I bend my leg, resting my foot on my knee. "I heard a rumor that you were thinking of taking me out of the lineup."
Terry steeples his fingers in front of him. "You haven't had a day off so far. I think you could use the rest."
"But I don't want it," I spit back.
"It's not up to you," Terry states, the corner of his mouth curling up.
"Don't bench me, Terry." I sit forward, placing both feet on the floor. "I'm bringing in a hell of a lot of revenue here. Fans wanna see if I can break the record. Don't get in the way of that just because you dislike me. We can still work together, can't we?"
"Fine. I don't have time to deal with all of your bullshit. I have a lot of work to do," Terry mutters, acquiescing a whole lot easier than I thought he would. "But you'd better quit talking while you're ahead, Harper. Get out of here before I change my mind."
"With pleasure," I mumble, getting to my feet. I'm going to have to take this one step at a time with him. Make my moves carefully. Dealing with Terry is like being locked in a championship chess match where it seems like there's nowhere left to move on the board.
"Oh, and one other thing," Terry calls out once I've reached the door.
My stomach turns over. I'm not safe yet.
"I was reading through the notes that my predecessor left for me, and I want to take this opportunity to make it perfectly clear that there's no way in hell I'll be trading you back to the Kings if your hitting streak reaches fifty-six games. You can kiss that joke of a deal goodbye."
"Are you crazy?" I whirl around, making it look like I lost the tight grip I had on my emotions. "The Kings are offering you their first-round draft picks for the next five years. No one's gonna offer you more than that."
"I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, now that I'm in charge, if you end up breaking the record, you're going to be doing it in a San Diego uniform." Terry glares at me. "Now, leave or you'll be riding the bench so hard you'll have blisters on your ass."
I pound my fist against the wall, pretending to seethe at how he just worked me over so smoothly, so effortlessly, like he made a complete and utter fool out of me. Terry tilts his head to the side, daring me to do something about it, and all I can do is stride out of the room and slam the door behind me, making Rhonda jump out of her skin.
"Scotty baby, are you okay?"
"Tell Gayle and Arthur to look into Charles McKenzie," I say in a hushed voice, stopping briefly in front of her desk.
"Are you sure?" Rhonda asks, her eyes wide.
"Yeah. Terry clenched his jaw when he mentioned him, and I've been in enough high-stakes negotiations with Terry to know that's his tell," I relate, marching swiftly past her.
I've always been able to read people. I can tell when people are lying or trying to hide something. That's why I always try to be as open and honest as possible. I hate duplicity. But I have to laugh. Terry thought he was manipulating me the whole time. Little did he know, I was playing him.
"Oh dear lord, what does that mean?" Rhonda calls out to me in a whisper.
"That my life is about to get a hell of lot more complicated," I mutter, making my way down to the clubhouse, where I can concentrate on the only aspect of my life I can still control—hitting a baseball.
***
"You've been awfully quiet," Carrie says, lying next to me in my childhood bed the next morning as we approach game fifty-five.
"I'm sorry." I shift, turning to face her. "I'm just tired and my shoulder's been hurting me."
"Well, c'mere. Let me fix that." She rolls me onto my stomach, seating herself on top of me before she begins massaging my back with her fingers. "Your muscles are so tense, babe. I know this streak is driving you crazy, but you gotta try to relax."
"Ah!" I wince when she squeezes my shoulder.
"Is that where you got hit last night?" She stops what she's doing, peering down, her hair gliding across my back. "Oh wow, look at it. It's all black and blue."
"I'll survive," I mumble with my face in the pillow.
"Hold on," she says, sliding off me. "I'll go get some ice."
"I like when you take care of me, you know," I respond, watching her hastily cover her naked body with my shirt.
"I know." She winks at me before slipping out to the kitchen.
I close my eyes and try not to think about the pain. I've been hit plenty of times, but I've never had anyone around to baby me and patch me up like this.
