Perfect Game

by Collette West

  His humility catches me off guard, forcing me to once again regroup and consult my clipboard. "So, what would you say are your goals for this season?"

  "I only have one. To win the World Series," he says with such conviction that I don't doubt him for a moment. "It sucked having to exit the playoffs so early last year, not being able to defend our title. We had some injuries and guys went down, but we need to step it up this year and get back to where we were—on top. Anything less is a failure, and I'm sure my boss, Mr. Heimlich, would agree with me. The Kings are synonymous with winning. Our mission is to bring home another championship."

  His passion has me so aroused that I want to drag him off the field and have my way with him, but I can't. Millions of people are going to be watching this, so I have to somehow keep it together. Thank God we're almost done.

  "You've been swinging a hot bat in spring training. Why do you think you're hitting the ball so well?" I fall back on clubhouse rule number one: When in doubt, compliment the hell out of a player in order to get a wordy response.

  "I don't want to jinx it by talking about it because I've had some pretty rough springs. It usually takes me a while to get going, but not this year. This year, I came out fighting, knowing I had something to prove." He cracks his knuckles, pinning me with that intense look again, like he's definitely ready for round two with me tonight.

  "And that is?" I prompt, probably sounding more like a phone sex operator than a sports journalist.

  "To show the New York fans that they didn't misplace their trust in me, because I intend to deliver for them," he states, providing me with the perfect sound bite to close with.

  Oh yeah, he knows what he's doing. He's a pro at this. He probably just made my career, putting my name firmly on the map.

  "Thanks, Scott. I'm sure you will." I jut my chest out and turn in Sammy's direction, putting on my most dazzling smile. "Coming up next, we'll explore the ongoing rehab of closer Bruce 'Jilly' Gillette and when exactly he'll be returning to the Kings' bullpen." I wait until the little red light atop the camera goes off before sinking back in my seat and taking a breath.

  "Is it over?" Scott asks, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at me with concern etched all over his gorgeous face.

  "Yeah. You did great."

  "Did I give you everything you needed?"

  "And then some."

  "See? You'd be wise not to underestimate me, Care Bear. I'm not a complete fuck-up."

  His cleat toys with the toe of my stiletto, and I tap it back. That's all the encouragement he needs to start running the side of his foot up my leg, not caring that we're playing footsie right in front of Sammy, who, luckily, is too busy checking the footage in case we need to reshoot anything.

  "I never said you were," I reply, brushing his foot away and standing up. "You're the backbone of this team, Scott. When you're locked in, no one can touch you."

  "Not even you?"

  I groan, reaching for his mic cord and tugging it off. "I thought we were finally having an adult conversation."

  "We are. I just can't help busting you. I love seeing your cheeks get all flushed when you get mad at me. It's fuckin' adorable."

  "Why can't you show that nice-guy side more often and not just on camera?"

  "Because I'm not a nice guy." He smiles, teasing me. "But sitting across from you…I dunno. You bring it out in me. I guess I try harder 'cause I wanna please you." He stands beside me, looking down at me through his sandy lashes, which makes my heart beat faster.

  "Or because you wanna get me into bed again?"

  I fight off his charm offensive, trying not to fall for it. I promised myself that I'd never let another hot baseball player string me along. They can't be faithful. There's too much temptation. I should know better. I need to learn from my mistakes, not keep making the same ones over and over again.

  But Scott Harper's making it so damn hard.

  "Not only that. I like you, Care Bear. I want you to respect me."

  Again, my heart does that weird kind of flutter, one I've never truly experienced until now. I want to believe him, but I have to hang tough because I don't know if he's being genuine or not.

  "Then quit playing the fool and own who you are. Because when you do, it's downright sexy."

  "Did you just pay me a compliment?" He takes a step toward me, playfully cupping a hand to his ear.

  "Don't be greedy." I giggle, smacking his rock-hard bicep.

  He turns into me, his face inches from mine. "I can die a happy man now. Carrie McKenzie thinks I'm sexy."

