. In fact, she seemed to treat is as a challenge, and did so well there that in May she was called up to Arkansas, where the Double A Porcupines played.

  Crush flew in for her first game. He invited Wendy to join him, but she had a city council meeting she couldn’t miss, and, well, privacy and all that.

  Between her job and her desire for secrecy, her elusiveness was driving him crazy. If only she was playing hard to get—he’d surrender on the spot. But she wasn’t playing anything.

  When he reached the sports complex where the Porcupines played, he tracked Teri down in the tiny room they’d assigned to her as a locker-room. He’d never seen her so nervous before. Her eyes were wild, her hair bursting out of her ponytail.

  “Crush!” She flew into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “I can’t do this. My fastball’s all over the place, my curveball looks like a rainbow.” She burst into tears. “My parents are out there tonight and I really wanted to make them proud.”

  He rubbed her back, feeling her entire body vibrate from her anxiety. “Honey, remember what I told you? One pitch at a time. Focus on the task. Stay grounded, sweetheart.”

  “But…but how am I supposed to stay grounded when everyone’s expecting so much? My parents. You. Wendy. The team. The other team. The entire female gender.”

  “Honey, shhh…” He soothed her until she finally calmed. That damn article had gotten people talking all the way in Arkansas. “The female gender is going to be just fine no matter how you pitch tonight. No one’s going to lose their job or their right to vote or their ovaries.”

  That drew a surprised snort-laugh from her. “I can’t believe you just said ovaries.”

  “I’m a brave man, I know. And just for the record, I’m not expecting anything tonight, except I’m looking forward to a day at the ballpark. A good game, some beer and a hot dog, and I’m a happy camper. You don’t have anything else to prove to me. You already proved it.”

  She exhaled a still-shaky breath. “What about Wendy? I know she isn’t coming, but did she say anything?”

  “She’s excited for you. But don’t worry, she knows so little about baseball it really doesn’t matter how you pitch.”

  She laughed at that, and finally he felt the tension drain out of her. She stepped out of his arms and blotted her eyes with the sleeve of her uniform jersey. “I can’t believe I cried like a stupid girl. I hope none of the other players saw me.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I guarantee you they’ve all seen a woman cry—probably because they did something idiotic. I know these guys. They might act tough, but many of them are still just as freaked out as you are. I’m sure you aren’t the first player to shed a tear in this clubhouse.”

  She rubbed her sleeve against her the hip of her uniform pants then smoothed out her ponytail, which had gone frizzy in the day’s heat. He answered her questioning look with, “You look fine. No one would ever know.”

  “Thank you for saying all that. But the truth is, if anyone sees me cry, they’ll lose all respect for me.”

  “The way to gain their respect is on the mound. If they can’t see your talent, then they’re just blind and stubborn. But most players, if you play well, they’re with you. They just want to win.”

  “Play well,” she muttered. “I can do that. Just do my best. Focus. One pitch at a time.”

  He swallowed his smile, honored that his advice really was soaking into her brain like that. Her next question took him by surprise.

  “How’s it going with you and Wendy?”

  “Well…” he stalled. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, give it up. I know you like her. I know she likes you. So how’s it going?”

  “This isn’t junior high, you know,” he started cautiously. Was it okay to tell her that he and Wendy were seeing each other—secretly and only in the form of booty calls? Or would that be a betrayal of their agreement?

  She put her glove on her left hand and punched her right hand into it a few times to work it into the perfect position. “She doesn’t want anyone to know, does she?”

  The hint of bitterness in her voice made Crush start. “She has good reasons. I don’t exactly have the most savory reputation. The mayor and the Playboy Pitcher—not a match made in heaven.”

  “So what? I think people would like it. Everyone likes you. You’re going into the Hall of Fame, for cripes’ sake!”

  So he was…and he was going to accept that honor all by himself. Dammit all, that fact still rankled. Wendy couldn’t accept a simple invitation? He shrugged, not wanting to show just how much Wendy was getting to him with her arms-length attitude. “Are you upset because she isn’t going public with…well, you?”

  “No! No, no. Really, no. I don’t want her to. I’d feel bad for my parents. She asked me the same thing and I said no. I’d rather just be her…you know…her relative.”

  Crush watched her closely during this little speech but saw no sign that she wasn’t telling the truth. That was a relief; at least Wendy wasn’t hurting Teri with her walls and her protectiveness.

  “Hey, Crush, there’s something I found out, something important, about where my bio-father is—”

  Before she could finish, the team manager poked his head in the office. “Dimitri. Bullpen, now. Get warmed up. DeHart is losing it out there.”

  Teri’s eyes flew to meet Crush’s. All he saw now was excitement, not a shadow of the panic from earlier. “This is it,” she said in a hushed voice. “My first Double A game. Jesus help me.”

