“I thought I was asking the questions here.”
“You are.” He tucked one hand behind his head. The other hand tipped his beer bottle to his lips. Where, exactly, would Alex take this call? “Get to asking.”
“You drop those drawers yet?”
Sam coughed, and beer sprayed out through his nose. “Not yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing.” He was compelled to add, “Ma’am.” He raised his hips off the bed and shoved his sweats down to his ankles. He kicked them off and eyed the phone. “Bet you wish this were a video call.”
Her sharp intake of breath indicated shock, but laughter soon followed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Maybe because, of the two of us, I’m the sexual mastermind?”
“You wish.” Another pause. Then, “Are you naked?”
“I am.”
“Grab yourself.”
“This is stupid,” he protested. “I should be grabbing you.”
“Just do it.”
“Now you’re a Nike commercial?”
“Sam—”
“Okay, okay. I’m grabbing.” He wrapped his fingers around his cock, surprisingly stiff given he and Alex had only been exchanging verbal jabs.
“Good. Now tell me what you want to do with it.”
****
Alex leaned back against the pillows and got comfortable. This was as close as she and Sam would get tonight, so she planned to make the most of every minute.
“You’re still in your underwear, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Then I unhook the bra and free your breasts. They fill my hands, and your nipples press into my palms, begging for more. I take my time, suckling until you’re writhing beneath me.”
“Yeah?” She nudged aside her panties. “I’m wet.”
“Dripping. I dip a finger between your legs, and it emerges shiny wet. I take a taste—sweetest nectar.”
She whimpered and fingered herself. A poor substitute. “Sam?”
“Yes, Alex?”
“Why are you thirty minutes away?”
“Because Dan Schmidt is a sanctimonious prick.” His voice deepened. “But we’re not talking about him right now.”
“Good thing.” She was swollen, aching for release. “If you ruin the mood, I’ll kill you.”
“I’ll club myself to death first,” he muttered. “You ready?”
“For you? Always.”
“Excellent. So I push into you, so slowly it hurts me more than it does you.”
She imagined Sam, big and hard, filling her. “More, please. I won’t break.”
“You want it hard and fast?”
The amusement that laced his question didn’t change her answer. The harder and faster, the better. She grabbed her favorite vibrator from the nightstand and switched it on. “You know it.”
“Okay then.” He paused, and she pictured him pleasuring himself. “Do I hear buzzing?”
“Yeah.” Okay, so he wasn’t jerking off. How could she put this in terms he’d understand? “You need an assist to make the play tonight, big guy.”
He was silent for a moment. “Can’t say that’s not a little disappointing.”
“I’ll make it up to you next time we’re in the same room. Promise.”
His chuckle rumbled across the miles. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Please do.”
Between Sam’s dirty talk and her bunny buddy, Alex soon found sweet release. She sank into the bedding, wrung out and trying to catch her breath.
“Thank you,” she said between pants. “That was amazing.”
“Think you can get some sleep now?”
“Without a doubt.” She grinned, still tingly in all the right places. “If not, I’ll assist myself to sleep.”
“You can do that?”
Why did he sound surprised? Oh yeah—she’d used the can’t sleep excuse as a reason to call him. The truth was, she could have helped herself an hour ago. But talking to Sam was more fun—and the safest sex this side of total abstinence.
Alex snorted. Who’d abstain from what was easily the best sex of their lives? Not her. No way.
****
On her way to work the next morning, Alex stopped at the newsstand near her bus stop to pick up a copy of the latest Cosmo. She had no complaints about her sex life, especially now that Sam was involved, but it never hurt to glean new inspiration. As she reached for the magazine, a newspaper headline caught her eye.
Bad boy Sloane incinerates minutes with intern hottie
What the ever-loving hell? Their phone call should have been private, since it took place hours after they’d finished Mr. Schmidt’s idea of a perfect—and perfectly innocent—date.
