by Sykes, V. K.
They’d barely ordered their drinks when he came out with it, and Taylor wasn’t quite sure how to react. Her stomach had dropped when she first saw him in the slightly shabby, semi-deserted bar, since he clearly was very upset. His fists had been clenched at his sides when she joined him at his table, and they still were. Frustration emanated from him in waves, and he looked like he could eat nails and spit out staples.
“God, that’s awful,” she breathed. “What’s going on up there?”
He averted his eyes, glancing out the window to look at the sun setting over the Gulf, clearly trying to compose himself. “It’s one of those stupid Facebook things where kids post made-up shit to embarrass somebody they don’t like. I guess it’s rampant these days.”
Taylor had been one of the lucky ones because she’d never been bullied. But she’d seen plenty of it going on in school and outside. In a really bad scenario, the damage inflicted could change the course of a kid’s life. “Did she tell you what they were saying?”
Aside from being wound up, Ryan looked tired at the same time. As tired as she felt. His eyes were clouded with fatigue, and she could make out the worry lines around them even in the dim light of the bar. His broad shoulders were hiked up around his ears, and he’d now gone from clenching his fists to drumming his fingers on the polished wooden surface of the table. Taylor fought the instinct to reach out and cover his hand with her own, trying to calm his obvious anxiety. She fought it because she knew she was already diving into some very deep waters.
To make matters worse, Ryan looked as handsome as sin in a tight black tee shirt that stretched across his massive shoulders. The sleeves were cut high, barely reaching past the tops of biceps that bulged with hard, toned muscle. When he’d stood as she came to the table, she’d eyed his low cut jeans hugging his hips and got that feeling between her thighs. She’d almost given him a goofy smile until she caught the concerned look on his face and remembered why she was there.
Focus, girl. This isn’t about chemistry. It’s about helping a friend.
But she had to admit that the combination of concerned, straight-up dad and hot baseball player was a pretty devastating one to her sense of self-preservation.
“They’re spreading the lie that she’s a drug user.” He let out a disbelieving and disgusted laugh that rang hollow in the half-empty bar.
Taylor wasn’t sure what to think. The mean girls might very well be making it all up, but on the other hand what were the chances Devon would come clean to her father if she was indeed using?
Not that it was her job to ask that sort of question. Devon was Ryan’s daughter, and Taylor needed and wanted to support him. “You’d think that a top quality private school would be all over that kind of bullying like ticks on a dog. I don’t get it.”
Their server returned with the glasses of Zinfandel they’d ordered. Taylor decided to let hers sit for a few moments—her stomach was so unsettled from lack of food and nerves that she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to drink it—but Ryan didn’t hesitate to slug back a mouthful.
“I suppose they probably could, if Devon actually reported it,” he finally said.
That was bad. Taylor suspected Devon was too afraid of blowback from the bullies. Either that, or she was using, but she definitely wasn’t going there. “And you obviously don’t think she will report it.”
He lifted his shoulders in a smooth shrug, drawing her eyes to that very enticing part of his body. “Not a chance. She told me she’d take care of it in her own way.”
“That sounds a little ominous.”
“Tell me about it. She’s a tough kid, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d physically defended herself—against boys, too. But if she does it at Edenwood, she’ll be out of there so fast she won’t know what happened. That place isn’t going to put up with any more shit from her.”
“Ryan, given how smart she is, I expect she’ll find a way to deal with the situation without resorting to physical violence.” She had no idea if that was true, but she wanted to be supportive.
“I sure hope so.” He took another big drink, leaving less than an inch in the glass. She might be only having one drink tonight, as she’d told him, but he was obviously in a different frame of mind.
“I can see you’re worried,” she said, feeling worse by the minute. As if he didn’t already have enough to worry about.
He nodded. “Sending her to Edenwood was the right thing to do. The psychologist recommended it, and Devon agreed. Reluctantly, but she did. But when something like this happens, I feel like I might as well be on the moon for all the good I’m doing her. I can’t help feeling like a crappy, absentee parent.”
She held up her hand, palm out. “Hey, Ryan. Let’s back up a step. Kids go away to school all the time. Probably three-quarters of her schoolmates are in the same boat she’s in. You’re not being a bad parent just because you’re not waiting for her at home every day with milk and cookies. As far as I can see, you’re making the best of a tough situation, so I don’t see that you’ve got any cause to beat up on yourself. After all, you’ve got to work so you can support your family.”
He took that in for a few seconds, and the corners of his lips tilted up in a slight smile. “I think I’ve perfected the self-flagellation technique, after seven long years of practice.”
Taylor gave a little laugh. It felt good to see him lighten up, even if it was only a flicker.
But as quickly as his smile had appeared it vanished, and his mouth once more became a thin, hard line. “I really feel like I laid a hit on her today. She wanted to spend the weekend here, but I had to tell her that wouldn’t work. Not with it being opening day on Monday.” His fingers paused in their staccato drumming, then started up again. “Then I told her I’m likely going to get traded out of here, anyway.”
Taylor flinched a little. Well, at least it’ll be a pleasant surprise on that score when you find out you’re going to Philadelphia. “You could be right about that.”