I don't even hear Carrie tiptoe back in before an icy jolt touches my skin.
"There. How does that feel?" she whispers.
"Cold," I mutter.
"Very funny," Carrie teases, dabbing me with the handful of ice she has wrapped in a towel.
I tilt my head to the side, watching her. "I'd rather have you kiss it and make it better."
"Does that really work?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Your lips are magic, Care Bear," I reply, enjoying how easily I can make her blush.
She cocks her head at me. "I thought you were tired?"
"Not anymore," I respond, sitting up and pulling her to me. "I'm ready for round two."
"Your parents could come back at any minute," she whispers, checking the clock. "This was only supposed to be a late morning quickie before we have to leave for the stadium."
"Don't you wanna live dangerously with me?" I murmur against her lips.
"Well, it's kinda hot to get it on in your childhood bedroom," she laughs against my mouth.
"You're gonna get it for that," I growl, grabbing the ice.
"Scott!" she cries, my hands quickly finding the hem of my shirt she's wearing.
I raise her arms above her head and pull it from her body. "I'm already naked. It's about time I evened the score."
She self-consciously moves to cover her breasts. "Have you ever done it in here with anyone…besides me?"
I gently pull her hands away from her body, letting my eyes get their fill of those succulent, dark-chocolate nipples on those perky, white breasts. "This is the longest I've stayed at home since I was thirteen, so no."
"Not even on your summer vacations?" she asks, her face growing hot under my lust-filled gaze.
"I was at baseball camp." I shrug, reaching back and rooting through the drawer of the bedside table. "Fuck. There are no more condoms in here. We must've used the last one. With all that's been going on, I didn't get a chance to—"
She guides my face back to hers. "We don't need one."
"Care Bear," I groan, not wanting to make a habit of this.
I already took her once unsheathed at the stadium. I didn't have any protection on me—not in my baseball uniform, anyway—and I got carried away in the moment. I just had to have her. There was no stopping me, and yeah, it felt fucking incredible to be inside her like that, my dick feeling every last inch of her. But she's the only woman I've been with skin to skin, and while I'd love a repeat performance, the last thing I want to do is get her pregnant right now. When I put a baby inside her, I want us to at least be married first. I don't want our love to be cheapened by people thinking I knocked her up and then had to marry her out of some stupid sense of obligation. One day, our child will be able to go online and read all about us, and I don't want some crazy rumor messing our little one up for life. The poor kid is already going to have enough to deal with when it comes to my selfies.
Carrie stares into my eyes, weakening my resolve. "I love you, Scott. I want us to be together without anything getting in the way of that. I want to feel you, all of you, and I want you to feel me, too."
How can I say no to her when I know what I'm going to have to tell her about her father? I'll give her anything she wants right now—anything to ease the blow.
"Fuck. Don't say things like that if we're just gonna have to stop," I moan, feeling like I'm hard around this woman twenty-four hours a day.
"I'm on the pill. It's fine," she whispers, reaching down for the towel and extracting a piece of ice from it.
"I know you're always super careful," she says, taking it and swirling it around my nipple. "But just be with me, Scott. I want you to give yourself to me completely." She bends her head, licking the water off my chest, rolling her tongue around my frozen, hard nipple.
"Oh…" I groan, letting her push me back down onto the bed, my erection standing up tall and proud for her.
She wets her lips at the sight of it, tossing the ice aside. She's done with any kind of erotic foreplay when she straddles my hips, grabbing a hold of me and guiding me into her. I groan when I watch myself slowly disappear inside her as she settles herself down on top of me. I'm a tight fit, but she takes a deep breath and starts to move, gently at first and then picking up speed. I grip the sheet as she bounces up and down on my throbbing cock, her breasts jiggling above me.
"Yeah, that's it," she cries when I meet her, thrusting my hips up while she rides me. "C'mon, big boy. Show me what you've got."