  “You go show ’em what you got, kid. One pitch at a time. Just like I taught you.”

  She pulled herself up to her full height and lifted her chin. “Yeah, yeah, Homeless. I could teach you a thing or two.”

  “Like what?”

  “For one thing, I’ll tell you this. You’re a good person, one of the all-time great people, and I’m not talking just about baseball. She shouldn’t be hiding you under the rug. For another, I’ve been working on a forkball that’s going to make you cry.” She readjusted the hairband around her ponytail and flung open the door. “Watch and learn, Homeless. Watch and learn.”

  “Forkballs hurt my eyes,” he called after her as she jogged down the corridor that led to the bullpen. “Don’t make me watch that shit.”

  She flipped
him the bird as she whisked around the corner.

  That pressure in his chest—that was pride, he realized. He was sincerely, deeply proud of her. Maybe at first this had been more about proving that he could do it—that he could get a girl pitcher ready for Triple A. But now, he’d moved way past that. Now he just wanted her to be proud of herself and of what she’d accomplished. Because once she got on that mound, no one could do it for her. It was all her.

  He never did hear what she’d found out about her father.

  * * *

  Teri walked the first batter because of sheer adrenaline, but after that she did great. Crush texted a few photos to Wendy.

  My protegé in action! he wrote. Kilby next!

  She answered with a big thumbs-up and the message, In mtg. Later?

  When he got back to Kilby, after tying down his plane, he drove to Wendy’s house. They’d gotten in the habit of always getting together at his place, but he’d decided to mix things up. She had a perfectly good house too, after all. Seeing a light on upstairs, he tapped on the door.

  When she opened it, golden light spilling from the spiral stairway created a halo around her body, making her look soft and angelic. With a big smile, she twisted her hand in the neck of his shirt and pulled him across the threshold. They stumbled together through the foyer, but he couldn’t even wait that long to have her. As soon as they reached the carpeted staircase, he lowered her down and pushed up her nightgown. She wore nothing underneath. All her warm, fragrant curves were his for the taking. He inhaled her scent, that particular combination of orange blossom and spice, and felt…happy.

  Happy.

  What a strange concept. His career had brought him triumph, satisfaction, exultation, pride, despair, achievement. But this feeling of being happy just to be with Wendy, just to feel her skin and hear her voice, breathe in her essence and feel her touch on his hair, yeah…that was something unfamiliar.

  He spread her thighs apart and gorged himself on her sex, slick as a ripe peach. When she was trembling right on the edge, he worked the swollen knob of his shaft into her tight entrance. She wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him on with the muscles in her thighs and hot murmurs of, “Fuck me, Crush. Harder. Harder.”

  Hearing the buttoned-up mayor say such naughty words made him lose his ever-loving mind. He came with a roar, feeling her tighten around him with the same intensity he felt. Jesus. Where had this insane connection come from? He had no clue, but he didn’t want to let go of it.

  For the first time in their relationship, she invited him to her bed, a frothy canopied four-poster dripping with lace. “Good lord, did you raid a pillow factory?” he grumbled, making space for himself among the ruffles.

  “If you didn’t know by now that I’m a secret girly-girl, you haven’t been paying attention.” She snuggled against him, her blue eyes hazy from good sex.

  “I’ve been paying very close attention to you, Ms. Wendy Trent. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “In bed, you mean.”

  “In bed, on the staircase, at every fricking Rotary Club meeting…”

  She laughed sleepily. “Welcome to my life.” Her eyes drifted closed.

  “See, that’s the thing,” he began, but she was already snoring softly. Since she was asleep, he decided to keep talking. It was much safer to say these things while she was unconscious. “I’m not really welcome in your life, am I? I’m on the edges of it. I’m barely on the inside at all. I know just enough to know how much I don’t know about you. I’m close enough to know I want more. But you’ll never give me more, will you?”

  He fell silent, feeling like a jackass pouring his heart out to a woman whose only response was a snore.

  For the rest of the night, he lay awake, trying to figure out his next move. He was a Hall of Fame pitcher, goddamn it. All that drive and focus and patience, shouldn’t it come in handy? Why was he striking out when it came to Wendy?

  Around four in the morning, he came to the conclusion that he should be happy with the way things stood. He was getting hot sex on a regular basis. He didn’t have to deal with the press or with any uncomfortable “relationship” conversations. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the situation. It was perfect in every way.

  He dropped a last kiss on Wendy’s tousled hair, felt her stir, then slide back into sleep. Then he tiptoed out of her house and drove back to Bullpen Ranch before any of her neighbors spotted his Porsche. Yes, the situation suited him to a T.

  So why did his ranch house feel so cavernous and empty when he stepped into it?

