by Joanne Rock
“Amber?” she parroted, forcing her gaze back down to her computer’s screen. “Are you sure you know who I am? I could be hiding the fact that I’m a nuclear physicist or a genetics engineer. Oh, wait, those aren’t superstars in your book. I’d only have to be subversive about my identity if I was a rock star or an athlete, right?”
She typed another line of her book review and ended up with of all the nerve in capital letters.
“I came to apologize if I was out of line last night.” He leaned wet arms on the porch railing, putting his gorgeous, half-naked body far too close to hers.
“If?” She hit the delete key with too much force, pounding it over and over.
Too bad her life didn’t come with a delete key. She’d have been tapping away at that sucker for months.
“I got to thinking about it last night after I got home and I realized I might have jumped to conclusions about your motivations.”
Slamming her laptop closed, she gave him her full attention.
“You know, I purposely avoided you out here yesterday, not wanting to tangle with a man too far out of my league.” The thought of it made her mad now. “As if your ability to hit a ball—or, I guess, tell someone else how to hit a ball—makes you any better than me. But I figured plenty of women come on to guys in your field so there was no sense in adding to your prodigious list of fans.”
She stood, too irritated and—yes—hurt to have this conversation sitting still. Of course, hadn’t she wanted to take a risk this week? To do something wild without considering every possible consequence?
She had to admit that Heath had helped her do just that. And he’d given her tremendous pleasure. Sure, the aftermath had stung. But at least she hadn’t fallen for him first.
“You never mentioned that you knew who I was when I introduced myself.” He seemed to have expected full disclosure on her part even though he’d waltzed into the bar last night throwing around an alias.
Didn’t that seem just a touch hypocritical?
“It didn’t occur to me you needed adulation for prancing around the baseball diamond in tight pants or sitting in a dugout spitting a wad of chew.”
“I did already apologize,” he reminded her, his jaw jutting forward with a stubborn tilt. “But I’ve been maneuvered and manipulated by groupies enough times that by now I—”
“You think I’m a groupie?” Any fear she had about growing tender feelings for this man vanished. She was so incensed she could hardly see straight.
“To be fair, you thought I was a Casanova young stud of a player.” He stood toe to toe with her despite the railing in between them. “Maybe you thought I’d be an easy candidate for your full-court mating press.”
His voice whispered along her senses despite the sting of the accusation. Incredibly, her body responded to his nearness, remembering all the ways he’d touched her the night before. All the ways he’d reassured her she was special. Worthy of his sole focus and attention to bring her to a place of total bliss.
“Looks like we both made some false assumptions.” Her voice floated along on a breathless note, her skin tingling in spite of her brain’s warning to bail.
“So why don’t you let me make it up to you?” He edged his way around the railing to stand on the patio beside her. “I go back to work tonight now that my two-day suspension is over. We’ve got a home game against Chicago. Why don’t you make use of my ticket allowance and see the game from behind home plate?”
She felt her jaw slide open, surprised at the offer.
“I don’t know anything about baseball.” Did he want to see her again? Or was he just trying to smooth over the fact that he’d sprinted from her bed?
“Obviously.” He picked up the tail end of her braid and used the tip like a paintbrush to trail lightly over her shoulder. “Anyone who can’t tell a manager from a player is clearly not a fan. But have you ever been to a game?”
Heath studied Amber’s dark eyes, hoping for a clue about what was going on in her head. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited her, knowing he couldn’t afford distractions this season. But he’d been wrong to jump to conclusions about her and he honestly wanted to end this on a good note.
No matter that he wasn’t in the market for a relationship, Amber Nichols was the most interesting woman to cross his path in a hell of long time. She deserved better than his disappearing act.
Especially given what he knew about her past—that some guy had tried to pass off his own shortcomings as hers. The notion still pissed him off.
“No. I’ve never set foot in a baseball stadium.”
A fact that further demolished his theory that she was a groupie.
“So don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
She hugged her laptop to her chest, planting a bulky physical barrier between them.
“I don’t know.” Frowning, she turned to look out toward the water where a young couple played in the surf with a loping St. Bernard. “Wouldn’t a groupie try to wrangle good seats out of you?”
“A good groupie would be too busy throwing herself at me to worry about tickets.”
The tide crashed higher on the shore beside them, spraying a fine mist along her skin. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stifle a grin.
“As enticing as it sounds, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. Rochelle was kind enough to share the beach house with me this week so I could stock up on R & R and I plan to do just that.” She nodded toward a picnic basket teetering on the end of the patio table, a blanket and a bottle of wine poking out one side.
“What’s more relaxing than a baseball game?” He couldn’t imagine anybody turning down seats at one of the most fabled stadiums in the majors—except for a New York fan, maybe.
She bit her lip, and he felt a phantom brush of her teeth along his skin, half remembered from the night before. The sight sent a surge of longing through him.
“Come on,” he urged, knowing now he’d been dead wrong about her only being interested in him for his money or his fame. He’d had to talk her into sleeping with him, for one thing. Now he had to talk her into a date. “Give me the chance to make it up to you for thinking you were a groupie.”