"This goddamned bed is too small." I curse when I try to flip myself on top of her and finish this, but there's no room to maneuver my large body. I can only sit up, meet her, and see what happens in a new position.
"Oh, God, baby… Oh…" Carrie cries.
I push into her and she thrusts back at me, both of us fighting for control of this. My hands span her waist as I slam into her. She reaches for my shoulders, giving herself some leverage as our bodies move frantically against each other. Her breasts keep smacking against my chest, and I know I need to make her come as soon as possible because I'm almost there. My hands roam down to her ass, lifting her up and increasing the power behind her thrusts. This is rougher than we usually do it, but her heavy-lidded eyes are telling me that she likes it.
She throws her head back and clenches around me before collapsing in my arms. I hold her up, supporting her weight, using all of my strength to get off, my thighs burning with the effort. I pull back her hair, gazing into her eyes when my body tenses. I hold her gaze while I pump all I've got into her.
"Ah…" I groan as she shudders against me.
I feel so incredibly vulnerable when her shaking turns to sobbing.
"Why are you crying, baby?" I whisper, kissing her temple. I'm scared out of my mind while listening to her because, to me, what we just did felt so right.
She leans back, so I can see her beautiful, tear-stained face. "Because I don't ever want to lose you," she responds, easing all of my fears in a heartbeat.
Well, not all of them.
I lay her gently onto the bed and cover her overheated body with mine. There's still something I have to tell her, something I've been holding out on.
I push her hair away from her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here." I soothe her, willing myself to do this. "But…"
"Oh, Scott, what is it?" she asks, her hazel eyes boring into me.
"You're gonna hate me when I tell you," I sigh.
"I could never hate you." She sniffles, smiling up at me as she cups my face, her hair spread out all over my pillow. "I know you're keeping something bottled up inside. You haven't said a word about what happened with Terry. Just tell me. Don't keep me in the dark."
I meet her gaze, getting right to the heart of the matter. "It's your father."
She furrows her brow. "What about him?"
I clench my jaw. "He killed the trade that would've sent me back to New York."
She props herself up on her elbows. "But that's impossible. It's my grandfather's call, not his. He doesn't have the authority to override his decision."
"He does now," I reply, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Scott, you're scaring me," Carrie says, placing her hand over my beating heart. "What's going on that I don't know about?"
I take a deep breath. "Your father is helping Terry blackmail Arnold," I inform her, my stomach clenching as the pain of his betrayal enters her eyes.
"Blackmail?" she sputters. "With what?"
"Terry had hidden cameras set up in Arnold's office in New York," I explain. "Your grandfather had no clue they were there when he ordered Terry to leak those photos of me."
"I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding—" she insists.
But I cut her off, sliding my hand on top of hers and lacing her fingers through mine. "I wish that were the case." I take a deep breath before continuing. "Why did he do it?" I look directly into her eyes. "So no other team would want me. His master plan was to have me re-sign for less money when my contract was up. Of course, that's before I got involved with you and he had to trade me to keep me away from you."
"I don't believe it." Carrie tries to pull away from me, but I hold on to her. "My grandfather would never do something like that to one of his players."
"He did." I raise her fingers to my lips, seeking forgiveness for the words I have to utter. "I talked to Gayle. She confirmed the story late last night. I didn't want to tell you until I heard back from her."
"But what does any of this have to do with my father?" she asks, unable to hide the torment in her eyes.
"Gayle tracked down the computer where the video feed from Terry's office was being sent to, and, Care Bear"—I pause, resting my hand on her shoulder—"it was your father's computer."
"No. This can't be happening." She smacks my arm away. "My dad would never get involved with Terry. He wouldn't do that to Grandpa. Terry must've set it up to make it look like my dad was involved, had that hacker get into his computer at work…"
"But it wasn't his work computer," I say softly. "It was his personal laptop."
"So? That doesn't prove anything." She edges herself up, refusing to let the reality of it all set in. "Terry knows a lot of illegal tech guys who could've done the job."
