by Kate Angell
“Call Twyla,” he insisted.
She removed her iPhone from her shorts pocket. Her hand shook as she opened her contacts, and pressed the number for Unleashed. Joe stood close enough that he could listen to her call. A brief rundown on the incident, indicating that she was fine and that Joe was with her, left her aunt breathing easier. Twyla was realistic. His assessment was accurate. They would tow Otis to the junkyard.
Joe took the phone from Stevie and spoke directly to her aunt. He offered to handle things on their end. Twyla was grateful. She asked about the fish fry before signing off. Joe came back with, “Our fish wasn’t nearly as good as your cheeseburgers, I’m guessing.”
He could hear the smile in Twyla’s voice when she said, “Delicious dinner.” They disconnected.
He was hungry as hell. Supper was his top priority once he’d called for a tow. The truck driver indicated a thirty-minute wait. Time enough for him to question Stevie and get some answers.
He leaned against the side of the VW bus, tools in hand, his ankles crossed. The night closed around them, dark with unanswered questions. He side-eyed Stevie. She spoke first, softly, sincerely. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “It’s all in the timing. I had a date tonight, and she stood me up.”
“Maybe she had a good reason.” Pause. “Would a locked engine qualify?”
“Only if the vehicle was headed toward the diner, not away from it. You passed Pelican Way.”
“That I did.” Stevie licked her lips. He tracked the tip of her tongue. Pink, moist. Suckable. “Going out for a meal seemed like a great escape earlier. It allowed George and my aunt some private time.”
“My private time came later. Sitting alone in a booth at Molly Malone’s Diner.”
“You are your own best company.”
“What changed your mind?”
“It’s personal.”
“So personal you couldn’t share it with your best friend?”
“You’ve changed your name to Lori?”
He tapped the screwdriver against the wrench. Admitted, “You’re a first for me, Stewie.”
“A first what, Joey?”
“The first woman to break a date with me.”
“I’ll let you take me home.”
“I haven’t offered.”
“You will.” She was sure of herself.
And she would be right. He took her hand and led her to his sports car after the tow truck came and went. Her small hand disappeared within his own. He held tight. The truck driver had been nice, accommodating, presuming them to be a couple. An avid baseball fan, he’d only charged them half price, and he promised a decent value on the van, once crushed.
Settled in the Jag, they hooked seat belts. Joe fitted the tools under his seat. They stared forward. He glanced at his watch. Eight thirty. “Neither of us has eaten,” he commented. “No fish fry, but I can feed you. Fast-food row on Commercial Boulevard. Lots of choices.”
“A burger would be nice, same as George and my aunt.”
“Served without romance.”
Was that a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, or a reflection of the rising moonlight cast across the windshield? He wasn’t sure. She’d kept him at arm’s length. It was hard to believe she might have underlying feelings. Of any kind.
She gazed down at her hands, her clothes. Both were dirty and greasy. “Takeout might work best.”
He nodded. He knew just the place. He’d let her clean up first. “There’s a small bottle of hand sanitizer and a box of Kleenex in the glove compartment,” he told her. Only to regret his offer seconds later. A release click, and fragments of papers popped out like confetti. Spilling across her lap, knees, and feet.
She picked up a couple of them, and pulled a face when she realized how many women had given him their names and numbers, wanting to hook up. “Such a popular guy.” Her tone was dry as she reached deep into the compartment and found the sanitizer and tissues. And a pack of condoms. She shifted her hips. Uneasy. “Tell me you haven’t had sex on my seat.”
“Virgin Jag. Not broken in yet.”
“Then why—”
“The condoms?” he asked. She nodded. “Stashed, in case I run out of the ones in my wallet.”
“Does that happen very often?”
“Often enough.” He left it at that.
He stretched his seat belt, tipped toward her. Went on to swipe the papers off her lap with a smooth slide of his hand. His thumb flicked over her zipper. He whisked papers from her thighs, right along with her. Their fingers touched, momentarily linked, until she shook him off.
“I can do it myself.” She tried to slap his hand away.
