Perfect Game

by Collette West

  "Nothing can prepare you for the cutthroat nature of the New York Kings," Grey groans, running her finger across her throat, which makes me laugh.

  "Exactly. Especially with all the controversy surrounding Scott. Everyone's been gunning for this story, and I'm the one who got it, so I have to deliver." I tap my foot impatiently, watching the floor numbers light up, itching to get up there and get to work.

  "And it doesn't help that you're attracted to Scott, right?" Grey playfully nudges my side.

  I blush. "Jeez. Is it that obvious?"

  Grey starts fanning herself with the media guide she had crammed in the pocket of her chic Alexander Wang jacket—the denim one with the patchwork zippers my fashionista sister has been lusting over forever. "Love him or hate him, the guy has a way with women. I'm happily married to the man of my dreams, with a rambunctious little girl at home, but I'd be lying if I said Scott never sent a flutter through my stomach. When he looks at you, he makes you feel like you're the only woman in the whole wide world. And it doesn't help that he's drop-dead gorgeous."

  I appreciate Grey's honesty, but if she weren't head over heels for her husband, I'd want to throttle her right now.

  "So, I'm not crazy for not knowing whether I want to deck him or kiss him?"

  Grey grabs a juice box out of the end slot of her bag, jams the straw in, and takes a sip. "You've got it bad, girl. Watch yourself."

  "Yeah, I know. You don't have to say it—starting something with him would be career suicide."

  The elevator returns with a buzz, and the click-clack of our stiletto heels echoes off the walls as we step inside.

  Grey turns to face me, resting her back against the elevator wall. "But sometimes, feelings like that can become so powerful that you have no choice but to act on them. If Scott got you this riled up"—she pauses, puckering her lips and whistling through her teeth—"you're in big trouble, sister."

  I fidget with the ends of my hair, twirling some strands around my finger. "A girl like me never gets that type of response from a guy like him." Unless it's about my boobs, I think. "But, Grey, if you're saying that he makes every woman feel that way, then I just have to keep telling myself that it's all in my head."

  I unconsciously suck my stomach in. My insecurities about being a size ten—when he's been with nothing but waif-like models and actresses—are hard to ignore, but then I remember how he circled the tip of his tongue around my belly button and relax. Scott saw me naked, with all of my imperfections, and still seemed to enjoy having sex with me—or should I say that he really, really, really enjoyed having sex with me?

  Grey studies me with a sparkle in her eye. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, Carrie. Chase told me that Scott hasn't been with anyone since those photos hit the net. He said Scott was holed up in his Florida house all during spring training. Who knows? Scotty-Boy might be changing his tune."

  But she doesn't know that Scott has been with someone—me.

  And it makes me wonder… If Scott can pull off secretly spending the night with me, has he been fooling around with other girls Chase doesn't know about?

  I lower my head, pretending to straighten my skirt. "Or the front office has told him to keep it zipped," I fib, knowing they did no such thing.

  They do other things—a lot more terrible things—to keep their players in line.

  "True, but I don't think he'd listen to them, even if they did," Grey chuckles, understanding Scott way better than she thinks she does. "No, I think he got a real scare this time, but it might've been the wake-up call he so desperately needed." She steps toward me as the elevator door opens. "And don't go putting yourself down like that. You're a knockout, Carrie. The camera loves you."

  I grimace. "There's a reason they always shoot me from the waist up."

  "Stop it."

  We turn the corner and pass by a guy with the Panamanian press corps whose eyes nearly pop out of his head when he gets a load of my chest.

  I sigh and keep going. "See? That's the kind of thing I'm talking about. That's why they hired me—to give the guys scratching their crotches at home on the couch some blond bimbo to deliver the news on the team. That's the demographic that watches the Kings' network. I'm not an idiot."

  "But I know Arnold Heimlich would never have someone represent his team who wasn't capable of doing their job. Don't sell yourself short. You're a triple threat. Brains, looks, personality—the complete package." Grey takes a loud, final pull of her juice box before throwing it into a nearby trash can without missing a beat.

