Come Back to the Ballpark, Maisy Gray

by Cynthia Tennent

  Besides the fact that she was wearing a dress that cost as much as her paycheck, something else had occurred today. Or not occurred, as the case was. With every piece of her ensemble, a whole day of playing dress-up, she hadn’t once thought of Kevin.

  All thoughts were on Sam.

  She imagined the look on his face when she opened the door. Forget that wholesome-teacher comment. She was going to make him forget he’d ever said it. She wanted to pretend that she always looked like a knockout when she had a date to a gala. Less than twenty-four hours ago, they had made love on the bed, on the balcony, and eventually in the kitchen after they raided the gift basket for cookies. Tonight was going to be amazing.

  When the knock finally came, Maisy tried her best to walk calmly in her strappy four-inch sandals. She put her hand on the knob and paused, arranging her face in an expression that felt pouty and sexy and willing.

  She opened the door, expecting to see the world in his eyes.

  ***

  For five shimmering seconds, Sam looked directly at the sun. It was overwhelming.

  His head reeled. Like he had just crested the top of a roller coaster and was in free-fall mode. It scared the shit out of him.

  Then, with a blink and a nod of his head, Sam forced himself to look away. He wished he were a different man. He would tell her she reminded him of a warrior princess. But the little boy inside him was afraid.

  He gazed at his watch and took time to catch his breath. Finally, he said, “Sorry. Traffic was awful. I am afraid we are going to be late.”

  He could care less if they were late. Or even if they went to the stupid gala. He wanted Maisy to himself. He couldn’t stand the idea of sharing her brilliance with anyone else.

  “Is it really a big deal if we get there late?” Maisy sounded annoyed. It was his fault, of course. He was being an ass. It was just that he suddenly felt — no, he knew — that Maisy was beyond him.

  He swallowed and steeled himself for another look. “You look nice.”

  She mouthed the word nice as if she were trying to figure out its meaning. Then she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “A little different than the wholesome girl next door Kevin was going to marry, don’t you think?”

  Her words hit him like a fastball to the gut. Was that what tonight was all about? Revenge? Reminding Kevin that she was sexy?

  Since he’d written the abrupt note and left her still sleeping this morning, he had been off-kilter. He’d had work to do and players’ agents to talk to. He’d had to reread one contract five times and his head still wasn’t on straight. For the first time in years, he couldn’t focus on baseball. She was taking up space inside him that he didn’t have to spare. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to save that energy for the Turbos.

  “Just to warn you, it’s going to be crowded and loud and hot. The food won’t be the kind you like. It will be fancy food in small portions that will keep you hungry.” And hardest of all, Kevin was going to be there. But of course, that was the point of this charade. Maybe that’s what she wanted now.

  She retrieved a small purse from the kitchen counter. She moved with the reserved yet restless anger he had witnessed a couple of days ago in the horse paddock. Good thing she couldn’t spray him with a hose, although he deserved it for being such an idiot.

  “Ready?” Her voice was sharp.

  He waved a hand. “After you.”

  She walked past him with her head up and back straight. God, she was beautiful. He should be falling all over himself, thanking her for coming to the game and the gala. He should be down on his knees with gratitude for the best sex of his life. He didn’t know how to handle this balance between what he wanted and what she needed.

  She’d be furious if she knew this whole weekend was a fraud. The money for her school was from his discretionary account. He’d sent Joanie and Tristan to her door with a gift card purchased on his credit card. There was no huge donation from Zoom unless you counted donuts. Even worse, she was here because of his duplicity. If he hadn’t contacted Luther, the press wouldn’t have put the pressure on her. He had manipulated her every which way. And then there was last night. He’d screwed her. The term was as cold as he felt.

  He pushed the button on the elevator and leaned against the wall. “I’m glad you enjoyed Zoom’s gift card.” Slimeball that he was, he perpetuated the myth.

  “Do you think I shouldn’t have gone shopping like that?” Uh-oh. She sounded defensive. And pissed.

