Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance Read online

  “Ah, yes, the stat fixing scandal.” Kirk had read that the owner’s son was the perp. “That guy was Marcia’s ex?”

  “Yep. I got fined because I paid. Big misunderstanding. I thought it was the way things are done here in America.” Timmy crossed his arms and frowned.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Jay said, which explained why he’d been sent to the minors. “Anyway, Jessie’s waiting for me. You coming with us?”

  “After you,” Kirk said. “Which blog does she write for?”

  Not that he had a clue which blog the woman he slept with opening night wrote for. He hadn’t even caught her name. But if she were Jay’s girlfriend, she wouldn’t want to draw attention to their night in the dark either. He’d just have to avoid making eye contact and pretend he didn’t know her—which was actually not too far from the truth since she’d insisted on lights out.

  Thirty minutes later, Kirk, Jay, and Timmy walked into The Home Plate. It was a tiny adobe enclave with Christmas lights still strung along the roofline. Mexican music filtered from the loudspeakers and the most mouth-watering scents hit him as soon as he stepped inside.

  “Kirk Kennedy,” a female voice called. It was the sports reporter. What was her name? Julie? Jennifer? Hopefully not Jessie.

  “Jessie,” Jay greeted, walking toward the reporter.

  Shit in a taco. Forget about getting buddy buddy with the Tigerman, he was about to be mauled.

  An Asian woman standing next to the woman he’d bedded jumped up and hugged Jay, kissing him lustily.

  Close call averted, Kirk smiled at the reporter whose name he’d forgotten. “Thought you were covering the Minutes.”

  “I am, but you’re more interesting.” She slid her long, lean body toward him.

  Oh sure, she was barely wearing a hot black slinky dress with strategically placed cutouts to show her nonfat waist, her cleavage, and the long, slender back, but he was definitely not up for round two.

  “You know Denise?” Jay’s girlfriend turned toward Kirk. “I’m Jessica, by the way.”

  Right. Her name was Denise, and she spared no time in wrapping her hand around his waist, claiming him.

  “This gentleman is Kirk Kennedy,” Denise said. “A former New York Minute, now a Rattler, and I can safely vouch for him—he’s much, much more than a minute.”

  Jessica giggled and patted Denise’s arm. “How high on the Richter scale does he rattle?”

  “Let’s just say he rattles my tail.” Denise hip bumped Kirk.

  “Buy everyone a round of drinks?” Kirk disengaged himself from Denise. “What are you having?”

  “I’ll have a screaming orgasm,” Denise said, rolling her tongue over her upper lip. “Think you can deliver?”

  “I’m on it.” Kirk took the drink orders and made a hasty escape to the bar. He flagged down a waitress and handed her a roll of bills, pointing her to the corner where his group had settled and gave her their drink orders.

  “You sure you don’t want anything, sir?” the waitress asked.

  “All I want is a hot beef tamale to go and the back exit.”

  “That would be through the kitchen. Come on,” the waitress led him around the partition separator.

  A few minutes later, Kirk skipped out the back door with a steamy hot tamale in a white paper bag. With fifteen major league teams, make that sixteen now that the New York Minutes had joined the conference, the area was crawling with sports bars.

  Unfortunately, he’d have to cross off The Home Plate and their hot tamales. Hadn’t he told Denise he was a one-night-only man? Back home in New York, a woman understood, and if she so happened to chance upon him on the streets, she knew not to make eye contact.

  Apparently, Phoenix was still operating with small town manners despite the huge metropolitan area that spread for miles and miles.

  After wolfing down the tamale, Kirk strolled down the streets in downtown Phoenix, guided by his cell phone navigation app in search of another watering hole.

  * * *

  “The worst part about owning a bar with your best friend is you never have the same days off,” Jeanine said to Skye, her training partner at the Black Tiger Martial Arts Center in downtown Phoenix. “Besides, she’s a new mother. No time for this.”

  “I’d think she’d appreciate some time away from the baby.” Skye winked and tied her hair back in a ponytail.

  She was in her forties and a fitness fanatic who had joined the dojo a few months ago. As far as Jeanine knew, she didn’t have a family or kids, and no one ever came to the tournaments to cheer for her.

  “I’m sure she’d rather sleep.” Jeanine shrugged. What did she know about being a mother?

  “What about you? Would you rather sleep in or go out with friends?” The woman leaned closer, as if sharing a secret.

  They sat on a pile of mats near the mirrors, pulling on their sparring gear: chest protector, headgear, padded booties, and gloves. Jeanine’s were all pink, whereas Skye’s color was blue.

