He had patently refused to sit in the special needs section, even though it offered a much better view of the game. After all, that section was not between second and third, where Carter Fox’s home-runs had a habit of ending up. That just wouldn’t do; especially when Ben had an older cousin to pop out of her seat every other inning to try and catch one of those balls.
Smart kid. Maybe too smart.
This would be the fifth time today Jordan had left her seat, hand securely mitted, to head down to the bottom of their section with the other hopeful fans. So far Carter had failed to produce a home-run this game. It was making the impromptu Carter Fox home-run Fan Club a bit testy. She could already see the crowd gathering at the bottom of their stands. They were as primed and ready as a pack of hyenas vying for the last remnant of a kill.
She frowned, just as she had each time she made her way down. Carter Fox had been known to pay a hefty sum for each of his home-run balls, so the crowd was substantial, and very on edge. This was bound to be as unpleasant as the last few times had been.
But Ben was her favorite cousin. Actually, he was her only cousin, but she had no doubt he would still be her favorite even if there had been others. So when he wanted, more than anything, to go to the Houston Sluggers game, she offered to take him, even though she had zero interest in the sport.
Ben practically idolized Carter Fox, who had almost single-handedly brought notoriety to the National League upstart thanks to his home-run streak. In fact, everyone in Houston seemed to have Slugger Fever, which was unfortunate for the other home team, the Astros.
When there had been an opening in the National League West Division, Houston had jumped at the opportunity have the same in-city rivalry that both Los Angeles and New York had. Now, everywhere she looked she saw the royal blue colors.
This was going to be ball number 30 for Carter Fox, which would put him exactly half way to Babe Ruth’s record, or so Ben had informed her. If her cousin wanted that home-run ball, she would make a valiant, if futile, attempt to catch it for him. Even if it meant dealing with the worst attendees of the game.
“Back again sweetheart?”
It was the obnoxious man with a tiny, douche-patch right below his bottom lip, who spent less time looking out for the ball than he did eyeing Jordan’s legs or trying to look down the front of her tank top.
Despite the July heat, she wished she had worn something that covered her up a bit more. Ben had decked himself out in Sluggers’ gear in honor of his favorite team. Jordan’s royal blue tank top, that fit perhaps a bit too snug against her chest, was the only piece of clothing she had brought with her this summer that matched his gung-ho team spirit.
She was in town for the summer from the University of Texas School of Law in Austin, working at one of the biggest law firms in town as a summer intern. In a little over a month she’d be heading back to complete her third and final year at UT.
“Just make sure you stay out of my way,” he continued, smiling down at her chest. “This may be his last hit of the game and that ball is mine.”
Jordan ignored him. All the same, she took a few steps back up the stairs so that she was away from the bulk of the crowd. It probably meant she wouldn’t get the ball, since Carter Fox had never hit a home-run this far up into the stands. This was evidenced by the complete lack of hopefuls around her. She assuaged her mild guilt by reminding herself that she had a better chance of being hit by an asteroid than catching that ball. Seriously, who could predict exactly where that ball would land anyway?
Jordan took a look at the crush of sweaty, aggressive men crowding the area below her. Just for good measure, she took another couple steps up, hoping Ben wasn’t watching with too much disappointment.
Then she waited.
The Houston humidity stuck to her skin causing beads of sweat to dot it. She crossed one arm over her stomach and dangled the other one, which felt heavy with the mitt on it. At least she had her hair up in a ponytail. During the summer it was impossible to keep straight. Instead she would wash it, braid it, and let the resulting wavy curls do their thing. In some ways she preferred it like that. It made her look like a less cool version of Donna Summer.
She looked out on the field as the players just stood there waiting for the play to begin.
Good grief, baseball was such a boring sport!
Why couldn’t Ben be into something that moved a bit faster, like basketball or football? But he loved the stats, he said. Baseball was a “thinking man’s game,” whatever that meant.
Jordan just wanted Carter Fox to hit his ball so she could get back to her hot dog. That was the only good thing about coming to a baseball game.
Finally, a player for the Rockies was tagged out at second and Jordan perked up, trying to at least make an attempt to seem ready for action. The teams switched out as Jordan stifled a yawn.
The Rockies took the field, and the first batter up for the Sluggers headed out of the dugout. Ben’s favorite player:
#47, Carter Fox.
Jordan watched with slowly developing interest as his muscular physique jogged toward home base while the other team took their places on the field. The crowd went crazy with anticipation as he gave a few test swings with his bat away from the base. Even Jordan could feel herself getting a tiny, adrenaline-fueled buzz as she watched him in action. Maybe baseball wasn’t entirely terrible.
The huge screen at the end of the field zoomed in on Carter as he finally took up position at home base. He removed his batting helmet to wipe the sweat from his forehead with one very nicely developed forearm. His wavy, blonde hair was a tousled mess that she had an urge to reach out and run her fingers through. Perhaps hot dogs weren’t the only good thing about baseball.