  "Great. Now I've created a monster," I moan, taking a step back when I catch Sammy observing us out of the corner of his eye.

  But Scott won't be deterred no matter who's watching. "Well, then, why don't you feed this sexy beast and go out to dinner with me?"

  On the inside, I'm jumping up and down with excitement because he wants to continue this, but outwardly, I say, "Umm, I don't think so."

  "You're gonna drive me up a fuckin' wall. You know that?" He closes the space between us, tilting up my chin with his finger. "But when it comes to you, Care Bear, romance is my middle name. C'mon. We can eat outside by the marina and watch the sun go down. All I wanna do is kick back a little before the season begins. What d'ya say? We kicked this interview's ass. We should go out and celebrate together."

  I can tell that having this interview over with is a big burden off his shoulders. He was dreading having to talk about his role in the sex scandal, and I'm glad I was able to help him through it. His plan for tonight sounds so good, but I can hear Sammy angrily packing away the equipment, and I don't want to look like a floozy in front of my peers. So instead of saying yes, I make up a lame excuse.

  "I have an early morning tomorrow."

  But Scott sees right through it. "So do I. We're on the same six a.m. charter flight to New York, remember?"

  "But I have to pack…"

  "C'mon. Quit being stubborn. Say yes. Nobody likes to eat alone." He steps in front of me, blocking me from view, before boldly tracing his thumb over my lips. "I want you to join me."

  I give it a last-ditch effort as Sammy strides away. "I don't think it's such a good idea." But I lose it when I feel Scott's warm breath on my face.

  "Don't make me beg."

  I take a shaky breath. This is dangerous. But damn it, it's what I want. I'm willing to accept the consequences, whatever they may be. I want to pretend for one night that this is possible. That we can go on a date like two ordinary people.

  "All right. Fine."

  "Score!"

  "Don't get all excited. You're only thanking me because the interview went so well, right? It's my excuse to fall back on in case I get chewed out for this."

  "I'll make sure you don't." He squints across the field at Sammy's retreating figure. "I have more pull around here than you realize."

  "Oh, really? Care to elaborate, Mr. Big Shot?" I look around, glad that we're the last ones left on the field, and brazenly grab his shirt, pulling him toward me with both hands. I love how snugly his uniform fits against his hard, lean body, the sleeves of his jersey stretched tight over his big, muscular arms.

  "Nah. I'd rather keep you guessing at the source of my mystical powers." He presses his sweaty body against mine, kissing the top of my head.

  "Give me about fifteen minutes or so. I need to help Sammy pack up the rest of the equipment and load it back in the truck."

  "They make you do all of that?" He looks down at me in surprise.

  "I'm part of a team too. I gotta pull my weight." I flex my arm muscle, making him laugh.

  "You never cease to amaze me, Care Bear." He nuzzles my neck, coming in for a kiss, but I turn my head, only giving him my cheek. We shouldn't take things too far—not when anyone can see us.

  "In the meantime, hit the showers," I say, turning away because seeing him all sweaty is giving me too many flashbacks of last night and how his glistening muscles were rising and straining aga
inst my body.

  "You sure you don't wanna join me?" He grabs me from behind.

  I gasp when I feel his massive hard-on against my backside. "I'll take a rain check," I moan, imagining what we could be doing when he places his hands on my hips, slowly moving my butt back and forth over his erection.

  "Will you now? Good to know, because I plan on holding you to that." He groans, his bulge becoming more and more evident through the skintight pants of his uniform.

  I reach back and wrap my hand around his neck, arching into him. Then I do a move that can only be described as "twerking all up on him" before spinning around and giving him a playful shove.

  "Go. Before I change my mind."

  He smiles at me, his eyes dark with desire. "You won't regret this, Carrie." He guides my hand to his lips, giving it a sweet, gentle kiss. "I promise."

  Because of that, I know he's not playing me, that this is for real. I'm not some fat chick to him. I'm sexy, hot, desirable. I should be scared of what he could do to my heart, but I'm not. For some reason, it feels like he wants me to trust him, and I intend to embrace that feeling and go with it, believing my gut when it tells me that, somehow, beneath all of his swagger, he's different from all the rest.

