The Man For Me

by Gemma Bruce

  His hand moved away and he lifted himself enough to push her sweater up. He slid it up her arms and over her head, gazing first at her face and then shifting to her breasts and the scant piece of lace that covered them.

  “Nice.” He reached behind her, released the clasp of her bra in one fluid movement. Experienced. J.T. hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. Her experience was pretty limited.

  But she was too far gone to worry about that now. She thought she might climax just from his weight pressing into her pelvis. Then he pushed himself up to one hand and pulled her bra away.

  J.T. felt a wash of embarrassment. He ran the tips of his fingers over her nipple. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh, but she’d never felt so warm in her life. Then he lowered his head and took her breast in his mouth, teasing the nipple with his tongue and teeth. His hand fumbled with the button of her jeans.

  She should help him, or undress him, but she was basking in his attention as desire rolled over her in great waves. She pulled at the bottom of his sweater and he stopped long enough to sit up and yank it over his head.

  He was kneeling over her now, straddling her. His face intense. His muscles shiny in the indirect lighting. He smiled slowly and she smiled back. She reached up and spread her hands across his chest. Felt the crisp hair beneath her fingers, the hard nub of his flat nipples on her palm.

  She wiggled her pelvis experimentally against his erection. His head fell back, then he blew air, unsnapped her jeans, unzipped them, and grabbed the waistband with both hands. She lifted her hips so that he could pull them over her butt. He stood up, pulled her boots and socks off her feet, then shucked her jeans down her legs.

  She lay naked, watching him.

  Tommy reached for his belt, not taking his eyes from her. A second later he was kicking off his jeans. J.T. watched, mesmerized. Not quite believing what she was about to do. What they were doing right now. Her eyes took in the slope of his shoulders, the scar from his surgery barely discernible in the dim light. His broad chest, sprinkled with golden hair. Traveled lower to his waist, lower still. She sucked in her breath.

  Tommy B. was everything she imagined and more. She licked her lips, hungry with anticipation. Tommy didn’t move closer to her, just let her look, and she realized he was doing the same thing. And a niggle of insecurity rose its ugly head. She had to fight the urge to cover herself.

  Was he comparing her to all the other women he’d been intimate with? Did she measure up? Even a little bit? She looked at him doubtfully. He smiled down at her.

  “I—I—” she began.

  “Shh.”

  He leaned over her, bracing his knee on the couch cushion. She rolled to the hollow his weight made and he threw his other leg over her, trapping her between his bare thighs.

  Nervous now, trying not to listen to the little voice that told her he was moving way too fast. Worried that she might not measure up to his expectations. Trying desperately to block the deeper intrusive voice. The Coach’s voice. What the hell do you think you’re doing? She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “What’s the matter?” Tommy’s voice was gentle, but confused.

  J.T. shook her head. Still kept her eyes shut tight.

  She heard his sigh. Felt him shift away. He was getting up.

  Without thinking, she stretched out her arms, pulled him down to her.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes.” She heard him sigh before his body stretched over hers. Hard, warm, inviting. Her skin caught fire everywhere he touched her.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She did and found Tommy’s face inches from hers. He was frowning a little or maybe he was just concentrating, because already there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  “I want you,” he said.

  And she wanted him.

  She felt his hand move up her thigh, squeeze her hip, then slip between her legs. She had to cut back a whimper when he touched her. Women trying to make it in a man’s world didn’t whimper. But oh God, what his fingers were doing to her.

  At last, he bent his head and kissed her. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and at the same time his finger slid inside her. She reared up to meet him.

  She kneaded his back muscles. His thumb kept up its circular massage. And the finger inside her hit something really good.

  His erection was hot and smooth against her abdomen. She grabbed his butt and pulled him closer as she rocked beneath him. She wanted him inside her more than she’d wanted anything.

