Perfect Game

by Collette West

  "Don't tempt me," I growl, not wanting to think anymore, only wanting to feel her tightness as it surrounds me, taking me in.

  "But if it's this amazing…?" She emits a startled gasp when I nip her neck with my teeth.

  "Then shut up and kiss me." I devour her lips with mine.

  We move together as one, and it only takes a couple more thrusts before I feel her clench all around me. I watch her come, enjoying the beautiful sight, before slamming into her until I find my own release, happy to lose myself inside her—at least, for now.

  Chapter Two

  Scott

  I watch Carrie strut onto the field in a short skirt and high heels, and I can't help muttering in appreciation, "Hello, hot mama."

  "Quit drooling, Harper."

  I whirl around to face one of my teammates. "What? Marking your territory, Jake? Don't make me laugh."

  Yeah, Jake Woodbury's my boy, but he'd better back the fuck off. My temper flares when I see the way he's looking at Carrie. We're out here to nab some liners while the rest of the guys take batting practice. His eyes should be on the ball, not on her.

  "Scotty, I don't think so, man. She's the Kings' clubhouse reporter. Nobody's getting a piece of that."

  "Yeah…that's… That's friggin' crazy."

  I don't care if I'm breaking every rule in the book. Knowing that Carrie's off-limits makes me want her even more. She's too damn sexy to stay away from.

  That's it. My mind is made up. I'm seeing her again tonight. I gotta have her one more time before we leave Panama just to ease this intense craving I have for her. I know I should let her go…but I can't. Not yet.

  "I know I wouldn't put her within a hundred feet of a horndog like you, either," Jake scoffs, cupping the bill of his cap.

  "Screw you, Woodchucker. I've got it all under control."

  "You sure 'bout that?"

  "Abso-fucking-lutely."

  As long as Jessica Wallace quits leaving me an endless stream of voicemails and texts informing me of what an asshole I am. She was the last Hollywood starlet I bedded before the scandal broke, but she's definitely not the only one who wants to string me up by my balls.

  "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, dude," Jake mutters, watching the Panamanian national team start to warm up next to us in the outfield.

  "You think chicks tweeting out full frontals of my dick bothers me, Jake?" I ask, refusing to lower my voice even though some of the Panamanian guys point in my direction and mock me in Spanish.

  "Nah, man. I don't. That's the problem."

  "Here we go." I roll my eyes. "Dude, at least wait until the regular season starts before cornering me with your daily motivational lectures on how I can best improve myself."

  "Harper, you're my bro. You know that. But you've gotten way too careless lately. You gotta pull your shit together, man."

  "Just because I'm not a friggin' holy roller like you—"

  "That's not what I'm saying and you know it."

  "C'mon, Jake. I don't need an earful of your religious crap right now. I swear, if you start spouting Bible verses at me—"

  "When have I ever done that to you, huh?" He nudges my arm. "Besides, I'm not the one being all judgmental and shit. You are. You think you can do whatever the heck you want, but your actions have consequences, dude, and those women in your naked selfies are the ones paying the price. You can't take those photos back, man. They're out there now. You might be proud of showing off that you hooked up with every desirable woman in the known universe. But I'm sure they're embarrassed as all get out by them. I heard Jessica Wallace is even having anxiety attacks about having to promote her new movie because she's freaked out that everyone saw her naked."

  God, he's naïve.

  I shake my head at him with a bemused grin on my face. "I don't think so, Jake. They're actresses and models, for fuck's sake. They take their clothes off for a living. Those photos did nothing but take their celebrity factor to the next level. People are talking about these girls more than ever now. That's what they live for. They should be thanking me that some horny computer nerd hacked into my phone and made them even bigger stars than they already were."

  "You've really lost touch with reality, haven't you?"

  I reach up to shag a fly, allowing the ball to settle firmly into the well-worn pocket of my glove. "Jake, I'm here to play baseball, not talk about your unhealthy obsession with my sex life."

  "Whatever, man. I'm just trying to give you some friendly advice. You wanna hook up with that hot-ass reporter, that's your damn business. But don't say I didn't warn you."