  “I don’t have time to go out much,” Jeanine said, retying her black belt before putting on the chest protector. “If Marcia gets a day off, it means I’m working.”

  “You should get her to join, anyway,” Skye said. “At least start her on the women’s self defense. We need more women here, and I can show her the ropes even if you’re not around.”

  “I’ll mention it to her,” Jeanine said, doubting very much that Marcia would sign up for kicking, punching, and rolling on the mats wrestling when she was bone tired from keeping up with the baby.

  “You have any other girlfriends?” Skye strapped on padded booties over her feet.

  Okay, that had sounded overly casual, as if it were an offhand remark, but Jeanine couldn’t help wondering whether Skye was chatting her up or simply interested in recruiting more women to take martial arts.

  “Not really,” Jeanine mumbled. “Most of my friends are guys—the baseball team hangs out at our bar.”

  “I ought to drop by some time,” Skye said with a laugh. “Except I’m allergic to ballplayers and jocks.”

  More like she was telling her she didn’t like men, which was okay, except Jeanine wasn’t interested in getting to know Skye outside of the Martial Arts Center.

  “There are men here at the dojo, too,” Jeanine pointed out.

  “True, but we don’t have to wrestle with them.”

  “Good thing. I’m not up for being groped by some pimply teenaged kid.”

  “I take it you’d rather have an older, more experienced one.” Skye strapped on her helmet. “You have a boyfriend?”

  “No, but I’m into men.”

  “I knew that,” Skye said. “We ought to go out together some time. Pick up guys or have a drink.”

  “Yeah, sure, except I’m busy tonight. Have to get back to the bar.” Jeanine bit into her mouth guard and turned her attention to the two men sparring for points.

  After the men were finished, Master Tao called Jeanine and Skye to the center of the mats. They greeted each other with the martial arts hand sign, the closed right fist covered by the open left palm, and bowed, then took up fighting positions.

  As soon as the master lowered his hand, Jeanine threw a punch which was blocked. She then angled around for a kick, landing a point.

  Skye beat her back on the next sequence of moves, but Jeanine ducked, then spun around for a kick to the chest, scoring again.

  Jeanine blew out a breath and hopped around, facing her evenly matched opponent. Nothing cleared her mind better than fighting. She had only to focus on the immediate and rely on her coordination to dodge, parry, and strike.

  After going back and forth, with Skye landing an occasional punch or kick, Jeanine was declared the winner. Her hair was plastered with sweat as she bowed to her opponent.

  Breathing hard, she ripped off her gloves and removed her sparring gear, shoving the equipment into her gear bag.

  Skye wrapped her chest protector around her helmet, glo
ves and booties. “Good job, but I’ll get you in judo.”

  “You got lucky last time,” Jeanine shot back. Truth was she hated being pinned and placed in a vulnerable position, unable to move her arms and legs.

  “Luck had nothing to do with it. You gave up.”

  “Did not.”

  “Let’s jog around the mats and cool down.” The other woman pulled Jeanine to her feet before taking off around the perimeter of the dojo, her feet slapping quickly on the mats.

  Jeanine huffed out stale air and pumped her arms, keeping up. She ran one lap, then two, as another set of combatants sparred. She looked over at them when Master Tao yelled ‘Foul.’ The interlocking mats spun under her feet, and the sound of drumbeats pulsed in her ears, ending with a sharp thud.

  I can’t breathe. Don’t hurt me. Stop it. Stop.

  You’re fine. This feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t make any noise. Shhh … Everything will be okay. Trust me.

  But I’m scared.

  You’re a brave girl and the prettiest. You’ll like this. I promise you. Just don’t move.

  “Jeanine! Jeanine!” A woman’s voice called to her, and someone shook her face.

  Jeanine’s head throbbed as she opened her eyes. A ring of faces hovered over her, dark against the bright overhead lights.

  “Are you okay?” Master Tao said, as two of her fellow students helped her to a sitting position.

  “You ran into a wall,” Skye said. “Hit your head.”

  Jeanine groaned and rubbed her hand over the bump forming on the right side of her forehead. “What happened?”

  “You tripped over a gear bag,” Master Tao said. “Why don’t you sit out the wrestling? Get a drink of water.”

  “I’m fine.” Jeanine jumped to her feet. “I really am. I’m not hurt at all. I’m doing great.”

  Apparently, no one believed her, because a row of perplexed faces stared at her.

