Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance)

by Hargrove,A. M.

  Sorry, Ryder, but I couldn’t make it because I had to wash my hair. Or, Sorry, Ryder, I needed to go out and buy some toothpaste, so I hate that I missed the most important game of your career.

  All this shit rolls through my head while I shower and sours my mood, even after the accolades on our win.

  As I’m packing up my duffle bag and getting ready to leave, Robinson yells, “Hey, Ryder, you coming?”

  “What?”

  “You coming with us? You know, to celebrate?”

  “Oh.” I scratch my chin. “I don’t know. I’m wiped out.”

  “Yeah, but you need to party, dude. You totally killed it out there.”

  “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

  He grabs my arm and starts pulling me in the direction of the exit. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Let’s get out of here.”

  Looks like I won’t be getting out of this, so I follow him to The Cougars Beer Stand, the team’s favorite watering hole. The place is jammed when we get there. The management is even present, including Ms. Whitestone herself. She’s buying drinks for everyone, and it appears it’s going to be party time tonight. I might as well join in the fun.

  “Ryder, that was one hell of a game you threw tonight.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Whitestone.”

  “One step closer to that ace position you covet so much.”

  I shrug. I think it’s bad karma to talk about this in front of other players, so my deal is to play it off as noncommittal. But she doesn’t drop it.

  “I owe you a favor anyway, for what you did for me. You know, the escort service?”

  Heads turn our way when she mentions it.

  Immediately, I jump in with, “How could I forget? It’s a great charity. I love kids, and I was glad to help raise money for such a worthy cause.” Hopefully, that will stop the gossipers from starting any crazy rumors.

  A shot of something clear is shoved in my hand, and everyone around us raises their glasses as we toast our win. I down the clear stuff, and it burns a path to my stomach. Someone calls my name and motions me over. It’s the perfect distraction, so I excuse myself and head in that direction. Another shot of something, this time it’s red, is handed to me. I honestly don’t want it, but if I don’t down it, they’ll call me a pussy. That’s one moniker I don’t want attached to my name. So I tip the glass, and in one long swallow, it’s down the hatch. It’s sweet and leaves my mouth feeling sticky, so I know to stay away from that crap.

  Pushing my way through the crowd, I make it up to the bar and order a Jameson on the rocks. It reminds me of my cousin, Fletcher, and that I need to give him a call. His season is underway, and the Rockets are having a helluva year so far.

  “Hey, Ryder. Great game, man.” It’s one of the other pitchers, and he slaps me on the back.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. Great work in closing out the game.”

  He nods. “Hey, keep that up and you’ll be the starter next season.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “Your speed, accuracy, and the fact that you’ve never been injured or have had any issues make you a pretty good bet.” He acts damn convincing. “But, cheers. Here’s to a great game.”

  We clink glasses. With the way the alcohol is flowing, it won’t take long for me to get tanked. The music is loud, and people are already dancing.

  All of a sudden, one of the guys yells out, “Tequila shots on the house.”

  David Lester moves in on the other side of me and says, “My fucking head is going to be exploding all over town tomorrow.”

  “Same here.”

  Then I see one of our outfielders walking by guzzling a bottle of champagne. I hope no one plans on driving.

  David leans close to my ear and says, “What do you think about Whitestone?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Would you fuck her? She’s a pretty hot cougar, if you ask me. You know, cougars and MILFs are the thing these days.”

  “Lester, who are you? Are you the same guy who wanted to tour a corn pipe factory in Ashville and had never been to a sex club?”

  David laughs and ignores my jab. “What? She remind you too much of Mom?”

  “Okay, that’s just disgusting. You can’t be saying shit like that, man.”

  All I can see is Gina with her dark hair, smooth as silk skin, and gorgeous eyes, and I say, “I think I’ll pass on that one.” The thought almost makes me gag.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head, still chuckling.

  “Besides, it’s not that—”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. “That’s right. You’re with someone, that girl from the club, aren’t you?”

  “Thought I was,” is all I say.

  “You two break it off?” David asks.

  “I don’t know what the fuck we are, if you want the truth.”

  A waitress walks by with those test tube shots, and David buys a couple. “Here.” He hands me one. “You need one of these.”

  I down it, and it tastes like butterscotch. I have no idea what I’m drinking, but I don’t even care anymore. “I don’t think I need any more alcohol.” My words are already slurred.

  “Who does?” he asks. “The point isn’t that we need it. It’s that we want it, Wilde.”

  As I glance across the room, it suddenly looks like a swarm of half-naked women have invaded this place. Their phones are out as they snap pictures of everyone.

  “Photo alert. The groupies have descended,” I say.

  David turns around as three of them approach us.

  “Aren’t you Ryder Wilde?” one of them asks.

  David points at me and says, “That’s him. In the flesh.”

  One of them, a bleached blond says, “Oooh, can I get a picture with you?”

  Not giving me a chance to reply, she sidles next to me and takes a selfie. I’m sure I appear to be a wide-eyed inebriated idiot. The other two replace her and do the same. Then all three of them are hunkered around me, and I am the object of the selfie invasion. More women approach me, and I see David backing away, laughing. That fucker. They grab my ass, my arms, my pecs, and one of them even does a crotch squeeze and tries to massage my balls. What the hell kind of women are these?

