by Gemma Bruce
She sat down. Tommy straightened up. Not being polite, but tense as hell. What was his problem? He dealt with journalists all the time. Yeah. On his own time and on his own terms.
So she’d misled him. A little bit. A very little bit. She hadn’t slept with him. That would have been unethical. Well, he could just get over it and treat her with the same respect he treated other members of the press.
“It must be boring just watching when you could be playing.”
“Nope.” Tommy slanted a look at her. “Are you?” His expression was hopeful.
“Bored? No.”
“Too bad.”
“I have a job. I’m not leaving until I do it. I’m sorry about what happened, but there’s no reason to hold a grudge.”
Boskey came up to bat. He swung and missed. Tommy leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, peering at the batter’s box. Effectively cutting her off.
Okay. That was it. She didn’t like the silent treatment more than the next girl.
“You know, Tommy. I’m not here to uncover any dark nasty secrets.” She tried to sound sincere and not like the lying journalist she was. She needed dirt to get back in Skinny’s good graces. “I’m here to bring a slice of baseball life to fans across the country. Show them how the real sport is played. Where baseball is still about the game and the fans and not just million-dollar contracts and prima donnas. I’m going to be here for three weeks. I’ll get my story whether you cooperate or not.”
His head snapped toward her. He frowned. “Go ahead. It’s no concern of mine.”
“Your PR really sucks. I’d watch that attitude around more vicious newspeople. It might get you some bad press.” She stood up.
“Wait a—”
Boskey missed another hit. The batting coach, a brawny six-footer going to flesh, walked over and adjusted his feet.
J.T. snorted. “It isn’t his stance.” She climbed down the bleachers without looking back, trying to keep her knocking knees from giving out.
In her whole life, she had never talked to anyone like she had just talked to Tommy. She’d only meant to sound glib, but it came out bitchy. He’d probably complain to Skinny, and she’d be back writing for the Sacramento Sun before she could say “strike three.”
But he wasn’t being fair. And he had hurt her feelings. J.T. made it as far as Bernie who was standing behind the backstop. He gave a curt nod, then went back to frowning at Boskey. She slanted a quick glance toward the bleachers. Tommy was sitting where she left him. She wondered who was causing that scowl on his face, her or Boskey.
Tommy tried to ignore the little witch as she sashayed her way down the bleachers. The girl had balls. She also had a great butt. And a sensuous, lying mouth. Don’t forget that part, he warned himself.
He was having a hard time staying mad at her. Especially when she kept moving her head like she was doing now, talking to Bernie and looking back at Boskey. The way the sun caught her hair shot little firecrackers into the air—and straight to his crotch.
So maybe he’d overreacted a little. He had the right. He was under a lot of stress.
Stress? He was having a major, life-altering crisis. Baseball had been his whole world for the last God knew how many years. Thirteen in the majors, two in the minors, four in college, four in high school. Hell. He’d gotten his first baseball and bat when he was five. For as long as he could remember, he’d lived baseball.
“It’s your ticket out of Gilbeytown,” his dad told him when he was fifteen. Tommy had just made all county and he’d rushed into his father’s bedroom. His dad opened his eyes and said, “Make your family proud,” before dozing off again. He died two weeks later, the victim of hard work, anxiety, and a weak heart. And Tommy had thrown his heart into the game.
He knew his dad didn’t mean out of Gilbeytown exactly. He meant out of poverty. And he expected Tommy to take care of his family. He had four brothers and three sisters. Tommy was right in the middle and he’d been the only one who’d gone to college.
He’d gotten out of Gilbeytown and even though his family was too proud to take much from him in the way of monetary relief, he’d made sure each of his nephews and nieces had a college fund. And now he was going to take care of a lot of other kids. If things didn’t unravel completely before he could seal the deal.
Baseball had always been a means to an end. And as much as he liked playing, his career had run its course. He’d spent the last six years rebuilding the fortune he’d come close to losing from his divorce. It was time to put his earnings to better use than vacation homes and fur coats for the lover du jour.