She squinted at the offending headline. Then she closed her eyes and, after reopening them, tried reading it again. It hadn’t changed. And—unfortunately—it had been joined by a second one, this one over an innocent photo of them holding hands at the botanical garden.
Not so sweet
Condors bad-boy outfielder, intern share late-night phone sex
Her stomach in knots, Alex discarded Cosmo and picked up the papers instead. She paid for them—an outrageous sum for trash-peddling rags—and boarded her bus. As she read through the second of four articles that somehow quoted most of their naughty conversation, her cellphone rang.
It was Sam. Ignoring it was tempting, but what good would that do? They still had a mess to clean up, and, as much as she wished otherwise, it wouldn’t disappear on its own.
“Morning, Sam.”
“What’s good about it?”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “If you noticed, I didn’t say ‘good morning.’”
“Sorry.” His pent-up exhale whooshed into her ear. “I take it you’ve seen this morning’s headlines.”
“Unfortunately.” She stared out the window. Cactus after cactus rushed by as the bus sped toward her office—and, no doubt, a command appearance in front of Mr. Schmidt. “How do you think they found out?”
He grunted. “How do those assholes find out anything? Obviously, one or both of our phone lines are compromised.”
“Dammit. If I’d suspected that, even for a second, I would never have called you last night.”
“Not your fault you lack a devious mind.” Sam sounded weary, and she wondered how long he’d been awake and grappling with this latest wrinkle.
“No, I should have known. I totally underestimated the press’s interest in our relationship.”
Another grunt. “Since the shower scandal, I can’t take a dump without making the news. Maybe I should have warned you.”
“Or I should have been thinking with my brain and not—er—other body parts. I have a degree in PR and marketing, remember?”
“We’re both guilty of losing our heads, Alex. Let’s just face Schmidt, together, and see how pissed he is.”
The knots in her stomach tightened, and she fought down a rising tide of nausea. “Wish I hadn’t eaten toast and peanut butter for breakfast.”
“Living by ‘ifs’ and ‘should haves’ is pointless.”
Ordinarily, she’d be the first to agree. Her shrink had emphasized the point countless times. But now, facing almost-certain job loss, she fervently wished she’d turned off her phone and ridden the solo train to O-town.
The bus turned the corner onto the street the office was on and she sighed. “I know, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to smack myself.”
Sam’s startled chuckle surprised her, too. “Let me do that. Later—much later.”
“Why not? We won’t have much else to occupy the day after Mr. Schmidt fires us.”
She wanted him to deny it, to reply the Condors’ owner wouldn’t do that. But Sam remained silent. She respected him all the more for not lying to her, no matter how much better she’d feel if she heard the words.
When he finally answered, his voice was tight. “We’ll figure
something out.”
“That’s right.” She sought for something to ease his worries. “Surely Mr. Schmidt won’t be stupid enough to fire his biggest asset in the outfield.”
“Let’s hope not.”
****
“You’re fired!”
Sam and Alex had barely entered Schmidt’s office, hand in hand, when the man bellowed at them from the refuge of his desk.
The team’s owner—his boss—shook with rage and his puffy jowls were redder than the rocks of Sedona. Top his receding hairline with a shock of cornsilk hair, and he’d have been a dead ringer for Donald Trump on an episode of The Apprentice.
Alex found her voice first, much to his embarrassment. “We did exactly as we were told.”
“Really? I don’t recall telling you to engage in late-night phone sex.”
Her cheeks lost some of their color. “We made nice for the cameras at the pizza place and the botanical gardens.”
“And then created an even bigger scandal.”
Alex didn’t flinch, but her gaze dropped to the floor. Sam jumped in, addressing Schmidt in what passed for his calm voice. “Surely we can talk about this like adults.”
“I don’t know.” The owner scowled first at him and then at Alex. “Can either of you act like grown-ups and not sex-starved teenagers?”
