Perfect Game

by Collette West

  He holds his hands up when he can see my anger rekindling. "Now don't go getting mad at me for something that far in the past."

  "I'm not surprised you didn't notice me back then." I lift my chin defiantly, looking him right in the eye.

  "Yeah, but I see you now." He takes my face in his hands. "You're all I see. You're always in my head, Care Bear. You're all I think about."

  "So, that's why you went clubbing last night?" I stand up, turning away from him. "To look at women in short, tight clothing writhing around on the dance floor, tossing their hair, and throwing you smoldering glances from across the room? I know that scene. I know what goes on at Rosewood."

  I have nothing but bad memories associated with that place. It's where I used to go in college because I was able to get people in on my grandfather's name. It's how I got some of the baseball players at Fordham to hang out with me when I was still struggling with my weight. That's the only way they'd have ever been caught dead with me because I was the girl who could get them into the most exclusive nightclub in the city.

  That's why I cringe when Scott says, "It's my comfort zone. It's where I go when I wanna clear my head."

  "So you didn't want to be thinking about me." I call him out. "You needed a distraction?"

  "I'm not the kinda guy who goes home and reads a book or zones out in front of the TV." He runs his hands down the scruff on his face. "That's not who I am."

  "So you're saying that's it," I chide him. "You're not going to make any attempt to change?"

  "Just for a moment, try to understand where I'm coming from," he pleads. "Everywhere I go is an opportunity to pick up chicks. It's hard for a guy like me to refuse sex, but after I've been with a woman, I lose interest because there's no real meaning in it. I don't feel bad, because if she's putting out for me, then she's probably putting out for everyone. Like attracts like."

  I tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ears, not wanting to hear any more. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because I don't wanna toy with your emotions. I'm not the type to go home after a night at Rosewood defeated, but that's exactly what I did—because of you. I'm sick of feeling like a fake, living this superficial life." He takes me by the shoulders. "I want something real, and I want it with you."

  "Until you revert back to what you know." I try to push him away, but he won't let me go. "Do you really think you won't cheat on me the minute things get complicated? You left here last night looking for sex after my father laid down the law. C'mon, Scott. Who are you kidding?"

  "But I didn't give in to a goddamned five-second orgasm with Jessica Wallace!" He shakes me gently. "I could have, but I didn't. Doesn't that tell you something?"

  "I don't know what to think," I groan, feeling his heart beating against mine. "You have me so confused. Is this just another stunt of yours to get my attention, like that fight with Jake? Or is this the real you? Is this who you really are?"

  "Being with me isn't going to be easy. I get that." He holds me at arm's length, laying it all on the line. "I've been using women my whole life to boost my confidence. I know it's wrong. It's what someone who's weak would do, but I am weak. I have a very unstable job. It could be here today, gone tomorrow. That's why I keep women at arm's length. I have this fear of losing a girl if I let myself care for her. I feel that, if I weren't Scott Harper of the New York Kings, no girl would wanna be with me, and if all of that goes away someday, then who am I? You're right. I don't know who I am. I don't have an answer to that question, and it scares the shit outta me."

  "Scott…" I whisper, not knowing what to say.

  "I'm lost, Care Bear. I'm so fuckin' lost," he says, blinking furiously. "Your dad's right. I'm all ego and not much else."

  "That's not true." I run my fingers along his face, knowing firsthand how deeply my father's words can hurt.

  How they can really mess you up, push you to do things you don't want to do. How I'd find myself hunched over a toilet bowel, forcibly emptying the contents of my stomach just so I could be the skinny daughter he always wanted, the one who could attract the right kind of man to secure the family fortune.

  I know where Scott's coming from because I've been there myself. I know what it's like to be judged, to feel the pain of being deemed not good enough. I know how it cuts you up and makes you want to destroy yourself from the inside out. How you'll do anything to alleviate the ache just to feel good again. Years of therapy taught me that as well as how to love myself again—or, at least, how to make peace with the person I am today, no longer the bulimic teenager with low self-esteem, but the healthy young woman who learned how to stand up for herself.

