Perfect Game

by Collette West

  "Care Bear, you're not fooling me. You have to like being in the spotlight at least a little bit or you would've chosen a career behind the scenes, not front and center." I run my fingers across my chin, watching her carefully.

  "Just because I don't want to be viewed as a piece of ass, you think I should hide behind the camera? That's insulting, Scott, and you know it. I'm damn good at what I do. Yeah, everybody else wants to pigeonhole me, but I can't believe you'd agree with them, knowing what it's like." She comes out swinging, walloping me, fighting back hard. "You're the team slut just as much as I am."

  "Excuse me?" I take a step toward her. She didn't just say that, did she?

  "You heard me. You're the Ken doll of the New York Kings and I'm your friggin' Barbie. We're a matching set," she laughs bitterly.

  I press my lips into a thin line. "Now, you're seriously trippin'. Darlin', I ain't no friggin' Ken doll."

  "Tell yourself whatever you want if it helps you sleep at night, but you're the team 'player' in every sense of the word, Harper. You're the playboy, picking up right where Chase Whitfield left off. The Kings need a heartthrob and you're it." She slams me, jab after verbal jab.

  "You better fuckin' take that back, McKenzie. I'm a two-time world champion, a Gold Glove winner. I'm the best hitter on this team. I'm not here because of my looks." I stick my finger in her face, moving her back against the wall.

  "Yeah, you're an exceptional first baseman," she says, trying to regain her composure as I stare daggers at her. "You hit for power and average, but that's not what makes you a household name. It's that charisma, that charm, that gets people to notice you. Men want that certain special something you've got because they know women can't get enough of it. Guys want to be you because girls want to be around you."

  "And you think that's why I've been so successful all these years? Because of my looks? Not because of the hard work I put in on and off the field?" I lean in close enough that she can feel my breath on her face. "Care Bear, you couldn't be more wrong. They pimp out all the guys on the team, not only me. Or don't you remember that 'win a dream date with Jilly' contest?"

  "But you're hands down the best-looking guy on the Kings. Yeah, Brooks has that down-home, clean-cut thing going for him, and Jilly seems tough with his muscles and tats when he's really a big ol' teddy bear. And yeah, women eat that shit up. They really do. But if you're looking for the guy whose poster girls want to hang on their walls and stare at for hours on end, then it's you, Scott. Not them. You're not rugged or tough or brooding. You're the male model in pinstripes with the perfectly chiseled face, megawatt smile, and sexy, hot body that's ripped but not too ripped. You're everything a girl could want—until you open your mouth."

  "You'd better stop talking like that 'cause I'm the verge of saying something we'll both regret," I seethe, pressing my hands against the wall on either side of her head, my arms caging her in.

  "You're not very introspective, are you?" She pushes her hands against my chest, but I don't budge. "Haven't you ever thought about any of this before? I can't believe it never crossed your mind."

  "Why would it?" I shrug, flexing my shoulders when her hands move up my biceps. "That's your distorted way of looking at my accomplishments, not mine."

  "Scott, I'm not saying you're not a good ballplayer. There are a lot of guys in the league who can do what you do. But they're not on the Kings because they don't look as good as you do in pinstripes. You create a buzz without even trying. You bring excitement to the ballpark. Women tune in to get their nightly 'Harper fix,' and men stand up and cheer because you're the guy who bangs any chick he wants, with no attachments, no baggage."

  She lowers her eyes like she's ashamed of me, and it cuts me deep. We've both worked hard to get where we are, so why does she have to diminish our success by casting a bad light on it? How can she think we've coasted by on our looks? I've never felt insecure about my body, and I'm not about to start now.

  "I said I don't wanna hear any more of this. I have a game to play." I push away from the wall, lowering my arms. "You know what? Maybe you should cover up some more and regain your self-respect. You might think you have to stoop to that level to get ahead, but you're wrong. It's all about talent and drive and commitment. Too bad you feel the need to sell yourself short." I turn on my heel, leaving her right where she's standing.

  "Scott, you're blowing this way out of proportion. C'mon. Don't walk away mad," she calls out behind me.

