A woman sitting a few seats down from her leaned across the empty seat and spoke. “Do you know Brett Michelson?”
“Yes.” Zia didn’t elaborate.
The woman sighed. “God, he’s dreamy. I’ve been trying to get him to notice me for years.” She reached out a hand. “I don’t think I’ve met you before. I’m Sheila.”
Zia took a deep breath, starting to understand this weird dynamic. She took the woman’s hand and shook. “Zia.”
The woman was friendly, at least. She turned back to her friend while Monica giggled under her breath at Zia’s other side. “Welcome to baseball groupies,” she muttered.
Sheila tossed her fake blond hair over her shoulder and lifted her hand to wave exuberantly at another player as they ducked into the dugout. She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, “You got this, Monreal.”
There were player introductions, then the national anthem, and then the game started.
Monica started a running commentary that Zia greatly appreciated. The woman was amazing. She could somehow manage to rock Emily back and forth enough to keep her asleep while eating nachos, drinking soda, and giving Zia a play-by-play.
“Miami is the home team today, so they bat second. Pittsburgh will bat first.” She pointed to the field. “Brett is starting at second. See him?”
“Yes.” She prayed he had his head in the game. The last thing she wanted was to be a distraction. If she thought for one second he didn’t play his best because she was present, she wouldn’t go to another game.
“Are they warming up again?” Seemed like all they’d done was throw the ball around since she’d arrived. Wouldn’t their arms hurt by now?
“They warm up for a few minutes between every inning to keep loose.” She pointed at the infield again. “Watch this pattern. You’ll see it often. Third base to second to shortstop to first. It’s called throwing it around.”
Zia nodded and took another sip of her soda. She had decided against a beer when they went to the concession stand. Besides, Monica couldn’t drink. She was nursing. But at this point, Zia thought she might need a beer or two to calm her nerves.
The game started. The first guy swung several times, made contact with nothing, and struck out.
Monica pointed to the pitcher. “That’s Dominic Cordes, a good friend of Brett’s.”
The second batter hit two balls in a row into the stands on the third base side.
Monica commented, “He’s a lefty. You’ll see most lefties tend to hit foul balls to the third base line while right-handed batters hit toward the first base line.”
“Got it.”
On the next pitch, the batter hit the ball hard and high, right over Brett.
Brett jumped into the air, gloved raised, but didn’t stand a chance.
The batter dropped his bat and ran hard. The crowd groaned.
“Brutal. It’s not like the guys could have stopped that.”
Monica smiled. “There’s always something they could have done. I’m sure the pitching coach is going to say Cordes shouldn’t have thrown that pitch to that batter at that moment or something.”
“Geez. How stressful.”
“Yeah. These guys make a lot of money, but they earn it.”
Zia sat on the edge of her seat for the entire game, hardly blinking. She eventually did drink a beer that was so large it was obscene. And never having developed a taste for warm beer, she drank it too fast. When the beer vendor came around again and offered her another, she turned him down.
The first time Brett was up to bat, he struck out. The second time, he hit a hard grounder up the third base line to get on first.
Zia cheered as if she were one of the overzealous groupies surrounding her. It was too late to rein in her excitement. By the time she realized how ridiculous she looked, she’d already made Monica giggle again.
Brett didn’t acknowledge her during the game, and she was glad. It would seriously stress her out if he did. She didn’t need everyone in the stands realizing she was “with” him, and she didn’t want to think he wasn’t on top of his job.
She learned a few of the other players’ names by the ninth inning. In addition to the pitcher, she learned the third baseman, Xavier Monreal, was also one of Brett’s best friends.
Miami ended up winning four to two, and Zia was glad her first game was a win. She had no idea what sort of temperament to expect from Brett after a win or loss, but she figured she was going to find out the former later in the afternoon.
Monica led Zia toward the Miami clubhouse on the left side of the field after the game ended.
Several other people waited around the area. Many of them were obviously baseball groupies or avid fans. But a few wives, girlfriends, and parents were also scattered in.
Monica leaned toward Zia. “Most family members don’t wait right here after the game. They just go home. But since this is your first time at a game, and we didn’t make any specific plans with Brett, seemed easiest.”
Zia found herself feeling anxious to see him. Her palms were sweaty, and she kept wiping them on her sundress. She’d worn a navy dress, knowing that was one of his team colors. Would he think it was too cheesy?
She kept telling herself to calm down. It wasn’t as if she was waiting for him to emerge so she could flirt with him in hopes of luring him into her web. So why the anxiety?
When he left her apartment four days ago, she’d insisted she couldn’t leave Monica until she had a replacement. And honestly, she needed some time to think and gather her brain cells into some meaningful thoughts.
She had spoken to Brett on the phone twice a day since then. Nine times to be exact. But who was counting? He called her every night before going to bed, and they spoke for over an hour a few of those times. He also called her in the middle of the day a few times. He would say he was on break or at lunch or something. Those chats weren’t as long or as sultry, but they made her heart race all the same.
Slowly, the players trickled out of the clubhouse. Sometimes they nodded at several people and headed through the crowd. Other times they were met with a swarm of family or fans.
