Perfect Game

by Collette West

  He lets his fingers drop until they're encircling mine.

  "Why are you holding my hand?" I ask quietly, knowing he's not the sentimental type.

  "Because I hate takeoffs," he responds, puffing out his cheeks before exhaling deeply.

  "You're a Major League Baseball player. You fly all the time." I study him, knitting my eyebrows together when I feel his pulse accelerate against my wrist. "You should be used to it by now."

  "But I'm finally sitting next to someone who can ease my anxiety. I don't think Brooks would wanna hold my hand, do you?" He gives me a tight smile, and I can tell he's actually nervous. This isn't some act to get me to hold his hand.

  "Do you guys always sit together?" I inquire, trying to take his mind off it.

  "Yeah. I do most of the talking until he pretends to fall asleep or starts watching some stupid sci-fi shit on Netflix so he doesn't have to listen to me anymore."

  "So, why don't you sit with Jake?" I ask innocently enough.

  "Jake again, huh?" Even in his current state of distress, he levels me with his eyes.

  "I thought you two were tight." I shrug, crossing my ankles, my body responding to the heat of his gaze.

  "We are, but he's always in the back, strumming his guitar." Scott rolls his eyes. "He claims that he needs to practice and that it helps him unwind after a game, but I think he likes having the whole last row to himself."

  "Smart move," I say, nodding appreciatively.

  "Yeah. Jake's a Bible-thumping badass. He's holier than thou, but he knows how to look out for number one just like the rest of us," Scott replies, giving me a knowing glance.

  Jeez. The competitor inside him needs to chill.

  "That's funny. Isn't that what you're doing with me? Looking out for number one?"

  But then he leaves me breathless with his comeback. "No. I'd make another night with me worth your while. I like to draw things out, too, but preferably in the bedroom, when we're both naked and I'm on top of you."

  He slides his thumb along the inside of my palm, and I jerk in my seat, unconsciously letting out a soft moan. He grins at me, moving our interlocked hands up my leg.

  When my phone rings.

  I take a deep breath to steady myself. "Ugh, I better answer this." I rummage through my bag with my free hand. I see who it is and hit the accept button, willing my voice to sound normal and not like my lady parts are on fire. "Hey, Alex. We're about to take off, so make it quick."

  Scott glares at me, his gray eyes smoldering, but I ignore him, too busy listening to what I'm hearing on the other end.

  "What do you mean Rosita doesn't know where it is? It's in my lingerie drawer. Well, I bought it with you in mind, so why would I give it to the maid to launder? Yeah, it's a nipple chafer, but it's worth it." I hear Scott exhale loudly, his fingers tightening their grip on mine. "All right. Love you, too. Bye."

  "Who the fuck is Alex?" Scott growls at me.

  "I'll tell you if you stop squeezing my hand so hard."

  "I can't believe you have a boyfriend. Not that I'm surprised. I knew a girl like you being single was too good to be true. But you didn't have to lie about it," he says with a hurt look on his face.

  "Jump to conclusions much?"

  "Who is he, Carrie?"

  "'He' is my sister, Alexandra. She wanted to know if she could borrow my Spanx sports bra tomorrow when she has to run the mile for her mandatory fitness credit. Being full-figured runs in the family, and she's worried about wiggling and jiggling all over the place. She's super stressed about it, but at least she's prepared now."

  "You have a maid?" Scott sputters.

  "That's what you picked up on—really?"

  "I'm an idiot, all right? What more do you want me to say?"

  "That I'm not your girlfriend. That I don't have to explain my phone conversations to you. That you're being way too nosy for your own good." I hate saying that I'm not his girlfriend, but it's the truth. We're not official or anything.

  "How rich are you, Care Bear?" he continues, raising his eyebrows at me. "Like, filthy rich?"

  "What does it matter?" I ask, annoyed at myself for letting him listen in while I inadvertently revealed more about my life than I'd intended to.

  "Because it might explain why I don't impress you all that much," Scott jokes, but it's the most anxious I've seen him. He probably knows there's a bit of truth to what he's saying.

  "Scott, if the gold-digging women you hang out with are only after your money, they're not worth it." I squeeze his hand back. "You know that, right?"

