Come Back to the Ballpark, Maisy Gray

by Cynthia Tennent

  They stared straight ahead as the elevator climbed to the eighteenth floor. When the doors opened, they both stepped out. If Maisy was surprised that Sam was walking her to the door, she didn’t show it. She pulled out the key card and waved it across the sensor. It unlocked and she walked into the dark apartment.

  Sam started to follow her. They had a lot to discuss. But Maisy spun and pushed the door closed in his face.

  He frowned at the black steel, an inch from his nose. He didn’t blame her.

  The Turbos had shut out the Yankees five to nothing.

  Kevin fucking Halderman had pitched a three-hit ballgame. The son of a bitch had lasted to the eighth inning, until Fuzzy pulled him, one hundred and four pitches into another incredible performance. The fans had wanted more. They booed Fuzzy’s decision. But in the end, it had been the right call. The closer, Spencer Fillipi, had finished in dazzling style, one, two, three.

  If Sam were writing the story for Disney, it couldn’t have been more perfect. At the end of the game, the fans had demanded a curtain call from Kevin. Chants of Maisy, Maisy, Maisy meant she’d had to give a bow as well.

  She had been monumental.

  Through all nine innings, Maisy had sat beside Zoom, looking like the patron saint of human good-luck charms. She’d smiled so much that, by the ninth inning, her cheeks had quivered from the strain. Only Sam knew that, with every inning, her heart was unraveling one tiny thread at a time.

  At the end of the curtain call, when Kevin had finished being interviewed for the television audience, he’d waved and grinned up at Maisy as if the magic fairy dust that rained down on the team was their doing.

  Zoom had acted like the damn team had won the World Series. He’d hugged everyone in the suite at least twice. He’d mugged for the camera. He’d offered several members of the press a drink.

  The media was in a feeding frenzy. They were intoxicated with the feel-good human-interest story. Even ESPN had been there to cover the “good-luck girl.”

  By then, Maisy’s smile was frozen in a mask that looked ready to shatter with the slightest touch. Watching her surrounded by a horde of microphones and camera lenses, Sam hadn’t thought she could hold on to her cheerleader impression much longer.

  The night was capped off by one more stink bomb.

  A reporter had asked, “What’s next? Is Maisy going to be back at the ballpark any time soon?”

  Zoom had raised his hands to get the cameras on him. “Maisy has an open invitation to attend all our games. As a matter of fact, since she is already in town, the Turbos would like to invite her to be our guest at tomorrow’s Indiana Summer Gala.”

  Maisy had shaken her head, showing reluctance to play along with this charade for the first time.

  “Aww, come on, Maisy. It will be good for me, great for you, and even better for Indianapolis.”

  “I’ve got other plans. Sorry.”

  “Then break them,” Zoom had said with a nervous laugh. “You’ve just been invited to the biggest party of the year.”

  Before she could say anything, another reporter had asked slyly, “Aren’t Kevin and Alexa going to the Indiana Summer Gala, too?”

  Zoom’s exact words had been, “Maisy is over all that drama, right, Maisy? The kids are still good friends.”

  How the hell was she supposed to answer his question? Looking stunned by the new turn of events, Maisy had struggled for words and Sam had shoved a bottle of Whammo in her hands.

  The impromptu news conference had ended shortly after that. On the way out the door, Zoom had leaned over and whispered in Sam’s ear, “You never have a date for that gala, Hunter. Take Maisy as your date. I want her at our table so we can get a good picture in the society pages.”

  Before either one of them said something they would regret, Sam had grabbed Maisy’s arm. “Maisy has some things she needs to get from my office.”

  They’d exited the suite and headed through the private exit, leaving Zoom drinking champagne and passing out cigars. Smug asshole!

  Now, Sam backed up and leaned against the wall, staring at the closed door. He should be happy. His team had beat the friggin’ Yankees. The fans were going to be happy for the first time in years. Ticket sales would climb. He’d already been told that two new sponsors had contacted the club after the game in hopes that they could increase their visibility. All that meant more money. Job security.

  It felt like shit.

  Jesus. In what alternate universe had he been dropped? How could he feel this way when the Turbos were finally looking at real revenue that might fix their budget problem?

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and wondered if his broken toe was infecting his brain.

  Abruptly, Maisy’s door opened.

  She grasped the door handle, the loose neck of her shirt riding off her shoulder like it had all night. She was barefoot now. Her hair was loose and wild. Her eyes flashed black fire.

  She held up a bottle of tequila. “When did this get here?”

  He felt like an idiot for the uncharacteristic optimism that had struck him earlier. He had hoped they might share a drink over their secret victory. They would toast to the loss of the team and the gain of Maisy’s freedom. And just a little part of him hoped he might have a chance to start all over with her. Even though he reminded himself again that he didn’t have time for women.

  He sighed. “I had the housekeepers put it in your apartment. It seems stupid now.”

  Maisy took a step forward, her eyes glittering feverishly in the hallway light. Before he could ask her if she was all right, she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him step by staggering step into the apartment. She kicked the door shut with her foot. In the dim light, he couldn’t tell if she was crying or not.