Finally, she nodded.
“Okay,” she agreed, though she sounded as wary as if he’d just invited her skydiving. “But I’m not sure how I can make it up to you for thinking you were a home-run-hitting superstar. Seems to me I was having more kind opinions of you than you were of me anyhow.”
He knew she was teasing. She wouldn’t have any idea how tough it had been to leave his playing days behind and become a manager. Baseball had been the only thing that got him through the years after his mom died. The only thing that connected him to his father—a one-time pitcher for a west coast team who’d never married Heath’s mother even after two kids together. Taking off the Aces’ uniform after they’d had his last game had been a pain that didn’t stop until he’d been hired back to manage the team. He’d only resigned himself to the gig since he was back in Boston blue and red.
Now he just needed to ensure this team played well enough to renew his contract. And with the pressure mounting from the higher-ups to turn the season around, that was going to be damn difficult.
“I’ll figure out a way for you to make it up to me,” he assured her, hiding how much the sport meant to him by distracting her with a quick kiss. Right over that plump lower lip that had taken his eye. “Game time is 7:00 p.m. and the tickets are at the Will Call window. If you stick around afterward, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
She looked dazed from the kiss, a thought that went a long way toward improving his mood. He didn’t have any idea what he was doing by inviting her deeper into his world. All he knew was that after last night and the way she’d gotten under his skin, he wasn’t ready to walk away yet.
5
“BUT I WAS SUPPOSED to walk away,” Amber explained to Rochelle that night during the seventh-inning stretch at the Boston Aces’ home game against t
he Chicago Flames.
Amber had coerced her friend into meeting at the stadium since Heath had left two tickets. Plus, Amber needed a cool-headed perspective on whatever was happening between her and the hot manager of the Boston team. Now, the former college roommates shared beers and a bag of peanuts after the Aces fell behind by a run. All around them, the crowd was on their feet singing about rooting for the home team. The night would have been really fun if she hadn’t been a paranoid wreck about getting in over her head with a man who at this point was probably just being nice to her.
“I don’t get it.” Rochelle shook her head, long blond curls hopping around the shoulders of her shiny satin baseball jacket embroidered with the Aces logo from the seventies. “Why were you supposed to walk away? Who would ever suggest you ditch a hot guy like Heath?”
“Didn’t I tell you about my plan for this week?” Amber hated throwing the peanut shells on the stadium floor, even though the rest of the fans seemed to. Instead, she balanced the box that had been their drink carrier on her lap and cracked them over the cardboard.
“I thought you wanted to meet someone.” Rochelle cheered as the Aces came to bat and Diego Estes, the third baseman, warmed up his swing. She pointed to his photo as it flashed on the jumbo screen. “That’s the guy who was staying at Heath’s place when we were there last week.”
Amber had to admit she never would have confused the young Latino with Heath if she kept track of the team at all. It was obvious the women went wild for Estes since the cheers took on a distinctly feminine sound.
“I did want to meet someone,” Amber clarified, not wanting to talk about her mix-up the day before. “I also hoped to keep it uncomplicated and temporary. I don’t need to romanticize every guy I get involved with, right?”
“You purposely sought out a one-night stand?”
Rochelle’s beer sloshed over the rim of the bottle as she whipped around to confront Amber.
“Well…” Hello, Awkwardness. “You encouraged me to have a wild affair, didn’t you? I figured as long as the guy seemed game for a no-strings night, it wasn’t a big deal.”
Rochelle’s eyes went as wide as her gold hoop earrings.
“You threw away your every cautious, careful instinct to have an affair just because that bozo Brent broke your heart?”
Amber appreciated her friend’s concern—and her indignation on Amber’s behalf. But she wasn’t interested in bashing Brent so much as she wanted to move on. That meant figuring out what to do about Heath.
Shrugging, Amber washed down the last peanut just as the crack of a bat told her Diego had a hit. All around her, fans jumped to their feet and followed the progress of the ball toward the left field wall.
When the left fielder made a diving catch into that same wall, the fans fell back into their seats in unison with a communal wail of despair. As the next hitter came to the plate, Amber wondered how Heath was taking the catch in the dugout below. For now, however, she wanted to squeeze whatever wisdom she could from Rochelle about handling her upcoming sort-of date with Heath.
“I just want to see what it feels like to go out with someone without visions of happily-ever-after mucking it up for me. I’ve spent all my dating years either seriously involved or seriously single. I’ve never dated for fun.”
“And you picked Heath Donovan for your ‘fun’ guy?” Rochelle toasted Amber with her beer. “He’s hot, but he’s also one of the most focused and intense coaches in the majors. Before that, he was one of the most focused and determined players. He’s got a rep for being no-nonsense, even though my personal opinion is that he goes too easy on his veteran players.”
The batter at the plate struck out, apparently, and the crowd erupted in booing at the umpire’s call. Amber was more interested in what Rochelle had said about Heath being intense. It definitely might have been easier to keep things casual with a younger player—like she’d thought he’d been—but she wouldn’t trade her night with Heath for one with another guy for anything in the world. She’d never felt anything close to the way he’d made her feel.
