No Time to Explain

by Kate Angell

  “No fuckin’ idea,” admitted Pax. “You’ve gone all private on us. Too damn quiet, dude. You’re neglecting your party posse.”

  His posse fell all over him. Loved on him. Stevie kept him at arm’s length. “I’ll make up for lost time on Friday, Happy Hour, the Blue Coconut.”

  Pax grinned. “We’ll spread the word. Nude water polo at Rock Creek Cove afterward?” An inlet north of Houseboat Row, where he docked his sailboat. There was nightly skinny-dipping.

  “I’m there,” Joe agreed.

  He would request an overnight for Turbo at the dog care. He was in need of a woman. Under, over, beside him. But he respected Twyla, and wouldn’t bring a lover to Unleashed.

  On the Rogues’ schedule, Saturday was a free day. Joe could sleep late. Recharge. Playing groom for an afternoon would suck his soul. He disliked weddings, even make-believe ones. He was doing the shoot for Turbo. His dog was getting a bad rap, and Joe needed to secure their residence. Sunday was the exhibition game. He’d prove his worth then and earn his salary.

  The side locker room door swung wide. No one immediately entered. Then, after several seconds, Dean Jensen made an appearance. Joe stared, along with the other players. The man looked odd with his sunburned face and shaved white head. Quite a contrast. Eyes went wide. Jaws dropped. No comments. His teammates looked as pained as Dean himself.

  “What the hell? ” Halo Todd scrutinized Dean. “What’s with baldy?”

  “Minor league initiation,” Joe responded.

  Halo’s brow creased. “We don’t have—”

  “Yeah, we do,” Joe cut him off, containing his grin.

  “Damn, dude, you didn’t,” came from Landon Kane.

  “I did.”

  Rylan Cates joined them. “Painful haircut.”

  Dean dropped his gym bag, approached Ry. Two minor leaguers shadowed him. They had his back. He ran one hand over his bald head, asked, “Good enough?”

  Rylan side-eyed Joe. “You tell him.”

  “Barber missed a spot behind your left ear.”

  Dean touched the spot. Appeared confused.

  “You are so damn gullible,” from Joe.

  Dean visibly tensed. “Not following.”

  Halo gave Joe up. “It was all Zoo. Look to the source next time before you act. No team initiation.”

  “My initiation,” said Joe.

  Dean’s face pinched. “Asshole.”

  “What-the-fuck-ever.”

  The catcher for the Rebels edged toward Joe, in Dean’s defense. His hands fisted. Pax and Sam backed up Joe. Rylan came between them. “No fighting. Not now, not here. Never in the locker room. It’s only a shaved head.”

  “My head,” argued Dean. He flipped off Joe. “You’ll get yours.” He retreated to his locker.

  “A threat?” Joe asked Pax and Sam.

  “Watch your back,” from Pax.

  “Rylan’s in center—he’ll referee,” Sam said.

  Uniforms soon replaced street clothes. Joe glared at Dean on his way out of the locker room. Dean scowled. The man was pissed. Joe didn’t give a rat’s ass.

  After a thirty-minute warmup, Coach Jackson instructed the position players to double up in the outfield. Side by side. It was his own developmental drill. Which Joe disliked. Jackson made comparisons. Pitting Rogues against Rebels. Looking for attention and aggression. Speed. Responsiveness. Joe and Dean claimed close to the same space. Inches apart in left field. On defense.

  The coach waved them apart. “Spread out.”

  Neither man moved. “Get off my shadow, dickhead,” Joe ordered.

  “Make me.”

  “Guys,” Rylan shouted, just as Joe was ready to throw down his glove. “Separate.” Ry and a Rebel shared center. Not amicably, but not adversarially, either.

  In right field, Halo and a minor leaguer split turf. The Rebel played close in. Halo, back by the warning track.

  Joe had no share in him. Dean was still sunburned and sweating bullets. The batting coach smacked balls throughout the outfield. Fly balls, line drives, grounders. The occasional foul. Joe allowed Dean a ground ball. He watched closely as Dean scooped it up. Pain strained his face. He sucked air. His throw to third was soft, off mark.

  “Good one,” Joe taunted. Time after time.

  Joe ignored Dean as he jogged for a pop-up. Easy catch, if he hadn’t been bumped from the back. Then tripped. Joe pitched forward. Dean’s outstretched arm was the last thing he saw before landing facedown in the dirt. What the fuck?