  Scott moans, resting his forehead against mine. "But, Carrie, what if it is true? I've been running from myself for so long that I don't even know. But being with you is making me really examine my choices for the first time in my life."

  "And that's a bad thing?" I ask.

  He chuckles halfheartedly, his warm breath skimming my face. "No, but I realize now how much I'm lacking, and it scares me to think that I'll never be good enough for you."

  "Don't say things like that," I say, peering into his eyes. "Don't believe the things my dad said about you. He doesn't know you. I know you."

  Scott gives me a hint of a smile at hearing those three special words. "I don't even know why you're wasting your time with me," he mutters.

  Deep down, I get it. I understand what he's saying. I'm familiar with the origins of self-destructive behavior. I mean, how could I not be? We're like two sides of the same coin. He thinks his looks are what's propping him up, and I blame my body for what's holding me back. We have to let our insecurities go, because maybe we can work through our issues as a team, allowing the feelings we have for each other to make us better, stronger. Take my dad on together, as a combined force, instead of letting him tear us apart.

  I nuzzle my nose against his. "Scott, you have a good heart. You always make me laugh. I'm never bored when you're around. You make me feel sexy and desirable…and so fuckin' alive."

  "Please don't give up on me," he begs, sighing heavily. "Just tell me what to do to be the man you need me to be. I swear I'll do whatever it takes."

  "All right. Whenever you feel the urge to stray, I want you to do one thing."

  "Anything."

  "Find me wherever I am. Take me in your arms. And kiss me…just like this."

  I press my lips to his, moving tentatively at first then with more passion as he opens my mouth and rakes my bottom lip with his teeth. I groan when his tongue tangles with mine and he presses me into his hard body. I run my fingers up the broad plane of his back, loving how he fills my hands, how wide and strong his shoulders are.

  He's all man, too sexy for his own damn good.

  He smiles down at me, finally breaking the kiss. "You got it," he whispers, gasping for breath.

  "I don't want your lips on another woman's body whenever you start doubting yourself." I grip his biceps, panting as heavily as he is after that kiss. "I want you to remember what this feels like and how you won't get it anywhere else. Nothing can compare to what we have, Scott. No one will ever make you feel this satisfied."

  "You've ruined me forever." His large hands undo my robe, exploring the silky confines of my nightie. "But I kinda like it."

  "Kinda?" I let out a gasp when he palms by breasts, his thumbs playing with the lace flowers covering my painfully erect nipples.

  "I think the feeling's mutual." He grins, shifting slightly so I can feel his hard-on against my stomach.

  I dig my fingernails into his neck, pulling him closer, knowing it can never be close enough.

  "God, Care Bear," he mutters between kisses, gripping my ass and lifting me onto the base of the fountain so he can better attack my mouth. "How am I supposed to stand there and just let you kiss my bat when this is what I really want?"

  The household begins to stir behind us when Rosita opens an upstairs window, shaking out a dust cloth, and I kn
ow that the precious moments I have left to make out with Scott Harper outside my father's brownstone are quickly running out.

  "Don't worry," I moan, not wanting to talk anymore, only wanting to enjoy tasting him, feeling him, devouring him. "I'm sure I can find a way for us to do this again." Then I give him a sultry look, realizing I need to end this imposed abstinence streak of ours as soon as I can.

  He's not used to going this long without getting laid. If I'm going to help him curb his rampant sexual appetite, then I can't go making it even harder on him by turning him away from my bed because the guys on the Kings think that it's helping his game. I made the deal with the team to not have sex with him because I thought I'd lose myself, but I almost lost him. He needs me right now, all of me, not some stupid baseball superstition to keep him locked in. If he's going to be content with being a one-woman man, then he needs to know how much I want him.

  I slide my fingers through his belt loops, pulling him to me, savoring the feel of him. I smile as he kisses me again, laughing against his lips. This morning started off with me wanting to kill him, and now, all I can think about is kissing him until I can no longer breathe.

  Only Scott Harper…

  Chapter Nineteen

  Scott

  "I never knew you were that close with Pedro's wife." I cast a sidelong glance at Carrie as we ride the elevator up to my teammate's apartment on an early May evening.