He cupped her knee. Squeezed. Brushed down each calf. “Faster together.”
“Your hand’s moving slow.”
“The better to feel you.”
She kicked out her leg. “What about all the papers on the floor mat?” They piled up thickly.
“Leave them.” He didn’t want her handling them any further. “I’ll toss them in the garbage back at Unleashed.”
“No saving them? Not even one name?”
“I don’t know these women.”
“They obviously want to know you.”
“Not the same. I like doing the choosing.”
“You have a lot of choices.” She sanitized her hands. Wiped her face with a Kleenex.
He met her gaze. “The one I chose for tonight didn’t choose me.”
She put the sanitizer and Kleenex back in the glove box. Said, “Maybe some other time.”
“Limited time, Stewie. No honeymoon after the wedding shoot.”
“No honeymoon planned.”
“Baseball’s my life,” he replied seriously. “You won’t be seeing much of me once the season starts.”
Her expression fell, hinted at regret. Surprising him. She turned aside, clasped her hands in her lap. Gazed out the open passenger window. Collected herself. “I’ll see you at Unleashed.”
“There, and you can always find me at the ballpark,” he said. “Come watch me play.”
“Maybe . . .”
Maybe not. “Do you even know what position I play?”
“Missionary? Girl on top?” Sweetly sarcastic.
He grinned. She had a sense of humor, at the most unexpected times. He would give her a preseason pass, on the off chance she’d catch a game. He had the sudden urge to show her where he worked. He keyed the Jag, and it roared its readiness. “Let’s eat.” He was starving.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Left field.”
Six
Stevie settled deeply into the leather seat. She clutched her seat belt. No traffic. The intimidating vibration of the Jaguar raised goose bumps. She expected Joe to drive fast, crazy, on the deserted back road. He did not. With one hand on the steering wheel, one on the gearshift, he kept within the speed limit. Silence slowly massaged the evening, leaving them comfortable in each other’s company.
Glancing his way, she took him in. Liked what she saw—a little too much. Strong profile. Windblown hair, slightly crooked nose, firm mouth. He could be a distraction, if she let him. He felt her gaze, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“Look, but don’t touch, Stewie.” It sounded like a dare.
She purposely poked his thigh.
“Higher.”
The man was impossible. She turned away.
He took a left on Commercial Boulevard. Fast-food heaven. Big signs and bright lights. Increased traffic. All restaurants had drive-through windows. “Pizza, subs, Chinese, fried chicken, waffles?” he asked. “Burgers are good, too.”
She stuck with her original thought. “Cheeseburger with the works. Extra onions.” No kissing.
He patted his pants pocket. “Altoids.”
He carried breath mints.
A half block farther, and he whipped left into Burger Brothers. The Jag crawled up to the big board with all the food choices. H
e came to a stop, and Stevie leaned in to his shoulder, scanning the items. Her eyes widened. She was impressed by the selections. “Salads, sliders, cheese fries, mozzarella sticks, onion rings, chili. One of each,” she joked.
Joe twisted slightly, and his jaw pressed against her cheek. “That hungry, huh?”
“Toast for breakfast didn’t stick with me.”
He lightly kissed her forehead. “I’ll fill you.”
Fill me how? She shivered, straightened on the seat. Dipped her head. She hoped he couldn’t see her face. Her neck flushed hot. Her cheeks even hotter. She squeezed her thighs together. He’d meant he’d fill her with food, but her thoughts went straight to sex. She could picture him naked. Atop her. Inside her. Deep penetration. Filling her. Fully.
Don’t go there, she scolded her imagination. Shocked by her thoughts. They sat snug in the sports car. Fantasy friction. All body heat and awareness. Rubbing. His knuckles grazed her thigh each time he shifted. She fell against him with each sharp corner. Shoulder, arm, and hip contact. It was hard to separate what she wanted and what she couldn’t have. No Joe.
The speaker box activated. A disembodied voice requested their order. Joe responded. He systematically went down the board, and chose a lot of food. Stevie’s mouth watered. He added soft drinks and two chocolate cream – filled cupcakes.