  Chapter Five

  Scott

  "Wow. This place is really nice."

  Carrie's eyes light up as she glances around the marina. She looks so beautiful strolling beside me over a stone bridge lined with fragrant, tropical flowers that she literally takes my breath away. I don't know what comes over me whenever I'm around this girl. I'm not some romantic sap with stars in my eyes, but she's making me feel like I am, and it scares the shit out of me.

  I clear my throat, trying to get a grip. "Yeah. It feels good to get out. I've been keeping somewhat of a low profile since I became the public face of nakedness everywhere."

  She laughs, but all I hear is the buzz of the other patrons increasing as soon as we enter the main dining area, and I pray that she's not regretting her decision to come out with me tonight. Shit, I can't go out—even in Panama—without causing a stir. But Carrie McKenzie rises to the challenge, confidently striding across the marina on my arm like she's proud to be seen with me, staring down anyone who dares to whisper about us.

  "Give me a break," she says, continuing our conversation like no one's watching. "I can imagine the kind of stunts some of the other players pull."

  "True. They just don't get caught. I did."

  I pull her chair out for her, and she turns to thank me, the honey-blond strands of her hair brushing against my knuckles, making my crotch tighten.

  "See? That's what I mean—the hypocrisy of the whole thing."

  "So, you don't think I'm a total jerk, then?" I gather myself and sit across from her, wishing it were my mouth and not a napkin she was placing over her lap.

  "Total jerk? No. Partial jerk? Yeah," she responds, her hazel eyes laughing at me.

  "Well, at least I'm moving up in your estimation."

  "It's a slow climb, and I'm fully expecting you to do something stupid that'll send you careening down to the bottom." She rests her chin on her hands, thoroughly enjoying herself.

  I already know what I want to eat, but I pretend to scan the list of entrées anyway so I can watch her from behind the menu. I don't want to come on too strong, but I can't take my eyes off her.

  "Bear with me. I'm a work in progress."

  "I guess that's encouraging." She takes a sip of the wine she carried over from the bar, and I'd like nothing more than to pour a few drops on her stomach and lick them off with my tongue, imagining how good it would taste rolling off her skin.

  "So, I'm not a lost cause to you?" I ask, my heart in my throat.

  "I don't think so." She smiles, bringing her glass once again to those decadent, full lips of hers—lips that did such naughty things to me last night.

  "Good. That's all I needed to hear." I place the menu down decidedly, stoked to know she has confidence in me, even if it's going to take the rest of the media a little while longer to stop referring to me as the laughingstock of the team.

  "Why do you care so much about what I think?" she asks, not realizing I'd walk across hot lava to hear her praise me again.

  "Because I admire you, Care Bear. One day, I want you to think as highly of me as I do of you."

  Her jaw drops. "But you don't even know me."

  "I know you."

  I give her a heated glance. I have to be honest with her. It's the only way she's ever going to trust me. She's returning my look with such intensity that it's clear I'm giving her a whole lot more than she bargained for, and that's okay. The electricity crackling between us is something I don't think either of us anticipated. I want her to know that she's not alone in this. I'm right there with her. I'm just as confused and astounded as she is.

  "Are you ready to order, Mr. Harper?"

  The waitress breaks us out of the trance we're in, and I'm sorry to see the moment slip away. I like having Carrie all to myself, even in a room full of people.

  "Yeah. We're gonna go with the pan-fried tilapia," I respond, taking charge, knowing that Carrie won't like it.

  "For the lady as well?"

  "That's right," Carrie replies, giving me a pointed look the waitress picks up on.

  "We do have a more lo-cal option as well. The grilled version is an excellent choice with half the saturated fat."

  Carrie shifts in her seat, not liking the mean-spirited nature behind the intended dig. I get mad when I see how uncomfortable she is.

  "I think we know what we want. Thanks," I snap at the waitress.

