Played: Scandalous Moves Series

by Staley, Deborah Grace

  She finger-combed her hair, then tiptoed out of the bathroom and went in search of her dress. She found it by the couch, shook it out, and put it on. She’d lost her shoes on the beach, so she’d be going barefoot back to the hotel. She couldn’t find her panties anywhere, so she grabbed her purse from the table by the couch, and gave a precious moment of thought to leaving a note. What would she say?

  Thanks for all the mind-blowing orgasms. Best of luck, Jade

  Thanks for ruining me for all other men. Yours truly, That Girl Who Could So Fall for Her One-Night Stand

  Better to just leave. They were both adults. It was what it was: one night—one unbelievable fantasy of a night. Moving on.

  She followed the path down to the beach. The sunrise was spectacular with only a few beachcombers who barely noticed the woman in a wrinkled sundress. The walk of shame through the hotel lobby, not so much. It felt like every eye followed her barefoot progress, wild hair, and her hand covering the bite mark on her neck. Relief came when the elevator doors swooshed shut.

  When she’d made it into her room, she sucked in a deep breath and leaned heavily against the door. She went straight into the bathroom and set the shower so hot the spray stung her skin, not that it wasn’t already tingling from her night with Matteo. If only she could wash the memory away.

  She showered quickly and brushed her teeth. Somewhere in between, she ordered coffee and toast. Thank God they made the coffee rich and strong here. Usually, she laced it with lots of cream and sugar, but not today. The caffeine cleared away the fog from a nearly sleepless night, but the telltale signs and memories of it remained on her body and on her mind.

  Jaye checked her watch, shoved things into her suitcase, zipped it, then grabbed her laptop along with the player stats and put them in her computer bag. No time to check the room for anything she may have left behind. Downstairs, she checked out, put on her sunglasses, and still squinted against the bright Caribbean sunshine as she walked through the parking lot to her rental. A headache pressed against the back of her eyes. She had just thrown her things into the backseat when she spotted Matteo stalking—that was the only way to describe his walk—into the hotel lobby. “Shit.” She got behind the wheel, tamped down two moments of hesitation, and started the car. She backed out of the space and drove away without looking back.

  * * *

  “You look like hell, Baxter.”

  “Thanks, Mooch. You don’t look so good yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m an old man. My better days are behind me.”

  Jaye set her briefcase on the conference table. “Where are the guys?” she asked, referring to the other scouts who were supposed to be at this meeting.

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

  Jaye lifted a skeptical brow. “Yeah?”

  “At some point.”

  “You talked to them?”

  “Yeah, yeah. They’ll be here.” Mooch frowned. “That a scarf you’re wearin’, Chief?”

  Jaye fingered the blue bandana tied at her neck. She’d picked it up along with some aspirin at a convenience store on the way over. “Yes.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know those were in fashion these days.”

  “What do you know about fashion?”

  “Hey, I got a wife and two daughters, and I got eyes, too.”

  José Gomes and Pedro Alvarez sauntered in and immediately began speaking to Mooch in Spanish, both intentionally ignoring her.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for joining us,” she said. The conversation stopped as the two turned steely black stares her way. Jaye just smiled, plugged in her laptop, and turned on the projector. “It’s good to see you.”

  Pedro grunted. José remained silent.

  “They were saying that the kid we’ve been anxious to see is off the disabled list. He’ll start tonight,” Mooch said.

  “Perfect. Keep me posted on his progress.” Jaye moved over to the boxes stacked on the table and handed one to each of the men.

  “What is this?” Pedro asked. So, he could speak when he chose to.

  “Laptops, courtesy of the V.P. of Player Development and Scouting.”

  “Why?” Pedro spoke again.

  “We want the player stats put into the database daily.”

  José and Pedro laughed. “And what will you do?”

  Jaye smiled. The men still thought she was their secretary and that her job was to input their stats. “I will analyze the data, generate reports for the club, and give you updated information on the players based on their stats.

  The two men looked at each other, dumbfounded. They both turned to Mooch. “We update, si?”