  "So, I'm too good for Scott Harper. Is that what you're telling me?"

  "I'd say!" She stops, taking the media guide from underneath her arm and pointing at the cover. "Oh, Carrie, why couldn't you be into somebody like Jake Woodbury? Now there's a guy who knows how to treat a woman right."

  "And you don't think Scott can?"

  "Not necessarily. He can learn. I went through the same thing with Chase. It wasn't easy building up to that level of trust. But I couldn't help it. I loved him." She gives me a lopsided grin. "Looking back, I'm just glad it all worked out when it could've gone so horribly wrong. But if you want my honest opinion, I'd say give someone like Jake a chance before you hop on the Scott bandwagon. I saw the way Jake was looking at you out there, and he's such a great guy."

  "I wish I could. It'd make my life a whole lot easier."

  I glance at the cover of the media guide. Jake's picture is gracing the front of it. He's the player the Kings are expecting to have a breakout year. Yeah, he looks good with his dark, wavy hair and his high cheekbones, but he just doesn't do it for me. He reminds me too much of the captain of Fordham's baseball team. The one I had a torrid affair with, which quickly ended once I caught him cheating on me two weeks into the season. I'd called him late one night after an away game and a girl answered saying, "I'm busy riding your boyfriend's dick. Can he call you back later?"

  Yeah, after that I kind of developed an aversion to guys with sexy hair, the ones who seem too good to be true. At least Scott is who he is, there's no denying that.

  Grey taps me with the edge of the media guide. "Carrie, I'd never tell you what to do, but be careful, okay? Guard that heart of yours in case Scott's not worth the risk."

  "It's not up to me anyway." I shrug, looking around the booth for a place for us to sit. "My irritable producer drilled it into my head from day one that I'm not even supposed to be seen with any of the players away from the field. But I mean, how is that even possible? We're going to be working together, traveling together, and, for all intents and purposes, living together when we're on the road."

  "The Kings talk a good game, but that's exactly what they told Sasha Roberts when she started and look what happened." She grins, arching an eyebrow. "They weren't able to keep her and Brooks away from each other."

  "But they didn't like it, did they?"

  "Well 'they' is mostly one person—the GM, Terry Bloom—and he always has a stick up his ass." She plops into one of the last remaining seats at the end of the row of reporters, and I sit down next to her. She scoots forward, whispering in my ear, "But from what I've been hearing behind the scenes, his days are numbered. If a fling with Scott is what floats your boat, don't let Terry hold you back from going after what you want."

  Interesting. She's heard the rumor about Terry too.

  I give her an appreciative glance. "Grey, I think you're the only one in the Kings' universe who'd ever have the guts to tell me that." I laugh as the players take the field below us.

  "Hey, I've been there. When it comes to love, don't follow anybody's rules but your own. Terry tried to tear me and Chase apart when we first got together, but we didn't let him." Grey boots up her laptop, gazing dreamily down at her husband in the dugout.

  He bends over to fill a cup of Gatorade, giving everyone a nice view of his tight ass, and I smile when I hear Grey sigh in appreciation.

  "Was I crazy to run after Chase the way I did? Probably. But I know I would
n't have what I have now if I hadn't, and I'm not talking about the penthouse and the chauffeur and all the material stuff. I'm talking about what really matters—having a man I'd do anything for."

  "And if I can't put up with Scott's mouth?" I ask, loving how her husband has her all flushed and bothered even from over a hundred feet away.

  "Then you just kiss him till he shuts up," she replies, giving me a sly wink. "Trust me. It works every time."

  Now it's my turn to blush. Those are the exact words Scott said to me this morning before he ravaged me beyond oblivion.

  Oh yeah, I'm so having sex with Scott Harper again.

  I want him despite myself. Yeah, I'm secretly yearning for something deeper, but right now, the intensity of sex will do.

  I let my eyes linger on him at first base, and somehow, he knows I'm watching him. He gives me that cocky smirk that sets my girly parts on fire, tipping his cap in my direction, and I know there's no way I can stay away from him now.