He placed his helmet back on his head and took up his position at the plate. The camera focused on his face again. A brief sizzle of pleasure went through Jordan, just as it had the last few times she saw that face up close. The green eyes blazed with intense determination. His strong jaw looked so taut, she wouldn’t have been surprised if a few of his teeth were currently being crushed. She noted the arm and shoulder that faced the field. The man was huge!
Jordan was well aware of his reputation off the field. You didn’t spend even a little time in Houston and not know about the Sluggers’ star player, no matter how disinterested you were in the sport. One had to wonder how Carter Fox even had time to practice when he seemed to spend most of it hosting crazy parties at his River Oaks mansion or out on the town with the flavor of the week.
She snapped to attention when she felt the hush of the crowd. Carter Fox was poised and ready. The pitcher was taking his signals from the catcher.
A shake of the head. No.
Another shake of the head. No.
Finally, there was a nod and he threw his arm back to pitch the ball.
He didn’t stand a chance.
Carter hit it with a smack that she was positive she could hear even this far up in the stands. She braced herself as she saw it heading toward the usual area between second and third base. It didn’t hurt to be prepared…just in case.
Her eyes widened, and then began to blink rapidly as she saw the trajectory.
Oh no.
Oh, no, no… NO!
The arc was way too high for the crowd below her to have any hope of being where it landed. In fact, it looked as though the ball was heading straight up to her. Jordan’s breath caught in her throat as she thrust her gloved hand into the air. She wasn’t sure if she was more terrified of the ball spiraling toward her head, or the horde below her that had just discovered they were standing at the incorrect longitude to catch it.
She focused on the approaching ball, angling her arm, mostly to prevent getting knocked in the head than to actually catch it. Before the throng of people below her could clamor up the steps in a stampede, she felt the thunk as the ball actually fell into her glove. Despite the protective mitt, her palm immediately began to sting.
“Oww!�
� she yelped, wincing.
Then her eyes grew wide as she realized what had just happened. Despite the soreness radiating through her hand, an amazed smile grew on her face as she pressed the precious ball to her chest and jumped up and down. She saw herself on the jumbo screen, giddy with excitement as her face beamed with joy. The next moment it was on Carter Fox’s face as his lips formed an O of appreciation, then mouthed the words, very nice.
Jordan had only a moment to get a bit feverish over that before she was knocked straight to her ass by the crowd from below. The very man she had been trying to avoid earlier was front and center. Jordan protectively hugged the mitt holding the ball to her chest as she was crushed into the steps from his huge form slamming down on top of her. He was followed by a few more who couldn’t stop their momentum.
Jordan felt the breath rush out of her lungs as the mass of people scrambling on top of her compressed her chest. The edge of the stair dug into her back and she began to panic.
Oh my God, I’m going to die holding one of Carter Fox’s balls in my hand.
Hands grabbed at her glove, and arm, and pretty much everywhere. She felt a fist hit her jaw, but still she held on to the ball for dear life. Just as the hands of the man on top of her were about to pry her glove open, she felt him being lifted off her.
As the pressure was released from her body she tried to recover her breath. She saw that security and a few people from the stands had come in to break up the pile-up. Mr. Douche-patch swung a fist at one of the men holding him back and the man swung right back at him. Jordan scrambled up the steps like a backwards crab, still holding on to the ball. By now, there were at least ten people punching and yelling. Thankfully, most of them had forgotten about her and the home-run ball.
Jordan made it back to her seat to find Ben looking at her the way a 5-year-old would if they had just discovered Santa Claus emerging from the fireplace.
“I hope you appreciate this,” she said, removing the offending glove and ball and placing it in his lap.
“That. Was. Awesome!” Ben wheezed, barely able to catch his breath.
He grabbed the ball and looked at it with a mixture of joy and awe.
“Says the guy who didn’t just get trampled by about twenty people.”
“Jeez, they’re still at it!” he said shifting his focus to the ruckus below them. “Leave it to my cousin to cause a riot at a baseball game,” he laughed.
“Ha, ha,” she retorted. “Give me that thing.”
Ben instinctively put a protective hand over the ball, worried that his cousin would do something drastic.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to lose it. Though, I should throw it back down there considering how much sympathy and thanks I’m getting from you.”
Appropriately chastised, he ceded the ball. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Are you okay?”
Jordan touched the side of her jaw that was already feeling tender. “Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. Who knew baseball was such a violent sport?”
Ben looked at her with a guilty frown in his face. She didn’t want to ruin what was probably the best moment in his life with the little scuffle she had just been involved in.
“Really, I’m fine, Ben.”
He gave her a smile. “Oh, and by the way, Jordan. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”
Jordan smiled at his glee, then looked at the ball, wondering what all the fuss was about. Ben eyed her anxiously, worried that it might somehow disappear now that it was no longer in his possession.
“Hey,” Jordan said, coming up with an idea. “How’d you like me to get him to sign it for you?”
She laughed as she saw his expression, thinking that his eyes couldn’t have grown any wider. God, she loved this guy.
“I’m going to try and get him to come meet you too. After what I just went through, I think it’s the least he can do. I’ll head down after the game.”