  Mooch looked from Jaye to the men. “We update, yes. We put our reports on the players in the spreadsheet, and then Chief here works the data. Based on that information, she gives us direction and reports to the big chief in Cincinnati.”

  “We report to her.”

  “Si, si,” Mooch agreed, then pointed to the laptops. He took a clipboard from his bag with player stats on the stacks of sheets there. “We put this,” he held up the clipboard, “into the computer.” He pointed to the laptops.

  “That her job.” José pointed at Jaye.

  “No. That’s your job,” Jaye said. “I’m the chief for Latin American scouting, and you’re the scouts for Puerto Rico. I need you to input your own stats into the system. There are too many scouts in Latin America for me to sift through all your paper reports. It’s more efficient to use the computers.” She paused, then added, “Look at it this way. Now you won’t have to fax all those pages to me. So, open the boxes and turn on the laptops. Everything is set up for you, and I’m going to show you how to use the program.”

  After another flurry of Spanish, Jaye lost it. She’d had no sleep and was sick of these employees’ attitudes. “Gentlemen,” she said in Spanish, raising her voice to be heard above them. “All of the Reds’ scouts use this system. The Latin American scouts, you, are the only ones who do not. I need your cooperation.”

  “Chief,” Mooch said. “I have an idea. I volunteer to input the stats for José and Pedro. They drop their sheets off here at the stadium, and I pick them up and do it.”

  “Daily.”

  “Maybe three to four times a week would be more practical.”

  Jaye closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t have the energy to fight this battle today. “Fine, for now. But I want you to spend time with José and Pedro showing them how to do it themselves.” To the two reluctant men, she added, “You have two weeks to start doing this yourselves, or I’ll be forced to find other scouts.” She took a moment to regain her calm and said, “Now, please turn on your laptops so we can go over the program.”

  * * *

  Four painfully long hours later, Jaye had a splitting headache. She walked up to the press box, took her seat, and dug in her purse for the aspirin. Her phone buzzed across the table. The screen read Daddy and showed his picture. Jaye tapped the screen to answer on speaker. “Hey, Dad. I’m busy.” Jaye uncapped a bottle of water and slammed back two pills.

  “You sound angry, not busy,” he said.

  “Sorry. Four hours of computer training with two Puerto Rican scouts who think I’m their secretary.”

  “So what else is new? You’ve been working with assholes like that for years. Are you cranky because you were out late last night?” he asked hopefully.

  Jaye glanced over at the men filling into the press box. She smiled to acknowledge them, then took the call off speaker. “I really can’t talk right now.”

  “Just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Did you eat at the hotel restaurant?”

  Jaye sighed. “Yes.”

  “And did you eat alone?”

  “Yes.”

  A brief pause and then, “Did you meet anyone interesting?”

  Jaye hesitated, and said, “Yes.” She opened her laptop and tapped the space bar to wake it from sleep mode.

  “Did you leave together?”
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  “Dad.”

  “Did you have a nice time?”

  Nice was not a word she would have chosen, but she said, “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for the details.”

  “Great.” Jaye said, relieved.

  “Will you see him again?”

  “No.” Saying it out loud left a funny feeling in its wake. “I really have to go.”

  “I’m proud of you, honey.”

  Saying thanks felt wrong given everything she’d done with Matteo last night, so she said. “Talk later,” and disconnected the call.

  Mooch took the seat beside Jaye. “It’s confirmed. Ruiz is in the lineup, Chief. He’s a closer, but I heard they may be moving him to middle relief.”

  Mooch handed Jaye the lineup card. She scanned it, but since Matt Ruiz was a pitcher, he wouldn’t be on there. “He must be struggling with his fastball if they’re thinking of moving him from closer to middle relief.”