  “We heard you like it wild, Mr. Wilde.”

  “Yeah, well, you heard wrong. I’m the tame sort, if you want to know the truth.” By now, the vultures have me backed against the bar, and I’m trapped, with no escape in sight. One of them leans into my face, and she smells like week old stale beer. Short of decking them with my fists, I don’t know what the hell to do.

  But then I hear, “Excuse me, ladies. I need to have a little chat with Mr. Wilde.”

  The crowd parts like the Red Sea, and there stands Whitestone in all her cougar glory. And I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I nearly throw myself at her fuck me pumps.

  She grabs my hand, and I hold on to it like the lifeline from a rescue boat as we sail on past the groupies. We get to a place where the crowd has thinned, and I get ready to thank her. Before I can utter a single syllable, her mouth crashes onto mine, and I am stupefied as she proceeds to kiss me. The only thing I can think of is at least she doesn’t smell like week old stale beer. But then it hits me, despite the shadowy corner she pulls me into, I realize there are people around us, watching.

  Fuck!

  Placing my hands on her upper arms, I move her to a safe distance away, and her sly grin tells me more than I need to know.

  “Ryder, come home with me. It will be worth your while in more ways than what you’re thinking.”

  Even in my drunken state, I know what I need to do. “I’m flattered, Ms. Whitestone, but I’m seriously involved in a relationship.”

  She pouts, “That’s too bad.” But that only lasts for a second. Then her red-stained lips curve upward. “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re passing up an opportunity of a lifetim
e.”

  Having a one-night stand with a woman my mother’s age doesn’t seem so to me, but I keep the smile pasted on my face. “I’m glad you think so highly of me, but I have to say no.” And I almost add—thanks for thinking of me—but change my mind at the last minute. It’s a good thing. That would’ve sounded stupid, exactly how I feel right now.

  She pats my cheek, and her thumb swipes lipstick from my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I see people with their phones out snapping pictures. Great. Just great. Now everyone is going to think we’re an item. Fuck me backwards. And upside down while you’re at it. This is all I need. If Gina catches wind of this, she’s never going to believe I was innocent. But then again, do I really care? She’s the one who stood me up today.

  I stand there and watch Ms. Whitestone walk away and wonder where the fuck Gina is anyway. And that thought brings in the pissed off as hell feeling all over again. So, what do I do? I head back to the bar for another tequila shot. The way I figure is what the fuck. I may as well drown my Gina sorrows now, because I’m sure I’ll be paying for it later.

  GINA

  The plane ride should have been enjoyable. Instead, I’m a nervous wreck. How can I not be? Thank goodness for Mark. His presence calms my nerves. I spend half the time on the phone with Cassie and the other being consoled by Mark. Between the two of them, they prepare me for what I’m about to face.

  Now I stand in front of a door at a house that isn’t mine. Mark’s earlier hug and encouragement have helped me get to this point because he hasn’t been allowed to accompany me. I take a deep breath and turn the handle.

  I don’t know what to expect. As I walk into a well-lit large room with many windows and furniture of museum quality, I see what may be a mirror into my future. The woman in the bed with a duvet tucked to her waist leans against the headboard wearing glasses on a face that looks more like me than I dreamed. She also doesn’t look as frail as I expected. My emotions are raw and all over the place.

  “Gina.” Her voice is as regal as the house. I glance up from the spot on the floor I’d found a second before. “I never did like that name.”

  Snarky me is quick with a response. “I guess you shouldn’t have given me up then.”

  My words are sharp, but the contempt I feel cannot be contained.

  “So much like your father.”

  I release a humorless laugh. “Not sure why you would think that. You barely knew the man, and he barely knows me. He was too busy living his own life to be bothered with a child he didn’t want.”

  She slides off her glasses, and I’m more surprised by her unlined face. Then again, with the money this woman has, I shouldn’t have expected less. In fact, her hair is darker than mine with no hint of her true age.

  “That’s unfortunate,” she says.

  “You know what’s unfortunate? That I’m here. I’ve been led to believe that you are on your deathbed. But I assume now that was a lie to get me here.”

  “Gina.”

  I hold up a hand.

  “Please, don’t bother. I missed my boyfriend’s game for this lie of yours. And just so you know, I don’t want your money or your lifestyle. Obviously, you are a very lonely woman to pull a trick to get me here.”

  Spinning on my heels, I march toward the door when she says so calmly, “Boyfriend. That wouldn’t be Ryder Wilde? Apparently, he doesn’t know the meaning of a relationship if the pictures of him in the tabloids are to be believed.”

  Slowly, I turn to face her. “That’s low, even for you. You don’t know him.”

  Anger wells up inside me. I trust him. I do.

  A pale wrist lifts with a remote clutched in it. A tap on the iPad on her lap and the TV behind me comes to life. I turn to see a reporter, if you can call her that, fill the screen.