  A party. That was what he needed. Even though the All-Star break was still a month away, it was time to throw one of Crush Taylor’s legendary parties. If an epic blowout didn’t make him forget Wendy Trent, nothing would.

  * * *

  It didn’t work. He packed the guest list with Catfish players, sports stars, models, and any D-list celebrity he could think of. The pool filled up with beautiful people, the music blared, the stars sparkled, but all he wanted to do was ditch his own fiesta and curl up in Wendy’s princess bed.

  Since he couldn’t do that, he requested a drink from the bartender he’d hired. Just as he was about to take a sip, a text came from Teri.

  Hey Homeless, I pitched two whole innings tonight! Most evah. Didn’t suck either.

  He put the drink down to text her back a gif of confetti showering a ball field.

  When he was done, he eyed the vodka tonic with a sense of resentment. He wanted Wendy, not a frickin’ drink.

  Dwight Conner appeared at his elbow and he shoved the drink toward him.

  “I keep forgetting I quit,” he told the star, who was temporarily down from San Diego working through an injury. “Vodka tonic?”

  “Sure, I’ll take it off your hands, ’cuz that’s the kind of guy I am.” Conner gazed around at the quiet, cavernous living room. “What are you doing in here? Hiding out at your own party?”

  “Looks like it. I think I’m getting too old for this kind of scene.”

  Dwight clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say that. You’re Crush Taylor. You’re not even that old.”

  “I guess not.” He signaled the bartender for a root beer. “Fifty-one isn’t very old. I could live the same amount of time all over again.” The thought made him almost tired. Fifty-one more years would be great—if he had someone in his life. And not just any someone…

  “Right on. Here’s to fifty-one more years of Crush Taylor mayhem and madness.” Dwight lifted his glass to clink Crush’s root beer tumbler.

  Crush tried not to groan at that thought. Dwight put his glass down and squinted at Crush. “You all right? You seem…different.”

  “I’m fine. Mayhem and madness. I got it covered.”

  “Mmm, hmmm.” Dwight didn’t look convinced. Why did the guy have to be so sharp? “Crush, can I get some lady advice from you?”

  “Not my forte. But sure.”

  “So if there’s this beautiful woman, very high-profile and busy, and I think I’m falling in love with her but she wants to keep me on the down low because I’m a ballplayer, what do I do to make her see the light?”

  Crush slammed his glass down on the counter. “First, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Second, I have no comment.”

  “Ah-ha!” Dwight pointed a finger right in his face. “I knew it, baby.” He pointed two fingers back toward his own eyes. “I saw you in Arizona, man. These eyes don’t miss much. But don’t worry, no one else knows. So what are you going to do?”

  Crush really wished he hadn’t given away his drink. He guzzled his root beer instead. “The hell if I know. None of the usual things work on her. Gifts, jewelry, flowers, compliments, trips to Paris, tickets to the World Series, none of it means shit to her.”

  “She’s one of a kind, our mayor. You have to do something tailored to her. You should be able to do that, Mr. Taylor.”

  “Riiiiight…” Crush scratched his chin, feeling the grain of stu
bble there. What Dwight said made sense. “You mean something tailored to what she wants most in life. What really drives her. What gets her juices flowing.”

  Dwight threw up a hasty hand. “Okay now, don’t get too detailed on me. This is the mayor we’re talking about.”

  Crush felt suddenly rejuvenated. The gears in his brain had finally clicked into motion. He could see a way forward now. He squeezed Dwight’s muscled shoulder. “So how’s it going in San Diego, man? I hear good things.”

  Dwight’s smile dropped. “On the field, great. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  Crush would have asked for more details, but he was too excited about the brainwave he’d just had regarding Wendy and how to win her over. What did Wendy want most? From what he’d seen, her biggest passion was the advancement of women. She’d devoted much of her life to that cause. Well, there was one particular woman whose advancement he could actually do something about.

  It was time to amp up the pressure on the Friars’ front office.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Hi Teri, this is Wendy. I’m just calling to check in with you, since I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hear that you’re knocking everyone’s socks off over there in Arkansas. I spoke to Calista on the phone and she’s so proud of you, as am I. Crush has been giving me regular updates too. Well, I’m sure you’re busy, but I do hope you’ll call back soon.”

  “Hi Teri. You have text messaging on your phone, right? I do receive texts as well, so if you’re trying to reach me, that’s always a good way. I haven’t heard from you in some time, though Crush tells me you have a 3.32 ERA and apparently that’s very good. I’m cheering you on from afar!”

  “Hi Teri, this is Wendy again. I still haven’t heard from you, so you must be very busy with your team. Crush tells me there’s a good chance you’ll be called up to Kilby pretty soon, which is so very exciting! I would like to plan a special gathering in your honor should that happen. It would be a historic event for women, after all.”