by Sykes, V. K.
As a player, you were just a bunch of numbers and percentages. You could be replaced at any time by some guy with equivalent production numbers, like changing a dollar for four quarters.
Did heart and guts and loyalty factor into the equation? Not like they used to. While he hoped they still counted for something, Ryan felt the leash tighten more every day. And after his pathetic performance in the field this afternoon, he knew he had to expect the worst. If the Hornets still had any faith in his arm after what had happened today, it would be a certifiable miracle.
As he showered and finished dressing, his mind drifted back to that silent but intense pre-game encounter with Taylor Page. Ryan couldn’t help wondering how she had viewed his performance today. Man, she’d looked hot, and that intriguing little smile she’d given him had hit him low in the gut, even from yards away.
Before hiding behind those big sunglasses, that is. She’d actually looked surprised when he nodded at her in recognition, but he kept track of the comings and goings of general managers and other high-level front office staff. After all, those were the people that held a player’s career in their hands.
Taylor Page was a comer in baseball, and had been widely seen as such since she first surfaced in the big leagues. With the White Sox and then in a lengthy stint with the L.A. Dragons, she’d earned a reputation as one of the league’s statistical hotshots—an executive who relied on sophisticated analysis more than on the decades of experience as a player, coach or scout that were the hallmarks of most front office staff.
Well, if the gorgeous brainiac was focused on stats, she’d probably be impressed by what she saw on his sheets, especially the numbers that showed how he could get on base with a walk better than most guys in the league. Until last year at least, his fielding stats were stellar, too. His reliable glove and decent arm had led to a below average number of errors, and his defensive range was in the top twenty per cent of his peers.
But would she or anybody else watching him screw things up today care about that history? Or would they think like the Hornets apparently did—that a once highly productive player was now over the hill and expendable?
For some reason, he thought Page might still see value in somebody like him. Obviously, it wasn’t because she’d given him that sweet, almost shy smile. She was just being nice when she did that. But he’d heard from a few players on the White Sox and the Dragons that the young management hottie had bigger balls than any guy in their front office, and had pushed for some of her teams’ most successful moves.
But was she actually scouting him? This was the Patriots’ home park, after all. Maybe she was just strolling around the stands at that hour to get some fresh air. Maybe she just happened to stop by the Hornets’ batting cage when he was waiting to take his turn. The fact that she’d been staring at him—he’d watched her out of the corner of his eye before he turned to face her—probably meant nothing at all.
But for some vague feeling that he couldn’t quite pin down, his gut told him that she was on a mission when it came to him, and Ryan sure as hell hoped he was wrong. As much as he wouldn’t mind seeing more of Taylor Page, a future with Philadelphia Patriots—for a lot of reasons—could only end up painful and short-lived.
* * *
AS TAYLOR WALKED through the stadium concourse, still wracking her brains for a way to handle Ryan Locke, she glanced up and saw Joe Ridge, the GM of the Hornets, heading in her direction. She and Joe were good friends, having developed a solid relationship with him when they’d both worked for the L.A. Dragons. Joe had eventually gone on to land the top job as GM with the Pittsburgh Hornets, while she went to Philly. Though the Patriots and the Hornets were division rivals, Taylor knew she could trust Joe, and vice-versa. They could toss around ideas without her having to fear that she might end up hung out to dry with her boss.
Not that she’d ever be anything but loyal to her team. Taylor might be as ambitious as anybody on the planet, but she’d never do something on the side with Joe that had even the remotest possibility of damaging the interests of her club.
“Hey, Joe,” she said with a grin as they met just in front of the store that sold Patriots’ gear and all manner of other baseball paraphernalia.
“Taylor!” Joe gave her an enthusiastic hug, practically crushing her against his beefy, six-four frame. “I was hoping I’d see you here today.”
“You should have called, my friend. We could have done lunch today.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t get away till the last minute. You know how it is.”
