Curveball (The Philadelphia Patriots)

by Sykes, V. K.

  He was mostly kidding, of course. But from the surprised look on Taylor’s face, it seemed she’d taken him entirely seriously.

  6

  HOW HAD SHE ended up at Big Larry’s Crab Shack, having dinner with the man who had big changes roaring down the pike at him, all thanks to her? Since her encounter with Ryan last night at the Summer Moon, Taylor’s comfort level with her verbal dancing with him had diminished with alarming speed.

  So, what in heaven’s name was she doing with him now, gazing at dusk settling in over Tampa Bay, a hurricane of conflicting emotions swirling through her? Only hours from now, in the morning, she’d have to formally pitch the proposed trade to her boss and the team’s scouts. All the while, Ryan could only guess what she was really up to.

  It made her squirm with guilt, but how could she level with him? In the end, absolutely nothing might result from her out-of-the-box idea.

  At least tonight wasn’t about trying to ferret out additional information to further her plan. She’d agreed to dinner for a simple, if risky, reason. She wanted to see Ryan again. Call it crazy, call it some instinct winning out over her rational mind—it didn’t matter what she called it in the end. She just wanted to be here, wanted to spend more time with one of the more interesting—and God, yes, attractive—men she’d ever met. She had no intention of breathing a word of baseball talk or prodding him for more information.

  They’d already ordered drinks—Stella for both of them—and she sipped at her beer while perusing the colorful, plastic coated menu. Ryan ignored his menu, apparently more engrossed in her than in the food choices. That also sent her nerves dancing, but this time in a good way.

  “The appetizers here are all great,” he said with an enticing smile.

  For a moment all Taylor could do was stare at his handsome face, his rugged features made even more masculine by the dark bristle shadowing his jaw. “Ah, so I see,” she finally murmured. She also silently admitted she was too distracted by him to focus on the simple task of choosing dinner. “Since this is your home turf, why don’t you order everything for both of us?”

  His smile slid into a full-out grin. “Such a trusting soul for a hard-knuckled baseball exec.”

  She managed a smile despite her amped-up nerves. “I tend to choose badly when I don’t know the restaurant. Which is why I tend to always go back to the same place, or cook at home.”

  “You like to cook?”

  She nodded, fidgeting with the edges of the plastic menu. “Whenever I can. But baseball isn’t conducive to making relaxing dinners at home, is it?”

  “Not exactly,” he said as he gave the menu a quick scan. “I’m a little challenged on the culinary front myself, but Devon taught herself to cook pretty well. Another reason I love it when she’s home.”

  “Wow, a fourteen year old who cooks. That’s pretty cool. But you must miss her terribly when she’s away at school,” Taylor replied, relieved that the conversation had so far kept clear of baseball.

  “Like crazy. And I worry about her, because she’s all I’ve got, really.”

  Taylor swallowed hard as she couldn’t help thinking of her own family. The only person she’d been particularly close to had been her father, and he was long gone from this Earth. Her relationships with her mother and older brother were complicated, and getting more so now that she’d returned to her home town. She loved them dearly, but that didn’t make them easy to deal with.

  She struggled for an appropriate response, and felt a sense of relief when the server came back to take their dinner orders. Ryan ordered shrimp and zucchini appetizers for them to share, followed by entrées of stuffed gulf grouper. She smiled at him in tacit approval of his choices.

  Ryan leaned back, relaxing in his chair once the server bustled away. “Last night, practically all we talked about was me, and I still can’t quite figure out how you pulled that off. I’m usually pretty closed-up.” He was still smiling, but she didn’t miss the intent behind the question.

  “I’m glad I was able to get you to open up about Devon, and a little bit about your mother, too,” she replied, hoping her trepidation didn’t show. But her words sounded stiff and cool and Ryan’s mouth quirked down, as it had last night when she’d probed him about Devon, and about his difficult relationship with his own mother. Clearly he was a very private person, and didn’t much like the fact that he’d revealed such intimate details to her.

  “I don’t really know much about you,” he said, “other than the stuff I’ve read in the newspapers and on the Internet and you know how reliable that is. I’d really like to know more about how you got into baseball, since you don’t exactly fit the mold of the average GM.”

  Okay, that was a pretty safe topic. She could talk about that without sounding like she had a stick up her behind.

  “Not that there’s a damn thing average about you,” Ryan added in a husky purr that made the back of her knees go weak.

  While his eyes had remained focused on her face and not the inch or so of cleavage revealed by her dressy top, there was no mistaking the hooded cast of his dark eyes. The way that made something tighten deliciously in her belly reminded her of how long it had been since she’d had sex, and just how easy it would be to fall into Ryan Locke’s bed.

  Which would be a very bad thing.

  Reining in the lascivious images starting to dance in her head, Taylor started at the beginning of her story—being born into a baseball family, daughter of a long-time professional scout who ended up with the Patriots—and worked her way forward chronologically. Ryan listened intently, not asking questions. She spent some time talking about her frustration at being channeled into softball when she really wanted to play baseball like her dad, and how times had finally changed and little girls could now play just like the boys.