  I'm too far gone.

  Chapter Four

  Carrie

  "See how hot I am for you, darlin'? You have me sweating bullets," Scott jokes, flapping the collar of his shirt as my cameraman, Sammy, struggles to attach his mic.

  "What'd I say about calling me darlin'?" I correct him with a little more attitude than I normally would—mainly because of the disapproving look Sammy's giving me over Scott's shoulder.

  "Yeah, I should probably come up with something more original for someone as beautiful as you." Scott leans forward, stretching his legs out, the tiny foldout chair a tight fight for his large body.

  Scott Harper never stays with one girl for long. I know that. He's commitment-phobic. He likes the swinging single life and he's never going to give up playing the field for someone like me. It's not how he operates. He already told me that, and I'd be wise to remember it. Yet it still pisses me off that I want so much more from him than he's willing to give.

  "So, is that what you do? Call all the girls darlin' so you don't have to remember their names?" I smirk at him.

  "But I made sure to remember yours, Care Bear." He looks right at me with those sizzling, gray eyes of his, and I feel it right between my legs.

  Then he gives me a slow, seductive smile when I cross one ankle in front of the other as I clutch my clipboard of notes.

  "Sorry, Harper. I'm not some toy. I'm a person."

  "I know exactly what you are, Miss McKenzie. You're a tease."

  "I am not!"

  "See? There you go again, denying this fire between us."

  Sammy coughs loudly, clearing his throat, clearly not liking what he's hearing from both of us.

  "Are you ready to get this interview started?" I ask Scott, shimmying into the seat opposite him. I watch his eyes follow the hem of my skirt as it inches upward, willing myself to keep my knees locked together.

  Sammy steps toward the dugout, out of hearing range, and without warning, Scott yanks the cord connected to his mic, ripping it off so he can say what he wants to say to me.

  "Spending the night with me is the only way you're gonna be able to put that fire out, Care Bear." His voice is sexy and rough, just like it was last night when he tore the clothes from my body, and my legs start to tremble when he places his hand on my knee. "Your need for me is only gonna grow stronger. Why put yourself through that? You can have me whenever you want me, baby. I'm yours for the taking."

  Wow. Now that's some admission coming from a ladies' man like Scott Harper. He doesn't belong to any woman. He never has. But it makes me wonder: Does he really want to pursue me, or is he just upping his game to fend off Jake's advances? He's an out-and-out jock, and if one of his teammates is giving him competition for a place in my bed, that could be what's motivating him to take a more aggressive approach. But I don't need this. Not now. Not when my producer, John, is outside the stadium, watching us on the monitors inside the K-TV truck while chain-smoking through his two packs a day. So I gently take Scott's hand off my knee.

  Stepping out from behind the camera, Sammy grumbles at Scott, "Please don't remove any of the audio equipment until we're done." He takes the clip out of Scott's fingers and reattaches it while Scott sits there, grinning at me.

  I shift in my seat, sitting up straight, determined not to give in to how much he's distracting me. "You are miked, Mr. Harper, so I kindly ask that you watch what you say from this point forward. We're trying to stem the damage here, not create more."

  "I love when you get all businesslike with me. It's so damn sexy."

  "You never let up, do you?"

  "Not till I get what I want, and I want you, and I'm not gonna rest till I have you again…and again…and again."

  Sammy mutters something under his breath, adjusting the camera lens.

  "Lower your voice. You're gonna get me in trouble, and I swear to God, you're not going to mess this up for me." I lean toward him, my lips pressed together in a fine line.

  "Well, that's funny, darlin'. I thought this interview was about fixing my image. I'm kinda confused… When did apologizing for my screw-ups suddenly become all about you?" His gray eyes turn steely, and I sit back, admonished, knowing he's right.

  But I don't have time to apologize because I can hear John's raspy voice in my ear, telling Sammy to begin counting down.

  "Five…four…three…two…" Sammy stops at one and points silently at me to begin.