All of them signed whatever the fans wanted.
By the time Brett emerged, Zia had a tight ball in the pit of her stomach. Why? She couldn’t imagine why her body was reacting so absurdly to seeing him again. Perhaps partly because she’d grown fonder of him every day for the past four days. Or maybe the excitement of waiting for someone as important as him to come out of the clubhouse, knowing he would set his gaze on hers and hers alone.
In any case, he did exactly that. He scanned the people for a few seconds, and then his face lit up, and he headed straight toward Zia and Monica and the once-again sleeping Emily.
He looked delicious in khaki pants and a blue, button-down shirt. Perfectly starched. Business casual. Sexy as hell.
When he reached them, his gaze was pinned to Zia’s.
She held her breath. It seemed like a decisive moment for some reason. And he didn’t squander it. He picked up the pace, dropped his bag beside Zia, and lifted her off the ground to plant a deep kiss on her lips.
Her world spun. If she didn’t know better, she would think she was drunk. But that one beer had been over an hour ago. She was high on anticipation.
His body, pressed against hers, reminded her of what he was capable of doing to her with every inch of his rock-hard frame.
Monica cleared her throat next to them. “Geez. Get a room.”
Brett ignored her, grinning as he let Zia slide down his body until her feet hit the ground.
She was kind of shocked he would be so demonstrative toward her in public. If there were cameras around this time, they wouldn’t have to speculate in the tabloids tomorrow.
For once, she didn’t care. Let them talk.
By the time Brett turned his gaze toward his sister, it was downright funny. “Oh, hi, Monica. Didn’t see you there,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes, adjus
ted the baby, and then slapped at his arm. “I’m a nobody all of the sudden.”
“Yeah…” he responded, not releasing Zia from her position plastered to his front, but dodging Monica’s half-assed shoves at the same time.
His erection was forefront in Zia’s mind. Was it always that hard, or was it for her?
Someone called Brett’s name, and he turned around, finally letting Zia go.
She hugged herself, rubbing her arms while she watched him mingle for several minutes, signing autographs and shaking hands with fans.
It was weird, but it was his life. People knew him. They admired him. Zia was glad he was gracious enough to be polite and patient.
“Listen, I’m going to get going,” Monica said when Brett returned. “If I’m lucky, Emily will sleep most of the drive home. Timed it just right. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.”
“Not going to have dinner with us?” Brett asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think you need a third wheel today. Maybe in a few months when the two of you come up for air, but not yet. I can’t think of anything more boring. Besides, none of your teammates are appealing to me,” she joked. “They’re so…tall, and built, and broad, and hairy.”
“And male,” Brett added, reaching out a hand to gently cup his niece’s head. He leaned in to kiss her sweet baby-smooth skin. Then he turned his gaze toward Zia. “So you’re going to stay?” He lifted his brows, hopefully.
She bit her lip and nodded. “If you want me to. Just two days. Monica’s gonna handle Emily alone for that long, but then I need to get back and help her.”
His smile widened. “I’ll take it. Did you bring both cars?”
Zia shook her head. “No. Mine’s not reliable enough for the drive. I figured I could take a bus back. I looked at the schedule. Shouldn’t be hard.”
“Not a chance in hell,” he responded as they turned to walk toward the visitor parking lot. “You can take my car. I don’t need it most days. I can get a ride with one of the guys. It will ensure you return quickly.” His grin was toothy and broad.
“I’m not driving your car. That thing is ominous. I should have realized you weren’t a regular guy the first time you picked me up. I’m sure it costs more than I make in a year.”
Monica laughed. “You aren’t kidding. But trust me, Brett doesn’t care. He’s not a material guy. Never has been. Not even sure why he bought that car. It’s not like him. I kept waiting for the fame and fortune to go to his head, but it never did. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he came to my house one day all dreamy-eyed about some woman sitting in the park sketching pictures.”
Brett swatted at her again. “Stop it.” He released Zia’s fingers, but only to wrap his arm around her waist and haul her into his side. “I’m a good judge of character, even from a distance. And you know it.”
“You have proven that,” Monica agreed, as they made their way toward the visitor parking lot.
A strange sensation climbed up Zia’s spine, and she couldn’t keep herself from casually turning her head to glance behind them as they walked.
Sure enough, a woman had stepped out of the shadows. She had short blond hair, and she was not dressed for the game. For one, it was too hot out for jeans. And besides, she looked too fresh, like she’d just arrived for the post-game exit from the clubhouse.
Maybe she had.
She had her hip cocked to one side and her arms crossed. For a second, Zia thought she was jealous or angry. It sent a chill down Zia’s arms. But then she decided the look on the woman’s face was more one of sadness. Even despair.
Why?
The woman jerked her attention to Zia, and then her jaw dropped, and she darted out of sight around the corner of the building.
Zia turned her attention back to Brett. It wasn’t worth mentioning. He probably had dozens of women who followed him around in every city in America. Pointing them out was worthless. Acting like a jealous girlfriend on her first day at the park was insane and unnecessary.
She shook the woman’s strange look and demeanor off.
