Fastball

by V. K. Sykes

  “Lie, you mean,” she said in a doubtful tone.

  “A harmless lie. And we can have a phone call, too.”

  She peered down at her feet, suddenly looking a bit shy and fidgety. Jake could practically hear her thinking it through, weighing the pros and cons. God, she was cute. He decided to push it another notch.

  “Look, I don’t much like anybody trying to tell me who I can talk to and where,” he said. “Or when. If that isn’t written into the Constitution, it damn well should be. Freedom of speech and freedom of association are God-given rights, aren’t they?”

  That earned him a wry, slightly more relaxed smile. “I can’t really argue with that,” she said. “Even though I know your logic is seriously flawed.”

  Jake shrugged, trying to keep it casual. Inside, he felt anything but casual. Suddenly, getting her to agree to his idea felt as important as winning tonight’s game. “Freedom of speech. Freedom of association. Freedom of the press. As far as I’m concerned, that’s three strikes against what everybody knows is a pretty stupid rule.”

  He leaned forward slightly, staring directly into her eyes. A faint wash of pink colored her lightly tanned complexion as she gazed back at him.

  “What do you say, Maddie? You know I’m right,” he finished softly.

  He sensed she wanted this meeting as much as he did. Okay, probably for different reasons, but he could work with that. He waited her out, even though he knew he was pushing the envelope by not getting into the batting cage yet.

  After a few more moments, she sighed gently and gave in. “I’m nuts to agree to this. But you’ll have to promise you’ll give me full answers to anything and everything I ask if we do it your way. And we need to make absolutely sure we don’t go near any place where players, reporters or management hang out.”

  Jake had to repress the impulse to pump his fist. That last thing he wanted to do was scare her off with some macho display of arrogance.

  “Agreed,” he quickly replied. As for not being seen, he knew the perfect spot for a clandestine dinner. “I’ve got just the place. If it’s okay with you, we’ll meet in La Jolla at a restaurant called Nakamura. Grab a cab in front of the hotel—I’m sure the driver will know where it is, or can find it with his GPS. It’s a bit of a drive, so leave yourself at least half an hour for the trip. Let’s say eight o’clock?”

  Maddie gave him an uncertain smile. “La Jolla, Nakamura, eight o’clock. Got it. I’ll see you there.” Then she turned and practically ran up the concrete steps toward the concourse, as if some sharp-toothed animal was snapping at her sweet ass.

  After Jake watched her disappear inside the stadium, he turned back toward the batting cage. He knew he’d better put aside any ideas about biting that trim little behind for the next three hours, or he might find himself on a one-way trip back to Allentown.

  * * *

  “I’m such an idiot.”

  Maddie repeated it like a mantra as she made her way up to the press box. She hadn’t even reached the second step on her way back up the stands when she realized she’d made a huge mistake in agreeing to a clandestine interview with Jake Miller. She was a professional, and she’d acted almost like a star-struck groupie.

  Okay, maybe not that bad, but she hadn’t done herself any credit. As for hoping that a super friendly manner might soften him up…well, that had backfired in her face, hadn’t it?

  From the minute Jack Ault had told her Miller was going to be called up, she’d been determined to snag an interview with him—stalking him if she’d had to. So, she’d come to the field early, springing into action as soon as he ran out from the clubhouse to warm up. Maddie had only ever seen him play from the stands, and from a fair distance away. She knew, of course, that he was a major league heartthrob, but the first time she really got it was in that moment when he’d turned and nailed her with his intensely focused gaze. Up close, he was way hotter than she’d expected.

  That had disconcerted the hell out of her, throwing her off from the beginning of their conversation.

  Maddie had pretty much memorized his media guide numbers: thirty-one years old, six-four, and two hundred thirty-five pounds. But those numbers were just that—cold numbers. Statistics. They didn’t begin to give an adequate picture of the man. Jake Miller was indeed a very big ballplayer, superbly conditioned and toned without an apparent ounce of extra weight on his imposing frame. He was simply solid from head to toe, from his muscular neck down through strong, broad shoulders, a deep chest and powerful thighs and calves. As she’d surreptitiously eyed his trim waist, she was sure that if he took his jersey off she’d see the ripped abs that come with a lot of quality time in the weight room. His arms were iron-hard through the biceps, tapering all the way down to strong wrists and hands. Every inch of Jake Miller spoke of strength and power.

  But what got to her even more than his ultra-masculine body was his handsome, open face. His blond hair, thick and stylishly cut, was a bit longer than most players. Up close, he had deep blue eyes that gleamed with humor and intelligence. His mouth, set above a chiseled jaw line, had lines around it that told her he smiled a lot. And his voice—deep and smooth as honey, was a naturally sexy one that gave a girl a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  That voice had been her downfall. It had persuaded her to throw her innate caution to the winds and agree to his crazy plan. She knew what that dinner invitation was about, too. Jake had been coming on to her, even though he’d done his best to pretend he wasn’t.