  But by the time the appetizers showed up, she’d reached the hard part. “Then, when I was thirteen, I lost my dad,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

  Even now, seventeen years later, she couldn’t squeeze out the words without her throat tightening and anger surging in her chest.

  Damn that freaking drunk driver. Damn that surgeon. Damn that hospital that killed him.

  Shock flitted across Ryan’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said, abruptly putting his fork down. “Can I ask what happened?”

  Come on Taylor, you should be used to this. He shared with you last night, so now it’s your turn.

  “Car accident,” she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “He had a lot of internal bleeding from his injuries, though the E.R. doctor didn’t think it was life-threatening. But when they operated, the surgical team messed up and Dad died on the table.” She swallowed hard. “It was a nightmare.”

  Ryan’s jaw sagged. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I hope your mother sued their asses off.”

  Taylor nodded. “She did, but the lawyer said the case was only fifty-fifty. So, when the insurance companies offered a settlement, Mom decided to take it. It wasn’t great, but it gives her a regular monthly annuity payment. And she gets my dad’s small baseball pension, of course. So, she can get by on that.”

  “That’s something, at least.”

  Ryan shook his head, looking shaken in a way that surprised her. The question on her face must have been evident to him. “Last night,” he said, responding to her unspoken query, “I didn’t mention how my dad died.”

  Taylor gave him a cautious nod of encouragement.

  “It was in a head-on collision in Florida, on his way to work in the morning.”

  Now it was her turn to register shock. “We both lost our fathers in car accidents?” Talk about freaky. And not something you wished on your worst enemy, much less someone you really liked.

  Ryan nodded. “His car flipped over, and was so banged-up that it took too long for the firefighters to be able to cut him out.”

  “How old were you?” Taylor said, her stomach churning. God, this was so not how she had envisioned this ev
ening turning out.

  “Eighteen. My mother didn’t do as well as yours, I’m afraid.”

  His mouth morphed into a grim, hard line. “Dad only had one small insurance policy, and the power company where he worked cut Mom off his health benefit plans a week after the accident. She got some pension money from them—mostly a refund of his contributions—but that was about it. It left us in a mess financially, and we probably couldn’t have made it if I hadn’t been drafted and given a decent signing bonus. That carried us through until I was able to start making better money.”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan,” she said, her heart aching for him. “I’m just happy she’s got you to help her.”

  “I help her a lot, but she’s always been a disaster with money. She goes in and out of depression, and drinks a lot of the money away when she’s in a down cycle. And she’s always giving her loser friends handouts. Unfortunately, she’s an easy mark.”

  He grimaced, the hand beside his plate unconsciously flexing with anger. Taylor didn’t know what to say, so she kept silent.

  “They take advantage of her because of me,” he continued. “Because they think I’m some big shot pro athlete with more money than he could ever spend. The way Mom says they talk about me, they think I’m frigging Warren Buffett or something.”

  “What pigs,” Taylor said before taking a swallow of beer to ease her dry throat. It seemed to stick on the way down. “And that so totally sucks for you. I guess you don’t much want to hear the rest of my story, do you? I’m really sorry if I stirred up those memories for you.”

  All the talk of death and hardship knocked her for a loop. Taylor was the first to admit she was very bad at dealing with this particular topic.

  Considering the grim topic, Ryan gave her a surprisingly warm smile. She really liked that about him—he might be a private sort of person, but he shared his emotions pretty generously. And he did seem genuinely interested in her.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “I know that before you got the Patriots’ job you were one of Bud Carlyle’s assistants in L.A. But I was wondering who gave you your start in the business.”

  Taylor could manage a smile at the memory of the man she’d called Uncle Cliff. “I got lucky there. My dad’s best friend was Cliff Kelly.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows lifted. “You mean the Chicago-GM-for-twenty-years Cliff Kelly?”

  Taylor smiled at his reaction. “Cliff was a second father to my dad. He’s retired now, of course, but he never worried about the nepotism angle. He always said he gave me a minor league job in his organization because he’d figured out that I was a better judge of baseball talent than almost anybody he knew. It was a ridiculous exaggeration, of course.”

  A flush crept up her neck as she gave Ryan an apologetic grimace. She didn’t like boasting, but that was exactly the reason Uncle Cliff had given her. “Frankly, I think he was overly impressed by my Wharton School MBA. He really valued education, even though he didn’t have much himself.”

  Ryan let out a low whistle before digging back into his appetizer. “Hell, I’m impressed, too. That’s one of the best business schools in the world, right?”

  She nodded, giving him a pleased smile. The number of guys she’d met in baseball who had even heard of Wharton could be counted on her fingers and toes. Maybe just her fingers, actually. “Cliff sent me to Mobile for one season, and then Springfield for another, getting me well-grounded at the minor league level. At that point, I was recruited into an analyst job with the Padres. After that season in San Diego, I applied for a job as a special assistant to the GM in L.A.” Bud Carlyle had been hard on her at first, but she ended up as his most trusted adviser. “Bud taught me so much. But I wanted an AGM position, and it looked like it would be years before the Dragons would have one open up. So, when I found out Dembinski was looking for someone with a stats bent in Philly, I jumped on it.”