  Tommy broke the kiss, pulled his fingers away, and she felt bereft. But he only rolled to the side long enough to tear open a condom that he must have been holding in his free hand. He spit the foil onto the floor and sheathed himself in the condom as adeptly as he’d unclasped her bra.

  Then he rolled back on top of her, pushed her leg up, and thrust inside her.

  Wow, J.T. thought before all thoughts stopped and she was swept up in a surge of mutual energy. In the moment. Mindless. Careless. Divine.

  Then he began moving, stroking her with his fingers as he withdrew and thrust. The rhythm increased, subsided, quickened again, teasing her with the promise of release then holding back until she was balancing on the brink. She buried her face in his neck. Smelled the scintillating spice of aftershave mixed with salt and another smell that was Tommy and no one else.

  And she thought, What am I doing, before she fell over to the other side and her body jerked beneath him and she bit her lip to keep from screaming his name.

  “Oh yes,” Tommy murmured, and drove into her, setting a relentless pace until he stilled, then groaned and thrust into her quick, deep, and hard. He shuddered and collapsed onto her.

  They lay there panting for breath, his hand trapped between them. The liquid fire gradually calming until Tommy shifted his weight to the side. “Okay?”

  She nodded. She was more than okay. Her eyelids grew heavy so that she barely heard the little voice that said Mr. Harris would be back soon. Instead she floated in the afterglow of something she hadn’t expected. Something she couldn’t even describe.

  They lay on the couch, surrounded by the aroma of new leather, arms around each other, legs entwined. Gradually she came back to reality. Sneaked a peak at Tommy’s face. She wondered what he was thinking. If he was thinking at all.

  She shouldn’t have wondered, because as soon as she began to think, the old insecurities came flooding in. Was she as good as the other women he’d had? Had she lived up to his expectations? Could she really please him?

  She sat up, hoping to force those questions away. The same questions she always had. The answers as elusive as they had ever been. Tommy is not like the Coach, she told herself. You don’t have to prove anything to him. But the mood was broken and when Tommy looked up drowsily, his eyes questioning, J.T. could only shake her head and hope that she could get home before she burst into tears.

  Men hated it when women cried. The Coach really hated it.

  “What’s wrong?” Tommy pushed up to one elbow. Ran his finger along her jawline. She smelled herself on him and blushed. He tapped her nose. “What’cha thinking?”

  She shook her head. “Just that maybe we’d better get dressed.”

  He tried to pull her back down, but she slid off the couch and began to search for her clothes. She reached down for Tommy’s jeans and when she straightened up she found him watching her, a quizzical expression on his face.

  Her first reaction was to clamp the jeans in front of her. It was a stupid immature thing to do. It wasn’t like men hadn’t seen her naked. But Tommy was different. She really cared what he thought.

  He leaned over and tugged at the jeans. She held them closer. He yanked at them and she stepped back, pulling him off the couch. He landed on hands and knees. His shoulders flexing with his weight, his butt forming a perfect curve in the air. She wanted to climb on his back and—

  He pushed up to his knees, wincing, and she remembered his injury. They should have
been more careful.

  He stretched out his hand. He was already getting hard again. If only she knew what time it was. How long they’d been like this. If they had time for one more.

  “Mr. Harris.” It came out as a whisper.

  Tommy smiled and took her hand. “Mr. Harris knows his business and he knows to keep it to himself. He won’t interrupt us.”

  J.T.’s stomach tightened. “Do you do this often?” she asked, trying to sound casual and failing.

  “Never.”

  “Then…why…”

  “Did I bring you here tonight? Just crazy, I guess. I had to know what you were like.” He eased the jeans away from her; she held on and when Tommy sat down on the couch, she came with him. He opened her knees so that she straddled his lap. “That’s better. Forget Mr. Harris, forget everything but us—now.”

  She knew it was probably a line that he’d used countless times, but she wanted to think it was really just for her. She leaned into him until she felt his cock stir against her. She licked his lips; he parted them, and this time she was the one whose tongue invaded.