  "Okay, great. I just wanted to make sure the lady was aware of it." The waitress gives me a fake smile that in no way makes up for her rudeness.

  But Carrie puts her soundly in her place. "The lady wants her fish pan-fried in tons of butter and olive oil. Got it?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And you might as well take my dessert order while you're at it. I'm gonna have the chocolate mousse cake à la mode drizzled with caramel sauce. And how about an appetizer, babe? I'm starving, and the stuffed mushrooms sound amazing."

  My breath hitches when, beneath the tablecloth, Carrie's hand slides along the inside of my thigh.

  "Yeah, I can go for an appetizer," I say in a rush. "Let's make it two. Add on an order of the jalapeño poppers, too."

  "With extra cheese dip," Carrie chimes in.

  "I'll put that right in for you." The waitress simpers at us before walking away.

  "Wow. She basically just told me I'm fat." Carrie narrows her eyes, glaring at the waitress's back.

  She puts some extra jiggle in her step, shaking her ass—probably for my benefit. But all it does is infuriate Carrie even more. The waitress is a ho-bag, and I have absolutely zero interest in her. However, I kind of like that she made Carrie get all jealous and possessive over me, because man, it's such a turn-on.

  "You showed her." I recline back in my seat, smiling at her in approval.

  "Thanks for the backup. It's not something I get too often from the men in my life." Carrie glances at me appreciatively.

  I wonder what kind of jerks she's dated in the past if I'm the only one who's stood up for her. She's so amazing. What guy wouldn't want to fight for her?

  "I'm always cocked and loaded when it comes to you, Care Bear."

  "Are you now?" She teases, moving her hand farther north, giving me a sharp tug through my pants.

  It's like she's friggin' obsessed with my dick, and I couldn't be happier. She can touch it all she wants. It's so hot because I'm the only one who knows what she's doing to me right now. God, it makes me want to carry her onto one of those boats docked in front of us and have my way with her with the water rocking beneath us.

  I groan with desire as she massages me with her thumb. "Yep. Watching you handle that waitress has me all kinds of excited."

  "Then you'd better stay on your side of the table," she giggles, starting my engines t
hen quickly removing her hand.

  I take a deep breath and steady myself, my erection now straining uncomfortably against my zipper. At least no one can see my discomfort under the table.

  "Are you sure about that? I kinda just wanted to hold your hand." I look at her beseechingly, craving any type of physical contact with her. It's like I can never get close enough to her, even when she's sitting right next to me.

  "Well, since you asked nicely." She extends her hand, and I raise it to my lips, moaning at the velvety smoothness of her skin.

  "Really? I thought I'd have to wait until at least your third glass of Pinot."

  Her breathing increases, and I know I'm getting to her. God, wait until I get her alone.

  "Are you saying I'm easy?" she asks, trying to pull her hand away, making me wish we hadn't had so much to drink last night.

  "No way in hell would I ever say you're easy," I reply, intimately circling my thumb against her palm.

  "Good."

  "But your skin is so soft for lugging camera equipment around under the hot sun all day."

  "I am a girl, you know. I do moisturize, exfoliate…"

  "I get the picture."

  "And I still find time to sit here and let you hold my hand."

  "How do you do it?"

  "I'm a woman. I can do it all. Maybe one day, I'll even be a serious reporter."

  We smile at each other over the dancing flame of the votive candle on our table. I'm not a dinner-and-drinks kind of guy, but this is nice—being here with her, watching the sun slip beneath the horizon, and seeing the sea breeze gently caress her face. I've never been on a date that felt as good as this. Yeah, I'm enjoying her company, but I can't wait to go back to the hotel and screw the living daylights out of her too.

  "I wanna hear all about your goals," I say, not even bothering to hide the admiration I have for her brimming in my voice.

  "You're making it feel like we're on a date," she says, echoing my thoughts.

  "Well, aren't we?"

  "I'd like to think that it's more of a business dinner between colleagues," she replies sarcastically.

  C'mon. Who is she kidding? She just gave me a mini hand job under the table.