  Still mentally kicking herself as she took her place in the press box, Maddie gave the other media types a desultory greeting before sticking her nose into her laptop computer. Staring at the screen, she saw nothing and did nothing. She simply couldn’t believe she’d agreed to something so dangerous and stupid—something that could even sidetrack her career if the Patriots found out and decided to come down heavy on her. If there was one thing Media Affairs staff hated more than anything else, it was losing control of the players’ contact with reporters. If she and Jake were caught, would the team pressure the paper to pull her from the Patriots beat? Maddie had a lot of faith in her boss, Martin James, but was sure the Patriots had more clout with the top brass at the Post than she could even imagine.

  God, she could even see herself being relegated to covering high school sports again. Friday Night Lights—she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

  That can’t happen.

  She couldn’t see any way out of the potential catastrophe except to call Jake’s room and leave a message calling the encounter off.

  Resolving to do just that, she retrieved her cellphone from her bag. But as soon as the hotel operator connected, asking her for the room number of the guest she wished to talk to, Maddie disconnected. She cast a quick glance around the press box. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying her any attention. A guy from one of the local papers who was sitting near her shot her a quizzical half-smile, then turned his attention back to his computer.

  She blew out a sigh and slumped back in her seat, staring blindly out at the field. Maybe she was just being paranoid. After all, the chances of them getting found out were minimal if they followed the plan Miller had laid out. And even if someone saw them and ratted them out, there was no guarantee the team would do anything more than give her a verbal dressing down. If she could hold any potential damage to that level, the story would be well worth it.

  An exclusive, intimate interview with Jake Miller, just as he was returning to the bigs? That was media gold by anybody’s standard.

  The rest of Maddie’s afternoon passed in a mental fog as her mind oscillated between wanting to cancel dinner and wanting to damn the torpedoes and do the interview. The only time she found it easy to focus on the game was when Miller was up to bat or making a play in the field. Then, her attention seemed to narrow on him with laser-like intensity as she absorbed every move he made. Even when he was struck out by a Padres’ reliever in the eighth inning, Maddie thought
he looked better fanning than a lot of players looked getting a hit. That, of course, simply illustrated the complete deterioration of her mental faculties under the onslaught of Miller’s charm offensive.

  By the time she got back to her room that evening, Maddie had pretty much given up on cancelling dinner. She knew it would be safer in terms of her career if she insisted that the interview be at the park. But the safe course wasn’t always the best course, a lesson she’d been trying to learn for years. If she could pull this interview off, there was a very good chance she could take her career to a different level, and solidify her position at the paper.

  As she lay in bed, exhausted but too restless to sleep, Maddie tried to make her decision based on a hard-nosed risk assessment. But she was kidding herself, and she knew it. Career advancement aside, one of the sexiest bachelors in baseball had made his interest in her crystal clear. And “interest” was a polite way of putting it—the man wanted to spend time with her, and he’d come up with an almost irresistible carrot to dangle as bait.

  But why the heck was he hitting on her in the first place? Maddie knew she wasn’t a hag, but she’d always classed her looks as nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly, she in no way resembled the leggy models and perfect ten actresses most of the players had on their arms. Jake Miller was one of the best-looking guys on the team, right up there with Nate Carter as a heartthrob. Women were lining up to date him—gorgeous, experienced women who could and would happily give Miller anything he wanted.

  So, what in God’s name had he seen in her? As Maddie finally drifted off to sleep, the answer continued to elude her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  For Maddie, the following day crawled by, ending with the Patriots getting nipped by the Padres in ten innings in the afternoon game. The team’s loss added to her general feeling of anxiety as her insides churned with a combination of anticipation and dread. Part of her couldn’t wait to get the game over with so she could head up to La Jolla to meet Jake, the most interesting and hottest guy she’d encountered in a very long time. Another part kept repeating the internal mantra that she was about to make a very stupid mistake. But she’d made a promise to herself to start pushing past her comfort zone, and a private dinner with one of the most-sought after players in baseball seemed like a good place to start.

  While never someone who took forever getting ready for dates—not that this was really a date—she left plenty of time to get showered and changed. A long day sitting on her backside in a hot, crowded press box did very little to improve a girl’s looks. Why she should care that much about her appearance was something she refused to think about too deeply.

  Normally, she packed lightly on road trips, taking just three or four outfits and using the hotel dry cleaning service as necessary. But as she stood in front of the meager pickings in her suitcase, wrapped in one of the hotel’s fluffy white robes, she hated to admit how much that lack bothered her. Jake had clearly appreciated the little black outfit she’d worn to the park yesterday, but she couldn’t wear that again. After a ridiculous amount of mental dithering, she finally chose a simple white skirt—not too short or tight—and a red silk blouse with matching red sandals. It was a nice compromise between flat-out business attire and something appropriate for an evening out at an upscale restaurant.

  After dressing, she carefully applied some makeup, shoved extra money in her purse for the sure-to-be-expensive cab fare up the coast, and took a deep breath before heading out the door of her hotel room. On some level she felt like she was girding for battle, even though she wasn’t yet sure what the nature of that battle was. But she was playing in the big leagues now—in more ways than one—and she’d better bring her A game, starting right now.

