Playing Hard

by Melanie Scott

  “’Round here the conversation revolves around baseball, so it’s something new.”

  She laughed again, and his body reacted in the same way to the sound. He curled his fingers a little tighter around the glass.

  “You get points for not falling asleep immediately,” she said, smiling.

  “I find it hard to believe that anyone could fall asleep on you.”

  She tilted her head but her smile didn’t fade. And there was a glow of mischief in those big eyes he liked. “If you’re going to flirt with me, you should tell me your name,” she said.

  Damn. He didn’t feel like giving up his anonymity just yet. “Ladies first.”

  “Oh no, you started this, you go first.”

  There was a sudden loud cheer from the direction of the dance floor. He turned to see one of Raina’s performers balancing on Sam Basara’s shoulders. The kid—who was shaping up into a very nice pitcher—was grinning like all his Christmases had arrived at once as the girl on his shoulders did a pretty good bump and grind given her position.

  “Interesting,” said his mystery woman from beside him.

  He turned back to her. “These guys get a little crazy when there’s something to celebrate.”

  “Oh?” She closed her lips around the straw and sipped, and he suddenly found his attention riveted by the deep pink of her mouth. He leaned slightly forward, and a hint of her perfume—something heady and rich—reached him. His gut tightened again, and his attention zeroed in on her.

  Who was this girl?

  “Not too crazy,” he said. Though right now he felt like getting a lot crazy. If crazy involved her.

  “Everyone has to blow off steam sometime,” she said. “So what are you celebrating?” Her eyes were laughing again.

  She had to be teasing him. “You don’t know? Did you crash the party or something?”

  “I’m here with a friend.”

  A friend. That could mean a lot of things. A flash of disappointment hit. Of course she was here with someone. But she definitely wasn’t dating any of the guys on the team. He knew all their wives and girlfriends. There were a few guys who were single. Like him. But none of them had mentioned bringing a date. Maybe she was here with a girlfriend?

  “A friend—” he started to say then stopped as Finn Castro muscled his way up next to them and grinned at the mystery woman. Oliver felt his jaw tighten, a sensation far less pleasant than his reaction to her.

  “Milly. There you are. I was looking for you.” Finn turned his focus to Oliver, and his smile died. “This guy bugging you?”

  She shook her head. “No, we were just talking while I got my drink.” She looked from Finn to Oliver and back again, the pleasure in her eyes fading a little.

  Oliver smiled at her and then narrowed his eyes at Finn, trying not to let his annoyance show on his face. Castro. Of course, she had to be here with Castro. Because life apparently had it in for him. “Finn,” he said, trying to sound polite.

  “Shields,” Finn replied, and beside him Milly’s eyes widened slightly, her expression turning wary as she glanced at Oliver. Oliver felt his gut tighten, wondering just what shit Finn had been talking about him. Plenty, he was sure. Their relationship hadn’t improved any since that first incident in the locker room, and Castro didn’t bother to hide it. He was barely polite to Oliver at work, so Oliver couldn’t imagine Finn had anything good to say about him away from it.

  Finn jerked his head toward the dance floor. “Come on, Milly, let’s dance.”

  Milly—what that was short for?—held up her glass. “I haven’t finished my drink.” Her expression was still wary as she looked between the two of them.

  “You can finish it with me.”

  “Finn, you’re being rude.” Her expression turned exasperated. Her tone wasn’t annoyed girlfriend, more sisterly irritation. Interesting. Oliver felt a flash of hope that she might actually stay and talk to him.

  “I’m just looking out for you,” Finn retorted. “Shields here likes to sleep around. He’s not the kind of guy you want to get involved with.”

  Oliver stiffened. “Excuse me?”

  Beside him, Milly said, “We were just talking. Besides, I’m a big girl, Finn. I’ve been choosing my own dates for a long time now.”

  Finn scowled. “Yeah, well, don’t pick Shields. He has a different girl every week.”