“Sure. But do you have a minute now? I want to ask you about something.”
“Sure, but how about dinner tonight,” he said. “I’m going to the Summer Moon with one of our scouts and our minor league operations coordinator. Why don’t you join us?”
She put up an apologetic hand. “Thanks, but I don’t think so, Joe. I don’t want to impose on your meeting.”
“Not a problem. We’re just three old hands having dinner and shooting the breeze about baseball.”
Taylor considered it. The Summer Moon was famous as a hangout for ballplayers in the Tampa Bay area during the spring training months. Would Ryan Locke show up? It was worth a shot and she did want to spend time with Joe, so it was a win/win, as far as she could tell.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt somebody like me to be seen letting her hair down a little bit in a place like that, would it?” she said. “I don’t want everybody down here to think the new girl’s got a big old stick up her ass.” There had already been too many whispers around the team that she was Dembinski’s pampered pet and a bit of a know-it-all.
“Done deal. Eight o’clock at the Summer Moon.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “Now, what’s on your mighty brain?”
A little edgy, Taylor hesitated before answering. “I’d like to think out loud with you for a minute, if that’s okay. Confidentially.”
“Sure. Let’s sit down,” Joe said, pointing to some small deserted tables across from the pizza concession. A red-shirted employee was pulling down the pizzeria’s aluminum shutters and the stadium was practically empty. They should have plenty of privacy.
After they sat, Taylor came right to the point. “I didn’t miss the fact that Ryan Locke played the whole nine this afternoon. I have to say that surprised me, considering that you’ve been giving Antonio Swain half the playing time.”
“Still as observant as ever,” Ridge acknowledged with a sly smile. He tended not to give direct answers unless you pried them out of his mouth.
“I expect I’m not the only one today giving Locke a careful look, am I?” Taylor said, knowing she wasn’t likely to get a straight answer to that question, either.
Joe shrugged.
The preliminaries having been completed, Taylor got serious. “Look, Joe, it’s obvious you were showcasing the guy today. So, I just want you to be aware that if Locke’s going to be on the trading block, the Patriots might well have some interest.”
“No shit?” Joe sat up straight, his hands looking enormous as he clasped them together on the tiny table. “Got to be your idea, not Dembinski’s, right?”
Taylor nodded.
“Well, then, between you and me, the answer is yes. We’d like to move Locke, even though he’s still got a lot to offer. It’s not fair to keep Swain in the minors any longer. The kid’s ticketed to be our starting left fielder on opening day.”
Taylor leaned back and crossed her legs to give the impression she was more relaxed than she felt. “Okay, so let’s be real, Joe. Locke’s defense has gone south. Gone south real bad.”
Another snort. “Undeniable.” His eyes bored into hers. “Which makes me wonder why you guys would have interest in Locke. An AL team, on the other hand…”
Taylor tried to look nonchalant as she read between the lines. “I presume nobody’s made an actual offer yet, though?”
He gave her a hard look that told her the answer was no. “What do you think Dembinski would off
er me for a guy who’ll probably only pinch hit and start once a week for you? Hell, you’ve got three of the best outfielders in the game already.”
Taylor knew he wasn’t expecting a specific answer, but she had to confirm strong interest. “Joe, if I decide to go to Dave with this idea, I’m well aware that we’d have to offer you something substantial in return.”
“That you will, my friend.”
“We’d want a full medical run-up, of course,” she said. “A weak wing is one thing, but a career-ending injury is another.”
Joe scoffed. “Rest easy on that score. There’s nothing structurally wrong with Locke’s arm. We’ve had him checked out six ways from Sunday. There’s some arthritis there for sure, but it’s no big deal.” He tapped a fingernail on the metal table, then continued. “The thing is, Taylor, Ryan wants to go to an AL team if we ever move him. He told me that straight out.”
Taylor’s heart started to sink. “It sounds like you’re inclined to accommodate him, too.”