  I take a deep breath and snap into reporter mode. "Thank you for joining us on this edition of the Kings' Clubhouse Report. I'm your host, Carrie McKenzie, and joining me today is Kings' first baseman, Scott Harper. Welcome to the program, Scott."

  "Thank you for having me. It's good to be here." Scott looks over at Sammy and nods, his eyes lingering on the camera. He's so good at this, so natural. I can't help but be impressed.

  "I know you have a lot you want to get off your chest before the regular season gets underway. What would you like to tell fans about the invasion of privacy you suffered due to the recent photo leak?" He turns back to me and I peer intently into his eyes, jumping right in and leading with the hard stuff.

  He blinks, not missing a beat. "I would really like to take this opportunity to apologize to the innocent women who were affected by this security breach. It sickens me how their lives were turned upside down by what happened." He clasps his hands in front of him, looking truly repentant.

  This isn't the line I thought he'd take, but I have to follow up on it and scrap the next question I had planned. "But you were the target of the cyber attack too. Don't you feel just as violated?"

  "I don't care so much about myself. If I were the only one affected, it wouldn't bother me in the least, but sadly, that's not the case."

  I like how he talks with his hands, turning up his palms.

  "The perpetrator is obviously a whiz at hacking through firewalls. I just wish he'd made use of the crop tool as well and only embarrassed me instead of involving anyone else. Just because I'm comfortable with nudity doesn't mean everyone else is."

  I close my eyes and picture him getting out of bed this morning, strutting around my hotel room naked, his cocky grin widening when he felt my eyes devouring his hard, chiseled frame. He's so confident, so self-assured, so unashamed of his body that I couldn't help feeling a tad jealous of how at home he is in his own skin. I know I'll never be at peace with my thunder thighs and love handles. And that's when it hits me—maybe the hacker felt the same way.

  "Is that why you think you were targeted?" I ask, eager to gauge his reaction.

  "I like to keep my private life private," he replies, his eyes never wavering from my face, like he's speaking to me and no one else. "Yeah, the paparazzi have linked me to various women in the past, but I've never talked about any of them. My relationships are not meant for public consumption. What goes on behind closed doors is nobody's business. Those pictures were personal. They were never meant to be shared."

  I glance down at my clipboard—I'm not covering the talkin
g points my producer wants me to hit. I take a deep breath. Time to add fuel to the fire.

  "What do you say to parents trying to explain your behavior to young fans?"

  "I never said I was a role model." He bites down on his bottom lip—and looks damn fine doing it, visually backing up his statement that he's the bad boy of the Kings. "There are plenty of other guys on the team who fit that mold a lot better than I do. Kids should look to guys like Brooks and Jake for a positive example, not me." He places his hand over his heart, patting his chest. "I'm a ballplayer, but I'm not above making mistakes."

  "So, how do you plan to move forward from this?" My foot accidentally grazes his leg and I feel my face grow hot, hoping it doesn't show on camera.

  "My focus is on baseball. That's it." He rests his hands on his legs, spreading his fingers wide. "This is the one and only time I'm going to address this issue before I consider it over and done with. Once Opening Day rolls around, I won't have time to think about anything else but the game I have to play that day. That's where my focus needs to be, and it will be."

  There's something about his fingers that I love. They're so long and sexy, and I can't help thinking about how they felt moving inside me, how far they were able to reach, how quickly they were able to make me come against his hand.

  "What has the reaction from your teammates been like?" I manage to spit out, nearly coming undone when he chuckles, his laughter emanating from deep within his chest—where I rested my head last night as I listened to his heartbeat while the rough, coarse hair between his nipples tickled my chin.

  "They're my bros." He shrugs. Like "what else do you want me to say?" No further explanation is necessary. "They've all been incredibly supportive, but it's been an unnecessary distraction for the team. I don't want to place any additional burden on the twenty-four other guys on the roster. They shouldn't have to answer questions about my private life. It's not fair to them, and it's not fair to me. But most importantly, it's not fair to the fans. They deserve to see us play our very best, night after night, without any outside interference getting in the way of that."