  “His pitch speed and location was inconsistent when he was with the Reds before,” Mooch said. “Maybe he’s still got issues.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Jaye said. Ruiz had signed a deal with the Reds when he was eighteen and had played in their minor league system for a couple of years, showing promise. But he’d packed his bags and left abruptly because of some sort of family issues. He’d showed back up this fall playing Puerto Rican winter ball, and if the reports were accurate, he’d been clocked throwing a fastball over 100 MPH, but he’d missed the last couple of weeks because of an ankle injury he’d gotten sliding into a base.

  “What’s the word on his injury?”

  “Had a nasty strain. Nothing torn or broken. Should be good to go.”

  “That’s what we like to hear. Any word on the issue that resulted in him walking away from his contract?”

  “It was a family issue. After he left, he was non-responsive and no one pursued it.”

  Jaye nodded. Even if they were able to re-sign him, the front office would want some assurances he’s committed this time. “We need to find out what’s up with his family, and see if there’s anything we can do to help if we decide to re-sign him.”

  “Roger that, Chief. I’m on it.”

  Jaye smiled. “I know I can count on you, Mooch. It’s hard to believe no one figured out what was up with Ruiz before.”

  Mooch shrugged. “Not so surprising. So many players would kill for the chance Ruiz had. Why chase after a player who’s unreliable when there are so many other talented guys out there eager to work hard?”

  Why indeed. “Well, let’s see if he still has it.”

  The game started. Jaye lifted her binoculars to scan the players in the bullpen. Several pitchers milled around while the starting pitcher warmed up. She focused on one of the players. Something about the way he moved seemed familiar, but with his head down and the ball cap sitting low on his forehead, she couldn’t get a good look at him.

  “What’s Ruiz’ number?”

  “Twenty-five,” Mooch said.

  Ah. The guy who’d caught her eye. Good to know her instincts remained sound. “He’s in the bullpen. Doesn’t seem to be limping on the bad ankle.”

  “Have a look at this lead off,” Mooch said. “He’s got great speed.”

  Jaye lowered the binoculars and tried to focus on the players in front of her, but something about the pitcher drew her. She watched the game, but her focus wasn’t there. Thankfully, Mooch had a good eye, and she knew she could trust his assessments of the talent.

  The game dragged. She was tired and her headache hadn’t completely dissipated. Jaye checked her email, answering the urgent messages and putting the rest off until later when she’d be traveling.

  “This guy’s in trouble. Ruiz is warming up.”

  Jaye grabbed the binoculars to get a closer look at Ruiz as he worked. When he came into focus, what she saw didn’t disappoint. “He looks good. Does someone have a gun behind home plate?”

  “José has it.”

  “Get a radio on him. I want the speeds called up.” Jaye stood, needing to move. “Never mind. I’m going down.” She grabbed her portfolio and her bag and walked out of the press box. Her high wedges slowed her a bit, but they reminded her she was a woman. She smiled. Last night had been a nice reminder as well.

  At field level behind home plate, Jaye showed the usher her credentials then joined José and and Pedro. She nodded at the men and sat next to José just as the manager walked out to the mound, signaling for the lefthander as he went.

  “Ruiz,” José said. “He is the one you waited to see, yes?”

  “Yes,” Jaye said. She watched the new pitcher jog from the bullpen to the pitcher’s mound, struck again by the feeling she got watching him move. Ruiz took the ball from the manager, who slapped him on the butt, then walked back into the dugout. Ruiz put his glove under his arm and cupped the ball in his hands, rotating it to get a feel for it. He dug out his spot in front of the pitcher’s mound and planted his foot—the one with the injured ankle. He showed no sign of favoring it. Ruiz signaled to the catcher and made his first practice throw. Jaye glanced over at the radar gun. Seventy. Next pitch was eighty, and the numbers went up from there. The last pitch, a fastball, was 102. Jaye smiled. She and her scouts exchanged a look. No words needed. This guy was the real deal.

  She focused on Ruiz. He’d walked to the back of the mound to pick up the chalk bag while the infielders threw the ball around the horn. He bounced the bag on his wrists then tossed it aside just as the ball came back to him, and he took the mound. He removed his hat, and Jaye’s breath rushed out of her. He pushed his hair off his forehead then pulled the cap back down so that the bill sat low over his eyes. He dug in again as the batter approached the plate.