  “Is this for some sort of celebration?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “A miscalculation.”

  Sounding slightly hysterical, she laughed. “Miscalculation? Is that what this was?” She twisted the top off the bottle in one vicious move.

  “I’m sorry.” It was such a weak phrase for how he really felt.

  She raised the bottle to her lips and threw back her head. Swallowing with a cough, she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “But I’m wholesome. That’s what you told me. Right?”

  Sam didn’t know whether he should agree. He was fascinated by the way her mood had transformed into anger. She put the bottle down on the table and he waited for her to unleash her temper.

  Instead, she pushed him against the wall and pulled his head down for an unexpected kiss that sent shockwaves through him.

  “Is that wholesome, Sam?”

  “Nooo.” He was suddenly out of breath.

  “Damn right!” She grabbed his collar. “I’m not anybody’s good luck charm.”

  Her teeth grazed his neck and hell if she didn’t have a sharp little bite. It was the best thing he’d ever felt.

  Turbos be damned. Kevin Halderman be damned. Career be damned.

  He had Maisy.

  Her tongue sent flames down his spine. Her body rubbing against his made him shudder. Little things like breathing and thinking were completely irrelevant. Her hands clawed under his shirt. She yanked it down his shoulders and off. He was vaguely aware of a ping of a button hitting the wood floor.

  She was hot as hell. “Wait, ouch! My foot.”

  Reality sucked.

  Maisy laughed it off and growled. “Let’s get you off your feet then.”

  She grabbed him under his arms and walked him toward the bedroom. When the back of his knees hit the bed, she pushed him down, a woman on a mission.

  He came up on his elbows. “Is this rebound sex?” He didn’t care either way, but he felt she should clarify. “Because if it is—”

  His words were cut off by her mouth. “No, you idiot,” she said in a
husky voice. “It’s angry sex. Is that all right with you?”

  “Absolutely. Angry sex” — her hands ran lower and he shuddered — “is…great.”

  She straddled him and bit his shoulder. “For almost four years I stayed away. No baseball. No men. No sex.”

  She shimmied lower and yanked on his pants. He lifted his hips, speechlessly letting her strip him naked.

  He liked her temper a hell of a lot better than the cheerleader impression earlier. Of course, he was at a distinct disadvantage. She was still fully clothed. As much as he wanted to change that fact, he didn’t push it. He wasn’t picky. He’d take Maisy any way he could have her.

  She rested her head against his shoulder and caught her breath. “And for what?” He wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or to him. “I’m back at the same place I started from. Only worse! Do you know how that feels, Sam? Sam!”

  The way she said his name was so sexy it made him shudder. She was obsessing with the hair on his chest and moaning softly. For angry sex, it was kind of gentle. And very hot.

  He was naked now. And completely aroused. And suddenly she seemed to realize it, too. She sat up and raked her hands up and down his body.

  He lay back and thanked the good Lord for women’s lib and equal rights. Cavemen had no idea what they were missing.

  “Oh, Sam.”

  “Maisy.” He let her have her powerful moment. She deserved it.

  He was hard as a rock. And she was taking full measure of him…so to speak.

  “Wait, I don’t have a condom—”

  “I’m covered,” she growled.

  Maisy had her way with him, and Sam, by God, he enjoyed every moment. She used her mouth, her hands, and the friction of their bodies. The pleasure was mind-blowing. When he grew frustrated with the fabric between them, she read his mind and ripped off her own clothing.

  “Thank God.” He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until she froze.

  “Oh, my. I never act like this,” she gasped breathlessly.

  “Four years of celibacy will do that.” Sam didn’t give her time to think. He helped her with the last part of her bra and panties and made her forget her wholesome side. If this was how angry women reacted, he’d been using the wrong ammo. The only things missing were whips and chains. An incongruous picture of Maisy as dominatrix made him grin.

  “What’s the joke?” She looked hurt.

  “I was just going to say I’m not opposed to handcuffs,” he said, bringing her back to him and shutting them both up for a long time.

  ***

  Maisy took a hearty sip of tequila and readjusted herself in Sam’s lap. “Is your foot okay?”

  “What foot?” He took the glass from her and finished it. Then he held it out for more.

  “I still can’t believe I attacked you like that.” She had never acted this way before. Even around Kevin, when sex was new and everything was an experiment. Or later, when she’d wanted more than he could offer.

  Sam chuckled. “If I hadn’t been so turned on, I’m pretty sure I’d be pressing charges by now.”

  Maisy burrowed her head in between his neck and his shoulder. “Oh, God, I am so embarrassed.”

  He pulled her back and met her gaze. “Don’t be. You had an incredibly stressful night and you are perfectly entitled to take it out on me.” He punctuated his feelings with a long kiss. “It was my pleasure.”

  Was that what he believed? That she was taking her horrible evening out on him? If only he knew the truth.

  While she was furious at her current predicament and the ridiculous game tonight, that wasn’t why she’d reacted that way.

  They were lying on a chaise lounge on the balcony of the Turbos guest apartment, protected from the outside world by a guard rail and the veil of the night. She reached around and grabbed the bottle off the table next to them. A light breeze fluttered across the sheet they had wrapped themselves in. Below, the skyline and traffic of Indianapolis flickered like fireflies on a hot summer night at the farm.