  “No, no. That wasn’t sarcasm. I am glad you made use of it.” Every word out of his mouth was sinking deeper in quicksand.

  They entered the elevator. She stared down at the floor while he watched the numbers light up on the control panel.

  Tonight was going to suck. Maisy was going to be fawned over and adored by every man in the room. Including Kevin. The man she had loved since she was a girl.

  The thought made him sick. They walked through the lobby in silence.

  Inside the limousine, the air felt hot and uncomfortably heavy. Being in close proximity to Maisy was torture. She smelled like a secret garden on a hot summer night. How was it possible to get a hard-on so quickly? Sam grabbed a glass and a bottle of scotch from the bar in front of him. He took a sip and readjusted himself.

  Maisy dropped her gaze to his pants as if reading his mind. “How’s your…”

  Sam coughed and almost spewed scotch on the back of the driver’s head.

  ”—toe?” Maisy finished.

  He sent her a stiff smile and gritted through it. “Fine.”

  In an effort to get his one-track mind out of the gutter, he went for bland. “Last year it was pouring for this event. Glad I don’t need the umbrella tonight.”

  “Oh, me, too.” Maisy stared out the window and nodded vaguely. “Yup. Sure am glad it’s not raining.”

  The tension in the limo was sucking the oxygen out of the air. This whole thing was a hell of a lot more complicated than fixing the Turbos’ budget or negotiating a multiplayer trade.

  Maisy’s knee bobbed up and down wildly. No way was he going to stop it. Touching her would be the death of him.

  Eventually, she sucked in a breath and skewered him with a hard stare. “Maybe you’ve been around baseball too long, Sam. So, let me give you a pointer.” She enunciated each word as if it came with a sharp knife.

  “A pointer?”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of like advice from a batting coach. Only this one is advice from a woman.”

  He lifted the glass to his lips, but Maisy grabbed it from him before it got there and tossed the amber liquid back in one gulp.

  She handed him back his glass. “This very important rule for any man is fairly simple. When a woman is dressed up and answers the door, he pretends to admire her. Not just with his eyes but with his mouth.”

  Playing dumb was easier than begging forgiveness. “You want a kiss?”

  “No, you idiot. I meant that he should give her a compliment.”

  “I told you you look nice.”

  “Epic fail, buddy. You wouldn’t describe a batting swing that way.”

  Most women would have sulked for hours if a man failed to give a compliment. Maisy came right out and said it. She was incredible.

  He was just about to tell her when she put two fingers to his mouth. “Shut up. It doesn’t mean anything now.”

  After that, she sat rigidly and stared out the window. It wasn’t far to the Ritz Carlton. The line was short on the ridiculous red carpet.

  At the curb, the driver stepped out and walked around the limo.

  Sam couldn’t stand it anymore. He took a chance and leaned toward her, putting his lips close to Maisy’s ear. “You look hot as hell and the only reason my tongue is tied is because another part of my body is using up more energy right now.” He inhaled the scent of lilies and bou
rbon. Who would have guessed they could go so well together? “Say the word and we can ditch everything and go back to my place.”

  A little gasp escaped her mouth. Then her lips curled in a sweet smile. “Too late.”

  She was out of the car before he could say anything else. Amused and not surprised, Sam stepped out, hopeful that the fresh air and an aching toe would distract him from the pressure in his loins.

  Ahead of him, Maisy was enveloped in flashing lights and people shouting her name. She walked toward the red carpet, a solitary and brave figure. Sam caught up with her and put a hand on her elbow.

  “Take my lead,” he muttered as he waved to the people behind the gold cords and smiled for photographers.

  She gave an imperceptible nod of her head. Then she moved with all the grace of a star on the red carpet in Hollywood.

  “This is surreal,” she said under her breath as they entered the lobby.

  “You should see it during Indy Weekend,” he said grimly. He hated this stuff with a passion. Sports and glitz did not go together.