He should have started this project years ago. But he’d been dazzled by his own fame, dazzled by the cars, the fans—the women.
When Cheryl Lynn walked off with half his net worth, Tommy vowed not to spend another cent on the fast life.
He knew he was doing the right thing, but it was scary as hell.
He realized he was staring at J.T.’s back. He did have her to thank for quelling at least one of his fears. If she’d really been telling him the truth about not recognizing him, he was still interesting to women even without the fame of his baseball persona. If she’d been telling the truth.
Which he doubted. His anger swelled up again. You couldn’t trust journalists. It was their job to get the story.
But his trust issues had begun long before J.T. Green. Maybe since his divorce. Cheryl Lynn had burned him but good. Maybe she had loved him, but she had loved his money more.
When it came down to it, the only people you could trust were family. They were there for you right or wrong. Through the good times and the bad. And he knew they would support his decision whether they understood it or not.
He just wished—well, whatever he wished for, he wasn’t going to find it with J.T. Green.
If he had any sense, he’d stay away from her until he was called back to Portland. But he’d already talked with his agent three times that morning and the news wasn’t good. Negotiations had stalled. He should keep standing by. Wait patiently until they called him to return.
He was ready. He was already packed. He wanted it over.
Chapter 6
Tommy swung his attention back to J.T. She stood next to Bernie, slouched into one hip, dressed in jeans and sneakers and that oversized Yankees jacket. She was the least sophisticated woman he had ever met and yet, she was causing his body to do things against his will, making him want to tell her things he told no one.
She was so different and so appealing. And so not what he needed right now.
Boskey took his last swing and slumped away from the plate. But instead of returning to the dugout, he wandered over to stand beside J.T.
She smiled at him. They started talking. Bernie was oblivious. What if she was asking Boskey about the accidents? What if she was asking him about Tommy? What if she was giving him suggestions on improving his swing.
Tommy wouldn’t put it past her. Then all hell would break loose. As far as these guys were concerned, women were good for a few beers and a night of sex. They weren’t called slump busters because they gave good advice. It was how they were in bed.
Tommy jumped up and took the bleachers two at a time.
Boskey was smiling when Tommy reached them. Tommy hadn’t seen him smile in the three days he’d been back. It was annoying as hell.
Tommy stepped between them. J.T. saw him and the smile she’d been beaming up at Boskey turned to a look of annoyance.
“Go shag a few flies, Boz.”
“Sure, Tommy.” Boskey tipped his hat at J.T. “See ya.” He jogged away.
“You’re not going to cut in every time I start talking to one of the players are you?” J.T. jutted her chin up at him. She looked adorable, not intimidating. Not like the lying—“How old are you?”
Her eyes widened. “Twenty-six. How old are you?”
He had a hard time not smiling. “I bet you already know.”
“You’d bet right. Thirt
y-six. Getting right up there, Grandpa.”
He knew she was baiting him, but it still smarted.
“Son of Eugenia and Michael. Four brothers and three sisters. B.A. from George Washington in sociology. Divorced. No children. Houses in Palm Beach, Shelter Island, and Tahoe. Yada yada. But why are you here now? Aren’t you supposed to be with the team in Portland?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to pry?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to ask a lady her age?”
She smiled. Smugly. It made him want to wipe it right off her face. Preferably with a kiss.
“I apologize.” And he took off to get as far away from J.T. Green as he could.
He managed to avoid her for another few minutes, but it seemed like every time he’d start to relax, she’d be nearby, pulling out that little notebook. Scribbling something that looked like the most important news in the world.
What could possibly be so interesting? Something scathing about him? He’d pissed her off. She had a hot temper. Everything about her was hot. Hot, hot, hot.
Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate. She was a liar, liar, liar. He shifted on the bleachers. It didn’t matter. She’d gotten his interest right where it counted and it made sitting damn uncomfortable.