  "But money helps."

  "But it's not going to give you what you're looking for."

  "Which is?" he asks, looking over at me.

  "Having something with someone that's real, something that lasts."

  "Did I ever say I wanted that?" he questions me dryly, but I can see beneath his swagger. He's not fooling anyone.

  "You didn't have to," I reply, challenging him to deny it.

  "Oh, God." He grips my hand tight, shutting his eyes when the plane starts to taxi down the runway.

  "Close your eyes and breathe." I'm glad that the cabin is pretty dark and most of the lights are out, because I'm able to reach out and smooth my hand across his forehead, smiling when I feel him relax against my palm. "I'm right here," I whisper.

  He turns his face into my hand, opening his eyes and looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters to him.

  A feeling of weightlessness fills my stomach, and it's not because the plane's wheels have left the tarmac and we're airborne. It's because it feels like I've reached a major turning point with the cocky ballplayer sitting next to me. I'm no longer thinking, Yeah, the sex is hot, but he's not boyfriend material. Now, he's getting to me on an emotional level. When he's not putting up a front, he's vulnerable and sweet, making me like him for him, the guy he really is beneath all that swagger. I can feel him reeling me in, and there's no way my heart can resist.

  Chapter Eleven

  Scott

  "You know there's gonna be a party for Jilly, right?" Jake asks me the next day as we wait our turn in the batting cage.

  "Yeah, so?" I mutter, holding my bat behind my back and loosening my muscles.

  "Well, we're gonna be playing Tampa next, so the guys wanna celebrate his first rehab game while we're down there. But…they're making it a couples thing." Jake eyes me warily.

  "Shit. What does that mean?"

  "We have to bring a date," he says, rubbing some pine tar on his bat.

  "Whose bright idea was that?"

  "Pedro's wife, Clara. She's tired of being the only woman at the away games, wants some girl-bonding time."

  "God, when did being single on this team turn into such a headache?"

  Jake tugs on his batting gloves, actively avoiding my eyes, watching a ball sail toward the outfield. "I dunno. I was thinking about asking Carrie to go with me."

  "You what?"

  "You heard me," he challenges.

  That's it. Batting practice is supposed to be light, where we all gather around and shoot the shit without all the drama. Time to call in reinforcements.

  "Jackson Riggs and Colton Fisk, get your asses over here now!" I yell to them across the cage.

  They shoot each other amused smiles before sauntering over.

  "What's up, Scotty?" Colton, our right fielder, asks, removing his sunglasses.

  "When the three of you are in the outfield and my buddy Jake calls you off, saying he's got it, do you always listen to him?"

  Jackson crosses his arms in front of him, pondering the question. "Well, the center fielder has the best angle on the ball, so his call usually takes precedence over whether we think we have a good jump on it or not."

  "So, you never overrule him?" I ask with a smirk.

  "Only if we're damn sure we can catch it," Colt chuckles. "Otherwise, we're gonna look pretty damn stupid on some ESPN blooper reel."

  "So, it's only when you know wi
th absolute certainty you can make the play that you stand your ground?" I inquire, staring daggers at Jake.

  "Yeah, pretty much. Why?" Colt asks, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of us.

  "Thanks, fellas, for proving my point." I grin, taking pleasure in rubbing it in Jake's face.

  "Ah hell, Scotty. They don't even know what you're talking about," Jake sighs, taking his cap off and wiping the sweat from his brow.

  "You're fighting over Carrie McKenzie and her giant gazongas, aren't you?" Jackson snickers. "Man, who wouldn't be? I'd love to bury my face between those babies."

  "Watch your mouth, Jackson," Jake warns, giving him a dirty look.

  "C'mon. You're not a friggin' saint, Woodchucker. The thought must've crossed your mind," Jackson needles him.

  "The other night, when she was bending over to adjust her microphone, I thought she was gonna pop right out of that sexy top of hers," Colt laughs, bumping fists with Jackson.

  "Damn, that girl is fine." Jackson whistles appreciatively, his hands outlining the shape of a woman's curves. "It makes me wanna play even harder so that I'm the one who gets to flirt with her during the post-game interview."