  Tommy groaned, cupped her butt in his hands, and lifted her. “Guide me in,” he said into her mouth. She obeyed, dragging her palms down his sides, into the crease between his groin and thighs. Lightly touched the sac beneath his erection, then closed her fingers around his length.

  Tommy hissed through his teeth as she stroked him. “Oh, baby, that feels good.”

  J.T giggled.

  “What?” asked Tommy, giving in to her rhythm, his lips barely forming the words.

  “That was such a jock thing to say.” She closed her fingers around the tip of his penis and squeezed ever so lightly. Tommy purred. “I am a jock. Did you miss that part?”

  “I didn’t miss any part.” J.T. guided his erection through her slickness and pressed the tip into her, holding it there and reveling in the feel of it. Then she lowered herself until she was sitting in his lap. Held on to his shoulders while he held her hips and began to rock.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and, bracing herself on her knees, began to ride him. They started slower this time with the initial edge of their lust relieved. Spent a lot of time kissing and exploring. Somewhere along the way, the intensity began to build again. Their bodies moved faster and faster while they clung to each other.

  He didn’t need to touch her. She was flying off before she realized it. Tommy followed her right over. And they sat there together, J.T. draped over his chest and thighs like a sleeping baby.

  “That was good,” she murmured after the world righted itself.

  “Worked for me,” said Tommy. “God, J.T.” J.T. couldn’t answer, not that there was anything to say. She’d just had sex with Tommy B. in the clubhouse of the Gilbeytown Beavers. What a tabloid picture that would make. Jeez. She just really had sex with Tommy. Not just an airbrushed photo, but honest-to-goodness mind-bending sex.

  And she wanted to run. Get as far away as she could before some asshole butted in and plastered their picture all over the front page of The Buzz or some other gossip rag. What had she been thinking?

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How come you’re shivering? Cold?”

  “Uh. Yes. I’m cold. We really better get dressed.”

  “If you’re worried about Mr. Harris, don’t be.”

  “I’m not. It’s just getting late. I have an article to write.”

  Tommy laughed softly. His breath rustled her hair. “Not about this, I hope?”

  J.T. pulled away. “No. I would never.”

  “I was just kidding.” He shifted beneath her and snagged her sweater. “Come on, Cinderella. I’ll take you home.”

  They didn’t see anyone when they left the ballpark, though Tommy did pause at the door and called out, “Good night, Mr. Harris.”

  He was answered by a voice out of the darkness. “Good night, Tommy. Miss.” And then Tommy shut the door and steered her to the car.

  J.T. was beginning to feel a little sick. And resentful. She’d had a wonderful time, a fabulous time, and already she was tied up in knots over it. Skinny would fire her on the spot if she was the object of more spurious conjecture. The Coach would never forgive her.

  All she wanted was to bask in the glow she’d been feeling with Tommy, but reality had reared its ugly head. She’d just have to be polite but let Tommy know that it wouldn’t happen again. If he even wanted it to.

  It would be for the best. He might have lied about never bringing anyone here. Maybe he brought women here all the time. Mr. Harris didn’t seemed surprised to see him. Or even curious.

  Oh, why did she always have to start analyzing things? She risked a glance at Tommy. He was concentrating on driving. They hadn’t spoken since they’d left the ballpark.

  “I had a nice time,” she said lamely. No wonder she didn’t go on many dates. How insipid was that?

  Tommy patted her knee—one of the guys again. “So did I.”

  “You were one of my heroes when I was a kid.”

  He turned his head sharply. “Does that mean I’m no longer your hero?”

  Was he laughing at her or had she hurt his feelings? “It was different,” she began. “Now I know you.” Oh, shit. That sounded awful like now that she knew him her eyes had been opened. “And…you’re a good person on top of being a great baseball player.”

  He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks. That’s a nice thing to say.”

  She should just shut up. Things were so formal in the car that she really wanted to fling herself out the door and walk back to the Night n Day. Which was probably what she should do. It was after midnight. The players should be asleep, but what if someone looked out their window?