  She concentrated on pouring two thumbs of tequila into the juice glass. When she finished, she handed him the glass and took a long swig from the bottle.

  All night long she had felt like a puppet on a string, being forced to do things she didn’t want to do. Wave. Cheer. Act like coming to the ballpark had been her idea.

  Pretending all night had made her chest burn and her head feel like it was going to split open. When Charlie Zumaeta had made his ridiculous suggestion that she attend a gala, she had been tempted to shove the microphone down his throat. Thankfully, Sam had swept her away before she’d figured out if a microphone would actually fit in Zoom’s big mouth.

  And then, the tequila had happened.

  It wasn’t the actual drink that had made her attack Sam. It was the offering. When she’d walked into the apartment, she’d felt deflated and exhausted. She hadn’t been sure she had enough energy to make it to the bedroom. Then she’d seen the bottle of tequila sitting on the kitchen counter next to a small bouquet of daisies. For the first time all night, she’d felt recognized. Not the ridiculous recognition of the crowd that thought it was fun to see their good-luck symbol at the game. But something more personal. Like she mattered.

  And then she couldn’t help feeling the selfish rush that had surged through her. She’d wanted more than the damn tequila. She’d wanted herself back. She’d wanted to be the strong one. She’d wanted what she wanted for once. And, in that particular moment, what she’d wanted was more than the damn bottle of tequila. She’d wanted Sam.

  She had never felt so selfish and so happy about being selfish at the same time.

  “How did you know daisies were my favorite flower?” she asked shyly.

  He paused. Then he said, “I just figured they rhymed with Maisy.”

  Good guess.

  She ran a hand across his chest, letting her fingers tangle with the light layer of hair. Lifting her head, she kissed a spot between his neck and his jaw and sighed her happiness.

  She had to be honest. From the moment she’d seen him sitting next to her barstool, she had wanted this to happen.

  But what about him?

  “Did you just sleep with me because you felt sorry for me?” What a stupid question. She didn’t want to know the answer. “Never mind. Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

  He took a long sip of tequila and said nothing. Oh, great. He was either struggling with how to tell her the truth or he was falling asleep. Either would be disappointing.

  Finally, he ran his fingers along the sensitive skin of her inner arm and asked, “Was tonight your way of apologizing for your horse’s temper?” She couldn’t see the smile on his face, but she could hear it in his voice. Her insides hummed and she stifled a giggle in the corner of his neck.

  “I don’t use sex to compensate for my guilty conscience,” she replied.

  “Me, either.”

  “I’m glad we have that settled. My horse will have to handle his own apology.”

  A siren in the distance interrupted the tranquility. The world, and all of its problems, felt miles away.

  Watching her former fiancé pitch tonight hadn’t evoked the dread that she’d imagined it would. Once the game had started, she’d been fine. Come to think of it, when she’d seen Kevin pitch the no-hitter a couple of weeks ago, it had made her more irritated than anything. She rather liked the way he had been slumping over the last few years.

  So much for heartbreak. She was through.

  Sam played with a strand of hair near the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry you had to watch him play tonight.”

  “I am, too, and yet…it was a bit like watching my creation come back to life.”

  “Like Dr. Frankenstein?”

  She couldn’t hide her giggle. “I feel like I had a part in creating the mo
nster that became Kevin Halderman.”

  “How?”

  “From the time he first took the mound in middle school, I was the one who studied his pitches and his swings — he batted pretty decently when he was younger. Back then, it was just Kevin and me. His mom is pretty ignorant about baseball. And he didn’t have a dad pushing him.”

  Sam stiffened and took a long sip. “Sometimes dads are overrated.”

  Maisy didn’t like the bitterness in Sam’s voice. She rubbed her foot along his calf. “I made sure Kevin practiced every day, and I read him articles he needed to know about the game and how to keep ahead of it.”

  “Maisy, that’s incredible.”

  “Well, I mean, in high school the coaches took over. But I became his statistician. It was my job to keep an eye on his pitches and make sure he didn’t throw out his arm.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh Lord, I had it out with some of the coaches who wanted to play him more than they should. I knew that too much could damage a growing arm. I was very careful.”

  He let out a slow whistle. “No wonder people think of you as his lucky charm. You’ve been his mentor all along.”

  “No. I stopped a few years ago. Remember?” Alexa and his agent handled that now.

  “I’m sorry.” Sam reached for Maisy’s hand.

  Her shoulders relaxed. “I’m not sorry. It was an unhealthy obsession.”

  “Maybe helping people is just who you are.”

  “It is, I suppose. That’s why I became a teacher. I love making a difference in the lives of children. Unfortunately, I confused Kevin for a child.”

  She knew she was being too hard on herself. Obviously, she had loved him. She had loved being with him. But why? Honestly, she couldn’t remember. Not now that she was here with Sam.

  “Did you ever go to a minor-league baseball game?” she asked. It was a random question. But she wanted to make him understand her love for baseball and the relationship she had with Kevin.

  “I interned in a stadium in New Jersey one summer. Why?”