  Dean hung loose. If he hurt, he hid it well. He fired a ball home with major league precision. The batting coach gave him an affirmative nod. Joe was not pleased. His inner animal growled. He talked himself down.

  The batting coach jacked dozens of balls to left. Testing the two men. Despite the fact that Dean called Joe off numerous hits, Joe went after them. Screw Dean. He overlapped his glove with Dean’s and stole a fly ball. They both collided over grounders. Bumping, banging. An all-out battle.

  Until Rylan hollered, “This isn’t sandlot ball. Grow up, boys.” A team captain reprimand.

  Joe had played sandlot. Vacant lot behind a neighborhood grocery store. Basic rules, most ignored. No umpire. The play was dirty. Bats shaken in intimidation. Scuffles and fights broke out, often ending in a total slugfest.

  He rolled his shoulders, pulled his act together. As did Dean. They gave each other space. Joe continued to play for himself. He claimed his position with each dive and difficult catch. Up until the defense was called to bat. Joe jogged with Rylan to the dugout. Dean lagged behind.

  “What’s with you?” Rylan asked him.

  “Kicking the competition’s ass. I didn’t see you giving ground in center.”

  “Can’t. I’m captain.”

  “I’m setting my own example.”

  “You’re such a role model.”

  They both grinned.

  The day progressed. Short break, and Joe headed for the locker room. He needed to check on Turbo. The Media and Communications Center was empty. He booted up a computer, went to the Unleashed site, viewed the webcam. He went through all six frames before locating his dog, then shook his head. Not happy. He immediately dialed Stevie. She must have recognized his number, and she took her sweet time answering.

  Her “hello” was curt.

  His gaze was fixed on the camera footage. “Why is Turbo in the grooming room?” he pointedly asked. “I didn’t request a bath.”

  The rottie sat beside a bathtub, his jaw on the rim. Bubbles on his nose. A second dog’s head popped up, and Joe understood the “why” before Stevie could even explain. Etta was being shampooed. Great, just great.

  The bulldog had snapped at Turbo the previous day. Growled, even. Not so today. They bumped noses in mutual affection. Joe ran his hand down his face. Could his day get any worse? Dipshit Dean in left field. Their dogs bonding.

  Stevie appeared in the corner of his screen, iPhone in hand. Pretty lady, Joe thought, admiring her. Her sigh was heavy. “From your silence, I’m assuming you’ve seen Etta.”

  “Seen, and I’m ticked.”

  “Turbo’s calm when he’s with her. Not one problem this morning. They’re staying together, like it or not.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Get over it.”

  The groomer was attentive to Etta, adding more shampoo, scratching her ears, rubbing down the bulldog’s shoulders. Turbo waited until the groomer’s back was turned, then made his move. He jumped into the lower tub with Etta. Water waved over the side, splashing the groomer and Stevie. Full-frontal wetness.

  “Tsunami.” Joe chuckled. His gaze held on Stevie. “Wet T-shirt contest.” Nicely defined breasts.

  Stevie shut him down. Disconnected. She tossed her phone onto a side table. He watched as she grabbed handfuls of towels off a shelf, knelt down. Terry cloth soaked up the puddles. All the while Turbo and Etta were having a bubble bath together. Damn if his boy wasn’t smiling. Content.

&n
bsp; Stevie looked directly into the camera. She stuck out her tongue at him, showing her pique. A turn-on for him. She brushed her bangs off her forehead. Tugged her shirt away from her chest, then walked out of the room. No doubt to change clothes. He signed off of the computer.

  He left the room, then spotted Dean seated on a locker room bench. Shoulders bent. Alone. He’d taken off his baseball cap, his bald head as white as a butt cheek. He conversed on a flip cell phone. Dude needed to upgrade. Joe leaned against the corner locker, purposely spying.

  Dean’s voice was subdued. “Yeah, joke’s on me. Zoo’s initiation, not the team’s.” Pause. “It happens, Lori. The man may be a dick, but he’s a hell of a ballplayer. Can’t deny him that. He has my respect. I’m pushing myself, trying to keep up. Screw my sunburn. It won’t hold me back.”