What was wrong with him? He didn’t react this way normally. She wasn’t his usual type. Not a classic beauty. Not a polished sophisticate. But damn it, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And the way she seemed vulnerable and tough at the same time made him want to take care of her. Just as soon as he screwed her silly.
Yeah, and if he didn’t stop listening to his dick, he’d be pouring out secrets while she made secret recordings of his every word. You. Can. Not. Trust. Her.
There. He glanced at his watch. Quarter to three. Time to go. At least he could do something useful instead of twiddling his thumbs and fantasizing about J.T. Green. He stopped in at the locker room, tossed his wallet and keys into his locker, and changed into sweats. Two minutes later he was walking out across the parking lot with a bag of equipment slung over his shoulder.
Practice finally ground to a halt around four. All J.T. had to show for it were pages of notes, a stiff back, and a sore butt from sitting on wooden benches all day. And she hadn’t even gotten another chance to question Tommy.
He’d left the field around three o’clock and hadn’t returned. Though she did notice that his Beemer was still in the parking lot when she left for the day.
Back at the motel, she took a shower and dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt. Then she headed across the road to the Pine Tree. She had a date for a burger, a beer, and a little information.
A hush fell over the table of ballplayers when she stepped inside the bar.
Then Boz waved her over. “J.T. I saved you a place.” J.T. walked over, smiling. Nonconfrontational. One of the boys. She knew how to do that. She’d grown up with the players the Coach had worked with. She’d spent every afternoon after school at the ballpark, hanging with the guys, eating snacks in the locker room, waiting to gain approval from her father.
That was over now, but she still knew how to be one of the boys.
She sat down. Everybody went back to their conversations. Next to Boz, Danny Lewis was telling a story about this uncle back in Topeka. Rob Brown, the second baseman, and the catcher, Lou Pisano, were exchanging anecdotes about college ball. Hector Dela Rocha, the five-foot-three relief pitcher, sat and smiled at everybody.
J.T. guessed his English wasn’t very good. He’d come from the Puerto Rican league just the past year.
The most seasoned player at the table was Pisano. He’d played two years in the minors, wrecked his knee, and was hanging in just to have a few more years behind the plate. He looked older than his twenty-eight years.
“Nice fielding today,” J.T. said into the buzz of conversation. Everyone turned to look at her. “The team looks pretty solid.” She waited, smiling, watching for a reaction.
Finally Pisano said, “Should be.”
“Will be,” J.T. said. “It’s too bad about Gonzales and Nunez. That must leave a hole.”
Hector crossed himself. Was he worried that he’d be next?
“I can’t believe they didn’t have papers.”
“They did have papers,” Danny said. “At least Nunez did. I played with him last season and nobody questioned whether he was legal or not. You can’t tell me that he went for a whole year and a half—”
“Hey, there’s no use making any accusations that you can’t support.” Rob Brown, the conscience of the team, was a preacher’s son. She’d learned that today during the water break.
“So what do you think happened?”
Rob gave J.T. a considering look. “I’m not sure, but the GM’s looking into things.”
“Liar.” Hector crossed himself again. The whole table turned to stare at him.
“Are you calling me a liar, son? Or Larry? Either way, you’re wrong.”
Hector just looked blank.
“He doesn’t mean you or Larry.” Boz leaned down to J.T. “His English isn’t too good.”
“Who’s a liar, Hector?”
“Mens who come.”
“The INS men?”
Hector nodded. Crossed himself.
“There was just some mix-up,” said Rob. “They’ll be back. Wait and see.”
Lou Pisano called the bartender over. They ordered more burgers and more beer.
The conversation turned to other topics and lots of laughter. Too bad they didn’t show that kind of enthusiasm on the field.
J.T. hated to rain on the fun, but she had a story to get out. “So what do you think the chances of making the playoffs are?”
Pisano looked up. “Right now? With Nunez and Gonzales out, and Boz here in a slump. Slim to none.”
