Playing Without Rules: A Baseball Romance

by Rachelle Ayala

  Brock’s face flushed crimson and his muscles tensed. He set his face toward the door and walked out.

  Bianca trembled in Marcia’s arms. “I sorry, Mar-mar. I won’t talk to strangers. I’m scared.”

  Marcia closed her eyes and kissed Bianca. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You want to watch TV with Pappy? I have to tell the stranger to go away.”

  “Yes, Mar-Mar. I’ll be good girl.” Bianca grabbed her blanket and tottered to the family room.

  # # #

  Brock had just finished packing his power tools when the front door opened and out marched Marcia. He slammed the tailgate of his truck and kept his back turned to her.

  She’d all but accused him of being a danger to that precious little sister of hers. It galled him that even though Mr. Powers had accepted his presence, Marcia would overrule her father.

  But then, Marcia knew about his failings and his family history. Did she see a monster in him? Someone who could harm an innocent child?

  “I’m asking you nicely to leave us alone.” Marcia’s arms were crossed as she appeared at his side.

  “You made me a monster in front of your sister. Why?” His throat was tight, fighting for control. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No, I didn’t ask you to come back to town.”

  “Then you lied. You told me you didn’t love me enough to go to Louisiana. All these years, I thought if I’d get a spot with the Rattlers, make my home base here, you’d give me another chance.” Pain like fiery ice shot through his veins and sliced his heart. He’d respected her wishes to make a clean cut, hadn’t contacted her even when his team occasionally played in the vicinity. But the hope of coming back and being a hero in her eyes—that was a dream turned into the present nightmare.

  “That’s not it.” She touched his arm. “I thought you’ve moved on. Why did you come back?”

  He couldn’t help clasping her hand. “I can’t forget you. We were ready to get married, and then when the wrong team drafted me, you broke it off. I was angry at first. Furious that you didn’t love me the way I loved you. I almost quit baseball. I was going to get a job in town, work at the lumberyard or wait tables. But your father talked me out of quitting. He believed in me.”

  “Of course he did. We all did.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “It would have been a shame for you to quit.”

  “I’m not quitting on you either.” He tugged her into his arms and pressed her against his chest. Since she didn’t resist, he kissed the top of her head and inhaled the floral herbal scent of her shampoo. How could he not want her now that she was in his arms? How could she not feel what they still had between them?

  “You should quit while you’re ahead.” Marcia’s voice was tiny, not anywhere as strident as when she first approached him.

  Her body trembled and tensed as she made a move to push away from him. No way. She was right where she belonged, in his arms, and he damn well wasn’t going to let her go without finding some answers.

  He tipped her chin so she’d face him. “If I’ve hurt you or did something wrong, tell me.”

  The blue in her eyes deepened, and she shook her head slowly. “It’s not you. You didn’t hurt me.”

  “Then why are you so hostile? You act like you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Her words were whispered in a fluttering breath, her expression softening.

  “That’s a good start. How about we declare a truce?” He slanted his head, moving in, his gaze focused on her tantalizing lips, red like strawberries, firm and pouty.

  “That’s close enough, cowboy.” She squared her shoulders and leaned away. “A truce, but only on my terms.”

  “I might have a few terms of my own.”

  Having her so close boiled the blood in his veins. His muscles were already warm from fixing the porch, and her ruffled, just-woken-up look didn’t help to quench his intense desire for her.

  As if sensing the direction his thoughts had taken, Marcia pushed away and retreated onto the porch, turning toward the porch swing. “Thanks for fixing this.”

  “All it needed was a new chain and some cleaning.” He wondered if she were remembering the hours they’d spent making out on the swing.

  “How much do I owe you?” She put a knee on it, testing it. “Add in the planks for the porch and your labor too.”

  Her words stung. Brock slammed the tailgate of his truck and crossed his arms, leaning against it. “How about a date for starters?”

  “Sorry, I’ve no time for dates.”

  “Then I’ll see you at the bar tonight.” He tucked his baseball cap over his head and opened the door to his truck.