Brett must have caught her subtle reaction, however, because he glanced behind them also. It was only a quick look, but he stiffened and held Zia tighter.
Maybe he didn’t like being followed around, either? Or maybe he didn’t like that particular woman following him? Interesting.
Or…maybe he never even saw the woman at all and it was all in Zia’s imagination?
They reached Monica’s car, and Monica used her key fob to unlock the doors.
Brett grabbed Zia’s bag from the backseat while Monica lowered Emily into her car seat and buckled her in.
Zia gave Monica a hug and thanked her for everything. “Can you pick me up at the station when I get back? I’ll text you the time.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t add that to your calendar. She won’t be on a bus,” Brett told his sister, and then he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Take care of my niece. And thanks for coming.”
Monica ducked into the driver’s seat and took off.
Brett led Zia toward another parking lot she realized was for players. He had his gym bag and Zia’s smaller one over one shoulder, and he held on to her waist at his other side. He didn’t say much as they made their way toward the few cars remaining in the lot, and then he popped the trunk, deposited their stuff, and opened her door.
She watched as he rounded the hood at a jog, wondering how he had any energy left after playing several hours of intense baseball.
When he was settled in the driver’s seat, he turned toward her, cupped her face, and kissed the sense out of her. For long moments, he adjusted his angle to deepen the kiss and devoured her as if he were a starving man and her essence was the only thing that would keep him alive.
She couldn’t catch her breath when he finally broke the kiss. “Hungry?” he asked right away.
Not even close… Her stomach was still rebelling from the cheese, chips, hot dog, and beer. But he was surely hungry. “I’m with you. Whatever you want is fine.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Always the gentleman. “Well, I ate enough junk to make myself sick. Won’t ever do that again. But you must be starving. You worked your ass off while I watched and stuffed my face.”
“Let’s go back to my condo, then. I’ll order a pizza. I don’t feel like sitting in a restaurant, staring at you in this damn dress for two hours.” He pinched the spaghetti strap at her shoulder and gave it a tug.
“You don’t like the dress?” she teased, glancing down. “It’s even your team color. I thought it was perfect.” She pursed her lips when she realized her nipples were puckered pebbles under the bodice. She hadn’t worn a bra under it, and she hoped she hadn’t spent the entire game looking loose.
He lowered his hand from her shoulder to her breast, cupped it, and flicked his thumb over her nipple.
She sucked in a sharp breath and arched her chest into his touch. Every stroke of his thumb was maddening. She was putty when she was with him. She squirmed in her seat, feeling the wetness that leaked from her center to dampen the scrap of lace she’d worn.
Thongs were not usually her thing, but lately… She had to admit she liked the way they made her sensitive and aware of her sexuality. She might spend half her time aroused while wearing the damn things, but they made her feel feminine. Desirable. Sexy.
“Love the dress.” His voice was raspy. He dipped one finger under the edge of material between her breasts and reached low enough to stroke her nipple directly. “Love what you don’t have on under it too.” He released her breast then to lower his hand to her thigh, inching it up precariously close to her center. “Can’t wait to see what you have beneath this skirt.”
For a moment, she wished she was the type of woman who could have spent the last six hours naked under her dress, but then she wouldn’t be the sort of woman Brett seemed to have found interesting as he jogged through the park.
“Gues
s you’ll have to wait and see.”
He groaned, released her thigh, and started the engine. “Let’s get out of here before I self-combust.”
It was heady knowing she had this effect on a man, especially this one. The other women who might have spent years vying for his attention could sit their asses down. Brett Michelson was hers.
At least for the time being.
Hopefully for longer.
Chapter Sixteen
Brett had hoped. Hell, he had prayed Zia would stay for a few days. He had only mentioned the option one time, not wanting to pressure her or beg. But inside, he’d been in knots for days, hoping she’d decide to take him up on the offer.
Now he was in heaven. Two days with her. He had to play ball both mornings and had games that lasted until the middle of the afternoon, but at least they were home games, and he could spend the afternoons and evenings with Zia naked in his bed.
Since he’d only had two frantic nights with her before now and then days of phone calls, he was like a little boy. Every time he hung up the phone, he knew with more certainty she was perfect for him. By today, he had the urge to get down on one knee and beg her to be his. Forever.
But he wasn’t a fool. He knew he would scare her away if he even insinuated he was that whipped. Instead, he would bite his tongue and ensure she loved every second of her time with him.
When he pulled into the garage behind the furnished condo he rented for six weeks every year, he turned to face her. “You should know, Monica wasn’t kidding. I’m not really materialistic. This isn’t some glamorous condo with maid service or anything. I’m pretty simple. I don’t like people in my space. It freaks me out.”
She scrunched up her face. Adorable. “You seem to like me in your space.”
He chuckled. “Not like that. I mean, cleaning people. Cooks. Stuff like that. They make me uncomfortable. I don’t like to think I can’t walk around my condo naked if I want to.”
“Do you do that often?”
“Never have once. But I like to know that I can.” He squeezed her hands. “And more importantly, I like to know you can.”
Catching Zia (Spring Training Book 1) Page 12