  "Yeah. Clara and I went to Fordham together." Carrie shrugs, her bare shoulder peeking out of her oversized Kings sweatshirt.

  I shove my hands deep inside my pockets when I don't see a bra strap. It probably means she's not wearing one, something she never does. I cough, trying to keep the small talk going.

  "Really? I heard she just got fired from her job."

  "Turns out her boss didn't like her taking so much time off to travel with Pedro," Carrie says, a trace of disapproval in her voice.

  Now, I'm curious to know where she stands on the issue because it never really came up before, being that she already travels with the team on account of her job. But Carrie is super talented at what she does, and I'm sure she doesn't want to stay with the Kings' network forever.

  I clear my throat. "What about you, Care Bear? Would you give it all up for me?"

  She turns to look at me. "I hope you'd never ask me to."

  I tilt my head, never having really thought about it before, most likely because I've never had to. I've never had a steady girlfriend to miss me while I was on the road, waiting for me to come home. So I simply give voice to what I've heard many of my teammates say aloud.

  "I don't know. A lot of the guys don't like having their women work."

  "Brooks didn't seem to have a problem with it." Carrie cocks her hip, ready to throw down.

  "Yeah," I say slowly. "That's because Sasha was a part of the team."

  "You can practically say the same thing about me. I'm around you guys just as much as she was," Carries replies hotly.

  "But you're not competing with us on the field," I point out.

  "But I'm still there for every game," she fires back.

  I eye her appreciatively. "In an ass-hugging skirt, not a baseball uniform."

  "Wow. Are we really gonna have this conversation in an elevator?" Carrie shakes her head, already pissed at me.

  I laugh, loving how fast I can get under her skin. "Not unless you want me to hit the emergency button and tear off all your clothes."

  She stares straight ahead, pursing her lips—lips I'd give anything to see swollen from my kisses right now. "Scott, my job is just as important to me as yours is to you."

  We reach our floor, and I exhale loudly. "Whew. Saved by the bell."

  "Harper, we're not done with this discussion. Nowhere near done."

  I hold the door and she steps out in front of me, swinging her hips in her tight-ass jeans.

  "I just wanna enjoy my night off with you," I sigh, savoring the view she's giving me from behind. "Is that too much to ask?" I tease.

  She doesn't answer. Instead, she knocks on the door to the apartment. We stand there together, like a couple. It's an odd feeling, but not an unwelcome one. I smile, reaching down to squeeze her hand. She glances up at me in surprise. When she sees the light that's shining in my eyes for her, a grin spreads across her face.

  The door opens and Pedro and Clara are both there to greet us.

  "Hey, guys. C'mon in." Pedro welcomes us in a ratty pair of athletic shorts, two bags of ice strapped to his aching knees, and a faded T-shirt with the slogan Vote for Pedro from the movie Napoleon Dynamite.

  "Nice shirt, dude," I bust him.

  "I wore it just for you," Pedro laughs, clapping me on the back.

  "Ugh, I hate that thing, but he won't let me get rid of it," Clara says, shaking her head at her husband and giving Carrie a big hug. "Are you ready to indulge in some homemade Mexican food?"

  "You know it," I answer for her, and Carrie gives me a look.

  Clara comes up behind me, patting me on the shoulder. "Good, because you're gonna help me make it."

  "What?" I gape at her.

  "Carrie's been dying to learn these recipes for ages now. So I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to teach her…and you." Clara pushes me toward the kitchen, and I look to Pedro for help.

  "So, the food's not ready yet?" I ask him. "We're not just gonna sit down and eat?"

  "I hear ya, mano," Pedro groans. "I'm about ready to devour my shirt."

  "Well, as much as I'd love to see the last of that hideous thing, you guys aren't gonna sit back and watch TV while we slave away in here. I intend to put you to work." Clara claps her hands together before shoving an apron into my hands and shouting out orders. "Pedro, start dicing these tomatoes for the salsa. And, Scott, I need you to chop this head of lettuce for the tacos. Carrie, I'm gonna show you when to flip the quesadillas. It's all in the timing."

