Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance Page 10

  Chapter Fourteen

  The four men surrounding Jeanine were attractive in that polished Hollywood sense, but as they got drunker, they also became cruder and more sloppy in their compliments.

  Somehow, Jeanine couldn’t drum up enough lust or desire to fuck any one of them even with her eyes closed. Sex used to be so simple. Find a willing candidate who made her feel desirable and wanted. Then milk them for a few drinks, and when she was tipsy enough, jump in like a refreshing dip in the pool. She’d close her eyes and let her many fantasies roll—a cowboy after a hard ride, a gladiator pounding her near the lion’s cage, an orgy with naked South Sea islanders, truckers gangbanging her in a seedy motel.

  But ever since she met Kirk? Whenever she closed her eyes, he was the one who stepped onto the stage. These four entertainment types around her couldn’t possibly fool her body into responding like the way she’d reacted to a single kiss from him on the airplane. Just the touch of his hand on her skin was electrifying beyond belief.

  Except he’d left the bar with those four women. They were all over him. Horny, rich, and spoiled women who’d only use him for the best night of sex they could ever get. And Kirk? He looked like he enjoyed every minute of their attentions as they marched him off like a prize stallion.

  Jeanine swallowed liquid courage, not caring that she guzzled fine Italian Brunello as if it were water. “Gentleman, it seems as if my brother is needing me to find him.”

  “Your brother will be fine,” Thaddeus slurred. He ran his elegant finger down from her chin to her throat. “Shall we also retire to more private quarters? Are you up to doing all four of us?”

  “A girl shouldn’t get greedy.” Jeanine ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip. “I would if I could, but my baby brother needs help. He has some syndrome and has the mind of a ten-year-old boy. I mean, he couldn’t even find a quarter in his pocket.”

  “You’re shitting us,” Royce said. He undid his man bun and swept his longish hair over his shoulders. “I bet those four women will give him a long and happy bit of sex education. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.”

  “True, but my parents will hit the ceiling. And you know how men are.” She shrugged herself away from Thaddeus, whose hands felt like cold gefilte fish. “He’ll become uncontrollable if he loses his virginity.”

  “You are totally bullshitting us.” Palmer lowered his glasses and stared at her over the lenses. “He’s not your brother. Not with the way he was looking at you. I saw him adjust his pants. Whatever game you two are playing, make the most out of it. I say we go up to our suite and party.”

  The rest of the gang agreed.

  “Come on, sexy lady, time to gin up.” Ethan looped a lanky arm around her shoulder. He lowered his lips to her ear and whispered, “Have you ever had one man licking your pussy, another one fucking your butt, two more hands playing with your boobs, and a cock in your mouth? Tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

  Gulp. Now that he mentioned it, she could add it to her repertoire to help her climax, but then, how would the film in her mind go if all the guys were Kirk Kennedy?

  She’d better pull on her big girl panties and firmly cancel out on these guys. “I really do have to watch over my brother. Sorry if you don’t believe me, but since I won this round of drinks over a game of pool, I believe I don’t owe you anything else.”

  “Boo, hiss, on you.” Palmer laughed and waved his hand. “Running after a guy isn’t going to solve your problems. If he wanted you, he wouldn’t have left with those old biddies.”

  “You should go to marriage counseling instead of playing brother and sister at a bar and hoodwink perfectly nice strangers like us.” Thaddeus poured her another drink.

  “Exactly.” Royce pulled his pant legs and propped himself on a barstool. “Your marriage is stale. You’re bored and you think sleeping with studly guys like us is going to rejuvenate it. I read a screenplay like this—something about mid-life crisis.”

  “Excuse me.” Jeanine huffed, but took the glass of wine from Thaddeus. “I’m hardly middle-aged. Those cougars that left with Kirk are at least ten years older than me.”

  “You might not be middle-aged, but you are jaded enough to portray someone almost going into menopause,” Thaddeus said. “Maybe you need hormone replacement therapy to get things going again.”