They received their food at the window. Joe paid. Stevie held the sacks and boxes on her lap. The scents undid her. She snuck a mozzarella stick. Split it in half. Shared with Joe. He flicked his tongue, caught her fingertip. Moist heat. Sensation shimmered. Her body responded—her breasts heavy, her hips shifting, her toes tingling.
Joe headed for the stadium. An enormous sign announced their rural destination. Richmond Rogues Spring Training Facility. A chain-link fence wrapped the grounds. Facility Operations had a strong security crew. Day and night. The guard at the gate greeted Joe. Frank indicated that three other ballplayers were on-site. Either in the workout room or batting cages.
“Have you ever been here before?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I’m only in town because my aunt got hurt and needed help with Unleashed. I haven’t seen much beyond the boardwalk and hospital. I like baseball, and I’d hoped to catch a game.”
“Do you like ballplayers?”
“Your friends Pax and Sam seemed nice.”
“I’m nicer.”
“To each his own opinion.”
Joe drove around the edge of the lot. Stevie peered out the window. The parking lot lights and the headlights of the car shone brightly on the winding sidewalk that wrapped around the stadium. She was in awe. Hundreds of footprints had been left in the cement for generations to come. All different sizes and shapes, from boots to flip-flops. One set was barefooted.
“Team members left their mark in Rogues Plaza near the front of the stadium,” he told her. “Large cement squares showcase our cleated footprints, along with the players’ names.”
She wondered about the future. “Do new players get their own squares?”
He eyed her curiously. “I assume so,” he said. “There are no additions to the team at the moment.”
“Aren’t minor league players in contention for some positions? ”
His jaw tightened a fraction. “What’s your interest?”
She chose her words carefully. “Dean Jensen and Lori are friends. She talks about him. Lots of concern.”
“Worry about him less. Concentrate on me more.”
“I’m with you now.” For supper.
Joe parked on the west side of the facility. He climbed out, walked around the long bonnet of the Jaguar, and came to her. He opened her door, then took some of the food from her, but not all of it. The bags weren’t heavy, yet both of her hands were full while he had one hand free. He used his free hand for touching.
His hand on her shoulder, he directed her around the back of the stands, and down a walkway, until they reached a low gate. He pushed it wide, then stroked his palm down her back until it rested on her butt cheek. He nudged her ahead of him. She wiggled her hip, and he squeezed her ass. She gave him a dark look over her shoulder. He smiled. His hand remained at her waist.
They walked onto the field. Moonlight glinted on the grass. Enchantment lingered over America’s favorite pastime. The night air crackled with anticipation of the season ahead. Tangible with home runs and defensive fielding. Fans would become family, as boisterous cheers filled the now-quiet stadium.
Stevie clutched the food to her chest and turned around in a full circle. “So this is where you work.” Impressive.
Joe scuffed his boot across the grass, then swept his arm extensively and spoke with pride, “Total adrenaline rush. I back up third, cover the left field foul line, warning track, and left-center. My office is mowed twice a week.”
She bent, set down the bags. She moved her hand over the grass. “Very nice carpet.” As short and bristly as a crew cut.
“I don’t have a blanket or a tarp for our picnic. We can move to the dugout if you’d rather not sit on the ground,” he offered.
“Grass is fine. Nice starlight. Nice stadium.”
“Nice being with me.”
“Combination of all three,” she gave him.
“At least I’m included.”
She dropped down, sat cross-legged. He settled, one leg straight, the other bent at the knee. They opened the brown bags and shared the food containers. Her first bite of cheeseburger was deliciously juicy. She sighed with pleasure.
“Orgasmic?” he asked, munching an onion ring.
“Better than sex.”
“You haven’t been with me.”
“I’m fine with my burger.”
“For now.”
“Forever.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, telling her otherwise. He had his own agenda. Why me? she continued to question. Spending time together was a mistake. A broken promise on her part. DJ would be hurt. Deception gave her heartburn.