  "I'm not mad, darlin'. I'm fired up. There's a difference." I reach down and pick my bat up, not waiting for her to kiss it. "But I guess you wouldn't know anything about that, seeing as how you rely on your body to make up for your lack of dedication."

  "Hey. Now, you're just being mean," she says, her voice strained.

  "Maybe I'm not the one who needs to adjust my way of thinking. You are. I value you for more than your body. So why can't you?" I rest my bat on my shoulder and stride up the tunnel.

  She's not a bimbo. She's really smart and knows her baseball. I hate that that curvy body I love is holding her back because of some stupid, outdated stereotypes. I was willing to play along with this bat-kissing thing because it keeps me close to her, but I want her to know that she's better than that. I believe in her a hundred percent.

  "Scott, wait. Scott!" she urges in that plaintive tone that my heart immediately responds to.

  I don't want to stop. I want to keep going. We're not having crazy-hot sex anymore, and now, she thinks I'm just a Ken doll. That's like a double kick to the nuts. She's as passionate when she fights as she is in the bedroom, but goddammit, I need time to reinflate my ego before the game.

  But then she comes up behind me and kisses the end of my bat over my shoulder before rushing away without another word. I stop and take a deep breath, unable to keep a smile from spreading across my face.

  She somehow knows how to give me exactly what I need. Those selfless, little gestures are what set her apart from any other woman I've ever known. Because let's face it, no amount of sex could make me feel as good as what she just did for me.

  Chapter Ten

  Carrie

  "Carrie, c'mon. Hurry up! Get out there and snag Jake." My producer, John, starts snapping orders, his gut hanging over his pants, his comb-over flapping in the breeze, a gleam of sweat shining through his bald spot.

  Now that the game is over, he's getting us all in position. He's a mess physically, but he knows what he's doing.

  "Sammy, frame a nice, steady two-shot. We're going live as soon as Carrie's standing next to him. Ready? And…"

  John points his stubby finger at me once I'm next to Jake, and I'm off like a shot as soon as the red light on Sammy's camera goes on.

  "Jake, how did it feel hitting the game-winning double?"

  "It was great." Jake gives me a heart-melting smile, bending his head toward the mic in my hand. "I mean, we kept battling all night. But I knew when the count went to three and one that I was swinging at the next pitch, and I'm just glad I was able to make contact."

  "You did more than that. You crushed that hanging slider to left," I reply, looking up at him and returning his smile like a pro.

  "Yeah, I've been trying to go the other way for a while now." He leans toward me, slowly nodding his head. "I'm happy that I was able to pull the ball to the opposite field. It's a good sign that my swing is coming around. It was the kind of at-bat I wanted to get under my belt before going on the first road trip of the season."

  "What are your—?" I start then immediately jog backward as fast I can in my heels.

  "Aaaaaahhhhh!" Jake yells out.

  "Good job, Woodchucker!" Scott congratulates him, holding the now-empty Gatorade bucket while laughing his ass off.

  "He enjoys that a little too much, doesn't he?" Jake sputters, soaking wet from head to toe. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, trying his best to save the interview for me. "At least you saw him coming."

  Scott lets out a whoop befo
re heading toward the dugout as the rest of the guys exit the field, each slapping Jake on the back as they go by. It's hard to stay focused, but this is live TV and there are no retakes. I have to concentrate on getting the job done.

  "Trust me. Scott Harper doesn't want to get stuck with another one of my dry cleaning bills." I go with it, injecting some humor into the mix before getting back to my line of questioning. "But tell me, Jake, watching Scott's hitting streak extend now to eleven games, what does that mean for the rest of the team?"

  "It's a shot of adrenaline. That's for sure," Jake says earnestly, never breaking eye contact. "We're all looking to see how far he can take it. Scotty's such an exciting player. He's an offensive machine. The sky's the limit when it comes to what he's capable of doing." Jake pauses, his grin widening as he juts his chin at me. "I think you're gonna have to start kissing all of our bats if he keeps this up because it's obviously working."