  "Yeah, no shit. I was thinking the same thing, but so far, it hasn't happened yet. Jake, you are one lucky bastard," Colt mutters, bumping Jake with his shoulder.

  "Will you two shut the fuck up?" I seethe, annoyed with their stupid antics.

  "What? You called us over here." Jackson looks at me like I have three heads because I don't want to discuss Carrie's boobs.

  "Yeah, so you could convince Jake he needs to back off, not so I'd have to listen to how you all think you have a chance with her. It's pathetic." I take a knee and stretch my hamstring, tuning them out.

  "You think you have it all wrapped up with her, don't you? With that little photo stunt of yours? That she's gonna cave and sleep with you? I hate to break it to you, man, but it's not gonna work this time," Jackson replies, getting under my skin. "Women like her don't have time for your shit. They want a real man in their bed, not some punk who always feels the need to broadcast how fuckin' great he is."

  "Fuck you, Jackson."

  "Jake, if you think you have a shot with her, take it, brother. Before this asshole asks her out." Jackson smacks Jake on the back. "If only to remind Scotty-Boy here he's not God's gift to women." He chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows at me. "I am."

  Colt groans before the two of them sprint toward the outfield, their laughter getting louder as they join a group of the other guys, no doubt giving them an earful about what's going on between their first baseman and center fielder.

  Jake always comes across all calm, cool, and collected, while I'm the overgrown child, pitching a fit. Nobody knows the whole story because I can't tell anyone. I have asked Carrie out. I have slept with her. I consider her to be mine. But now, I'm losing my shit in front of the whole damn team because of what Jake's threatening to do. Everyone knows I don't get emotional over chicks, but for Carrie McKenzie, I'm acting like a friggin' girl. I gotta stop this now before it goes too far.

  I look up at Jake. "You can ask, but she'll never say yes."

  "I'm still gonna ask," he says stubbornly.

  "Be my guest. Make a fool out of yourself when she turns you down. I don't care," I huff, pushing myself to my feet.

  "I don't think she will, 'cause I know how to treat a woman right." Jake takes a step in front of me, blocking my path.

  "Dream on." I shove him away.

  "What did you say back in Panama? That you're patient? Well, so am I." He doesn't stop even when I turn away from him and march toward the dugout.

  I trot down the steps and grab a paper cup, shoving it under the spout of the water cooler. I slam my hand against the plastic jug, gulping the water down. Jake and I never argue like this. We've never let a chick come between us before.

  I stare at Jake as he enters the cage, wondering what I'm going to do if Carrie says yes to him. We're not official or anything. But she'd never do that to me… Would she?

  Chapter Twelve

  Carrie

  "Will you get a load of that?" Jackson Riggs says the minute I step into the pool area of the Tampa hotel the team's staying at.

  I find a lounge chair and take my cover-up off, acting like I can't hear him.

  "She must be trying to drive us all insane," Colton Fisk comments.

  "Mission accomplished," Jackson groans as they start to laugh.

  I feel goose bumps rise on my arms, probably because there's a hot tub full of New York Kings checking me out in my bikini. I turn away and nervously adjust the little bit of fabric covering my breasts, wishing I'd gone with the one-piece the gift shop was selling instead of this skimpy number. But I'm here now and I'm not going to chicken out. I'm sick of being cooped up in my hotel room all by myself.

  I was really hoping to bump into Scott when I heard some of the guys talking on the bus about hitting the hot tub after the game, but he must've decided to call it a night. Damn it. I should've texted him before coming down here.

  Oh well. Too late to turn back now. I try to pin a confident smile on my face. I bought this bikini for Scott, not for them. Of course, they're staring at my chest, but I can't let them see how much they're intimidating me. I have to work with these guys for the rest of the season, and I can't let them get the upper hand.

  They keep talking about me under their breath, thinking I can't hear what they're saying.

  "Shit. Is she coming over here?" Colt panics.

  And that makes me feel a little better. They might be just as intimidated of me as I am of them.

  "I think she is. Damn, look at that body." Jackson leans his head back, taking in every step of my approach.

