I pound my fist and shove myself away from the table. I'm seething inside, so angry that I could spit. But when I turn my head to gauge Eva's reaction, all she does is look back at me, unflinching under the scrutiny of my gaze.
She's not afraid of me.
But she should be.
"All right. Fine." I angrily throw myself back in my chair, surrendering because I know when I've been backed into a corner.
I'm losing the white-knuckled death-grip I have on my life, and it terrifies me. I'm always the one in control, and now, I'm just supposed to listen to some chick they pulled out of the stands just because Diane Heimlich tells me to? But for some reason, I don't want to lose it in front of this girl.
Because not only is she going to be around to watch me unravel—she's going to be the one who makes it happen.
Chapter Four
Eva
I don't look at him much as we sit in the back of the chauffeured car together, appreciating his silence after watching him completely lose it in that meeting.
Besides, he's too devastatingly handsome to stare at for more than a few seconds at a time.
Those blue-green eyes paired with that striking olive complexion have my Latin blood all fired up. I don't know why Chase Whitfield is always referred to as the Kings' legendary heartthrob, because Drake is just as hot. Chase just appears more approachable because his eyes are always calm and clear like a bright, sunny day, whereas Drake's flash and churn like a roiling storm, even now when they're all bloodshot. There's a lot more going on beneath the surface, and that only intrigues me more.
But I have to stop thinking of him like that. He's a client, and that's all he can ever be to me, no matter how much I'm attracted to him.
He grunts, his first attempt at acknowledging my presence, when the car heads in the opposite direction of his Upper West Side apartment. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," is my only reply.
I intend to engage in as little conversation as possible. He's tired and cranky, and I'm not going to get anywhere with him tonight. My main objective is for him to know he's not alone in all of this. I'm not going to let him screw up again. He was just run through the gauntlet. He has to be craving something, anything, to make him feel good right about now, and my job is to make him understand that he's not going to get it.
"This is such bullshit." He angrily pushes himself back against the seat, and his fingers inadvertently brush mine.
I tingle at his touch, but I bite my tongue. He's feeling helpless; that's why he's lashing out. If I respond, he'll only drag me into an argument I don't want to have. He needs to see that I'm in control of my emotions even if he's not, because he's going to have to depend on me for absolutely everything from this point forward. Soon, I'm going to have to bring him to his knees. He'll be starting from scratch until I'm able to build him up again.
"So you're not even going to tell me where it is you're taking me?"
When I shake my head, he starts fidgeting, unable to keep still. I'm keenly aware of the amount of nervous energy he has pent up inside, and I'm glad we're finally away from the stadium. He was extremely irritated in that meeting—touchy, moody, going back and forth with everyone. So I remained quiet throughout. I didn't want him to view me as yet another aggressor. He was having a hard enough time holding it together, even if I was the only one aware of the true reason why.
Because Drake Schultz hit rock bottom tonight.
He was willing to risk it all, everything's he's worked so hard for. Because I recognized all the little tics. The paranoia, the restlessness, the mood swings—I've seen them all before.
Diane had his locker searched as soon as his test results had come back, but she didn't find anything. I'm not surprised. He's too smart for that. All they can pin him for is the HGH. That's why I felt the need to start right away. Diane is sick of enabling him like her father did. She wants him clean, so she's using every bit of leverage at her disposal to allow me to help him.
She assured the commissioner and the players' association that the Kings were going to do everything in their power to rehabilitate baseball's marquee player. I wasn't at the game for fun tonight. Diane had asked me to observe Drake, report my findings, and let her know if I thought I could work with him. So when I agreed to take him on, I had to put my anxiety aside and view Drake as just another case.
I know I couldn't save Jared, but Dad couldn't save my birth mother, either. Yet he never gave up on me, and that's why I can't give up on anyone—even someone who's burned every bridge like Drake Schultz has.
I have to admit that my heart went out to him. The scorn and ridicule coming from all directions are only going to exacerbate the root problem: getting him to deal with his insecurities and whatever he's trying to hide. It's this never-ending cycle of self-hatred I have to address before I can even think about doing anything else with him. I have to put him to the test. Just how far gone is he? How good of a liar has he become?
The car rolls to a stop in front of one of the city's most prestigious addresses, causing Drake to groan. "The Roosevelt Building? You have to be kidding me."
It's where we'll be staying until I have a chance to search his apartment and confiscate whatever illegal substances I find there. Plus, the Kings' suite at the Roosevelt also has the added benefit of Chase Whitfield residing on the top floor. Diane thought it prudent to have him nearby in case Drake gets out of hand.
Chase and Drake have a past—a past I hope to explore with him. There's plenty of bad blood between these two superstar athletes, and I have a feeling it's contributed heavily to Drake's downward spiral. The press has always painted Chase as the guy who can do no wrong, while Drake remains the devil incarnate. It's time for the cycle of punishment to end.
The chauffeur opens the door, but Drake keeps on griping when he gets a good look at him. "Great. It would have to be Chase's driver, too. Did you have fun carting us over to your master's domain, fatso?"
"Yes…I mean, no. Hey! Who are you calling fat?" the stocky driver exclaims, offering me his hand to help me out.