  He listened, smiled over something Lori said. “We’re getting there, hon, making up for lost time. We’ll be good together, when we can finally touch without wincing. Soon.” His watch beeped. “Break’s over. Got to go. I’ll never be last man on the field again. Call you later.” He cut out.

  Joe crossed his arms over his chest, rewound the conversation. Two thoughts stuck out in his mind. First, Dean respected him. No one had ever said that about him before. He was known as the loose cannon. Trigger temper. Unpredictable. Daring. Some said he had a death wish. Second, Dean and Lori were soon to make love. No couple could do it with a major sunburn. Too painful. A day, maybe two, though, and they’d be getting busy.

  Lori had scored Dean with her sexy bikini. He wondered what Stevie would wear to purposely attract a man. She had a tight little body. Skin, alone, worked for him. Bare and laid out beneath him.

  Joe headed outside. The teams divided up, with three practice fields in play. The Rogue starters were on the main diamond, where the coaches put them through their paces. The strategy sessions and scrimmages lasted two hours. Joe’s body was primed. Despite the strenuous, high-energy workout, he felt not a muscle twinge or soreness.

  Practice ended, and the players moved back to the locker room. Joe observed Dean cutting across the far field to the batting cages. Dean was a perfectionist. No quit in the man. He’d hammer it out for another hour. Maybe longer. He admired Dean’s stamina. For all of a second.

  “I’m taking the Morgan for a sunset sail,” Pax announced after the players were showered and dressed. “Casting off at five. Anyone interested? Couples, singles.”

  “I’m in,” said Sam. “No date, but I’ll bring a cooler of beer.”

  “Beth likes sailing.” Rylan spoke of his wife. “We’re in, as long as you dock by eight. No late-night partying. I’d rather be home with her.”

  “Old married man,” Sam teased.

  “Damn straight,” said Ry. “Settling down was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Alyn does it for me, too,” agreed Halo. “We’ll pick up hoagies. Chips.”

  “Eden has a children’s birthday party to photograph and video-record. It’s a pass for us,” said Landon.

  Pax eyed Joe. “You in?”

  Joe hesitated. He had a priority errand that couldn’t be left until tomorrow. He had no idea how long it would take. “I’ll try to make it,” he said. “If I’m not there by five, leave without me.”

  Pax raised an eyebrow, asked, “What’s more important than sailing?”

  “Buying a transport van.”

  “What are you carrying?” from Sam.

  “Dogs.”

  * * *

  Stevie stood by the front door of the dog day care, looking out the window. Joe had called Twyla a half hour earlier. A lengthy, private conversation ensued. Her aunt hung up, called to Stevie, happy tears in her eyes. She’d sniffed, barely able to speak. She’d requested her niece watch for Joe. He’d be arriving shortly. With a surprise.

  Pet owners streamed in, picking up their dogs. Lori leashed and praised each one. Twyla believed a compliment ended the day on a high note.

  Time passed, and soon, only Turbo; the Afghan hound, Anastasia; and the four dogs in need of home delivery remained. Two Scotties, a springer spaniel, and a basset hound. Turbo now lay in the office with his big head visible in the doorway. He appeared sad that Dean Jensen had already picked up Etta, leaving him alone. He grumbled.

  Poor bald Dean—Stevie’s heart went out to her cousin. He had a nicely shaped head, and, surprisingly, shaved worked for him. Lori liked his look. She ran her hands over his head, kissed him on the forehead. Called him “edgy.” Hot like the Rock and Vin Diesel.

  But Joe’s initiation didn’t set well with Stevie. She found no humor in a lie. Especially one that was meant to hurt someone else. A team initiation was one thing. Joe’s personal campaign was another.

  She knew Dean well enough to know he was upset. Yet he held his anger in. The newspaper photo of Joe and her at Kuts for Kids bothered him more than his baldness. The idea of the two of them together annoyed him greatly. He hated the fact that Joe resided at Unleashed. Neither he nor Stevie wanted to involve Twyla in the players’ feud. Her aunt didn’t need the aggravation. Her healing took priority.

  Lori joined her at the window, asked, “Where’s Joey?”

  “He should be here any second.”

  “Check out the transport coming down the drive.”

  The driver parked the new white Dodge Sprinter near the door. Joe hopped out, and Stevie’s jaw dropped. He entered, his presence filling the entrance hall. A key ring hung from his forefinger. “A donation to Unleashed,” he said.