  "Quit gawking, Jackson," Jake reprimands him, making me glad he's here and it's not just Jackson and Colt.

  "God, you'd have to be blind not to," Jackson chuckles.

  I reach the hot tub and stick my toe in the water. "Hi, guys. Room for one more?"

  "There's always room for someone as hot as you." Colt smiles at me, quickly scooting over.

  "Why don't you sit next to me, Carrie?" Jake stands up, offering me his hand. But his jaw is tense and he averts his eyes like he's none too pleased with what I'm wearing.

  I keep a grin plastered on my face, feeling a little better when I sink beneath the water, letting it cover my body. "What are three sexy ballplayers doing in a hot tub all by yourselves?"

  "Trying to pick up chicks, but this place is deader than dead," Jackson grumbles, dipping his shoulder under one of the jets and groaning when he finds just the right spot.

  "It's after twelve on a weeknight. What'd you expect? We're the only ones up," Jake responds, looking around at all the empty lounge chairs.

  "Ah, the joys of living the baseball life," Colt sighs.

  "But don't fans know you stay here when you're in town? I thought the pool area would be crawling with women." I glance around the circle of hot, bare-chested men, their muscles hard and glistening.

  "Not after Terry stuck us with this new policy after Scotty's dick went viral. His naked photos weren't just of celebrities. He had plenty of groupie shots too," Jackson mumbles, stretching his arms above his head before giving me a sly wink when his foot brushes mine under the surface.

  "What new policy?" I ask, pulling up my knees.

  "Hotels have to give us some private time after a game—in the gym, by the pool, you name it. We're not allowed to be around the guests anymore. We can only use the amenities after hours," Jake says.

  "Wow," I mumble, realizing they're probably just as lonely as I am.

  "Nothing like cutting into our social lives," Colt drawls, sinking deeper into the water until he's in up to his neck.

  I wonder if they resent Scott for that. Jake seems glad not to have to fight any more temptation than me, but Jackson and Colt are definitely pissed that Scott's behavior has cramped their style. Among the single guys on the Kings, the verdict is de
finitely mixed.

  "Thank God you're here, McKenzie," Jackson says, tilting his head and smiling at me.

  "Keep dreaming, fellas." Jake sits back, puffing out his chest, warning Jackson off.

  "How's it goin' with our boy, Scott? Is he as horny as we are?" Jackson teases me, looking to see if I'm holding up my end of the bargain.

  "Who knows?" I shrug, causing the water to ripple around me.

  "That doesn't sound like our ace reporter's on the job," Jackson taunts, his eyes coming to rest on the bubbles clinging to my cleavage.

  "I just don't wanna talk about Scott Harper tonight. That's all." I slide down farther into the water, not trusting the strings on my bikini to remain tied.

  "C'mon, Carrie. You can't back out on us now," Colt insists, giving me a playful splash. "You gotta keep his head in the game. If his streak ends, it'll crush him."

  "What do you think, Jake?" I ask, glancing over and catching him staring at me. It's the first time he's really looked at me since I arrived, probably because the water's covering my body.

  "I think you should be able to do whatever you want. Make your own choices," Jake responds, surprising all of us when he pounds his fist on the surface.

  "What the hell, man?" Jackson cries out, dabbing his face with a nearby towel.

  "I'm serious. It's not up to Carrie to keep Scott on the straight and narrow. He's a big boy. Let him take care of himself," Jake says, giving me a meaningful look.

  "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Thank you, Jake Woodbury." I nod at him, glad to have at least one of the Kings on my side, because I'm more than ready to put an end to this stupid "no sex with Scott" rule I mistakenly agreed to.

  Jake smiles at me. "Anytime."

  I cringe, but the other guys don't seem to notice. Something over my head seems to have captured their attention. I hope Jake's not getting the wrong idea. I appreciate his support and all, but I don't mean anything by it. I'm certainly not into him by any stretch of the imagination.

  "Oh shit. I'm outta here," Jackson suddenly exclaims, jumping out of the hot tub.

  "Yeah, me too," Colt says hastily, clamoring after him.

  "Gee, thanks for making a girl feel special," I complain, trying not to get the back of my hair wet by the waves they kicked up.