J.T. felt Boskey physically slump next to her.
“Boz’ll be back,” she said enthusiastically. “Who’s taking Gonzales’s and Nunez’s places?”
“Jaime Ramirez went into third for Gonzales. Gogo Benitez will go into right field.”
“Gogo deserves starting lineup,” agreed Rob. “And I think Sanchez is as good as any pitcher in the league.”
“We better start winning,” Danny said. “Or else we’ll find ourselves out in the cold.”
J.T. turned her attention to him. “How so?”
“Mayor wants to tear down Gilbey Field and build a new stadium.”
“That’s good, right?”
“And bring in a triple-A team.”
“Oh. You’ll relocate.”
“Like where?” asked Boskey, and finished off his beer.
“Somewhere.”
Talk turned to possible relocations. The burgers came. And another round of beers.
“I gotta cut down on the beer. I’m getting a gut,” Pisano said. They all looked at his belt line.
“Not so bad,” Boskey said. “You’re just coming back. You’ll work it off in the first game.”
“Coming back?” asked J.T. “Were you injured?”
“Mugged,” Pisano said.
“Not in Gilbeytown.”
“Yep. Coming out of the 7-Eleven. Streetlight was out. Sneaked up on me from behind. Held a knife to my throat.” Pisano shook his head. “And me from the Bronx.”
“Just thank God it wasn’t worse,” Rob said.
“Took all my money. Just like they knew I’d just cashed my paycheck.”
“Probably did. Everybody knows everything in this town.”
“That’s the thing about small towns…”
Two hours later and several beers wiser, J.T. knew the pertinent facts of everyone’s life story. Had ventured into their hopes for the future. Had learned a smidgeon more about the jinx.
She wasn’t too steady on her feet when they all walked back to the Night n Day. But her mind was sharp. She sat at the desk. Pulled up a new document and cranked out her first story about the Beavers. About Gilbeytown, stuck betwee
n the old and the new, the rich and the poor. About a team struggling against the changing times. About the players and what they each brought to the game.
She read it over. Liked what she saw. And sent if off to Skinny.
While J.T. was at the Pine Tree, Tommy was pacing his bedroom floor, the only room he’d changed in the house since his grandmother had moved out. He couldn’t stop thinking about J.T. Green. Wishing he could see her and wishing he’d never set eyes on her.
He had more important things to occupy his thoughts. Like what suit he was going to wear for his meeting with Thelma Wiggins the next morning. He’d finally gotten an appointment to see her. It was like Charlie had a sixth sense and had sent her to visit relatives in Philadelphia just to bust Tommy’s balls.
Of course, if Charlie had any idea of what Tommy was planning he’d bust more than his balls. If he could. But he couldn’t.
If the next couple of days just played out the way they should, the Beavers would still have a home and Tommy would start a new life.
J.T. left for the field the next morning before half the other motel rooms were showing signs of life. She wanted to poke around before the day got started in earnest. She didn’t think she would trip over anything newsworthy. She just wanted to get the lay of the land without management and Tommy breathing down her back.
Actually, she wouldn’t mind if Tommy breathed down her back, as long as he breathed down her front, too. She smiled. Wiped it off her face. She needed to get down to business and stop thinking about Tommy Bainbridge.
There were two cars at the field when she arrived wielding a large coffee and a package of Ding Dongs from the 7-Eleven. She’d have to find a grocery and a diner pretty soon. She didn’t think she could do unlimited Pine Tree burgers.
The entrance door was unlocked, so she went inside. She closed the door quietly behind her. Listened for sounds coming from the offices, and hearing none, continued down the hall until she found the locker room.
She cracked open the door.
It was dark inside. She felt along the wall and found the light switch. The locker room didn’t look much brighter with the lights on. It smelled like sweat, dirty socks, and day-old junk food. Locker rooms were always depressing without the banter and the bodies, but she bet this locker room would be depressing even with bodies.