  The lobby was filled with gorgeous women of all ages, middle-aged men in tailored tuxedoes that were definitely not rented, and supersized athletes who greeted one another with manly hugs.

  They had taken no more than three steps across the room when Zoom’s voice rose above the crowd. “Maisy! Maisy! Come on over and let me introduce you to a few people.”

  Sam knew how this went. Every year Zoom had a pet that he paraded around the gala, introducing them to his business acquaintances and old buddies from whichever club he used to belong to. Last year it had been Travon Becker, the rookie outfielder. Before that it had been Blake Alokar, the catcher. This year, it was Maisy.

  Sam hung back, waiting to come to her aid if necessary. As she moved about the lobby, smiling and posing for pictures with Zoom, he found a pillar and leaned against it.

  “I’d rather be down by a dozen runs in the ninth than be at this thing,” a rough voice said behind him.

  Fuzzy. The old field manager still managed to look like a grizzled coach, even in a tux.

  Sam shook his hand. “Me, too.”

  Fuzzy jerked his thumb toward Zoom and Maisy. “Hard to believe so many people think the only thing keeping us from losing is that little lady over there.”

  Sam frowned as an oversized man with huge eyebrows and no hair ogled Maisy’s breasts. The way the material was draped, they were outlined perfectly. Last night they had been his…

  “Proud of yourself?”

  Sam was startled by Fuzzy’s question. “How did you—?”

  Then he stopped. Fuzzy was referring to the game, not his sinful evening.

  Shit. He couldn’t think in a straight line where Maisy was concerned.

  Fuzzy swept his hand in an arc, as if he were presenting the whole city to Sam. “You made them happy, Sam.”

  Sam put his hands in his pockets. “I guess.” He didn’t add for once.

  “Just one thing. I’m curious why you had her come to last night’s game.”

  Sam often thought the old man was too smart for the dugout. Fuzzy belonged in his office. Maybe even the Oval Office.

  “Last night was the game she could make.”

  Fuzzy turned to him, no sunflower seeds in his cheek for once. “In a week, Halderman pitches against the Blue Jays. They’re hitting nothing but air and popcorn flies. The odds of us winning are far greater...if a lucky win is what you wanted.”

  Sam said nothing. Which meant Fuzzy had his answer.

  Fuzzy wore a bemused half smile. “So now what are we going to do? Are we going to have to bring that little lady on the road with us?”

  Maisy was posing for another photo with Zoom and a dozen older men now. “This is going to get out of hand.”

  “Superstition is baseball’s mascot, Sam. I’ve got a shortstop who won’t change his boxers on game day and an outfielder who takes the same pair of socks on the road with him.”

  Zoom had Maisy by the elbow. Over the general noise of the crowd, Sam could hear him say, “Let’s go see our lucky boy.”

  Sam pushed away from the pillar and headed toward her without saying good-bye to Fuzzy. He caught up with Zoom and Maisy by the time they entered the ballroom. Thousands of glittering lights hung from the ceiling. Red fabric cascaded down the walls. The room looked like a cross between a Christmas tree and a cheap brothel.

  Zoom had a hand on Maisy’s back, impelling her toward a prime table near the dance floor. Maisy paused and looked behind her. “Sam?”

  He stepped to her side, kicking himself for his earlier behavior. Before he could pull her aside, Zoom redirected Maisy’s attention to the couple standing in front of them.

  “I think you two have met before,” he said with bravado.

  Then, Maisy made a play that was bolder than any he had witnessed on the field in years. She smiled brightly and stepped forward, opening her arms to Kevin Halderman. The two of them embraced like long-lost lovers.

  Sam clenched his fist and slapped it into his palm as a collective sigh filled the room. Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob escaped Alexa Ventura, who stood at Kevin’s side.

  “My God, Maisy. You look gorgeous!” Kevin said as if he had no idea that six hundred people were eavesdropping. Several guests took out their phones to record the intimate reunion.