His gaze hardened. “You know I’m right. I’ve seen this happen dozens and dozens of times. Sometime in the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to get a call saying either that I’ve been traded or that I’m going down to the minors.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Her stomach tightened painfully, making her regret her first, tentative sip of wine. “I won’t disagree, since you wouldn’t believe me, anyway,” she said. “You can refuse both a trade and a demotion, but we both know that won’t change much in the end. If the Hornets want you gone, well, you know exactly how it is.” Ryan wouldn’t be happy if she tried to bullshit him about a situation that they both understood very well.
“All I could do is to make it a little harder for them.” He sighed heavily. “But I’m not going to do that. The Hornets organization has been good to me. If I have to go, I want to do it with a little dignity. As long as they ship me to an AL team, I won’t give them any trouble. I just hope to God it’s not one on the west coast. If that happens, I’ll have to move Devon to a school out there, and she’ll go crazy about that, too.”
As long as they ship me to an AL team.
The words were like a kick to Taylor’s gut. Though he was only repeating what he’d already told her, it hit her harder now because she knew that a big old semi-trailer was likely going to be barreling down the road at him very, very soon.
She didn’t trust herself to say another word about what might or might not happen to him, but she needed to respond somehow. Her desperate mind latched on to the first thing that crossed it. “If you are traded, maybe you could ask for a few days off before you have to report. Maybe go up to New York and spend the weekend with Devon there. Or meet her back at your place in Pittsburgh.”
Mentally, she winced. What a dumb thing to say, and her gut told her she’d only dredged that scenario up because she’d thought it would be another indication—when the shit hit the fan—that she didn’t know about the trade in advance. She absolutely hated
that he might think she’d been plotting all the while they’d been seeing each other.
But denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, as her dad used to say. Taylor knew she’d be facing some consequences herself, sooner or later. But would telling him the truth right now make things better or worse for him? She honestly didn’t know.
Ryan shot her a baffled look, as if wondering how a team executive could say something so goofy. But then his expression immediately softened, as if he realized she was probably grasping at straws just as much as he was. God, he really was such a good guy.
“It’s too close to the start of the regular season, Taylor,” he said. “No team is going to want to give me any time off, much less three or four days. They’ll want me to get up to speed right away, and play as many of the remaining exhibition games as possible.”
Ryan was dead right about that. Especially if he ended up with the Patriots. Jack Ault and Pedro Delgado would have him taking infield practice before he had a chance to get his stadium parking pass. His daughter would be spending a lot of time on her own for the next few months, but maybe she could come watch him play for his new team.
Except Ryan had told Taylor the other night that Devon hated baseball.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about seeing Devon,” he said. “But I’ve got to come up with something soon. We might bark at each other and fight, but she needs more from her dad than I’ve been giving her.”
“I know you’ll find a way, Ryan,” Taylor said, putting as much empathy into her voice as she could.
He gave a nod of thanks, his dark eyes warming with appreciation. That look sent shivers cascading down her spine.
Their server pulled up just then, asking if Ryan wanted a refill. He nodded. “Sure. Taylor? Can I tempt you?”
Oh, God, you tempt me more than you’ll ever know, pal. Taylor eyed the remaining inch in her glass and told herself to say no.
Instead, she exhaled a sigh. “Oh, why not?”
The conversation might be giving her agita, but saying goodnight to Ryan Locke was proving more of a challenge than she’d thought possible.
* * *
ONE DRINK.
When Taylor said that on the phone, Ryan had hoped she would reconsider. Though he’d happily take even an hour of her company, he much preferred the thought of an entire evening staring into those magnetic blue eyes. And if the evening just happened to stretch into the early hours of the morning at his house, that would be a hell of a fine ending to what had otherwise been a miserable day.
Fortunately, Taylor had indeed reconsidered. One drink had now turned into three, though she remained clear-headed since they’d been eating plates of appetizers and babbling on about everything for over three hours. He, on the other hand, had managed to work his way to the bottom of the wine bottle he’d ordered after two rounds of single glasses. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to get even remotely drunk all spring, and tonight had seemed like the right night. Hell, it wasn’t every day that you awaited being frog-marched before a baseball firing squad in the next twenty-four hours.
Okay, those words sounded a little dramatic, even in to him. Whatever happened with the trade, he’d find a way to manage. The absolute worst part—and his biggest worry—was the impact it would have on his daughter.
Ryan gazed across the table at the sweet, beautiful woman smiling at him. She had the adorable habit of pushing strands of hair back behind her ears whenever they started to brush her smooth, flawless cheeks. Seconds later, the recalcitrant locks drooped down again, only to be casually tucked back in a totally automatic motion. As far as he’d been able to tell, Taylor wore little makeup other than eye liner and some gloss that made her lips look wet and so inviting that it was all he could do not to lean across the table and taste them.
“You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” she said.
Ryan had been thinking it over and had decided to say what had been on his mind since the moment she walked in the bar tonight. “I’ve been trying to come up with the right words to tell you how beautiful you look tonight.”