  "Just go with her, man," Pedro advises as I reluctantly tie the apron on. "She's straight-up fanatical now that she's home all day, every day. She's still used to bossing a crew of twenty around a studio."

  "So, you just put up with it?" I question under my breath so the women can't hear me.

  Pedro laughs. "That's what being married's all about."

  "Maybe you need to put a baby in her belly, then." I wiggle my eyebrows at him, picking up a knife. "Get her to concentrate on something else."

  "Yeah. It's not like we haven't been trying," he responds, his face falling.

  "What? You two having problems conceiving?" I glance quickly at the ladies, glad that they're busy talking about something else.

  "It's just because she's so stressed," Pedro says, getting to work beside me. "I thought she'd relax, not having to worry about her job anymore, but it's like the complete opposite. She's more high-strung than ever. She has too much energy and she doesn't know what to do with it. That's why I got her to invite you guys over tonight. Keep her busy."

  "We're your buffer? God, man, that's rough." I reach for the bottle of wine on the table, ready to pour both of us a glass. The poor guy looks like he could use one.

  "No drinking for you tonight," Clara says, coming up behind me and taking the bottle out of my hands. "Not after the way you behaved at Rosewood."

  "No food, no alcohol. What kind of night out is this?" I grumble to Pedro.

  "She's right, Scott," Carrie teases, sliding her arms around my waist. "You don't need to drink to have a good time, do you?"

  "Not with you here, I don't." I lean my head back, giving her a quick kiss over my shoulder.

  "Aww, aren't they cute together, papi?" Clara nudges her husband. "I never thought my old video production partner would tame the infamous Scott Harper."

  "Who said I've been tamed?" I bristle.

  But Clara's all too ready to take me on. "You're standing in my kitchen, wearing an apron, and chopping vegetables. I think that qualifies."

  "I'm just hungry," I correct her. "The sooner we get t
his done, the sooner we can eat."

  "Amen, brother," Pedro says, failing to hide his grin.

  "So, do I flip it now?" Carrie interrupts, spatula in hand.

  "Quickly, Carrie. Quickly." Clara hurries over to her. "See how the edges are starting to brown?"

  "Oh no, the cheese must've melted over." Carrie furiously tries to get underneath the offending quesadilla, but to no avail. "It's stuck. I can't move it."

  Smoke starts to fill the room, and Clara nearly bursts a blood vessel. "Open the window, Pedro," she cries. "Hurry!"

  "Hold on!" Pedro yells back running down the hallway. "I gotta turn off the smoke detector first."

  "You sure know how to liven things up, Care Bear," I chuckle as she struggles to drag the sizzling hot pan over to the sink. "Here. Let me help you before you burn the place down."

  "That butler of yours is gonna have to give you some cooking lessons because you are a disaster in the kitchen," Clara remarks after restoring some kind of order.

  "I'm sorry," Carrie groans. "I didn't mean to make such a mess of things."

  "So you know Reginald?" I ask Clara.

  "The dude does it all. He's an awesome cook," she enthuses. "He always used to send up Spanish tapas whenever we'd be cramming for finals in Carrie's room."

  "I didn't get to stay and sample his cooking, I'm afraid." I grimace, remembering how that night ended.

  "The cat's out of the bag, then, huh?" Clara smiles up at me.

  "A warning from you would've been nice, bro." I bump Pedro's shoulder as soon as he walks back in the kitchen.

  He holds up his hands at me, fending me off. "Sorry, man. I was sworn to secrecy."

  "Damn right, you were," Clara remarks, giving him a pointed glance.

  Carrie eyes me. "Wishing you could take it back?"

  "No, just hoping I don't screw it up," I reply, holding her gaze.

  "You got through the front door, so that's saying something," Pedro teases, tugging the string of my apron and making it fall at my feet.

  "Yeah, I think you're the first guy without an MBA to sit at that table," Clara reveals.

  "Oh please. Like I'd ever date a guy like that again," Carrie scoffs, rolling her eyes. "All they want to talk about is money. It gets old pretty fast."