  "You don't have the balls to approach her—because we both know which one of us she'd choose."

  I smile to myself—little does he know, she already chose me. I hate that Carrie's right, but yeah, I do want to one-up him. It's going to be hard to keep my mouth shut about how incredible she is in the sack if Jake keeps ragging on me.

  "C'mon, Scott. I don't think that's such a good idea. It's a long season, and we're gonna be seeing a lot of this chick over the next five months." He casts a nervous glance over my shoulder, and I can tell he's already pussying out.

  "Jake, you patrol the most hallowed piece of sports real estate out there—center field at Kings Stadium—and you're insecure about hitting on a girl who's on the payroll for the sole purpose of making you look good?"

  "Funny. Is that how you see my job?"

  I jump when I hear Carrie's deep, sexy voice behind me. Shit, Jake. Thanks a lot. "Well, hello there, darlin'. So nice of you to join us."

  "It's not darlin'. It's Carrie. Carrie McKenzie." Her hazel eyes flash up at me, and I can tell that she's pissed.

  "I'm sorry, Miss McKenzie. We mean no disrespect." Jake removes his cap, trying to come off all smooth. "Scotty here has a habit of shooting his mouth off. But I promise he's not as bad as he seems. He has the tendency to grow on you."

  "In more ways than one," I reply, failing to hide my grin when her cheeks start to redden.

  "I admire your loyalty to your teammate, Mr. Woodbury, even if I don't necessarily agree with it."

  "Please. Call me Jake." He extends his hand to her.

  And she shakes it warmly. "Only if you'll call me Carrie."

  "Deal."

  They smile at each other, and I think I'm going to be sick.

  "Go on. Keep on ignoring me. I don't care." I dig my cleat into the outfield grass, pretending like I'm not watching every move they make, hating that Jake is the one touching her and I'm not.

  "I see you, Mr. Harper," Carrie says, turning her attention back to me. "But I'm not one to stare."

  "Is that right?" I chuckle, knowing that this is payback for the remark I made in bed this morning about her not being able to take her eyes off me.

  "In fact, that's why I came over here in the first place. My producer, John, wants me to set up a time where we can sit down and talk so you can tell your side of the story."

  "What story?" I play dumb. There's no way I'm making this easy for her—not after having to stand here and watch Jake hit on her without being able to do anything about it.

  "I think you know."

  "Really? I'm drawing a blank. Care to refresh my memory?"

  "Wow, I didn't think anyone could forget their own celebrity sex scandal."

  Jake snickers.

  But I don't let him throw me off my game. "Oh, is that why your eyes keep dipping below my waist?"

  "And why yours haven't looked up from my chest?" she fires back.

  "Ha! I think you've met your match, Harper," Jake laughs.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, Jake, but he's not my type," Carrie zings me. "I don't date egomaniacs. In fact, I don't date baseball players at all," she continues, giving me a pointed look.

  Uh huh. Sure. That's not what she said last night when she kept begging me to give her everything I had and then some.

  Jake grimaces. "Sounds like she's shooting us both down, bro."

  "That's okay. I'm a patien
t guy. I don't get discouraged that easily," I reply, never taking my eyes off her.

  "Well, dream on, Harper, 'cause it ain't happening," she declares before turning toward me and mouthing, "again."

  "What? You already have a boyfriend or something?" I ask, playing with her. "Because obstacles like that don't intimidate me. They make me work that much harder to get what I want. And I want you, darlin'. Boy, do I want you."

  "I'm going to pretend like you didn't just say that and try to do my job," she retorts, throwing her shoulders back.

  I feel myself getting hard. I love it when she gets bossy with me.

  "Does a one-on-one in front of the dugout work for you, Harper? Say, around five o'clock, after the game?"

  "I'd really like to do it somewhere a lot more private, but whatever rocks your world, sweetheart." I tease her, liking the way she sticks her chest out when she's angry.