When my back is turned, Drake continues to taunt him, scooting closer to me, his chin skimming my shoulder. "That's your name, isn't it? Either that or lard-ass."
Drake's breath tickles my ear, and a shiver races through me.
"For your information, it's Noah," he retorts, quickly pulling me to my feet and away from Drake.
I exchange a hurried glance with Noah. I don't know what Chase has told him, but the poor guy is obviously worried about me. He felt me shudder, but it's not like I'm in any danger. I just hadn't expected Drake to get so close to me.
"Thank you, Noah." I smile to let him know I'm all right, attempting to regain my composure while Drake clambers out of the car.
"If you need anything, ma'am. Here's my number. Call me anytime, day or night." Noah places his card in my hand, clasping it warmly.
"Give it up, man. She's way out of your league," Drake snickers, and Noah's cheeks turn scarlet.
"It's okay. I'll be fine," I whisper, returning Noah's encouraging squeeze.
"I sure hope so," Noah mutters under his breath.
I square my shoulders and walk determinedly toward the revolving door. Drake shuffles behind me, not saying a word. But the silence isn't strained as we stroll through the lobby and onto the elevator. I think he finally got all the nastiness out of his system since he's sparred with nearly everyone he's come in contact with so far. His self-preservation skills are well honed. He put on an admirable performance, keeping his wits about him. No one would be able to guess the real reason why he lost his mind out on the field tonight.
He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. "God, I haven't been here since…" He stops, catching himself.
"Since?"
"Since…I was still playing for San Diego. I used to stay with Whit whenever I was here for a series. We'd paint the town red. It's what made me want to sign with the Kings in the first place. New York, grea
test city in the goddamned world."
I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, so I let it go.
He's resting his head against the elevator wall. His eyes are closed, and he's seemingly dead on his feet—until he mumbles, "You don't party much. Do you, Eva?"
I decide to cut him some slack and not take it as an insult. "I don't have time," I reply, choosing to be as direct as possible with him.
"Then let me give you some advice." He tilts his head until I'm falling under his heavy-lidded gaze. "All work and no play isn't the key to happiness, either."
I stare at our side-by-side reflection in the elevator door, his posture all dejected, mine stiff as a board.
I watch his eyes watching me. "You're right," I readily admit, refusing to let him get a rise out of me. But my response only seems to infuriate him more.
"Good, because I don't need your help," he huffs, getting off ahead of me as soon as the door opens.
I shake my head. I have to hand it to him. He timed his rebuff perfectly.
I wait a second before stepping out. He storms off to the left, and I give him some space, heading to the right and following the numbers along the hall to the Kings' suite. When I finally find it, I slide the keycard into the slot and step inside, immediately feeling Drake at my back.
I gasp. How did he get behind me so fast? He's light on his feet. I'll give him that. The heat emanating from his body is enticingly warm against my skin, and I take a shaky breath to slow my racing heart.
But it starts to pound again once I get a good look at our surroundings. The sheer decadence just about bowls me over. The monthly rent on this place has to be more than my annual salary. It's the exact opposite of the cramped confines of the walk-up in Brooklyn I share with my dad. Having all of this glorious space is like paradise. I go from room to room, taking it all in. The hardwood floors, the spa-like bathroom, the chef's kitchen, the garden balcony… And I'm going to be living here for the next three months. I sort of want to pinch myself.
I scout around while he stands there with his hands in his pockets, not moving much farther than the entranceway. I keep going before attempting any further communication with him, and I smile once I find what I'm looking for.
I clear my throat to get his attention. "Here's the connecting door that separates your living quarters from mine." I swing it open so he can see that we'll be sharing a double suite. "I'm to have access to you at all times," I say, repeating the instructions I give to every client at the beginning of a session. "The locks on your side have been removed for the length of our stay. The bathroom. The bedroom. Everywhere."
Drake just laughs. "So I won't even be able to piss in private. Wonderful."
But he doesn't stop there. He tilts his head to the side like he's determining what he can do to gain the upper hand on me. I can see the scheming look in his eye when he starts to close the distance between us. I hold his gaze until he's leering down at me. But I stand my ground, refusing to show any sign of fear.
Physically, he's an intimidating presence. He's big and strong, and he could hurt me so easily if he wanted to. The gossip pages claim he's brawled with half of his teammates and few of them are willing to take him on again. But I don't feel threatened by him. For some reason, my intuition is telling me that he'd never lay a finger on me.
There's a begrudging respect in his eyes when I don't take a step back. The corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn't say anything. It feels like he's testing me as much as I'm testing him. But I need him to trust me. I'm not here to play games. I'm here to get him clean.
He lifts his hand, and for a moment, he hesitates like he's going to run his knuckles down the side of my face. I tremble at the thought of his fingers touching me again, but instead, he lets out a labored sigh, lowering his arm and fiddling with the doorknob.
"Locks or no locks, you're not going to cage me in."
He lets his hand bump against mine, and I hold my ground. I don't pull away. Contact is good. It's a tangible reminder that he's not alone in this. For now, he may view me as his toughest opponent yet, but soon, he's going to need me like he's never needed anyone before. And I'll be there for him.