  “I assure you I don’t,” Jeanine said. “I’m usually very hot to trot. I might be coming down with a cold or something. It’s the weather.”

  Ethan, the nasty, bald one, leaned over and stroked down her bare back to the base of her spine. “Maybe you need a story to warm you up. We’ve got all sorts of books on our ereaders we can read to you.”

  “Or a film,” Palmer said, his gaze searing through her skimpy cocktail dress. “You look like you’re into pain and leather wraps.”

  Of course, she’d imagined all those things, but a busy businesswoman had no time to indulge in membership at a sex club, nor did she have a desire to consort with the same people regularly.

  “I really should be getting back to my room,” Jeanine made a move to hop off the barstool. “I thank you guys for the game and the drink.”

  “Oh, don’t go running back to check up on your quote, unquote, brother,” Royce, the self-styled psychologist of the group, crooned. “If you really want to know whether he loves you or not, then come up to our suite and hang out with us. Believe me. You have to work on his imagination—have him worry about you, wondering if we’re fucking you left, right, up, down, and inside out. Then, and only then, will this stunt be worthwhile.”

  “This isn’t a stunt,” Jeanine said. “And I really don’t care what Kirk thinks. We’re not involved. Not the way you guys think, but still, I’m not sure I want to take on all four of you.”

  “He’s having four women.” Ethan pointed out. “If you let us go, you’ll always wonder what it would have been like. We’re good.” He cracked his knuckles. “And by the time we’re done, you’ll be a purring mess of jelly.”

  Jeanine’s nipples perked at the suggestion and warmth pooled between her thighs. He had a point. It was all she’d ever wanted. Anonymous sex and the search for nirvana. After all, she’d never felt guilty about seeking her release. It was her reward for being a good girl, for protecting Tina and the others. As long as George Simpson slept with her, he’d kept his hands off the younger ones.

  She hadn’t been the one to turn him in. Someone had done that and turned him against her. He’d loved her once, but now, after the jail time and the disgrace, he wouldn’t remember her so fondly.

  Truly, she had nothing to lose. No one loved her, not anymore, and as for Kirk? He was a nagging itch under her skin, a nosy pecker out for a challenge. And right at this moment, he probably had his nose in one woman’s muff, his balls deep in another one, and his hands all over the third, with the fourth one recording the disgusting scene on her camera phone.

  “Here are my rules,” Jeanine said, surprised at how calm her voice was beneath her stuttering heart. “I call all the shots. When I want to leave, I leave. No exchange of contact information. Condoms on everyone. Once I’m done, I’ll never want to see any of you again.”

  * * *

  “You’re a professional baseball player! I knew it.” Clare dragged Kirk by the sleeve as Susan slipped the keycard into the door of their suite.

  “Oh, I want your autograph,” Anne said. “My son’s a Rattlers fan.”

  “Mine too,” Susan said. “Are you hungry? We can call for room service.”

  “I’m starving,” Jill announced in her strong voice. “I always get hungry afterwards.”

  Kirk cringed at the thought of Jill getting hungry and stuffing her face with his body parts. Were they really going to ask him to have sex? Wasn’t this supposed to be a ruse to trick Jeanine into coming after him?

  True, she and her gang of men hadn’t bothered trailing him as he walked as slowly as he could across the lobby toward the elevator. As far as he knew, sh
e was still in the lounge flirting with them—or maybe they’d gone up to their suite shortly afterward.

  The women ushered Kirk into their luxurious suite and kicked off their heels.

  “Make yourself comfortable on the bed,” Anne, the banker, practically ordered him.

  “Here, I’ll loosen your tie and take off your shoes,” Susan said.

  “Get you anything to drink?” Jill stepped toward the minibar.

  “Actually, let me sign the autographs first.” Kirk pulled a pillow up to the headboard so he could stay seated.

  “Sign my book.” Anne scrambled in her purse and drew out a paperback featuring a bare-chested baseball player.

  “Me, too. I have a baseball. How lucky,” Susan clapped her hands.