  "I'll be sure to take it into consideration," I deadpan, rolling my eyes at him and making him laugh. "Thanks for the time, Jake."

  "Sorry. I'd shake your hand, but I don't wanna get you all sticky. Gotta hit the showers." He ducks his head, giving me a shy smile before hustling off.

  I turn back to the camera, fighting the blush that's creeping up my cheeks at the sexy implication he didn't intend. God, I have such a dirty mind. "And that was center fielder Jake Woodbury on his game-winning double that allowed the Kings to beat Baltimore four to three, sending them three games over five hundred. Andy, back to you."

  John shakes his head at me before striding away without a word. Great. I would have to get all sex-crazed in front of Jake. But when he mentioned getting me all sticky and hitting the showers, all I could think about was what Scott did to me back in Panama. When I was with Philly, I never let players affect me like this. But ever since I slept with Scott, I've been letting my personal hang-ups bleed into my professional life. I was never like that until now. Thanks a lot, Scott Harper.

  "I'll see you in the clubhouse for the manager's report, Carrie," Sammy calls over, kneeling on the grass in front of his camera. "I wanna switch out the battery pack first."

  "Okay, Sammy. No sweat." I twirl the mic in my hand and start down the dugout steps.

  "Hey, Carrie, Scotty didn't get any on you, did he?" Pete the ball boy asks as he starts sweeping up the chewed-up sunflower seeds that are stuck all over the floor.

  "No, he missed." I wink at Pete. "If he plans on soaking me, he'll have to be a whole lot quicker next time."

  "Will he now?"

  My breath catches when I hear Scott's voice next to my ear.

  "What are you doing back out here?" I demand, my face turning a deeper shade of red than Jake could ever make it, that telltale twinge hitting me right between my legs.

  "I forgot my glove." He shrugs, picking one up off the bench.

  "That's not your glove," Pete starts. "That's—"

  But Scott quickly shuts him up. "Nah, Petey. It's mine. I'm positive."

  "At least you didn't leave your lucky bat behind, or I'd be offended." I shift my eyes toward him.

  He deepens his voice, his gaze unwavering. "Now that's something I never let outta my sight."

  "So, we're cool?" I whisper, taking a tentative step toward him.

  "I dunno." He tucks the glove under his arm, shoving his thumbs under his belt. "I saw you blush when Jake mentioned hitting the showers, and I really don't want you picturing him naked. I want you picturing me naked."

  "I wasn't picturing anyone naked," I mutter at him through gritted teeth because he's talking so loud. "For your information, I was embarrassed that the guy had bright green clumps of Gatorade stuck in his hair. They're a pain in the ass to wash out. I should know. And he has such great hair—the kind a girl can't resist running her fingers through."

  "Are you trying to incite me on purpose?" Scott advances on me until the backs of my legs hit the bench.

  "What? Can't I like another guy's hair?"

  "No."

  "Now, you're acting like a baby."

  "Do you like his hair better than mine?" Scott presses, his breath tickling my face.

  "For pity's sake, we shouldn't be talking to each other like this where anyone can hear us."

  "Do you?"

  "If Jake has to buzz his head because of your stupid prank, then yes, I would be sad, but that being said, if for some reason you had to go bald, I know you'd be able to pull it off," I sigh. "Having perfect bone structure will do that for a guy."

  "So, you think I'd be hot no matter what?"

  I look up at him through my eyelashes, intending to draw it out, but when his gray eyes meet mine, I'm a goner.

  "Yes," I reply breathlessly.

  "All right. That's all I needed to hear." He pushes off the bench and backs away from me.

  "You're nuts." I shake my head, chuckling.

  "Why?" He turns to walk in front of me through the cramped confines of the tunnel. "Because I want you to want me more than anyone else?"

  My heart skips a beat in the semi darkness that's surrounding us. I know that it's wrong and I could lose my job, but I'd give anything for him to kiss me right now.

  "Technically," I groan as we reach the hallway leading to the conference room, "I can't lust after any of you. You're on my do-not-call list, my no-fly list, every kind of list there is." I count on my fingers until he lowers my hand, circling his thumb over my knuckles.