  She’d also been anxious to return home to Philadelphia so she could help her mother, though Ryan didn’t need to hear about that mess.

  He raised his beer glass in a salute. “All I can say is good for you. For a young woman to make it almost to the very top of a major league organization is fantastic. And overdue, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Taylor clinked her glass against his, almost too stunned to speak. She had definitely not expected that kind of strong sentiment to emerge from a man’s man like Ryan. Or those of any big league ballplayer, for that matter.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling—ridiculously—a bit shy. “I wish there were a whole lot more guys in this game who thought like you do.”

  “I won’t pretend to be shocked that there aren’t. Old attitudes die hard.” He hesitated only a second or two. “And when it comes to a young woman—especially one as beautiful and sexy as you are—I’ll bet there are still a lot of assholes out there that think you must have, well, slept your way to the top of the totem pole.”

  Taylor slapped her hand over her lips to keep from spewing out a mouthful beer. Ryan certainly didn’t shrink from bold statements. But she had to admit the compliment made her insides glow with warmth, even if beautiful and sexy seemed over-the-top when applied to her.

  “One or two,” she wheezed out when she finally managed to swallow her beer.

  The whispered comments, knowing glances and occasional snickers had plagued her for her entire career. In fact, until a couple of seasons ago when she finally felt comfortable in L.A., she’d deliberately worn little makeup and made a point of dressing down. Except when she was involved in business meetings, loose team apparel—sweats, warm-up jackets, hoodies—had been the order of the day, along with a high ponytail pulled through a baseball cap. In more formal settings, she’d opted for blazers and slacks, or the occasional power suit. Even now, she continued to dress conservatively for work.

  Suppressing her femininity had been an unwelcome price to pay for greater acceptance as an equal, but it had paid dividends. Even so, the continuing hurtful and sometimes vicious attitudes of certain co-workers and players had chafed at her soul and threatened to undermine her resolve to succeed. Her dad had taught her that you needed to be tough to survive in baseball, just like he’d been. But toughness wasn’t always enough and could even work against a woman, since she could be pegged as both a slut and a ball-busting bitch.

  Ryan’s smile was sympathetic and understanding. “Women have to work twice as hard and be twice as good, right? Sometimes I feel that way about older ballplayers, too. If you’re on the back end of your career, you sure as shit better be on top of your game every day, especially if you’ve got a decent contract. Teams are always looking to dump veterans when they find a kid who’ll produce more or less the same stats but cost a fraction as much.”

  The bitter tinge to his words didn’t escape Taylor. Her gut told her to divert the conversation in another direction. But when she studied his face, his eyes told her he needed to talk about what was happening to him. For some reason, he felt she was someone he could open up to, and she hated the idea of shunting his concerns aside.

  “Is that the way you feel about the Hornets and the Swain kid?” she said, tossing her innate caution out the window.

  Ryan’s gaze drifted toward the window and the magnificent view of the bay. “That’s just the way it is in baseball. But, yeah, how can a guy like me not have some of those feelings?” He grabbed his beer and took a drink, as if embarrassed to even be talking about feelings.

  Taylor held her fire, since he obviously had more to say.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Taylor, it’s got nothing to do with Antonio,” he said with a grimace. “The kid’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to. Getting better every day and fighting hard for a place in the lineup. I’m not really even pissed at the Hornets, because that’s just the way it is. I guess I’m just trying to come to grips with it, that’s all.”

  She nodded. “I completely understand,” she said, injecting as much sympathy and warmth into the short statement as she could.


  But what else could she say, because, truly, she couldn’t understand since she’d never been in his shoes. Not even close. Taylor Page had always been the “can’t miss” girl—at school, on the sports fields, at university and, since she started her career in baseball, in the executive suite, too. Her career was still in the ascendancy, and she had decades of accomplishments to look forward to. How could she truly understand the short career lifespan of a professional ballplayer, and what it felt like to be still a young man and yet be treated as a broken down nag ready to be put out to pasture? She might see it week in and week out in her job, but she couldn’t possibly know the true emotional impact.

  Ryan let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. “No more depressing talk, okay? This is supposed to be an enjoyable dinner, not a downer.”

  “Okay, but sometimes it’s better to get those feelings out rather than bottle them up inside, don’t you think?” Taylor blurted out, going with her gut.

  Ryan studied her for several long seconds—which made her want to squirm in her seat—then he gave her a slow smile. “Thank you, Dr. Page. I appreciate your lending an ear.”

  Despite the shrink reference, Taylor heard only a genuine appreciation in his voice. “And at no charge, too,” she said with a grin.

  They spent the next hour and a half eating a fantastic meal and talking about everything but baseball. Ryan gently probed her about her mother’s fragile health and demanding personality, as well as her brother Carter’s lifelong penchant for trying to load guilt onto Taylor’s shoulders. She, on the other hand, learned a good deal more about Ryan’s daughter than he’d revealed the previous evening. With some natural reticence, he told her that Devon’s experiences at the private school had been a great deal more problematic than he’d let on, and he was in fact worried sick about her. A call from the Dean of Students had alerted him to incidents of pushing and shoving with other girls, and Devon had been evasive when he tried to talk to her about it.