  “You okay, Chief?” José asked. “You don’t look so good.”

  “Yeah—fine.” She ducked and rummaged in her bag for sunglasses. When she had them on, she re-focused on Ruiz.

  Shit. Matt Ruiz was Matteo.

  5

  Looking through the dark sunglasses, Jaye focused on the man she’d spent the night with. No wonder he seemed familiar. Matteo was Ruiz. His demeanor was completely different. He looked intense. And pissed. Maybe at her for sneaking out on him this morning.

  Come on Baxter, she said to herself. It’s his game face and has nothing to do with you.

  He delivered the first pitch. A fastball, high and inside, for a ball. She checked the gun. Ninety-five. “Let’s see if he settles in,” she said.

  “May be first day back jitters. Plus, he knows we’re here.”

  Matt threw another fastball, this one higher. It nearly went to the backstop, but the catcher stood and caught it. He threw the ball back to Ruiz and gave him the signal to settle down. Matt stepped off the pitcher’s mound.

  “He looks rattled. Off,” José said.

  Jaye slumped down in her seat. Had he seen her? She should have stayed in the press box with Mooch. Matt took the sign and delivered another fastball, this time for a strike.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” José said. “Ninety-eight.”

  “What’s he got besides a fastball?” Jaye asked.

  “He’s got a slider.”

  Matt threw the fastball again. It was a close pitch, but the umpire called it a ball. Matt did not like the call.

  “Ninety-eight again,” José said.

  “3-1,” she said. He just needed to throw a strike. The batter, ahead in the count, would probably be taking. Matt stepped back on the mound and threw a hard pitch for a strike. The batter swung, but he was way behind the pitch.

  “Cannot be right,” José said. He hit the radar gun with the flat of his hand, but the reading did not change. “105?”

  Matt took the ball back from the catcher, and as soon as the hitter got set, threw another blistering fastball. The batter swung, but didn’t have a prayer of catching up to the pitch. The crowd roared as the batter returned to the dugout.

  “105. Again,
” José said in disbelief. “I have never seen before. Never.”

  A small smile played at the corners of Matt’s mouth as he turned and walked off the back of the mound. He did his thing with the chalk bag again while the infield threw the ball around the horn. After the first batter, Matt did settle in, handling the next two batters masterfully, striking out both on six pitches. The crowd cheered as he walked slowly towards the dugout. Like a coward, Jaye stayed slumped behind José, doing her best to make sure Matt didn’t see her. But like a junky, she couldn’t resist leaning out to sneak a look at him when he neared. He hesitated and looked her way. His eyes locked on hers. She turned away, but it was too late. Damn it.

  When he stepped into the dugout, Jaye rummaged in her bag for a long-range walkie-talkie. She handed it to José and said, “Call them up.”

  “Sure thing, Chief,” José said.

  Jaye left so quickly, she thought she must have heard José wrong. He’d never called her “chief” or acknowledged her position in any way.

  Back in the press box, Mooch was all excitement. “The fastball looked good. It was fast, yes?”

  “Yes,” Jaye confirmed. She told Mooch the speeds. “I left a radio with José.” She found the other radio and handed it to Mooch. “Log every pitch.”

  “You got it, Chief. Hey. You okay? You should be excited, but you look . . . almost angry.”

  Ignoring that, she said, “He’s got a few more innings to go. He’s used to coming in for one inning at the end of the game. He can’t throw like that for three or four innings in middle relief. Let’s see how it plays out.”

  The game went well for Ruiz. He showed no signs of weakness. He threw the fastball, the slider, and a few curveballs. But his fastball—that was his money pitch. He was a born closer. This team would ruin his arm if they worked him in middle relief. The Reds needed to get him under contract and out of here, and that presented its own problems for her. Damn it all to hell.

  At the end of the game, Mooch asked, “You want to meet him, Chief.” It wasn’t a question. Mooch picked up the house phone. “I’ll set it up.”