  “Actually I’m not working tonight. I have a date.”

  “Great! I’ll pick you up at eight.” He slid into his truck and turned on the ignition.

  Chapter Four

  Arrogant ass. Marcia slapped her thighs and stomped into the house, even as her female parts quivered and her breasts tingled with want. How could he possibly have misunderstood her brush-off to believe she’d agreed to go out with him?

  Of course, with the state of alert her hormones were in, it would take an excruciating long chess game with Conrad to numb her body and senses back to hibernation mode. As if that would be possible with Brock Carter and his bat within a fifty mile radius of her.

  She touched her cheek, still damp with his sweat, and bit her tingling lips. He’d come too close, so close she could almost taste him, feel that tang of his stubble, the sweep of his dominating tongue and melt into his possessive arms. In the space of a single embrace, he’d disarmed her defenses, stripped her of her better sense and had her wet and wanting at his feet.

  If only things were different.

  “Mar-Mar, is the stranger gone?” Bianca’s voice snapped her back to the stark reality of her life without Brock.

  Marcia stiffened her spine. Brock had to go. No way could she allow Bianca to end up battered and frightened, cowering like the women at the shelter she’d volunteered at during her college days. She hadn’t gotten a degree in abnormal psychology for nothing. Nope, she had to woman-up and get on with her life, which meant keeping her daughter safe.

  Marcia stepped into the house and picked Bianca up. “Everything’s going to be okay. Let’s get you dressed and ready for school. After that, we can go to the park and feed the ducks.”

  “Yay!” Bianca clapped her hands. “I love feeding ducks.”

  “Great.” Marcia kissed her daughter. “You be a good girl at school, and we can get ice cream after the park.”

  While Marcia got Bianca ready for school, her father shuffled by, holding a folded up newspaper and a clipboard. “Brock gave me tickets for the game this afternoon. You might not want to be his friend, but he’s my friend and I’m not turning my back on him.”

  “That’s fine, Pappy. But you know what I told you. I don’t want him getting close to you know who.” She combed through Bianca’s fine hair. “Please respect my wishes.”

  “Of course, I definitely will.” Pappy winked, his mouth splitting with a sly smile as he ambled to the kitchen.

  Grrr … with fathers like him, who needed enemies? Pappy was obviously a man and had no idea how women felt about domestic violence. Marcia didn’t want to get into an argument, but she’d remind Bianca to let her know if she met any strangers, even Pappy-approved strangers.

  After Bianca was dressed, Marcia led her out the door. The scent of fresh cut wood and the solid feel of the porch reminded her she owed Brock for his work. She’d mail him a check, but it was unlikely she could avoid him since he could pop into her bar any time it was open.

  There was the clause that she could refuse service to anyone she deemed unfit, but Brock’s teammates wouldn’t understand and she would jeopardize her business if word got out that she was unfriendly to ballplayers. The bouncers last night had been overkill, and dammit, she owed him an apology.

  She tugged at the chain on the porch s
wing and tapped the reinforced railing. For all his faults, Brock Carter was a generous man, and he’d spent many hours helping her father fix up the house, even before he started dating her. If only he weren’t so damaged and unstable.

  Marcia buckled Bianca into her car seat, half-heartedly listening to her prattle about spider men and ninja turtles. Bianca seemed to have forgotten about Brock already.

  Good. Marcia should have been able to breathe easier, but her lungs heaved and her heart fluttered, and she was as calm as a tigress in heat. All because Brock Carter had been here. Brock Carter had wrapped his arms around her, and Brock Carter had almost kissed her.

  Damn that Brock Carter. Since he was coming by at eight, she’d ask Jeanine to wait on the porch tonight. Jeanine would take care of him. She’d do it for her, as a friend.

  Marcia’s stomach wobbled at the image of Jeanine and Brock together, and bile slipped up her throat. But it had to be done. For Bianca’s sake.

  It was the right thing to do, to quell any residual desire she’d have for a man who was all the way wrong for her. If only she could convince her heart, the one kicking and screaming like a disobedient child going into time out.