  Oliver bit back the urge to tell Finn exactly where he could shove his bullshit. That wasn’t going to help the situation or impress Milly if she was really a friend of Castro’s. Besides which, Finn was clearly on his way to drunk. Glassy-eyed and looking for trouble. And he was full of just enough youthful arrogance and stupidity to pick a fight. Which was the last thing anybody needed.

  “I believe that’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black,” Milly said. She glanced up at Ollie, her expression somewhat assessing, and she focused on Finn again. “What happened to the blonde?”

  “I came to find you. You said you’d dance with me.”

  She studied him for a long moment. Sighed. “Okay, I’ll dance with you. But how about we get you a cup of coffee first?”

  Damn it, she was going to go with Castro. Time to step back from the plate. “Good idea,” Ollie said. He smiled at Milly. “It was nice to meet you, Milly the economist.”

  And then he turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Amelia watched Finn dancing with the same short blonde he’d been flirting with earlier and tried not to think about Oliver Shields. Or give in to the desire to smack Finn for ruining things. She’d managed to pour one cup of coffee into him and they’d danced for a song or two but then the blonde had returned bearing beer and Finn had abandoned Amelia in about five seconds flat.

  Leaving her with nothing better to do except think about Oliver. She knew about Oliver Shields—damn it, she should have recognized him and refused the drink. Finn had told her plenty about the guy. How he did his best to keep Finn from getting any time at first base and how he was tight with the Saints’ owners and was using his position to make sure Finn didn’t get the credit he deserved. Amelia had taken most of this with a grain of salt—she’d known Finn long enough to know he liked getting his own way and tended to have zero tolerance for anyone who stood between him and a goal. Oliver wasn’t the only Saints player whom Finn had talked about in a less-than-positive way, but he seemed to be the one Finn really had a beef with.

  Which was a pity, because the one thing Finn never mentioned about Oliver was that the man was stupidly hot. Night-dark eyes, tanned skin, and a wicked smile in a tall, lean body. Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and smoky-voiced. Damn. Pretty much all the things she liked in a guy.

  The universe was taunting her. Because hot or not, the man was a baseball player. And apparently Finn’s worst rival. Maybe it was just as well Finn had interrupted them. A few more minutes of Oliver Shields flirting at her and she was fairly sure she might have thrown common sense to the wind and thrown herself at him. Which would have been all kinds of awkward once she’d found out who he was.

  But luckily Finn had come along and been Finn.

  Which he was all too good at. She sighed. She loved Finn like the brother she didn’t have, but being Team Finn was hard work sometimes. She could hardly resign from the job, but maybe she needed to ease back a little. Finn was an adult. He was going to have to figure out how to be one. Which included getting along with his teammates.

  She glanced back across the bar but couldn’t spot Oliver. And couldn’t help the pang of regret that he hadn’t been someone else.

  Oliver Shields was mighty pretty. And mighty appealing. Even if he wasn’t Mr. Right, it had been too long since the last Mr. Wrong. A man as gorgeous as Oliver would make a pretty good Mr. Wrong.

  But now she’d never know. The last thing Amelia wanted to do was cause a problem between Finn and one of his teammates. If Finn couldn’t make it work at the Saints then he could be in trouble. The kind of trouble that had led to th
e Cubs trading him at the end of his first season with them. The kind of trouble that Finn had gotten into on and off over the years. A little too much partying to blow off steam at times. Though to date he’d been lucky and managed to avoid any serious consequences. Up until he’d been traded, anyway.

  Amelia had hoped that being ditched by the Cubs would lead to him turning over a new leaf, but if tonight was an example of what he’d been doing all year, then apparently not.

  Crap. Easing off on Team Finn might have to wait until the end of the season. And she definitely didn’t want to do anything that would set him off. Like having a fling with a guy he hated.

  So she, Amelia Graham, would take one for the team and not break her rule and not try to seduce Oliver Shields. Though of course, there was always the possibility that he might have turned her down. She thought of that smile again. And the dark warmth in his eyes. Nope. She didn’t think she’d been calling that play wrong.