  “Shucks, I don’t have anything but a napkin.” Jill returned from the minibar with a drink.

  “You can always sign my belly. I always wanted to do that after the heroine in my last book had guys licking belly shots off her,” Clare said, pulling aside her gaudy scarf dress to expose her abdomen. “Let’s do selfies too.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’ll be fun. Let’s muss his hair up some,” Anne called out and promptly ran her fingers through Kirk’s hair.

  “How about some lipstick on the collar.” Clare offered helpfully as she nibbled his shirt. “Ha, ha, now I’ll get that selfie.”

  “I mean, we have a major leaguer here. We gotta go big,” Jill crowed in her booming voice. “Here, I’ll take a picture of you and Kirk, and you get one of me.”

  “Oh, wait. I need to take off some clothes to make this more realistic,” Clare said. “I can’t wait to post this in my reader’s club.”

  “Don’t forget to put his hand on your boob,” Anne shrieked, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  “Heck, I want him shirtless with me,” Susan announced, fanning herself. No doubt she was having a hot flash.

  Kirk tried not to groan. This photoshoot was going to ruin his image. Imagine being trapped in a room with four women at their college reunion. Such was the price to pay for being a famous athlete—something his father had groomed him for his entire life. The old man had never cared what Kirk’s grades were, only his batting average.

  Kirk gamely allowed each of the women to pose with him. Clare straddled his lap. Anne lay across his crotch face down as if his cock were in her mouth. Susan licked his ear and placed her hand over his pecs after removing his shirt, but Jill, the lawyer, was much more careful. She knelt over him, looking down at him as if she were dominating him with her hands on her hips in a threatening position.

  Once the women got their pictures, they laughed and giggled, comparing them. Kirk put his shirt back on and checked his phone, ruing that he hadn’t had the foresight to add Jeanine to his “Find Friends” tracker app. Not that it would help if she showed as being in the same hotel. The app didn’t get granular enough to find the exact room.

  While he was taking pictures with the nice ladies, Jeanine could be taking in four different cocks. Just the thought of it nauseated him and made his blood boil. Why did she have so little regard for herself as to let so many men have sex with her?

  Clare slid onto the bed, notebook in hand. “Okay, big boy. Now you’re going to tell me all about playing catcher. Was this position what you always wanted growing up or did you want to be a pitcher?”

  “I never wanted to be the pitcher,” he answered easily. “Catchers are the real guys in charge. We call the pitches and run all the defensive plays. We’re right next to the home plate ump and every batter who comes up to bat. We have to read everyone, rely on our intuition to tell us if someone’s having a good day or a bad one, if he’s looking for a fastball or expecting a breaking pitch.”

  “Sounds scientific. Does being a catcher handicap you in getting girls?” Clare made notes and looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t women hotter for the pitcher?”

  “What’s an arm compared to fast hands?” Kirk couldn’t help but brag. “I have to snag all their wild pitches, catch pop flies, throw out base stealers.”

  “So, you have no trouble getting girls,” she concluded needlessly. Did he look like he had any trouble getting laid?

  “At least you’re not a shortstop,” Susan made the same old stupid joke he’d heard a million times.

  “And, he’s got home plate covered, if you know what I mean.” Jill wiggled her eyebrows. She was on the phone ordering room service. From the sound of it, they were going to have a feast as well as more champagne.

  “Hey, I don’t want to talk about baseball.” Anne leaned against him on the bed. “I want to know if it’s true about all your one-night stands. They call you ‘Catch and Release.’ Is it true you’ve never bedded the same woman twice?”

  “Oh, this is going to be good,” Clare exclaimed. “I’m writing a hero who has no ability to form connections of the heart. The poor thing had a neglectful mother and never felt loved growing up. His heart is shielded and yet, he wonders if he’s missing out. But instead of getting to know a woman, he substitutes sex for love.”

  Her words made Kirk squirm. It was freaky that her character sounded so much like him, except he’d never thought he was missing out. What was so bad about sex with a variety of women? Wasn’t the human male wired to spread his genes as far and wide as he could?

