"He's not gonna like it," he insists, tucking his long, brown hair behind his ear.
"Yeah, I get that, but it's only this one time." I smile brightly at Sammy, trying to hold on to what's left of my patience.
"So, are you and Harper together now?" he asks, cocking his head to the side.
"Sammy, I don't think—" I bluster.
"Nah, it's cool," he says, rummaging through his pocket for a zip tie. "I'm not gonna say anything."
"It's all right, Sammy," I respond, deciding to trust him. "Arnold Heimlich knows about us."
"He…he what?" he sputters. "How did he find out?"
"Because I told him," I say, watching Sammy's jaw drop.
But he quickly recovers, staring me down. "Okay, Carrie, how'd you even get near the guy? He's practically a recluse now."
"Actually, I know him pretty well," I reply, realizing I'm in too deep now to turn back. "He's…my grandfather."
"You're freakin' kidding me," he groans, running his hands through his hair before letting them drop to his side.
"I didn't say anything because I just wanted to be treated like everyone else," I confess, but Sammy's not buying it.
"Fat chance, McKenzie," he snaps at me. "'Cause you know what? What you did, hiding who you are from all of us, fuckin' blows."
"Why are you getting all bent out of shape over it?" I raise my voice at him.
"Because I interviewed for your job," he snaps back at me. "But now, I see why I didn't get it."
My hands start to shake. I knew this would happen if people found out about me. "Sammy, I auditioned under an alias. I won this job fair and square. Now that you know who I am, it doesn't change anything. I'm still the same person."
"Yeah." He shoots me a contemptuous look. "The crowned princess banging the all-star ballplayer."
"It's not like that," I argue, but it's clear that he's already made up his mind about me.
He shoulders his camera bag, blowing out his cheeks. "And I was actually feeling sorry for you, thinking that Harper was just using you to get laid, but it turns out you're the one calling the shots, aren't you?"
"You're being ridiculous." I look away from him, biting down on my lip.
"Carrie, you can get any one of those guys in there," Sammy remarks, his compliment quickly turning ugly. "All you have to do is snap your fingers and Grandpa makes the call. Of course, you had to get the guy every girl wants, the one no one can pin down. Do you get off on that shit or something? Is it some kind of power trip for you, pretending that Scott Harper wants to be with you?"
"Fuck you, Sammy," I snarl back at him.
"You've been after Harper from the beginning. I saw the way you were looking at him in spring training."
I break eye contact and glance down at the floor, but Sammy keeps going.
"You've had your sights set on him from day one, and Grandpa came through for you, didn't he?"
"So you're saying a girl like me could never nail a guy like Scott without some intervention? Is that it?" I toss my head back, wondering if he has the guts to say how he truly feels.
"Honey, you've got a nice body." He stands back, running his eyes up and down my curves, making me cringe. "There's no denying that, but Harper doesn't plant his stake in the ground for any girl. He's a free agent in every sense of the word. No one ties that boy down unless the command came from up above, and no one's higher in the organization than Arnold—nobody."
"You believe whatever you want to believe, Sammy." I stab my thumb into my chest. "But I know the truth."
"Sorry. The rest of us poor working stiffs have to get these cables back in the van," he remarks snidely, chucking another bag onto his back. "Have a good night with your boy toy, McKenzie."
I know that what Sammy's saying is bullshit. Grandpa doesn't approve of my being with Scott, but if everyone finds out that I'm Arnold Heimlich's granddaughter, is that what they're all going to assume is going on? Wow. Talk about a blow to my self-confidence. I already keep asking myself why Scott likes me. I don't need everyone else thinking that it's because my grandfather told him to.
When I know that Sammy can't see me, I kick the wall, cursing when the pointed toe of my Christian Louboutin pump jams my foot.
"Carrie, what's wrong? Are you all right?" Jake's concerned voice comes up behind me, making me feel like an idiot that he caught me acting like this.
"Nothing. I'm fine… Really, I'm fine." I think I've composed myself enough to face him, but when the tears start to fall, there's no hiding them.