  Bloody Finn. He was a flaming hypocrite.

  Sucking now-warm club soda through a straw, she watched Finn dancing with the blonde. Close dancing. In a way that made it clear that he was planning on introducing her to some extracurricular activities later that night. She suppressed an eye roll. Finn had always been surrounded by willing women. One day he was going to meet the woman who would tell him no and Amelia very much looked forward to standing on the sidelines when that happened and cheering her on. But it didn’t seem like tonight was going to be that night.

  So she might as well call it quits. She didn’t really know anyone else at the party, and if Finn had abandoned her for the blonde then he wasn’t there to introduce her to anyone new. It was getting late and her feet were hurting more than ever. It was time to just go home. Back to Manhattan. Where she would curl up in bed alone and try not to think of Oliver Shields and what might have been.

  * * *

  Somewhere around one a.m., Maggie Jameson ambushed Oliver as he made his way across the club looking for distraction. It was well over an hour since Finn had pulled his bullshit and Oliver had struggled to shake the nasty mood that had settled over him in the aftermath. Castro. Still, Maggie didn’t deserve to get caught in the cross fire of his lingering irritation, so he forced a smile when she stepped in front of him.

  “What’s up, Mrs. Winters?” he asked. “Come to your senses and decided to leave Alex for me?”

  She grinned at him, looking beautiful as always, her long frame wrapped in a very short, very red dress that matched the red gems gleaming in her ears. “In your dreams, Ollie.”

  He grinned back. Once upon a time, Maggie had been his dream. But that was a long time ago. “Are you out of official party-wrangling mode yet?”

  Maggie and Raina and Sara—the third of the trio of women who ruled the owners of the Saints—usually worked like a well-oiled machine to ensure that Saints’ functions ran like clockwork. Which Ollie thought was rather unfair. It meant they didn’t always get to relax and enjoy the parties as much as they deserved to.

  “Just about,” Maggie said. “Things will wind down soon.” She studied him for a moment. “Meet anyone nice tonight?” she asked.

  That was Maggie speak for “Are you hooking up?” Or maybe “When are you going to settle down, Oliver?” Which was a subject that he considered to be none of her business since she’d long ago declined to be a candidate for said settling.

  “Still looking,” he said, trying not to think of Milly the economist and her perfume and her pretty eyes.

  Maggie smiled. “Oh good, then you won’t mind doing me a favor.”

  Crap. He’d walked into that one. “Define favor,” he said cautiously.

  “Helping out one of your teammates,” she said. “With a ride. You drove, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I saw your car parked outside the club.”

  Busted. “All right, yes, I drove. Who needs a lift?”

  She hesitated. Just for a second. Then, “Finn.”

  “Castro?” Ollie said disbelievingly. He did his best to get along with Castro at the club, but he’d made his opinion of the guy clear to Maggie on several occasions. Finn’s actions earlier hadn’t improved that opinion one bit.

  “Yes. He’s had one or two too many. Alex and Mal and Lucas think it’s time for him to go home.”

  Translation, the guy was wasted and Maggie was in damage control mode. “So put him in a cab.”

  “He’s not that drunk. He’d probably just get the driver to take him to another club as soon as they got out of sight.”

  True. The last thing they needed was Finn doing some dumb-ass thing while under the influence and getting the Saints’ name plastered in the papers or all over the morning news shows.

  “He was here with someone earlier. Milly or something.” His jaw tightened at the thought of her. And of Finn chasing her off. Though she’d let herself be chased off. Sort of. So maybe she hadn’t been interested in the first place. Or maybe she was just being a good friend. Damn it. He needed to stop thinking about her.

  “If I’m understanding Finn correctly, then she went home,” Maggie said.

  “So send him home with someone else.” He understood Maggie’s reasoning for not wanting to trust Castro with a cab or one of Alex or Mal or Lucas’s drivers, but he really wasn’t in any mood to help out.

  “He lives about two blocks from you,” Maggie said. “You’re the best candidate.”