  “I don’t think your hero’s missing out,” Kirk said. “He’s living the life many men envy.”

  “On the surface, maybe.” Clare scratched her chin and rolled her eyes upward. “But I’m betting it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. So, tell me, how does it feel to do something so intimate with women and then forget about them?”

  Actually? It felt empty. Except Kirk had to remind himself how liberating it was not to have to worry about responsibilities, the morning after, whether the trash was taken out, or who had to drop off the baby at daycare.

  “I don’t really forget about them,” he hedged. “But in my current lifestyle, I don’t have time for attachments.”

  “You have attachment issues,” Susan declared. “Trust me. I’m a doctor. I know about such things. Was your mother absent or critical of you?”

  “Uh, both,” Kirk replied. “But I don’t think I have any attachment issues. I choose not to get involved with women because they’re too much trouble.”

  “Like nagging and asking you to put the toilet seat down?” Anne suggested. “I’d think those are minor things compared to all the love and comfort you’d get.”

  “I agree,” Clare interjected. “My romances are all about damaged men, who could never imagine themselves being loved or needing a woman, finding out that love is worth fighting for and that when the one special woman waltzes into his life, a real man will change into a teddy bear and a grizzly at the same time—loving and gentle, but woe unto anyone who tries to hurt the heroine.”

  “That’s so unrealistic,” Kirk countered. “I know, because I’m around real guys. We don’t get all macho and protective over women. They like to be independent and would bite your head off if you opened a door for them.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Every woman’s waiting for the right man to treat her like a princess, to love and cherish her alone,” Clare mused.

  “Well, I’m definitely not the right one for anyone.” Kirk tensed his muscles to hide the squirmy feeling in his gut. “I don’t want to get involved.”

  “You never know, besides there are benefits for you, too,” Clare said. “There’s something really comforting about cuddling with the same woman, night after night.”

  “Cuddling.” Kirk practically snorted. “I can’t think of a worse type of torture. We real men like to be left alone, especially after sex.”

  “That’s because you haven’t made love to someone you care about,” Clare persisted. “You’re selling yourself short.”

  “Like a shortstop,” Susan guffawed as she marched to the door to answer room service.

  “Do you have such a lack of respect for women to ‘catch and release?’
” Anne leaned close and stared him in the eye. “I wouldn’t want my son to think of you as a hero if you’re so callous to women.”

  “Actually, I’m not,” Kirk defended himself. “The types of women I hook up with aren’t interested in me as a person. They’re only looking for a few minutes of fun.”

  “How sad.” Clare put her pen down and stared at him from behind her owlish glasses. “Don’t you feel empty after your very few minutes of fun?”

  “Actually it’s a few hours, but …” Kirk trailed off. The truth was, he felt both restless and empty. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Then why were you staring at the blonde all evening like she was your sun and moon and all the stars combined?” Clare waxed a little too eloquently.

  Kirk swallowed and cleared his throat. “She’s a friend.”

  “Where I come from,” Jill cut in. “Friend is a euphemism for having sex without it meaning anything.”

  “I haven’t had sex with her,” Kirk protested, feeling like he was trapped in some strange reality show. “I told you already. I’m her wingman and she’s looking for a night of hot, anonymous sex.”

  “And you’re just going to let her have it?” Jill cross-examined him. “Did it ever occur to you those men might be mobsters?”

  “Mobsters?” Kirk felt his throat tighten. “But they said they were into talent and creativity.”

  “Oh, no!” Clare cried out. “They’re pimps. They could have kidnapped your friend by now and are taking her across the border. Then she’ll be sold to some sheikh overseas into a harem never to be seen again.”

  “If she’s lucky.” Anne picked a shrimp skewer off the room service tray and crunched on it. “I happen to know that blondes command a high price in brothels all over South America.”

  “Especially the ones into bondage and domination,” Jill added. “A hot looking blonde like your friend is in serious trouble. Maybe you better go down to the bar and see if she’s still there.”