“You know, you’re pretty cool,” Ben said, looking at her with adoration.
“You know, I am pretty cool. Now where’s the rest of my hot dog?”
2
Thwack!
There was the sound he loved. The rush Carter Fox got from the sound of wood hitting cowhide was second only to the sound a woman made when he was inside of her. And in the case of a home-run, no woman could compete.
There were five tools in baseball: fielding, hitting for average, pitching, catching, running, and hitting for power. Carter excelled at exactly one of these. His powerful hit was what had brought at least half the fans to the stadium today.
As he sped toward first base, Carter knew before the ball had even made the top of the arc that it was another home-run. His 30th. He was halfway there.
I’m coming for you, Babe.
More importantly, he was about to score another Slugger’s win for his team. The icing on top of hitting a home-run was the nudge closer it got the team to winning the World Series.
Once it was clear to Carter that the ball was headed to the stands, he relaxed. No need to rush off to third base. Let the moment linger.
He loved it. Baseball was the one—the only—good thing in his life. The feel of his bat connecting with the ball. The crowds. The lights. His teammates. Most of all being out here on the diamond.
His eyes wandered up to the screen. For once it wasn’t mirroring his face back to him. It was broadcasting something far more delectable. He slowed down, appreciating the face and body of the girl who had apparently caught his ball. The shorts and tank top—royal blue, he was pleased to note—revealed smooth, tawny skin that he had an instant desire to feel underneath his hands. Huge, brown eyes with amazingly thick lashes beamed down at him. As her delicious lips broadened into an exited smile, dimples dotted both of her cheeks.
Jesus, this girl was sexy.
She was definitely doing something to him as he rounded the bases. He could feel his groin start to swell. Maybe he’d make a point of personally trying to get that ball back. He mouthed his appreciation, his lips forming a very impressed O. The screen switched to his face at the very moment that O formed the words: very nice.
Whoever was in charge of the camera was smart enough to pan right back to the woman in the stands. If she was on Carter Fox’s radar, she was worth a second look.
That was when the blood rushing to his cock reversed direction and went straight to his head. By now, he was rounding third base and slowed down just enough to see the girl get tackled to the ground. The blood in Carter’s head boiled in rage. He could feel his fists tightening into boulders, wanting to slam both of them into the face of the man who had just landed on top of her. What kind of animal was this guy? The kind that deserved to be knocked the fuck out. He was just lucky that Carter Fox was down on the field and not one of the people in the stands.
Carter may have been labeled a playboy by the media, and he, more often than not, lived up to that image, but he would never, ever, hurt a woman.
For some reason watching this particular woman get assaulted made him see red more than he normally would have. Carter had the desire to both punch this guy’s lights out, and shield the woman from the danger around her with his own massive build. Maybe it was because she was currently—hopefully, still—in possession of his 30th home-run ball. Maybe it was because she was the sexiest thing he’d seen all day. Maybe it was both.
He crossed home plate and his mind fell back into the game as he saw his teammates eagerly raiding the field to tackle him in congratulations. Based on the roar of the crowd, he wasn’t so sure his fans weren’t about to do the same. No need to finish out the inning. Carter had done it. Another win for the Sluggers. Another notch closer to breaking the in-season home-run record. He should be happy, and he was—thrilled, actually.
Still, his mind kept going back to the girl on the screen.
The reporters were already swarming by the time the game was over and the team was headed back to the clubhouse. The fans would be crowding on the way out. He wondered if he’d see
the girl on the screen again, this time in person.
“Carter, a word?”
“Hey Fox, can we ask a few questions?
“Carter, how does it feel to have your 30th home-run of the season?”
“Carter, what do you have to say to those who feel your home-run stats are too impressive for you not to be doping?”
That one stopped him cold. He looked around to see who the offender was and saw a new face in the crowd of reporters. He was a short man with a slight build, glasses, and a face that seemed to have a permanent smirk. That smirk grew wider when he saw that he’d been the one to get Carter Fox to stop in his tracks.
Carter stormed over to him so aggressively that even those standing near the man took an anxious step back. Despite obviously wanting to maintain a composed front, Carter saw him flinch slightly. Then that smug smirk reappeared.
“What the hell did you just say?” Carter growled. “Who are you anyway?”
“Lucas Grabow, writer for the sports news blog, LoneStarBaseball.com.”
Carter searched his brain. He’d never heard of the site, but he looked down and saw the press badge. Apparently, anyone could get one these days—even sleazy, bottom-feeding bloggers.
“I hope you have some evidence to back that up,” Carter continued. “Otherwise, you might just find my fist putting those words right back in your mouth.”
There were rumors of course. No player who scored as many home-runs as Carter did could avoid them. But no one had ever offered any evidence of Carter Fox doping. That was because there was no evidence to be found. Carter was just naturally strong. Combine that with an arm he’d been swinging a bat with since grade school and he didn’t need enhancement drugs. Thus, most reporters stayed off the topic, not wanting to be sued, or worse, have a not so friendly meeting with Carter Fox’s fist. But obviously, this guy didn’t hold himself to the same standards.
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