“Hey!” Sam lurched toward the sanctimonious prick, intent on demanding some respect—if not for him, then for Alexa. No woman deserved to be insulted for being honest about sexual urges.
She put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Schmidt is right, Sam.”
“Bullshit.”
His denial was automatic. But with Alex’s steady gaze demanding he dig deeper, he had to admit she had a point. It wouldn’t have killed them to wait. Going to bed frustrated would have sucked balls, but no lives—or careers—would have been decimated.
One pesky fact remained, though: “How were we supposed to know our phones were bugged?”
Schmidt’s lips pursed. “You of all people should know those vultures will stop at nothing to get their story.”
Yeah, he should have known. Sam slumped into one of the chairs in front of the owner’s desk; Alex slid regally into the other one. “I just wish I knew why they find me so fascinating. I’m not all that interesting.”
A strangled cough erupted from Schmidt’s throat. He finally regained control of his voice. “I tend to agree—but you’ve somehow become the press’s poster boy for fast times in Phoenix.”
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Schmidt held up his hand. “I won’t allow you to continue sullying the good name of the Condors, Mr. Sloane. You and Ms. Brandon are both relieved of your duties.” He pointed at Alex. “Go clean out your desk.”
She rose and strode toward the door, head held high. Pride surged, threatening to choke him. Good for her, not letting their boss shame her.
With her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and turned to face them. “Mr. Schmidt, I’ll go gladly, but you can’t fire Sam.”
“What?” Schmidt’s eyebrows leapt into his hair. “Why on earth not? You both knew the rules—and the consequences for disobeying.”
She marched back to Sam’s side and hissed, “Sit up straight.” When he did, she addressed the boss. “Sam is the Condors’ best outfielder. He’s batting .323. The season is more than half over. There’s no way Christian—or anyone else—can step in and perform even half as well.”
Schmidt’s mouth opened and closed. His cheeks puffed in and out, and his eyes narrowed.
Alex wasn’t finished, though. Her lips curved into a sly smile. “Besides, I think you like the media attention. As long as Sam makes waves, the Condors make the news. If you fire him, he won’t be around to generate more press.”
“This kind of press we can do without.” Schmidt waved that morning’s papers at them. “We’re a family-friendly team.”
She squared her shoulders and matched the boss’ wild-eyed gaze with a level one, and Sam was proud of her for not losing her cool. “And what family doesn’t have that one crazy uncle everyone is watching in hopes he’ll straighten up? Sam’s your black sheep turned cash cow, Mr. Schmidt. People want to see him succeed, you can count on that. And bank the sure-to-be-lucrative proceeds.”
Schmidt tented his fingers under his nose and closed his eyes. When they popped open again, Sam flinched. There were definite dollar signs where his irises should be.
“Okay, Sloane. Report for practice.” He leveled a finger at Sam’s chest. “But I swear, one more scandalous headline and no amount of fast-talking will save your sorry hide.”
Sam jumped out of the chair and bolted for the door before the boss changed his mind. But his conscience caught up to him in the doorway, and he skidded to a stop. He couldn’t let Alex take the fall for their late-night conversation. “What about Alex?”
“What about her?” Schmidt’s eyebrows lowered.
Alex rushed toward him, shaking her head. “Don’t push it,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth as she shoved him into the hallway.
Chapter Ten
Alex pulled the door shut on the dragon in his den and herded Sam down the corridor. He dragged his feet, and she found herself praying he wouldn’t turn around and storm the castle in a sweet but misguided attempt to save her from her own poor judgment.
They were about halfway to her desk in the main office when he halted, forcing her to stop beside him.
“Slow down, Alex.” His voice was choked.
She avoided his eyes. Her emotions were already ragged, and looking at him—especially if he was emotional, too—would shove her right over the edge.
Sam grunted and pinned her against the wall, one hand on either side of her head. She could have ducked beneath his arms if she’d wanted to. No doubt it was stupid of her, but she didn’t want to. Not when this was the last time she’d be this close to him. They obviously couldn’t stay together without destroying each other.