  "Settle down, dipwad," Jake says, elbowing me in the ribs. "Do you really wanna piss off the one person who's trying to help you?"

  "Thanks, Jake. But I'm a big girl. If Mr. Harper doesn't want to cooperate, it's up to him." Carrie shrugs, tossing her hair—hair that was spread across my chest a few short hours ago.

  "I'll be there," I say, lowering my voice to that sexy tone I know drives women wild, and smile when I see goose bumps start to rise on her arms. "In fact, I'm looking forward to analyzing every single detail with you."

  "Trust me." She narrows her gorgeous eyes at me. "If I could grill you the way I want to, you'd walk away a sniveling mess."

  "Looks like we've got a righteous one on our hands, Jake." I play it off even though she's intimidating the hell out of me right now. "I'd be annoyed if she didn't look so darn cute all fired up."

  "Five o'clock. Got it, Harper?"

  She turns to leave, but I don't want her to go. If she likes talking so much, then we should talk.

  "I'll be counting the minutes till then."

  "Spare me."

  "I'd rather do a lot more interesting things to you than that."

  "God, why do you have to be such a pig?"

  "Then why do you keep flirting with me?"

  "I'm not."

  "Honey, I know when a girl's flirting with me, and you definitely are."

  "So, is this how it's gonna be, then?"

  "It's however you want it to be."

  "I knew taking this job was going to be a headache," she moans, running her hand across her brow. "But I thought the reports about your behavior had to be exaggerated. You couldn't get away with being such a pompous jerk, not after you just got hung out to dry on social media. But you know what? Guys like you never change. And it really sucks, because it's not that you can't—it's that you won't."

  "I don't know who you've been talking to, but—" I call after her as she storms away, but it's no use. She doesn't look back. In fact, she doesn't even slow down.

  "Wow, dude. That was rough," Jake says a little too heartily, probably believing that he still has a shot with her. He thinks I botched it all up. But that's how Carrie and I spar when we're around other people. He just doesn't know that.

  "I dunno, Jake. I kinda like fighting with her. I was getting turned on by it." I reach down and adjust myself to hide the erection she left me with. Thank God batting practice is almost over.

  "You would," Jake replies, giving me a disgusted look.

  "C'mon. You don't get that much emotion out of a chick, good or bad, unless she's into you. There's something there. I'm fuckin' sure of it." I stretch my fingers inside my glove, imagining what I'm going to do to her the next time I get her alone—because there is going to be a next time.

  She can't pretend to stay mad at me forever, right?

  "Well, you're the only one who thinks so, because that's not how I saw it," Jake counters, cutting in front of me to nab the ball that's screaming toward us.

  "I hate to break it to you, man. But never go head-to-head with me over a woman 'cause I'm always gonna win." I take the ball from him after he catches it and throw a bullet to one of the cutoff guys in the infield. "Or don't you know that by now?"

  "You're such a dick." He exhales loudly before laughing at me and swatting my butt.

  I smack my glove against his chest as we jog together toward the dugout. "I'm all dick, Woodchucker, and don't you forget it."

  Chapter Three

  Carrie

  "Oh no. What's the matter?"

  From the press pit, Grey Whitfield looks at me with those big, brown eyes of hers, and I know I gotta spill. I need to talk to somebody about how the Kings' infuriatingly hot first baseman is driving me up a wall, even if I can't tell her everything.

  "Nothing. It's just Harper. Is he always such a prick?"

  Grey laughs as I approach her. "Don't let him get under your skin. He comes off as a little aggressive at first, but he's harmless." She gives me a knowing smile before shoving her laptop inside a giant Vera Bradley bag filled with stuffed animals, sippy cups, and every kind of kiddie paraphernalia known to man.

  "Yeah. Just don't give him a phone with a camera," I quip.

  Grey giggles before furrowing her brow. "But really, can you blame him for that? Those photos were meant to be private. He never had any intention of sharing them with anyone, even if his idea of getting private involved quite a few recognizable women."

  Several members of the media are still milling around packing up, so I make sure to lower my voice. "Yeah, I'm sure his photos of hot, naked celebrities never made their way around the locker room."