"You don't look fine," Jake replies softly, his worried eyes searching mine.
I tilt my head, trying to make light of it. "Sammy just said something dumb that hurt my feelings, but I'll get over it. No big deal."
"Where is the little punk?" Jake asks, looking around. "I'll break his neck for making you cry."
"Stop it, Jake. I'm not crying," I lie, fully aware of his tendency to overreact. He probably would beat Sammy up if given the opportunity.
"Then what's this rolling down your cheek?" Jake touches my face, capturing one of my teardrops on his finger.
And then I hear, "Get your hands off my girl, man."
I immediately step away, my heart thudding in my chest. "Scott, Jake was just—"
"I don't care," Scott seethes, his eyes locked on Jake's back. "I don't want him touching you."
Oh, God, please don't let them start fighting again. This tentative truce they have going on needs to hold. Damn it. Jake would be the one who found me all upset.
"Dude, you might wanna lower your voice." Jake rubs his jaw, shuffling around. "I thought you were keeping this all under wraps?"
"I don't know," I jump in, getting Scott to finally look at me. "Maybe we should just tell everybody already, Scott. It's bound to come out eventually."
Little does he know, I already made the decision for us by telling Sammy. I only hope that Scott will be willing to go along with it.
Scott narrows his eyes at me, not even taking a minute to mull it over. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
I give voice to my true fear, hoping I'm wrong. "Why not? Don't you want people to know that you're with me?"
"That's not it," he replies, his mouth forming a straight line.
"Then what? Are you ashamed to be with me because of who I am?" My cheeks flare because I know that Jake is listening to all of this.
"Of course not." Scott gives me a frustrated look, seemingly pissed that I would even ask him that. "I just wanna protect you."
But Jake interrupts, scratching his head. "Wait a minute." He leans forward, staring into my eyes. "Who are you?"
"Carrie, don't," Scott warns.
I take a deep breath, willfully going against him. "I'm Arnold Heimlich's granddaughter."
"Fuck, Carrie," Scott mutters, glowering at me.
"Really?" Jake cries, and I slowly nod. "Holy shit!"
"You can't say anything," Scott growls at him.
"At this point, I don't care who knows." I throw my hands up, giving in to the inevitable. "I told Sammy. That's why he was getting on my case. So why try to hide it anymore?" I address Jake while casting a sidelong look at my boyfriend. "Unless your buddy, Scott, over there is getting cold feet about the whole thing."
"I didn't say that," Scott quickly replies, and I can feel his eyes on me.
"Does your family know about you two?" Jake questions me.
"Yeah," I hedge. "They're adjusting to the idea."
"I'll bet," Jake mutters, taking in Scott's rigid stance.
Scott sticks out his chest, taking my hand. "C'mon, Carrie. Let's get outta here. I don't plan on standing here all night, filling Jake in on your family tree."
But Jake won't be deterred. "Guys, I heard Chase and Tony talking before the game, and now, knowing what you told me, what they were saying makes a lot more sense."
"Why? What were they saying?" I inquire, turning around and drawing Scott to a halt with me.
"Chris
t, do you really wanna get into this shit now? 'Cause I sure don't," Scott exhales loudly, dropping my hand.
"Jake, tell me. What were they saying?" I step toward him because we probably need to hear this.
"I only caught bits and pieces, but something about shaking up the roster," Jake says as Scott shifts uneasily beside me. "I heard them mention moving someone else into the cleanup spot."
"But that's where I hit in the lineup. I always bat fourth," Scott insists.
"That's why it's crazy, dude," Jake readily agrees. "Why would they even consider moving you unless the call came from up above? The front office never gets involved with any of Tony's decisions unless it's a direct order from Arnold."
"That's bullshit, man," Scott says, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
"I just thought you should know," Jake responds.
The vein in Scott's neck starts to throb. "Yeah, well, I've had about enough of your mind games." He grabs my hand again. "We're outta here."
"I'm only trying to help." Jake puts a hand on his shoulder, but Scott shrugs him off.