"It goes much deeper than that," I reply, admiring her loyalty to her family but needing to let her in on the truth. "Your father is making a play to oust Arnold from the team. He's working with Terry to get sole ownership turned over to your mother so he can run the show, and Terry's helping him by giving him the ammunition he needs to take Arnold down."
"Now, you're saying my mother's involved in this too?" she asks, her face turning white.
"No, I don't think she knows anything about it," I'm quick to reassure her. "As far as Gayle can tell from the digital footprint your dad left behind."
"Jesus, Scott," she moans, holding her head in her hands.
"I wanted to tell you sooner." I rub her back, wishing I could take some of the burden off her shoulders. "I just had to be sure."
Carrie lifts her head, scrambling to get off the bed. "I need to go to New York. I need to talk to my mom."
"Listen, calm down," I urge, refusing to move out of her way. "We'll figure this out together. We have a game in a couple of hours."
"I don't care about the damn game, Scott! All right?" she snaps, looking tortured.
"But I can't go with you." I hold on to her shoulders. "And I don't want you going alone."
"Scott," she says, shaking her head. "You don't want to be there when this shit goes down. Trust me."
"You gotta think this through before you go and do something stupid." I tilt her chin up. "Your grandfather could go to jail for this. He could lose the team. If your father knows that you're onto him, God only knows what he'll do in order to save himself."
"I have to explain this to my mom in person. There's no way I can tell her something like this over the phone," Carrie responds, her eyes wild with fear. "What if Terry had our phones bugged too? God, how far does this go?"
"And what about SportsTV?" I question her.
"I'll say I had a family emergency," she comes right back at me.
"They're gonna be pissed," I warn her, since SportsTV hired her specifically to cover my hitting streak.
"Well, too bad, 'cause I'm pissed," Carrie retorts. "Now, get out of my way, Scott. You're not stopping me from doing this."
I watch her get d
ressed while sitting in bed, feeling helpless. I don't want her to go—not if I can't go with her. But it's not going to happen because I have a damn game to play in a few hours. My heart breaks from not knowing when I'll see her again. Everything is so uncertain.
I tug on my boxers and stumble after her, but she's already outside, scooting past my parents, who are coming in with the groceries. I stand aside to let them in, only to see Carrie already getting in her rental car without even kissing me goodbye.
"Oh, hi, dear. We didn't know you were still here," Mom says, looking back and forth between Carrie, who's backing out of our driveway, and my panicked reaction.
"Yeah, sorry. I gotta go," I mutter, running across the yard.
"Well, okay, son. But you might wanna put some clothes on." My father shakes his head at me like I've lost my mind.
"Carrie!" I cry out, waving her down, trying to get her to stop.
But she just rolls down the window and yells, "Not now, Scott," before pulling away, leaving me standing there.
I run my hands through my hair and let them drop. I can't chase after her. It's the game before the big one—and Terry's looking for any excuse to bench me. I can't very well give it to him by running off with her now. Besides, it'd be sure to tip him off that we're onto him and his devious accomplice, Charles McKenzie.
"Oh no. What happened?" Bobby groans, wheeling himself up to me with a grocery bag on his lap. "Did you two have another fight?"
"She didn't break up with you this time, did she, son?" Dad asks, coming over and placing his hand on my back.
"I don't know," I mumble, staring after Carrie's car.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Bobby presses.
"I mean, I don't know," I snarl back at him.
"Oh, Scotty, and you were so doing so well," Mom groans, sounding so disappointed in me.
I can't take it. "It's not my fault, Mom. God!" I huff, getting aggravated that, of course, that's what everyone automatically thinks.
"Then why'd she storm out of here?" Bobby asks, parking himself in front of me.
"Because of her damn family!" I yell. "That's why!"
And that's when Alex comes up behind me. "What about my damn family?"
Perfect Game Page 33