  * * *

  After what seemed like an interminable and altogether tense cab ride, Maddie arrived at the restaurant shortly after eight. She spotted Jake immediately, already seated and looking astoundingly handsome in a navy sports jacket that framed his broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt, and a gold silk tie. The tie alone would likely have cost her at least a week’s salary and, for a moment, she couldn’t hold back a flash of anxiety. Jake Miller was so far out of her league it wasn’t even funny, and she had to fight the urge to back slowly out of the room before he even saw her. Impossible, of course, since the maitre’d was conducting her to the table with as much ceremony as a drum major led the band before a college bowl game.

  Suck it up and act like a pro, girl.

  She plastered a smile on her face as Jake stood to greet her, his sexy mouth parting in a slow grin, his gaze flicking appreciatively over her body. For a few seconds, she actually felt faint with pleasure and nerves, and she had to clamp down hard on the dizzy sensations rocking her body. Despite the effort, she could still feel the blush spreading over her cheeks, and the butterflies in her stomach went into full flap as Jake gallantly brushed the maitre’d aside and pulled out a chair to seat her.

  As a sportswriter, Maddie was used to being around hot guys. She’d had her share of locker room encounters, and had seen enough naked chests and towel-wrapped asses to make such sights routine. But no player had affected her quite like Jake Miller, and she’d only seen him fully dressed. All he’d done so far was smile and pull out her chair for her, but she could already feel her hormones sparking in reaction.

  And she couldn’t even remember the last time a guy had pulled out a chair for her, waiting until she was settled before taking his own seat. She had to get a grip on her all-too-eager libido or she might be offering to have his babies before they finished the first course.

  “Thanks, Jake. Sorry if I’m a bit late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” She tried for casual, even though she felt anything but.

  He shook his head, sending a lock of thick, wheat-colored hair sliding onto his forehead. He quickly raked a hand back to put it in place. “Maddie, would you mind if I say that you look absolutely spectacular tonight?”

  She accepted the compliment with a smile and fussed with her purse for a moment before meeting his gaze. Casual wasn’t working, so maybe a little honesty was called for. “I’m not exactly sure how to do this, Jake. I’m obviously not used to conducting an interview under these circumstances. Maybe the best thing would be to eat, and then I’ll get out my recorder and we’ll talk business over coffee. Would that be okay?”

  Jake shrugged, and Maddie found herself mesmerized by the slide of his brawny shoulders under the smooth, expensive fabric of his jacket. She blinked and gave her head a mental shake. Man, she truly needed to get a grip.

  “Sounds good,” he said. “But why don’t we make a start on it now, after we get you a drink?”

  “Even better,” she said, relieved to focus on work. Right now, it felt just a bit too personal for her comfort.

  Jake motioned to the waiter. Since it was supposed to be a business meeting, she thought about ordering a coke or mineral water. But she opted instead for a glass of Sauvignon blanc, secretly acknowledging she could use a drink to settle her nerves. Jake ordered a bottle and Maddie retrieved her digital recorder, placing it on the table between them.

  “Okay to start?” she said.

  He leaned back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, fingers laced in an easy grip. “Fire when ready,” he replied, looking totally relaxed. Maddie had never met a man who seemed more comfortable in his own skin, and it had the effect of easing her own nervous tension.

  You can do this. Just stick to the prepared questions and you’ll be fine.

  A deep breath and she launched into her questions. “Jake, I’m sure you must be expecting that I’ll want you to talk about the progress of your recovery from the ankle surgery,” she said rather formally for the benefit of the recorder. “About your expectations for this season and so on. I do want to talk about all that, but we can get to those things later, if that’s all right.”

  He arched his brows slightly. Good. She had surprised him.

  “I say that,” she con
tinued, “because that stuff isn’t really what I’m interested in for a feature piece.”

  He unleashed one of those sexy smiles. “Whatever you like, Maddie. I’m in your capable hands.”

  It finally dawned on her just how much that devastating smile contributed to his charm. His was an open and honest face with chiseled features, and his easy, masculine grin conveyed both mature intelligence and good humor. Maddie found it disarmingly inviting.

  She blinked, losing her bearings for just a second before pulling it back together.

  “Um, what I want to write about is what it’s been like to be Jake Miller, ballplayer and man. What was it like for you growing up? What were your hopes and dreams, and have you fulfilled them yet? What your life is like now, both on and off the field—who you’re close to, what inspires you, that sort of thing.”

  His sharp gaze narrowed on her, as if assessing her intent. That irked her a bit, since she’d been straight with him from the beginning. If someone at this table had an ulterior motive for the evening, it sure as hell wasn’t her.

  “You said you’d tell me what I wanted to know. Well, that’s what I want to write about,” she said, defiantly meeting his gaze. “I want my readers to know something about who Jake Miller really is. I don’t want to simply feed them the usual babble and athlete-speak that players and reporters always trot out. That’s incredibly boring and we all know it.”

  When she stopped talking, a short silence fell over the table. Maddie reached over and clicked off the recorder before lifting her eyes back to his face. “Look, Jake, I’m even willing to let you see a draft of the article and talk about it before I submit the final version to the paper. I don’t want you to hold back because you think I’ll sandbag you somehow. That’s not my style, and I think you know it. When this piece is ready to go, my hope is that you’ll be as happy with it as I am.”