“Alex, look at me.”
She forced her gaze to meet his. “You bellowed?”
“What the hell was that?”
She studied the planes and angles of his cheeks, taking the opportunity to memorize each of the sun-induced creases that bracketed his eyes and the fine sandy stubble that shaded his clenched jaw. Why were his boxers in such a bunch? “In case you didn’t notice, I saved your job back there.”
“I noticed all right.”
She wouldn’t—couldn’t—look away. “So what’s the problem?”
“The problem?”
Sam’s face was a dull red—not on the ballistic level of Schmidt’s, but close enough to make her fear his blood pressure would spike. She tried not to imagine the media circus if he had a stroke here in the hallway.
“What’s the problem?” he repeated, louder.
“Take a breath and calm down. Please.”
He inhaled deeply and raked a hand through his hair. “Did you stop to think I might not want to play for a guy who treats you that way?”
He was concerned about her? Now Alex did need to escape. She ducked under his arms and darted down the hall.
“Alex—”
“Schmidt wanted someone to pay.” Blinking to hold off the tears that stung her eyelids, she whirled back to face Sam. “There was no point in both of us ending up unemployed.”
“Maybe I wanted to save your job, you beautiful idiot.” He lunged at her and folded her into a fierce hug.
She sagged against his solid chest and washboard abs, stealing a moment of comfort she in no way deserved. “The phone call was my idea, not yours.”
“I could have said no.”
Alex giggled into his worn cotton T-shirt. “What sane man would turn down smokin’ hot phone sex?”
“One who—” He paused to set her far enough away that he could look into her eyes. His lips curved into a grin. “—How’d you put it? The crazy drunk uncle who’s trying to turn his life around? That guy knows better than to accept poten
tially life-altering telephone nooky.”
“And yet—” Alex sighed. “I can’t see the point of letting both of us suffer for my mistake.”
Sam’s grin turned upside down. “Having a healthy sexual appetite is a mistake?”
“Not always. However, when we work for a man obsessed with building a family-friendly experience, we have to play by his rules.”
“Schmidt’s rules suck.”
“I agree—but we knew what he wanted from us.”
“And we gave it to him.”
Alex jerked her arms out of his loose hold. “And we’ll keep right on giving him what he wants. I’ll clean out my desk, you’ll go to practice—everybody wins.”
“How’s that a win for you?”
In her sensible, low-heeled black pumps, hidden from Sam’s too-perceptive eyes, she crossed her toes. “This job isn’t challenging enough for me. This…incident…forces me to look for a better fit.”
He considered that for a moment and then nodded. “But if you’re not here, how will I see you?”
She blew out a breath. Good. It sounded steadier than she felt. “It’s probably better if we cool it for a while.”
“What? No way!”
Alex held out a hand to stop him from wrapping her into another embrace, knowing if he touched her again, her resolve would crumble. “Think about it, Sam. Every time we’re together, it makes headlines. If you’re going to stay out of the papers, it means you have to stay out of my panties.”
“You’re starting to sound like Schmidt.” He grumbled but stopped advancing on her.
“When the man’s right—”
“He’s not.”
“But he does sign your paychecks.”
Sam finally rocked back on his heels, resignation obvious in his stance. The tiniest spark of relief shone in the depths of his eyes. “I feel like an asshole, letting you take the fall for something we were both an enthusiastic part of.”
Hmm. Maybe it wasn’t relief. At least it was the start of acceptance. She poked her pointer finger into his breastbone and tried to sound tough. “You’re not letting me do anything, Zippy.”
“Zippy?” His eyebrows lifted.
“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.” She winked and blew him a kiss. Then, as fast as her sensible low-heeled pumps would carry her, she strode away, seeking refuge in the big, open space that housed her desk, along with Caro’s and those of three other Condors interns.
Ogling the Outfielder (All's Fair in Love & Baseball Book 4) Page 7