Joe spread his hands again. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“Some people would call me a mental case for even considering it, but I know you won’t,” she replied with a wry smile. “I was thinking about Locke as a temporary answer at first base for us until Stark gets back.”
If Stark gets back was more like it.
Joe’s brows lifted. “I thought you guys were handing that job to that Corbin kid?”
Taylor shook her head. “He’s definitely the future, but he’s not ready now.”
Joe shook his head, clearly in disbelief. “Ryan Locke at first base. Now, that’s a little out there even for you, hon.”
“Why?” Taylor said, struggling not to come off as too defensive.
“Let’s start with the fact that he’s never played first base in his entire career. Or ever, as far as I know.”
She batted that aside. “Minor detail. He wouldn’t be the first guy to have to learn how to play first.”
Joe’s features took on a more serious cast. “True enough. But don’t you think you’re kind of skating on thin ice here, Taylor? Now that I know you’ve got a plan for Locke and you really want him, why wouldn’t I take a harder line on the price?”
Taylor shot him an incredulous look. “First, you don’t really know how much I want him. Second, you sure don’t know how much Dembinski wants him, if at all. Third, if we do make an offer, we’re really playing against some AL team, not in the abstract. If we make you a better offer than the AL guys, you’ll take it. Simple as that.”
Joe leaned back in his chair and propped his entwined hands on his gut. “Simple as that,” he said with a fatherly smile.
Taylor reached across and gave him a playful poke on the bicep. She had only one more question. “You know Locke pretty well, I’d imagine?”
Joe ran his hands down his thighs, smoothing his slacks as if he was ready to get up and leave. “Yeah, sure. He’s a solid guy. The real deal.”
“So, if we asked him to move to first base, do you think he’s the kind of player who’d look on it as a challenge, or would he take it as an insult?”
Taylor knew she was calling for a guess on Joe’s part, but she trusted her pal’s instincts and experience so much that what he was about to say could make a major difference in whether she went to Dembinski with her idea or threw it in the mental trashcan.
Joe inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Hell, girl, what a question.” He paused for another few moments. “Honestly, Taylor, I don’t really know the answer to that. But I will say this. I think Ryan will hate the idea with every fiber of his being.”
4
WHAT THE HELL was up with Taylor Page, anyway? It seemed like every time Ryan glanced her way, she was looking straight at him with those piercing baby blues of hers. Even weirder, every time he caught her, she immediately swung her attention back to Joe Ridge, who must have wondered why his dinner companion’s gaze was centered just over his left shoulder. Two other guys were at their table, but they were in the process of leaving.
Okay, Ryan was pretty much directly in Page’s line of sight. So if she looked past Ridge and straight across three other tables at the Summer Moon, she was naturally going to be staring right at him. And he was sitting in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that gave out onto a spectacular nighttime view of the Gulf of Mexico. Still, he would bet a thousand bucks that her attention on him wasn’t a figment of his imagination, and it was probably no accident that she showed up at the bar tonight, either. Checking him out at batting practice, drinking at the same bar, eyeing him repeatedly—it added up to a big mess of something’s going on, babe.
Ryan enjoyed hanging out at the Summer Moon during spring training. Shooting the breeze with other players and having a few brews helped him unwind after a game, and was usually good for a few laughs. There was an easy camaraderie that disappeared once the regular season got underway and the pressure started to ratchet up. And Ryan needed relaxation a lot more than usual. The gut-tightening tension that came from being showcased for a trade wasn’t going to fade until something happened, one way or the other.
He gave it ten more minutes, but Taylor kept sneaking glances his way. Enough was enough, and it was time to confront the issue or drive himself crazy wondering what the hell she was up to.
After draining the last of his beer, he got up. “See you guys later,” he told his tablemates. “I’ve gotta check something out.” He tossed a twenty onto the table. “That’s in case I don’t come back.”