Taylor blinked twice. Then she shook her head. “In my experience, after five or six glasses of wine people tend to say all sorts of crazy things.”
“Crazy? About you, maybe. And it’s not the wine talking, Taylor. I’ve been attracted to you since the minute I saw you checking me out at the stadium.”
It sounded a bit clumsy, but he didn’t know how else to say what he was feeling. Words had never been his thing, and his dating experiences after Devon’s mother had been brief and unsatisfying. In fact, Taylor was the first woman he’d truly felt comfortable talking to in his life, and that included his ex-wife on her best days. His buddies all kidded him about how he never kept a girlfriend for more than a month, and would probably be a bachelor forever. He’d gone along with the rakish persona, but in his mind it fit him about as well as a square peg fits in a round hole. He didn’t see himself as a player. He saw himself as…lonely.
Taylor had glanced away, as if suddenly interested in the lights of a few boats out in the Gulf, and it made him think maybe he’d read her all wrong after all. Though she’d sounded reluctant to see him again when he’d called, he could have sworn there was still some kind of serious chemistry going on between them. He might not be any kind of expert in parsing what women said, but he’d always thought he was good at picking up the non-verbal signals. And Taylor had flashed him enough positive ones that he’d taken the plunge to clear up any doubt she might have had about how much he wanted her.
She looked like she was about to answer him when her cell phone rang. Ryan gave a mental curse as she reached down into her bag for it and glanced at the call display.
“I’m sorry, Ryan, I have to take this. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He followed her curvy form as she strode quickly across the room and out the door. He swore she’d looked relieved when the damn phone went off—at least until she saw the call display. Then her brows had snapped together. Obviously something she didn’t much like.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that she’d gotten that call. And maybe he needed to slow down a bit. But, hell, he sure didn’t want to. When he’d called her to ask her for a drink, he hadn’t planned on trying to take it farther than that. He really did only want to tell her about Devon, instinctively feeling she might be able to help him work through it, or at least put his reaction into perspective.
But something was driving him to make a move on Taylor tonight, and it was probably the prospect of the trade hammer falling on him. By this time tomorrow he could be hundreds of miles away in Florida, or even all the way across the country in some place like Arizona. After that, the chances of anything happening between them would be close to zero.
That idea made him grip his wine glass with enough white-knuckled tension to crack it.
* * *
“THE LOCKE DEAL’S almost there.” Dembinski’s voice revealed the self-satisfied arrogance of success. “Ridge is making a show of holding out for a third round pick two years out instead of the fourth I offered, but he’ll fold soon. He fucking salivated when I dangled DeMarcus Jones in front of him.”
Jones was a five-tool outfielder who was going into his first year of High-A ball. Despite a ton of talent, the Patriots had already started to sour on the former top prospect after his first two years in the low minors because the guy had shown a persistently disruptive clubhouse attitude. Joe Ridge would certainly know that about Jones, so he must be willing to take a chance that the talented youngster would someday settle down.
Though Taylor had expected Dembinski to pull off the Locke trade, it nevertheless sent a wave of nausea straight to the pit of her stomach. “Good,” she managed, though it felt anything but. She leaned against a plate glass panel beside the door, ignoring a fifty-something bleached blonde who was sucking on a cigarette like it was the very elixir of life. Taylor hugged herself with her free arm, shivering a little. The air had
turned cool after a hot, sunny day.
“Is that all you can manage?” Dembinski scoffed. “Hell, I just got you your guy. You should be over the moon, for Christ’s sake.”
Taylor rushed to atone for her flat response. “Yes, absolutely. It’s fantastic news, really. I’m sorry, I was just distracted for a moment by a guy cutting into my lane and practically running me off the damn road,” she managed, hoping she sounded convincing.
“Yeah, there are some major assholes on the roads on this state. Where are you, anyway?”
Nowhere you need to know. “I just finished dinner with a friend.”
“I didn’t think you had any friends down here—not on the Gulf side, anyway,” Dembinski said skeptically.
Taylor had told him that not long ago, and it was true. She still had a ton of friends in the Dragons organization, but their spring training site was on the Atlantic Coast, in the West Palm Beach area. “I do occasionally meet new people, Dave,” she replied, forcing a laugh.
God, she hoped he wouldn’t press her for details, even if it wasn’t his business who she spent private time with.
“Well, if this Locke idea works out, dinner’s on me,” he said grandly. “It was a bit off-the-wall when you came up with it, but I’m definitely warming to the idea, especially since it looks like we’re going to get him for peanuts.”
“Great. Dave, I don’t want to cut you off, but I think I’d better pay attention to my driving now. I’m not familiar with these roads.”
You are such a liar.
“Do that,” he said. “See you tomorrow morning. Hopefully, we’ll have a final deal by then.”
“Sure. Bye for now, and thanks for letting me know.”
When Dembinski hung up, Taylor exhaled a loud enough sigh that the Marlboro Blonde gave her a quizzical look. Taylor shrugged and slipped back inside as fast as she could.
Ryan stood as she came back to their table. “Everything okay?” His eyes were narrowed with concern, or maybe suspicion.