  Zoom laughed in delight. “Together for the first time in years. This is a helluva wonderful night, isn’t it?” He jabbed Sam in the ribs with his elbow.

  Sam wished he had on the old breastplate he used to wear as a catcher. It would protect him from the real blow that hit him square in chest. For the past few days, he had operated under the assumption that it was Maisy’s pride that was keeping her from the ballpark. Her reluctance, her contempt for the superstition of the fans, even her anger at Kevin were all reasons for not attending a game. But now as he watched her look up at Kevin, the blazing heat in her eyes told a new story.

  His world turned upside down. His toe started to throb like hell. And Sam realized that Maisy Gray still had strong feelings for her childhood sweetheart.

  ***

  After last night, this might be the second-best moment of the summer. She knew it was mean, but Maisy took great pleasure in the extra padding she felt around Kevin’s middle when they embraced. It was tempting to tug his fake-looking beard and scratch the growing bare spot on the back of his head just for fun.

  Kevin had changed. And not in a good way. In a few years he was going to look like a man who belonged on a reality TV show titled Dumpy Old Men Who Used to Play Ball.

  She stepped away and let Kevin rattle on about how grateful he was that she was here to support him and the team. When the statuesque blond with big boobs pushed upward like perfect grapefruits stepped forward, Maisy extended her hand and shook as hard as she could to see if they would burst out of her tight dress.

  Maisy could win a frickin’ Academy Award with her acting skills tonight. Only, with her luck, she’d win the supporting actress award. She would be the wholesome girl who didn’t get the leading man because he was too busy worrying about being late and ignoring her gorgeous outfit.

  Everyone was staring at her, measuring her reaction to Kevin. Even Sam looked at her as if she were going to turn into a pumpkin at any moment. Admittedly, her knees felt wobbly. But the heels were higher than she was used to wearing. Someone pushed a chair gently into the back of her knees and she sat.

  She turned to thank Sam and realized her gallant gentleman was none other than Fuzzy Waslaske. He winked at her and moved around the table to seat a kind-looking older woman.

  “I’m Lorraine Waslaske,” the lady said with a nod.

  Sam started to sit down on her right, but Zoom spoke up. “Let Kevin sit there, Sam. These two birds have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Afte
r an awkward moment, Sam stepped back and let Kevin take his seat. Maisy watched him retreat to the other side of Alexa with no protest. Traitor.

  A gorgeous Benedict Arnold.

  As annoyed as she was at Sam, she could barely take her eyes off him tonight. The black tux with its European cut was tailored to perfection. Her hands itched to mess up the perfect wave in his hair.

  Tristan arrived at the table, pulling out a chair on the other side of Sam.

  “No date again this year, Tristan,” said Zoom in an embarrassingly loud voice. “I pay good money for that seat, boy. Next time let me know. I’ll get my niece to come keep you company.”

  Tristan looked as excited as a twelve-year-old being told to dance with his sister.

  Servers in white waistcoats poured champagne and brought out the first course. Maisy stole a glance at Sam as he picked at his lettuce. What would he do if she took him up on his earlier offer and left with him right now? Was he brave enough?

  “It’s been way too long.” Kevin talked as if there’d never been any ugly breakup.

  “Has it, Kevin? Has it really been too long?” Maisy asked, dragging her eyes away from Sam.

  “I grew a beard.” He grinned, proud of himself.

  “Look at you all grown-up.” She downed her champagne in one long gulp.

  “Like it?” he asked, leaning her way.

  “It covers your face nicely.”

  He tilted his head, trying to figure out if that was a good thing. His chin was the weakest part of his all-American-boy face. “They call this a ducktail.”

  So, Kevin had a mallard’s butt on his face. She tried not to laugh. But she was failing terribly. She dropped her napkin and dipped under the table so she could let the snort, that came with a delicate burp, loose. She took a moment to recover and admire a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes that came into view.