  # # #

  Brock drove his pickup truck down the quiet residential street. The sun had set an hour ago taking with it the heat of the day. Dusk was his favorite time of the day, that in between time when he and Marcia used to lounge on the porch swing. They’d kiss and make out, but they’d also talk about their dreams, the places they’d go and the adventures they’d have.

  Those had been the innocent days, before they went to college and discovered the pleasures of making love. Ironic that the more they’d shared of their bodies, the less they’d communicated. He’d thought everything was great—she’d accepted his engagement ring, swore she loved him, and even worked on her wedding gown with her mother. And then, it had all fallen apart when he hadn’t made the team.

  He growled, clearing his gritty, dry throat and swerved onto the gravel at the side of her house. The lights were off and the house appeared empty. What had he expected? That she’d change her plans because he misunderstood?

  His heart leaped when he stepped from his truck and heard the scratchy squeak of the old porch swing, reminding himself to oil it the next time he dropped by. Marcia was sitting in the dark waiting for him. She remembered, despite her stern words.

  He bounded up the porch steps. “Marcia, I knew you’d be here. Just like old times.”

  She came toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned in to kiss her and right as his lips touched hers, he stepped back.

  “You’re not Marcia.”

  Jeanine flicked on the porch light and smirked, her eyes raking his body. “Marcia asked me to show you a good time. How about it, big boy? How about putting your bat between my legs tonight?”

  Oh hell. He knew Jeanine all right. Most every guy on the team knew her as well. Fuck this to hell. The Marcia he knew didn’t play fucked up games. Hadn’t he fixed her porch and treated her like an angel? Stated his intentions to woo her and asked what was bothering her?

  He brushed his hand over his head and heaved a breath. The piece of material Jeanine stretched across her could barely be called a dress, and shit yeah, there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t respond to her obvious desire. There was only one thing to do.

  Smiling, he reached out and took Jeanine’s hand. “Marcia wants you to show me a good time, then heck yeah, let’s do it.”

  Chapter Five

  The Hot Corner was hopping as crowds of ballplayers, fans, and locals danced to the hot licks of the Desert Rats blues-rock band. Marcia missed Jeanine’s help and had to call in a few temps, but it was all for a good cause.

  Only the good cause didn’t feel good inside. Cold sweat chilled Marcia’s forehead, and pinpricks crawled up her scalp as she tried not to think about Brock’s hands expertly fondling Jeanine’s breasts, his mouth curved over Jeanine’s hungry lips, and his long, hard erection massaging between her best friend’s legs.

  Damn. She pulled the beer tap too hard and splattered her blouse. In front of her, a rowdy group of frat boys laughed, their eyes greedily focused on the wetness over her chest.

  Marcia pulled another pitcher and filled it. She wasn’t in a friendly mood tonight, and fortunately, the bar was so crowded she didn’t have time to chat between orders.

  The band flourished with the ending chords of an upbeat tune. Sweaty dancers clapped and exited the dance floor when the lead singer tapped on the mic.

  “The next song is classic Clapton and is dedicated to a wonderful lady by the man who wants her back. Listen closely to the color of her hair.” Leaning back, he signaled the band to start.

  Marcia wasn’t about to listen to any love song. Not when her heart was splintering into a million pieces. She had Jeanine’s timetable down. After a quick French kissing appetizer, she’d take her date to a bar and tuck away a few drinks. They’d dance and gyrate, practically having sex on the floor before slow dancing sensually and seductively. She’d wrap herself like a writhing serpent entwined around her target. Her barely-there dress would cling to her delectable body, clearly outlining her perky breasts. Then, as the song finished, Jeanine would draw her hapless victim into a deep, never-ending kiss, oblivious to the world. From there, they’d pull each other to the parking lot and tumble into her BMW. Kissing and groping, unable to restrain themselves, her friend would wrap her legs around the man’s waist and allow herself to be carried into her apartment. The coupling would occur multiple times and utilize every horizontal and vertical surface, starting with the wall at the entry, then the coffee table, the kitchen counter, the shower with the double spraying heads, and end on the expansive waterbed.