It's what I do best.
Chapter Five
Drake
Step One
Admit powerlessness.
I continue to stare down at her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I'm exhausted, but she's reminding my strung-out body what a natural high feels like. It's the kind of hormonal rush I haven't experienced in years. I didn't think any woman was capable of turning back the clock and undoing all the damage I've inflicted on myself. I've been walking around half dead for so long that I'd nearly forgotten what it's like to be a hot-blooded man alive with needs and desires.
She's so beautiful, and time has only enhanced her beauty. I wonder if some man is responsible for helping her grow into herself. I never saw her with anyone at the stadium, except that old dude I always assumed was her father, even though they look nothing alike. She's an exotic goddess and he's some crusty, old white guy.
I really hope he's not her sugar daddy, some kind of "friends with benefits" colleague who's advancing her career in exchange for sexual favors. It happens all the time in a dog-eat-dog environment like New York, where everyone's on the take. I should know; the call girls I fool around with are a prime example of that. Yet it's a pretty even exchange—I pay them for sex and they work hard to get me off. I never ask how they got to the point of turning their wiles into a commodity because I don't really care. They're the ones placing themselves in a position like that¸ not me. If a hot chick wants to put herself through college by blowing some life into my erection-challenged dick—fine. It's just another reason why I don't trust women or their motives.
Rule number one: Never let them get too close.
But Eva's forcing me to confront something I don't want to deal with. I expected things to go on just as they were. But I got stupid, lax, and Diane was watching out, waiting to trip me up. I foolishly trusted her by helping her nail Terry's ass to the wall, and look what happened. Yet another woman screwed me over.
Now, I'm not to be out of Eva's sight. She's my new watchdog. They might as well have found something in my locker, because she's going to be like a house arrest bracelet clasped tight around my ankle. She's here to curtail my freedom, observe my every move, and report back all of my shortcomings for the next three months.
I don't care that she's hot. I'm still feeling her out. It's not like I'm about to open up to her any time soon. She doesn't tend to initiate conversation, and I like it that way. She didn't talk much from the car to the suite unless I'd goaded her into it, and for some reason, that pleased me immensely.
I move away from her, deciding to back down first. The buttons on her jacket are moving up and down as she attempts to steady her breathing. Again, that strut-worthy sense of pride hits me full on, that same surge of exhilaration I felt when she was waiting for my autograph all of those years ago. It's unexpected yet familiar at the same time. I honestly don't know what to make of it.
"I'll be right next door," she declares.
It's meant to come off as a warning, but instead, it sounds more like an invitation. Yet she's not the type who fools around on the job. I can see that plain as day. She takes what she does very seriously.
Or does she? There's only one way to find out.
I toe out of my shoes and unbuckle my belt, and her eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling. I shouldn't be doing this, but I can't stop now. Her eyes can't help following my every move, and it makes me even more nervous. My hand starts to shake when I undo the top button of my pants, and she lets out an almost inaudible gasp, but I keep going, slowly lowering the zipper. She unconsciously licks her lips, and I feel myself strain against the front of my boxers. She's breathing even heavier now, and the sexy noises she's making spur me on.
I yank my fly down all the way. Just feeling her eyes on me is enough to get me going. I shove my finge
rs beneath the band of my boxers, giving them a sharp tug until they're riding precariously low on my hips. She gives me a pointed look, telling me with her eyes to stop it right there. But I don't. Instead, I raise my arms and slowly start to remove my shirt, giving her enough time to get a full view of my rock-hard abs, stretching all the way in order to flex my muscles for her.
But by the time I get my shirt over my head, all I'm left with is a lingering trace of her perfume.
She's gone, having vanished to the other side of the suite.
I smirk. That's okay. I got the reaction I'd wanted.
I would have seen her as the enemy if she had stayed and tried to humiliate me by probing me with her stare, acting like I didn't do anything for her, showing her dominance over me.
Because I'm powerless, and she knows it.
I see a light flick on farther in before a door closes, and I hear the sound of running water like she's drawing a bath for herself. I imagine her soft curves slipping beneath the suds with thoughts of me naked and groaning for her filling her head.
I grin to myself. But I like her sweet modesty. She's not here to jerk my chain. Maybe she really does want to help me. Her respectful demeanor is why this could actually work. It's important that she sees me as a person, not a job.
It's obvious why she's good at what she does. It's because she cares, even about someone as messed up as me.
I pull my pants down all the way and kick my feet out of them before gathering up the rest of my discarded clothing and heading toward the nearest bedroom. Because right now, I just want to crash.
Tonight, the only thing I've ever loved was ripped away from me. I don't know who I am without baseball, and I don't intend to find out, because I know I'm not going to like what I see—the face of an aging player staring back at me in the mirror. If I have to give up PEDs in order to play again, fine. I'll do it. But no one's going to stop me from partying and letting off a little steam once I make it through this damn suspension. Right now, it's the only release valve I have on my pressure-packed life, and I'm not giving that up for anyone, not even her. She can challenge me all she wants by getting on my case and whatnot, but once this is over, it's over.
Inside Game Page 3