"Like hell you are," Scott snarls.
"Whatever, Scotty." Jake runs a hand across his brow, closing his eyes. "I'm only telling you for your own good."
We watch him stride away, but for the life of me, I can't shake the sense of foreboding he just dropped in our laps.
"Scott, you don't think…" I start, too afraid to finish.
"No, of course not," Scott answers quickly, grasping the full gravity of what I'm implying. "I'm having the best season of my life thanks to you, and nothing's gonna get in the way of that."
"But—" I persist, unable to shake the ominous fear that's gripping me.
"Tell you what. Let's forget about all of this baseball crap for a couple of hours, okay?" Scott tips up my chin and smiles down at me.
I somehow manage to smile back. "Okay."
His shoulders relax, and he gazes longingly into my eyes. "Because you're gonna love where I'm taking you tonight."
***
"Wow! Your parents have a bungalow at the beach?" I step through the door of the little seaside cabin, eager to look around.
"Yeah. I got it for them a while back, mostly on account of Bobby," Scott says, following me inside, his hand brushing against the wall for a light switch. "So he has somewhere to go and regroup whenever the memories get to be too much for him."
"Does it happen a lot?" I ask softly, knowing that being in the dark is making it easier for Scott to talk about this stuff.
"To be perfectly honest, I think the PTSD affects him more than losing his legs," he sighs, sounding so incredibly tired. "His body was able to heal and adjust. I'm just not so sure about his mind."
"But being at the beach helps?" I turn to him when I feel his warm hands on my back.
"I think it does." He lets out the breath he was holding, propping his chin on my head. "Whenever I Skype him when he's here, he doesn't seem as down. I even got a mini boardwalk put in all the way to the water so his wheelchair won't get stuck in the sand. The fresh air, the sunshine, the sound of the waves—it steadies him."
"You're such a good brother." I peer up at him, the light from the moon turning his eyes a luminescent shade of silver.
"I just feel bad that I'm not around to help him more." He closes his eyes.
I don't want to push him. It's obviously a painful subject for him. He feels guilty when there's no reason he should.
I caress the side of his face. "Scott, tell me. Why did you give up on the military?" I'm rewarded when he opens his eyes to study me. "Was it really because of baseball?"
He stares at me for a moment before lacing his fingers through mine, guiding me into the back bedroom. "To make a long story short—I grew up in San Diego so my dad could be close to the naval base. He's a lifer in the Navy, got a Congressional appointment out of high school to attend Annapolis, the whole deal. Since we were kids, he drilled that sense of duty into the two of us. When it came time, Bobby took up the charge, no questions asked. It was in him, just like Dad."
"But it wasn't in you?" I question as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed and pulls me down with him.
"It should've been, me being the oldest and all, but I could never see myself killing somebody." He lowers his head, tracing his thumb over my knuckles. "Whether in combat or not."
"You're a lover, not a fighter," I whisper, placing my hand on top of his.
"Yeah, pretty much," he chuckles, sinking deeper into the mattress.
"You've never regretted the choice you made?" I ask, my hand secure in his.
A sense of intimacy washes over us. The only thing breaking the stillness of the night is the sound of the surf outside the bedroom window. I squeeze his hand, delighting in his touch, aware of how hard it probably is for him to talk about his weaknesses.
"Yeah, sometimes, I do," he admits, and I know I'm getting the real Scott Harper, the stripped-down, vulnerable side he rarely shows anyone. "I've never been the dependable one. Not like Bobby. I goof off too much, get in trouble. I've never been serious about anything. That's why I never would've made it in the service. I barely got through high school. What can I say? I'm a rule breaker. I guess that's why I'm here with you now."
"Is that the only reason?" I prod him, letting him know that it's okay to open up to me.
But it seems that he's able to read me just as well as I can read him. "Don't let what Jake said bother you, Care Bear." He tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear. "I'll drag all that worry out of you one kiss at a time if I have to." He leans in and my breath catches.