“Check something out? Like that blond hottie sitting at Ridge’s table?” Hornets’ pitcher Chance Baptiste said with an exaggerated leer. “The one that keeps giving you the look?”
Baptiste obviously hadn’t recognized Taylor Page. Ryan wasn’t particularly surprised. Not everybody followed the comings and goings in baseball front offices—at least not as closely as he did. Then again, most players didn’t share his ultimate aim of moving into the executive suite himself. “Just thought I’d go say hello to that table for a minute,” he said casually.
When he approached Ridge from behind and tapped him on the shoulder, his GM almost jumped, then twisted around. “What the fuck, Locke? Don’t sneak up on a guy like that. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Taylor’s pretty pink mouth had dropped open when she figured out Ryan was heading straight for her table. She finally managed to snap it shut but her eyes were still rounded with surprise.
“I didn’t think these lead feet of mine could sneak up on anything, Joe,” Ryan said, taking a relaxed stance. “You must have been so entranced by your beautiful friend that you couldn’t hear anything.”
Ridge snorted, but Taylor’s lips curved into a suddenly welcoming smile—one that put Ryan on full alert.
“Why don’t you introduce us, Joe?” she said in a voice that contained a tiny bit of hesitation and a whole lot of honey. “I recognize the gentleman, of course, but we’ve never met.”
“Locke, this is Taylor Page. Taylor, Ryan Locke,” Ridge said in an oddly neutral voice. “Taylor’s a new AGM with the Patriots.”
Ryan fixed his gaze on the woman, not Ridge. “I know exactly who Taylor Page is,” he said to her. He couldn’t tell for sure in the dim light, but he thought she blushed.
“Well, I guess I should be flattered,” she said. “At least I hope so.”
Her gaze drilled into him, as it had all night, but now it contained something playful, too, and Ryan found himself drawn in by it. Though he’d intended to ask her why she’d been visually stalking him all night, Ridge or no Ridge, the question died on his lips as he searched for a response.
From a distance, he’d found her a total babe. From up close, Taylor Page took his breath away. She wasn’t model beautiful, by any means. Most models had huge, deer-in-the-headlight eyes, shampoo commercial hair, and cheekbones that looked carved out of polished marble, none of which applied to Taylor. But the woman was strikingly attractive, nonetheless. Her smooth, pa
le complexion and silky white-blond hair suggested her family had Nordic origins, as did the eyes that reminded him of a clear blue sky on a crisp fall morning. She wasn’t tall, but her curves were generous and her body looked toned and glowing with health.
And although he tried to avoid staring at them, her breasts could only be called outstanding. Her pink, scoop-necked tee shirt revealed more than enough cleavage to get his hormones paying very close attention.
“I keep up with what’s going on in the front offices,” he finally said with what he hoped was a casual shrug.
Ridge gave him an off look before suddenly rising. “I’ve got a meeting tonight with our minor league staff so I’ve really got to get going. It was great seeing you again, Taylor. Let’s make sure we connect again sometime during the season.” He turned to Ryan. “And as for you, Locke, we’ll be taking care of the busted cooler. And the Gatorade,” he said with no trace of humor. “But you’ll be getting the bill.”
Ryan tried to hold back a grin. “My little contribution to improving the facilities at Cal Torrance, boss,” he said in a solemn voice.
Taylor held a hand to her mouth, clearly hiding a chuckle. “Thanks for dinner, Joe,” she said with a smile to the GM. “My turn next time.”
“You’re on,” Ridge said with a wave.
Ryan thought it a little weird that Ridge would just take off like that, meeting or no meeting, since he’d left Taylor all alone at the table. He wondered what she’d say if he suggested that she join him and Baptiste.
Taylor raised her three-quarters full glass of beer. “Since I suddenly find myself bereft of a drinking partner, would you like to keep me company while I finish this, Ryan?”
That sounded so much better than going back to drink with his teammates. “Why not?” he said, glancing over at Baptiste, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.