“Uh-oh.” Rochelle clutched Amber’s arm and pointed toward the home plate where Heath had made an appearance to speak to the umpire. “Heath got tossed from a game on the road three nights ago because he argued a strike three call too heatedly.”
Amber watched him, the view from the front-row seats allowing her to see how good Heath looked in uniform. He wore a different jersey than his players—his shirt a navy V-neck with the team logo on one side as opposed to the buttoned vest over short sleeves that the team wore. But the gray baseball pants were just the same and—my—he sure wore them well.
“I’ve never dated a guy like that,” Amber observed, as much to herself as to Rochelle. She really had no idea how to proceed.
No clue how to date just for fun, especially with a guy who was a no-B.S. straight shooter. He didn’t seem to raise his voice with the ump, but he definitely got in the guy’s face. Still, after he spoke his peace, he stalked back to the dugout without escalating the argument.
“Well, from where I’m sitting, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who could do anything casually.” Rochelle pulled out her phone to check an incoming text, probably an SOS from her husband who was home alone with their two small children. She popped the phone back in her bag and returned her attention to the game. “But maybe he’d be good for you since he’s nothing like the guys you normally date.”
“Nerdy professors?” Amber knew that was how Rochelle saw her taste in men. And Brent had taught a groundbreaking new style of psychotherapy at Yale.
“Cerebral types who spend too much time in their heads to know how to relate to people.” Her friend zipped up her jacket and pulled her purse onto her shoulder. “I need to dash, Amber, but I think you’d be crazy not to at least see where this leads. Sometimes there’s no predicting the people we’re compatible with.”
Or the people we lust after.
Amber couldn’t help but acknowledge that with Heath, physical attraction came into play to a degree she wasn’t used to. But she had no reason to think he was ready for anything more than a good time.
Amber kissed her friend’s cheek and gave her a hug. “Thank you for coming and be careful heading home, okay?”
“You, too.” Rochelle winked as she stood to leave. “But maybe you won’t be heading home at all after the grand tour. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
Nodding, Amber waved goodbye and returned her attention to the eighth inning where the Aces’ pitcher threw one strike after another to speed the game along. Nervousness set in about the night.
About Heath.
She had no idea what she was in for by spending more time with him. But as long as she kept her B.S. meter finely tuned and her heart out of the equation, she could afford to have a little fun. Couldn’t she?
Getting into the spirit of the game as the Aces turned a double play, Amber congratulated herself on taking a risk. That had been one of her goals in this week all along. Now, the trick was not to get hurt.
“DID YOUR TWO-GAME suspension help you cool off, Donovan?” some snot-nosed young reporter asked Heath at the postgame press conference.
Heath had been fielding questions about his blow-up on the strike call throughout the conference, amazed at how many ways sports journalists could ask the same damn thing. He yanked his gaze off the young reporter who—honest to God—appeared to be texting his story notes into a phone the size of a postage stamp. Collecting his thoughts, Heath stared at the door at the back of the room while trying to formulate a spin-proof answer that communicated exactly nothing.
And who should walk through the rear exit but a slender brunette with a long braid snaking over one shoulder of a white blouse. A green and pink paisley skirt fit her narrow hips perfectly, calling attention to long, tanned legs.
He’d seen her in the stands during the game, but those brief glimpses hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy the hunger for her that had developed.
He’d planned to meet her near the Aces’ front office after the interview, but he’d forgotten that she would have media credentials as a book reviewer for Boston’s biggest paper. She wouldn’t have been admitted to the brief press meet and greet otherwise.
“I wouldn’t say I cooled off during the two-game suspension,” Heath answered finally, knowing his response wasn’t watered down enough. But he had a tough time playing it safe when Amber was around. “I’ve always approached the game with fire and intensity, and that’s what I bring to the dugout as a manager. I’m not going to apologize for how I run the team.”
Amber’s gaze met his over the heads of forty other journalists, her dark eyes registering an elemental response when he talked about fire and intensity. Even across a crowded room, he felt the connection to her, a connection that went beyond the physical and appealed to him on every level. He remembered how offended she’d been at the suggestion of being a groupie, her huffy denial as she’d banged the keys on her laptop.
“I’m afraid we’ve run out of time,” Heath began his standard routine for retreat, ready to exit and see where tonight led with Amber. Had she come simply to smooth things over and part on good terms? Or was she feeling the same call to explore their attraction?
“But, Donovan,” the young reporter with the cell phone piped up again, pressing forward in the crowd so that he was tougher to ignore, “with less than a full season remaining on your contract, are you at all concerned about what the message from the Aces’ administration is when they told you not to come to the ballpark for the two games during the suspension?”
After almost twenty years in the majors in one capacity or another, Heath knew he ought to remember that sometimes a ball came in from left field when you were least expecting it. He’d thought he was sailing into home and Bam! He was dead at the plate thanks to a hell of an arm on this kid.
The room went silent. Even though every person present knew the kid was out of line, every last one of them couldn’t wait to hear Heath’s answer. Except for Amber, every damn one of the people in this room knew baseball was Heath’s whole life. He’d never hid that fact.