She ate with purpose, concentrating on her food. Ignoring Joe. Until he commented, “You’re wearing your meal, babe.”
Messy? Her gaze widened. She grabbed a napkin. “Where? ”
He reached toward her, lightly touched her face. “Cheek.” Ketchup. He traced lower. “Chin.” Tomato. Embarrassing. His finger tipped her collar, dipped down, flicked a bit of bun from her breast. She inhaled, her nipple rose, grazed his fingertip. She jerked back. Quickly wiped her face clean.
“Brake, woman,” he said. “We’re not going anywhere until I’ve finished. I’m taking my time.” He bit into his burger. Chewed deliberately slow.
She sighed. He was her ride. The food was good. She reached for a French fry, as did he. Same fry. Tallest, thickest. Saltiest. Their hands brushed once again.
“You take it.”
“It’s yours.” He gave it to her.
“Halves?” She broke it in two.
“Half ? You need a ruler. More like a fourth.”
“Stop complaining, you’re lucky I shared.” She savored. “Best fry ever.”
“I’ve had better.”
“Where? ”
“Here at the ballpark.”
“You like concession-stand food?”
“I often sit alone in the stands once they’ve cleared after a game. Both here and in Richmond,” he revealed. “I pay a vendor to bring me two hot dogs, fries, and a beer. I reflect on the nine innings. Visualize what I did right, what I could’ve done better. The cleaning crew sweeps around me.”
She ate another French fry, thoughtful. “Here, I thought you’d be the first player at the bar.”
“I always locate my teammates,” he told her, after an onion ring. “Once I’ve showered, dressed, and gathered my party posse.”
“Ah . . . your posse.” Hot babes.
“Ladies who celebrate with me when we win. Console me when we lose.”
“Support is good.”
“I’ve always found them comforting.”
>
“I’m sure you have,” she said, tight-lipped.
He smiled. “The more the merrier.”
“Aren’t they distracting?” she had to ask. “How do you concentrate on baseball?”
“Baseball’s always on my mind. Women cut in and out.”
“No one’s ever stayed?”
“I have a short attention span.”
She was looking for lifetime love. “No female’s touched your life for long.”
“I’ve been touched.”
“I don’t mean sexually, Joey,” she contended. “I’m talking feelings.”
“Feelings are overrated.”
“Underrated,” she said. “Honest emotion opens hearts. Unifies lives. Clarifies the unclear.”
“Clarity comes with a six-pack.”
“Beer goggles?”
“Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not,” said with conviction. “I’m sharing what I believe. You don’t have to agree with me.”
Long silence on his part. He finished off his second cheeseburger. The last of the onion rings. Then said, “I understand your sentiment, but it isn’t me. I don’t need a relationship to define me. I’d never pay you lip service just to keep the peace.”
“No pacifying, huh?”
“I’d rather air it out. Argue with my woman until we’re nose to nose, breathing heavy.”
“I don’t like confrontation.”
“Disagreement leads to great makeup sex.”
“Sex is your happy ending?”
“Climax steals the anger. Clears the air.”
Intense. She’d never gotten that mad at a man. Raised her voice. Had a rapid heartbeat. Never experienced the release. Body shaking. Thoughts shattering. Losing herself in a guy.
She preferred calmer lovemaking. A compassionate oneness. Pillow talk and snuggling. A forever memory.
Joe drew her attention. He tapped the dessert box, asked, “Cupcake?”
She had a sweet tooth. She held out her hand. He set one on her palm. She tasted vanilla cream with the first bite. Thick. Decadent. Sugary. She took her pleasure, closing her eyes, polishing off the dessert with a low moan.
She was soon to learn that Joe was at his most dangerous when he was eating a cream-filled cupcake. Watching him eat was her undoing. He was a sinful tease. His own gaze hooded, he licked the chocolate frosting. Then bit the bottom cake. He swirled the center vanilla cream with his tongue. Tasted deeper. More intimate. Erotic. So oral, he turned her on. Stevie felt his mouth on her. Her panties dampened. She’d never been more embarrassed.