  Dinner at Sal’s at seven thirty was one thing, a nice gesture, but to come sneaking back to the hotel almost five hours later? The writing would be on the wall. And in the papers, she thought, and couldn’t repress a shudder.

  Then she saw lights up ahead. Lots of them. Something was going on at the Night n Day. Police cars were parked across the road and a fire truck had pulled up along the curb. A crowd of people gathered in the motel parking lot and another group stood across the street in front of the Pine Tree Tavern.

  “What the—?” Tommy pulled into the far side of the parking lot just as a siren blared to life and an ambulance sped out of the parking lot followed by a police car. He stopped in the first empty space, jumped out of the Beemer, and raced toward the others.

  J.T. was right behind him. Hoping it was a raid. But the ambulance? One of the transient guests. Or someone from the bar. Not one of the players.

  She could see Tommy’s head as he pushed through the knot of people. She followed in his wake, taking her notepad and pen from her purse. At the center of the group, Jeff Whitelaw was taking statements.

  Tommy walked straight up to him. “What happened?”

  The sheriff nodded curtly. “Tommy. Someone just hit one of your boys. Kid by the name of Enrique Sanchez.”

  “Sanchez? Is he—”

  “They’ve taken him to Good Samaritan for X-rays. He bounced off the hood of the car.”

  “Bastard didn’t even stop,” said Jerry Oblonsky, his fists clenched by his sides.

  “A hit-and-run?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “They get a description of the car?”

  “No. Evidently he left the bar before everyone else. A couple of people were coming in, but by the time they heard the accident and turned around, the car was gone.”

  J.T. looked over the group of players. Their faces were all stark in the parking-lot security lamps. She knew those faces would be engraved on her mind for a long time to come.

  “We called nine-one-one,” said Rob Brown, breaking from the crowd. “Boz jumped in his truck and tried to follow, but they were long gone.”

  “I shoulda gone with him,” Boskey said, his voice cracking. “He wanted to get over to th
e Giant Eagle before they closed. They have a Western Union there. He’d just cashed his paycheck and he wanted to wire it home. And somebody ran him down. The bastard.”

  Rob clasped his arm. “He’ll be fine. We’ll send his money home.”

  Tommy came back to J.T. “I’m going to meet Bernie at the hospital. Sorry the evening ended this way. See you tomorrow.”

  J.T. nodded. “No problem.” She watched him get into the Beemer, then she turned to Boskey. “How do I get to the hospital?”

  The Good Samaritan was a three-story brick rectangle, purely utilitarian in its design. There was a lit sign at the curb and smaller signs with arrows marking the way to admittance, visitors’ parking, and emergency. She followed the sign to the emergency room. She parked in a place for emergency vehicles, slapped her press pass in the windshield, and hurried inside.

  Tommy was standing at the admittance desk, leaning into the opening of the glass partition. J.T. reached him as he said, “I’m sure Sanchez has insurance through the team. Bernie Karpinsky is on his way.”

  “That’s fine, Tommy. Why don’t you sit over there and I’ll ask Bernie when he gets here.”

  Tommy nodded, added his thanks, and turned right into J.T. His expression changed from concern to surprise, then to anger. “What are you doing here?”

  J.T. took a step back from the sheer force of his perturbation. “I came to see how Sanchez is.”

  “Why?”

  Why? Because she was a reporter. And because she cared about Sanchez. “How is he? Have you heard anything yet?”

  Tommy gestured to one of the molded plastic chairs. J.T. sat down. Tommy sat next to her. “He’s being x-rayed. He’s conscious at least.” Tommy braced his elbows on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn. Damn. Damn.”

  J.T. lightly touched his shoulder. “Surely, he’ll be all right.”

  Just then, the automatic doors swooshed open and Bernie banged his way through. J.T. could see the fabric of striped pajamas beneath the open seam of his trousers. He saw Tommy and swung toward him.