  Knowing Brock’s endurance and size, Marcia doubted Jeanine would be fit to work the next day. Which sucked because she needed her date with Conrad to put her plan into action. Brock was the kind of man who’d turn Jeanine monogamous, and it would absolutely shred Marcia’s heart and soul to pieces if her best friend forever were to latch onto the man who held her heart and soul.

  Marcia slapped the side of her head and crushed her eyes shut. Her heart wasn’t big enough to wish Jeanine happiness with Brock. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t want him, but she couldn’t let anyone else have him either.

  Someone jostled her, and a male voice said, “Hey, isn’t that Jeanine on the dance floor?”

  Marcia looked up in time to see Conrad smirk. “How about me and you show them?”

  “I’m working …”

  “Boss won’t give you a break?” Conrad winked, his hand firm on her arm.

  The last person Marcia wanted to see dancing with Brock was Jeanine. She’d rather sink into a sinkhole, but the sooner she showed Brock she didn’t care, the faster he’d leave her alone.

  The crowd parted as Conrad pulled Marcia onto the floor to sway to the solo guitar riffs of Eric Clapton’s song, “Wonderful Tonight.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Seeing Jeanine and Brock together squeezed all the blood from her veins.

  They were dancing so close, pressed against each other like lovers. Marcia’s stomach revolted, and her heart pole-vaulted to her throat as nausea enveloped her in Conrad’s arms.

  She wasn’t feeling wonderful at all. Not with Conrad’s creaky voice in her ear and her hands on his soft, hollow chest. As he sang in her ear, one word jumped and poked Marcia’s sodden heart. Conrad said “long blond,” but the singer sang “dark brown.”

  At that moment, Brock turned toward Marcia and stared at her, his gaze penetrating through her core. As if in a daze, Jeanine unwrapped herself from him and claimed Conrad, while Brock reeled Marcia in.

  All sorts of relief and fireworks and happy steps bounced and exploded over Marcia’s skin, nerves, and heart. She sank into Brock’s embrace, losing all muscle tone and would have collapsed if he hadn’t held her.

  “Are you wonderful tonight?” he whispered, his hot breat
h fanning her ear.

  Marcia could only nod in awe. Everything seemed sweeter. The colors brighter, the scents and sounds more vibrant, and she was enclosed in a warm and comforting bubble, isolated and clinging onto her lifeline, the only man who’d ever be enough for her.

  “That’s good, Marcia, because sometimes I wonder if you don’t realize just how much I love you.”

  Marcia wasn’t sure when the music stopped, or how the dance ended. Had Jeanine taken over at the bar? Where did Conrad go? Or did she even care?

  Brock had her in his arms outside the bar, standing under a desert willow. His greenish-gray eyes glistened tenderly, focused on her, dark with desire, yet narrowed and questioning.

  “Did you really believe I’d fall for your Jeanine trap?” He caressed the side of her lips with his index finger. “Did you have such little faith in me, or were you testing me?”

  Marcia felt all kinds of caught, like pants-down on the toilet caught. All the worry and fears of Jeanine having her way with Brock tumbled like play bricks in a preschool romper room.

  Whether Brock loved her or not wasn’t the issue. And yes, she’d been worried sick. As for Jeanine, she truly was the best friend ever, and Marcia shouldn’t have begrudged her eternal happiness, except not with Brock. Not ever.

  “Seeing as how you’re speechless, I’ll take it as a win. Let’s go back to my place.”

  He still wanted her? After the crap she’d just pulled?

  # # #

  Brock would have been angry at Marcia’s stunt. In fact, he should be majorly pissed off. But as Jeanine had reminded him, Marcia wouldn’t have tried to foist him off on her had she not had deep feelings, the kind that she couldn’t quench without going to drastic measures.

  He couldn’t help the grin creeping on his face. Marcia, the bossy, take charge woman, had been shocked to silence. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart was beating unevenly under her damp blouse which reeked of beer. She had tried her best to get rid of him, and it had backfired.