  He’d been vaguely aware that Castro lived somewhere near him. He should have paid more attention. Then Maggie would be trying this with some other sucker. “How do you know I won’t succumb to the temptation to kick him out of the car halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge?”

  “You won’t do that,” Maggie said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you think I’m awesome,” she said with another brilliant smile and he resigned himself to having a very unwelcome passenger for his trip home.

  * * *

  They drove in near silence. Castro hadn’t said a word since Mal and Dan Ellis had practically escorted him from the building and into Oliver’s car. He’d pulled out his phone and started texting someone as soon as Oliver had started the engine. Which suited Ollie just fine. He really wasn’t interested in talking. He focused on the road, suddenly tired. The adrenaline of the win and the party was fading, and he felt every one of the twenty or so hours he’d been awake.

  As they hit the end of the Brooklyn Bridge and eased into Manhattan traffic, he yawned.

  Finn looked up. “Tired, old man?”

  Jesus. The guy didn’t let up. No wonder the Cubs had sold him cheap. He was a decent batter and a very good fielder, but he was trouble. He shook his head. “No, just bored by the company.”

  “Yeah, well, you can just let me out at SubZero and I’ll be out of your hair and you can go home to bed.”

  Un-fucking-believable. “Not gonna happen. I’m stopping nowhere but your apartment building.”

  “Shit. You sucking up to the bigwigs or something? Just take me to the damned club.”

  “Look, Castro, I don’t know who gave you the bug up your butt, but let me clear something up for you.” Oliver let the car glide to halt as the lights ahead turned red. “When the owner of your club and your coach evict you from a party for being wasted, the smart thing to do for your career is to go home, sleep it off, and apologize in the morning.”

  “If I wanted advice, I’d ask for it,” Finn snapped. “As if you’ve never partied.”

  Apparently the kid was determined to dig his own grave. The light flashed green and he stepped on the gas. “Fine. But I’m still taking you to your apartment. You can do what the hell you want after that. It’s your damned funeral.”

  The SUV that hit them halfway across the intersection came out of nowhere.

  Chapter Two

  The bag of takeout was frying her arm through the too-thin layer of her coat. She would have moved it but the October day was unexpectedly cold and the takeout was keeping the
worst of the chill out. She smiled gratefully at the doorman as she reached Finn’s apartment building and practically jogged through the door into the warmth.

  Juggling the take-out bag, her purse, her laptop bag, and the key to Finn’s apartment proved impossible. She was tempted to give in and knock but that didn’t seem fair when Finn was recovering from a concussion. His head had to be killing him.

  Or maybe not. When she managed to open the door and get inside, Finn was sprawled on one of the giant red leather sofas in his living room, playing a video game on his massive TV. The sound was turned off, and there was no other light source in the room.

  “Should you be doing that?” she asked from the doorway. “I thought you were told to avoid anything with a screen for a few days.”

  Finn didn’t look up. “You sound like Emma.”

  Given it was Emma who’d reminded Amelia about the list of things Finn wasn’t supposed to do when she’d called earlier to request a baby-brother lunchtime checkup, that was an accusation she couldn’t deny. But that didn’t mean she was going to let Finn know.

  “I brought you pot stickers. And wonton soup.” Finn’s favorite foods. Well, they had been when they’d been growing up. “Have you eaten?”

  He looked around at the question and she saw the wince that crossed his face with the movement. “No.”

  “How’s your head?” She put the food down on the coffee table in front of the sofa and dug into the bag for the carton of pot stickers.

  Finn put the video game controller down and rolled his eyes. “If I eat this, will you stop nagging?”

  “I’m not nagging, I’m asking how you are,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. Long lunches were hardly the norm at Pullman, and she was pushing her luck by taking this one. It had taken forever to get the food and then all the way to the Upper East Side, and she was starving. Arguing with Finn wasn’t going to help her mood, or Finn’s.

  She fetched bowls from the kitchen and came back to the lounge. “Here.” She held out the bowl to Finn and he obligingly tipped about two-thirds of the first carton of pot stickers into it.