  “Pictures of Ryder Wilde have surfaced all over the internet and social media. After his spectacular win that clenched the Cougars into the playoffs, he was seen with not one but three women. That isn’t what caught our eyes. It was the pictures of him lip-locked with the owner of the Cougars that have us all wondering what’s going on with the up and coming pitcher and the owner of the team.”

  I have no idea the depths of my feelings for the man until tears form in my eyes, but I hold them at bay. Instead, I swallow my pride and face the woman who gave me half of my DNA.

  Shrugging, I say, “We have an open relationship.”

  The lie is blatant, but I said it anyway to save face.

  A perfectly polished nail strikes the iPad, silencing the room.

  “Is that so? Is that why you haven’t ended your membership to that sex club?”

  Slack-jawed, I open and close my mouth a few times before I say, “You’ve been checking up on me.”

  Her skin pales, and a sheen of sweat forms on her stately face. She wheezes out her next word, “Yes.”

  That’s when I get something is wrong. The façade she’s made crumbles. Still, I ask the question. “Why?”

  She reaches under her pillow and pulls out what appears to be an inhaler. She sucks in a deep breath from the object and exhales long.

  A few seconds later, she glances up at me. She labors through as she speaks. “I know you might not believe me, but if I had been as strong as you, I would not have given you up. Since I have had control of the company, I have done my best to make sure you were okay. I had a private detective check up on you. The pictures he brought back were of a well-adjusted teen. If I had known…”

  “Well-adjusted.” I laugh. “I did what I had to do. It’s not like Dad beat me or anything. He just wasn’t there.”

  “Your grandparents?” she croaks.

  “They raised their son.” I figure that is as good enough answer.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Then we stare at one another. I fidget, not sure what to do at this point because a part of me believes her or wants to. The other part is still mad for the life I never had.

  She struggles to speak, and her voice has lost its bravado. “The company and everything you see and everything that is mine is still yours. It will be deeded to you. It will be simpler if you just sign the documents now and avoid probate.”

  My cold heart starts to melt because I can see that she is as sick as I was led to believe. Still, where was she when I needed a mom?

  “Is there someone I can call to help you?”

  Shaking her head, she lifts the other hand and presses a button on a cylindrical object. Not two seconds later, a team of people swarm into the room like bees buzzing about. An oxygen mask is placed over her face, and a young woman with a stern expression, probably due to the severe bun at the nape of her neck, corrals me over to the side.

  “Ms. Vecchio needs her rest. She has instructed me to offer you a room to stay for the night.”

  Immediately, I shake my head no. The woman, who has yet to introduce herself, glances back at my birth mom. Silent communication happens, and I can tell this woman has been in her employ for some time.

  “She suspected as much and rooms have been booked at a hotel for you and your companion.”

  Companion? I don’t bother to correct her. The less these people know about me the better. It feels as though I have few secrets left if she’s been checking into my life. And for how long?

  “I would like to go home.”

  The woman places her hand on my arm. “She doesn’t have a lot of time. If I were you, I would consider that this may be your last time you’ll be able to talk with her.”

  As overwhelmed as I am, she’s right. Are there questions I have? I’m not sure. But maybe sleeping on it before running will be a good idea. I nod my head.

  I give the bed and my mother one last glance before I’m ushered out of the room.

  Later, I pace the hotel room, confused about everything. So many times I’ve typed a message to Ryder, only to erase it. I stop, knowing Mark is waiting for me downstairs. We are to have drinks down at th
e bar. So finally, I decide on the truth.

  Me: I’m sorry I missed your game. I wasn’t given a lot of time when I was told to come meet my birth mother before she passed on. But it looks like you made the best of your win. Congratulations.

  It’s a long message, but says everything that needed saying. Childishly, I turn off my phone and head to the bar where Mark and I drink until closing and find our way back to our rooms.

  The next morning, I wake with heavy eyes and blurred vision. The pounding in my head is like a bass drum on steroids. I need coffee like fish need water. The suite at the five-star hotel has a full kitchen, and I make my way there.

  Before I can get the coffee started, I hear heated voices outside my door. I press at the pressure points on my temple and make my way for the door. Opening it, I find Ryder and the lawyer locked like stags over the last doe.

  “Ryder, why are you here? And how did you find me?”

  He flashes me a smile that gets me wet. Damn him.

  “My cousin is Fletcher,” he announces proudly.

  There is no need to explain more. Traitors, the both of them, Cassie and Mark have turned to the dark side no doubt. But I’ll have words with them both.

  Ryder scoots by Mr. Giovanni like he owns the place. The other man scowls.

  “Your mother would like to see you this morning,” the lawyer says.

  I nod. “Give me five.”

  Then I close the door in the lawyer’s face. Crossing my arms over my chest, I pivot and face the man who’s starred in every dream I’ve had since I met him for the first time.

  “Shouldn’t you be fucking your way to the ace position?”

  That dulls the beautiful smile from his face.

  “Got your claws out this morning, I see.”

  I shrug, hoping he can’t see the hurt that hides just below the surface of my skin.

  “That’s what you think of me.”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to discount your lips on hers.”

  “Her lips on mine, you mean. I didn’t see it coming.”

  I let out a harrumph. “I’ll give you that one. But what about the girl with her hands on your dick?”