  "Sit with me on the plane tonight."

  "No!" I try to pull my hand away since we're approaching a room full of nosy media types, but he won't let go.

  "Or at least sit across from me. I wanna be able to look at you."

  "Would you stop flirting with me already? Someone's going to hear you."

  "I don't care who hears me. I just wanna be near you."

  "I'm back."

  I jump when Sammy comes up behind us. Scott's grin remains steady, and he gives my hand a final squeeze before letting it drop. Thankfully, Sammy doesn't make a big deal out of it even though he looks none too happy about what he just witnessed. He thinks I'm acting unprofessional, like my predecessor, who drove him crazy. She got fired for being too flirtatious with the players, but I don't care. Stealing five minutes alone with Scott—hell, even five seconds—is well worth it even if I have to deal with a disgruntled cameraman for the rest of my shift.

  Sammy angrily clears his throat. "Ready to lob some questions at Tony?"

  "You bet," I reply, unable to look away from Scott.

  "See you on the plane, Miss McKenzie." Scott's sexy smile never leaves his face as he tips his cap and heads for the clubhouse, where he's about to get naked under a stream of hot water. And yeah, he's the only one I'm picturing in my head in that shower room filled with a bunch of ripped, chiseled ballplayers.

  Damn, I hate it when he's right.

  ***

  "Would you like anything to drink, miss?" the flight attendant asks as I recline back in my seat to get comfortable for the late-night flight on the Kings' charter jet.

  "Oh, no, thank you. I'm fine," I reply, closing my eyes.

  But they pop back open when I feel someone plop down next to me.

  "Ma'am, I'm afraid Brooks Davison spilled his cup of coffee all over my seat while I was in the restroom. I'm telling ya, that guy never has enough arm room for that mighty wingspan of his. Would it be all right if I sat here instead?"

  "Certainly, Mr. Harper," the flight attendant says, smiling at him.

  "Thank you, darlin'. I really do appreciate it."

  He is unbelievable.

  "I'll check back to see if you need anything in a bit."

  "Oh, that won't be necessary." Scott's not even looking at her; he's looking right at me, and I feel all tingly when he says, "I'm good now."

  "Very well," the flight attendant simpers, making her way down the aisle.

  I close my eyes again. "You spilled that coffee, didn't you?"

  "Now, Care Bear, don't go accusing me
of things I didn't even do."

  "Brooks is a big guy, but he's agile. He's no klutz."

  "Accidents happen."

  "Bullshit."

  "You just happen to be sitting next to the only empty seat on the plane." He nudges my arm off the armrest, nestling himself firmly into the seat cushion. "What do you expect me to do? Stand for the whole flight?"

  "Funny, I thought you'd want to add another member to your Mile High Club." I taunt him, pissed that he's all stretched out and relaxed while every nerve in my body is on fire from being this close to him. "That flight attendant sure seemed ready to accommodate your needs."

  "I told you. I don't fuck other women when I'm after the one I want." He tilts his head in my direction. "I'm faithful like that."

  "So, if I never sleep with you again, you'll remain celibate for the rest of your natural-born life?" I turn my head to face him, my mouth inches from his.

  "You'll sleep with me," he responds, his voice dripping with confidence.

  "Tell me. How long would you wait for me, Harper? A month? A year? Five years? A decade?"

  "Go on and tease me all you want. You're just blowing off steam, trying to relieve some of the pent-up sexual tension you're feeling, knowing you're gonna have to sit next to me for the next hour without being able to touch me."

  "I can touch you," I reply, getting mad and poking him in the ribs. "There. How does that feel?"

  "Fuckin' amazing," he groans, reaching over. "How does this feel?" he asks, cupping my face in his hand and lightly running his thumb across my cheekbone.

  "Stop it, Scott."

  "I don't think so."

  "I said stop."

  "Oh, Care Bear, you're gonna come apart in my hands the minute I touch you where I really wanna touch you. I give you a week till you're back in my bed."

  "Please fasten your seatbelts and return all trays to the upright and locked position," the flight attendant says from the front of the cabin.