I place my hand on the collar of his shirt. "As tempting as that sounds, you can put your kisses to much better use."
"Don't lie to me."
I can actually feel the deepness of his voice through my fingers as I run them up his neck.
"You're upset," he says.
"It's just—"
"I'm not goin' anywhere, Care Bear." He lowers his voice even more, and I feel myself clench down below.
God, when he talks to me like that, it's such a turn-on because it's still hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea that Scott Harper, the guy every girl wants, wants me.
"I'm scared this isn't going to last." I nuzzle my nose back and forth against his.
"Don't be." His fingers capture my chin, forcing me to look at him.
"But…" I try to explain, but Scott's gaze never falters. "I guess it's my inner fat girl rearing her ugly head. I'm getting all insecure for no reason."
"About what?" His eyes penetrate mine as a cloud drifts across the moon, which alternately throws the room into light and shadow.
"About…" I take a deep breath. "About you really liking me."
"That's because I don't like you," he says without any trace of irony in his voice whatsoever.
My heart retracts, and I feel like a complete and utter fool. "Oh…that's what I—" I try to look away, but his thumb skims along my jaw, holding me in place.
He tips his head until it's resting against mine. "I don't just like you, Care Bear. I love you."
He's so close to me that we're breathing the same air, and my heart nearly stops.
"Please, Scott," I whisper. "Don't say that unless you mean it."
He chuckles, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth. "That's not the response I was hoping for."
But I turn my head, pulling away, terrified by how much I need what he said to be true.
"Whoa, whoa, hold up." He leans back to look at me. "Carrie, seeing you with Bobby and my parents, everything just clicked into place for me. I didn't wanna wait one more night to show you how much I love you." He buries his hands in my hair, drawing me into him. "Yeah, the two nights we had back in Panama were hotter than hell, but now, I wanna show you just how much you mean to me. Not just ripping off each other's clothes and going at it. I wanna explore your body, Care Bear. I wanna kiss my way up and down it all night long."
"Then show me," I challeng
e him, my voice all husky and deep.
In an instant, he pushes himself up, sliding his arm under my knees and dragging my body across the bed. My heart starts to pound as he stares down at me and runs his tongue over his lips. He smiles, lifting his arms and removing his shirt. I gasp at the sheer perfection of him—his broad shoulders, his massive biceps, his well-defined abs. He's so physically strong. He can crush a baseball over four hundred feet, but in the bedroom, his muscles are my own personal playground. I stare longingly at the V-shaped curve extending into his jeans, aware of what it's pointing to. I reach for him, but he captures my wrists in one hand, pinning my arms above my head.
I groan, trying to wriggle free, but he climbs on top of me, straddling my waist. He takes his other large hand and glides it slowly down my chest. I whimper and press myself up to meet him, but he gently spreads his fingers against my stomach, urging me back down.
"I want you to know I've never done this before," he whispers, his voice raw.
"Scott…" I groan, allowing my dress to ride up my thighs. "We both know that's not true."
He grasps my legs in an attempt to slow me down. "No, I'm serious. I've only ever had sex. I've never let anyone get this close to me, never let anyone in. You're the first, the one and only."
I take a moment to let that sink in, realizing the enormity of his statement and how special it makes me feel.
I dig the heel of my foot into his back, and his hands glide down the backs of my thighs. "God, you're so soft," he moans.
He pushes up the front of my dress, lowering his head and massaging my mound with his tongue. When he slides my panties to the side with his finger, I feel my body ignite.
"Keep going. Don't stop," I beg, feeling like I'm going to go out of mind with the sheer pleasure of it all.
I grip the mattress and shudder when he pulls my panties all the way down with his teeth. With his hands, he pushes down on my knees, spreading me wide open for him.
He takes in the sight of me, sighing in appreciation. He pulls me to the edge of the bed, tossing my ankles over his shoulders and settling himself between my legs, kneeling before me. Then he blows a stream of air over me and I buck wildly against him.
I cry out, grabbing a fistful of his hair.
Perfect Game Page 20