  "Scott talks a good game, but I think he's as mortified as anyone that those photos got out." Grey tilts her head to the side, letting her perfectly fringed bangs fall across her forehead.

  "Really? It doesn't show." I fiddle with the press badge around my neck, wishing it looked as classy as the shiny, gold pin Grey has on her lapel, the one the Queen of Diamonds website gives its staff writers to wear. What I wouldn't give to be as put together as Grey is. Maybe one day, when I land a national gig.

  "He's gotta maintain his street cred. Guys like Scott are all about saving face, being the king stud," Grey scoffs, implying that boys will be boys.

  And that's what drives me crazy. I refuse to make light of Scott's behavior the way she does, and I blurt out without thinking, "Sounds like you're talking from experience."

  Grey is married to Chase Whitfield, the only man who gives Scott a run for his money as the sexiest guy on the Kings. Chase was the star player on the team for years until he retired and came back as their first base coach. But retired or not, he's still as fine as ever, definitely mouth-watering. However, that doesn't give any good-looking ballplayer a free pass to be an asshole.

  Grey links her arm through mine, glancing around to make sure no one's listening. "I'm not gonna lie. Chase played the field pretty hard before we met. But afterward, he told me that he always felt so lonely inside. Most of the time, he was putting on a front because he thought that was the guy everyone expected him to be, like he had to live up to his own hype."

  "You think he's overcompensating?" I hold Grey's gaze, wondering if she's right.

  "I can't say for sure. I don't know Scott like I know Chase, but I recognize the warning signs." She ushers me ahead of her, down the narrow stairs that lead to the dugout.

  "It's just that this interview I have coming up with Scott is extremely important for my career." I wait for her to catch up, since I tend to walk as fast as I talk whenever I get excited. "It's the first time he's going to speak on the record about what happened. Yeah, it's a puff piece, and I can't ask him any hard-hitting questions, but this is the broadcast everyone's going to be taking their sound bites from. So I gotta bring it."

  "Don't worry, Carrie. You will. The Kings are a tough organization to work for. They always make you keep on proving yourself, no matter who you are. I guess that's the Arnold Heimlich mentality for you. He's the most feared owner in baseball because he's a total hard-ass who demands results. Second best is
never good enough for him."

  I shift nervously from foot to foot, avoiding her gaze because I know I must look guilty as sin. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice since she's too busy showering me with encouragement.

  "Don't let the pressure get to you. Use it to surpass their expectations. You're here, aren't you? You made it past the first hurdle. You got your foot in the door after beating out a lot of talented people to get this job. You're so good at what you do, I guarantee you're gonna knock 'em dead."

  "Thanks, Grey. I really wish you were a part of the everyday press pool." I glance over at my male colleagues who are talking loudly by the elevator.

  They're ready to go up to the booth and take notes on the game for the various media outlets they work for. These are the kinds of casual conversations I never seem to be a part of. It's not that like they go out of their way to exclude me, but they don't make any effort to include me, either. That's why it's nice to have Grey here with me in Panama. I don't feel so alone. I'm not the only one on the outside looking in.

  "Yeah. Me too. But it's hard when I have a little one at home, waiting for me." Grey adjusts the strap of her bag, redistributing the weight of whatever could possibly be inside, when a smile washes over her face. "My daughter, Nan, is starting nursery school when we move back to New York for the season, and I need to keep her on a routine with her naps, meals, and all of that good stuff. I don't travel with the team for the Queen of Diamonds as much as I used to, but I'm only a text away if you need me. And don't forget my boss, Gayle. She's always around, and I know she'll look out for you. Us women gotta stick together." She pats my arm.

  I don't want her feeling sorry for me, so I can't help but protest, "It's not like I have zero experience being the only girl in a roomful of guys. I covered my college team for four years at Fordham and had a brief stint in Philly before coming here. But—" I jut my chin at the noisy group of men who scramble inside the tiny elevator, not one of them making room for us as we watch the door shut in our faces.