  “Donation . . .” Stevie repeated.

  “Twyla’s aware of my gift.”

  “Gift . . .” Hard to comprehend.

  “Otis bit the dust. Time for a dependable vehicle.”

  “Woot-woot!” Lori couldn’t contain her excitement. “I’m taking it for a spin around the block.” She snagged the keys, dashed out the door.

  Astonishment held Stevie in place. She couldn’t move. Could barely speak. Her gaze met his. “Why?” she finally managed.

  “Because I can.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “It was important that I did.”

  She had spent a restless night, tossing and turning, searching for a way to buy a new van. To take the pressure off her aunt. She’d awakened weary, with no immediate fix.

  Joe had saved the day.

  Twyla appeared, hobbled toward them. “I’m overwhelmed by your generosity,” she said, emotion in her voice. She hugged him. Like family.

  “There’s rubber padding in the cargo area,” he told them. “And more to come. Metal carriers are on order. They can be permanently installed, for safety’s sake. The name Unleashed can be detailed on one or both sides.”

  Twyla was impressed. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “And so quickly,” said Stevie.

  “I can be quick when something needs to be done,” Joe affirmed. “I wanted to help. I’ll pay the insurance for a year. The title to the Sprinter will arrive within two weeks.”

  Stevie released a breath. “You bought it outright?”

  He made light of her question. “I had extra change in my pocket.”

  “A blessing for us.” Twyla sighed.

  Lori returned with the van. Once she’d parked, she came through the door, her steps light, bouncy. Bright eyes, big smile. She hugged Joe, too, despite her sunburn. “The Sprinter drives like a dream,” she expressed, delighted. “Let’s load up the dogs. I’ll make the inaugural run.”

  “I’ll ride with you,” Stevie said. “My mechanic called, and the alternator’s been replaced on my Miata. It’s ready to be picked up.”

  “I also need a lift,” stated Joe. “I drove the van here and left my Jaguar at the Dodge dealership. I’d hate to leave it there overnight.”

  “Pile in,” said Lori. “One in the passenger seat, one in the back with the dogs.”

  “I’ll keep Turbo until you return,” Twyla offered.

  The dogs were loaded in minu
tes. Stevie’s checkmate stare with Joe didn’t earn her the front seat. His gaze darkened dangerously. She shifted her hips toward the passenger door, and he inserted his knee between her legs. That stopped her cold. He buffed his thigh against hers. Jeans against skin. His knee rose higher, closing on her female V. He rubbed her. Her breath stalled in her lungs. She grew light-headed.

  She clutched the front of his T-shirt for leverage. Suggested, “Rock, paper, scissors,” to determine who rode shotgun.

  They shook their fists. Stevie played paper, Joe scissors. Scissors cut paper; he’d won. She reached for the sliding back door, and his hand covered hers. “Take the front,” he said, ushering her into the van. Being a gentleman. Which she hadn’t expected. He then climbed in with the dogs. “Drop me off first,” he called to Lori. “Dodge car lot is five miles south, off of State Road Twelve.”

  Lori talked nonstop, extolling the beauty of the van. They soon reached the dealership. Lori thanked Joe a hundred times over for his generosity. She twisted on her seat and kissed his cheek as he climbed out. “I like you, Joe Zooker,” she said. “Despite the fact that you dislike my man.”

  “Find another man and we’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve wanted Dean for much of my life. He’s a keeper.”

  “No need to list his good qualities.”

  “We don’t have enough time anyway.”

  He then exited the side door. He tapped on Stevie’s rolled-up window. She cracked it. He then flattened his hand against the glass. She pressed her palm to his, an impromptu gesture. “Later?” he asked.

  “I’ll be around.”

  “Around Unleashed?”

  “Around town. We have a new van. We’ll be cruising.”

  “Definitely a vehicle to use to pick up guys.” He left her.

  Lori let the engine idle. Stevie watched him go. Not for the first time did she admire his backside. His overly long hair. The strength in his shoulders. The width of his back. Tight-as-sin butt. Muscular legs. Badass walk.

  Car salesmen waved to him until he disappeared around the corner of the main building. Out of sight, but not out of mind. The man stuck with Stevie.

  Lori pulled back onto the state road, heading for the first dog drop-off, a home within a few miles. “Pushing Joe away only brings him closer,” she casually observed. “He’s hot for you.”