  “You’re excused from the rest of the class,” Master Tao said. “You did well with the sparring. Keep practicing with Skye and be sure to turn in your entry fee for the next tournament.”

  “Thank you, Master Tao. I will.” Jeanine pasted on a smile and gave him the martial arts hand sign of respect, bowing. “I’m not scared at all. It’ll be a wonderful tournament. You’ll see.”

  Chapter Five

  Jeanine emerged from the dojo, still wearing her gi, the karate jacket tied with her black belt over loose fitting pants. It was after dusk, but she wasn’t going to ask the men in the class to escort her to the parking area. Not only was she not interested in any of them, she didn’t want anyone to think she was weak and fearful.

  As for Skye, the less she encouraged her, the better. Something about the way she pried into her personal life gave her the willies. The woman was probably lonely, having recently moved to Phoenix, but Jeanine had no time to pursue another friendship, especially with someone who lacked filters and seemed to act too familiar with a perfect stranger.

  She walked briskly across the street. She’d been late and the tiny parking area near the dojo was packed, so she had to park a block away in the lot of a tire shop which had an agreement with the dojo for their patrons to park there after hours.

  A stiff, dry breeze sliced through the v-shaped opening of her uniform and chilled the sweaty sports bra she wore underneath. Tiny hairs on the back of Jeanine’s neck stiffened at the sound of footsteps behind her. She increased her pace, pissed at herself for wearing a pair of slip-on gardening clogs instead of running shoes.

  When she turned the corner, she allowed herself a single peek, as if she were casually wiping her hair from her face.

  A man wearing a hoodie, with his hands bunched in the pockets, strode past her and headed toward a bus stop without glancing at her.

  She doubled back and crossed the street, cutting through an office plaza. The flashback she’d had back at the dojo had unnerved her and made her paranoid. Even though foot traffic was light, a stream of cars drove by and several couples emerged from a bar across the street.

  Jeanine hurried to the tire shop’s parking lot, but stopped short when she saw a monster truck parked next to her BMW.

  It couldn’t be his. No way. He hadn’t been up for parole yet, had he? But then, when was the last time she’d checked?

  She squinted and studied the truck. Its large F-150 body was dwarfed by the gigantic ridged wheels. The transmission and drivetrain were clearly visible under the bowels of the raised vehicle.

  His was a midnight black two-door truck. This one was black, but sported an extended cab. No one seemed to be inside the truck, but several teenagers on skateboards were kicking the tires and taking pictures in front of it.

  Jeanine tugged the lapels of her karate gi closer over her cleavage and looked over her shoulder, wondering if any of the other students were approaching the parking lot.

  Maybe it would be better to go back, pretending she’d forgotten something. She couldn’t just stand around dressed so noticeably in a white karate gi. But then, she needed to be at the bar to relieve Marcia. They’d agreed that she could have evenings off, as long as she covered the late nights. Now that Marcia had a baby and a family, she never closed the bar except for Jeanine’s one night off on Wednesdays.

  Jeanine turned back toward the dojo, hating herself for being chicken. The kids probably were no harm, more enamored with the truck than her late model BMW. It was that goddamn flashback that had her rattled. That and another set of footsteps following her. Someone was stalking her.

  Jeanine extracted a can of pepper spray from her purse and turned around, coming face to face with a large man wearing a baseball cap.

  “You!” She held up the spray. “Stand back.”

  The man lifted the brim of his baseball cap, and the left side of his cheek bunched as he shot her a megawatt sexy grin. “Jeanine. Is that a way to greet friends?”

  It was Kirk.

  Still shaking, she lowered the tiny canister. “Were you stalking me?”

  “Me? No way.” He lifted both hands in an innocent gesture. “What are you doing out here? I thought you’d be working.”

  “Later.” She narrowed her eyes. “But then, how do you know my schedule?”

  “I figure you for a once-a-weeker.” He cocked his head to a slight angle. “Wednesday’s your night off.”

  “You not only have my work schedule down to a science, but my social life, too?” Jeanine quirked an eyebrow. “Do you know what I’m doing here in this sketchy neighborhood?”

  His gaze ran unabashedly up and down her body, and his smile grew wider, as if just feasting his eyes on her got his blood converging to the rod between his legs.

  “Black belt. I’m impressed. Or should I be afraid?”

  “Only if you surprise me.” Jeanine tucked the can of pepper spray back into her purse. “I’m on my way to my car. Anywhere you need a lift to?”

  She might as well offer him a ride to cover up her need for male protection. Despite being a black belt, she was in no position to take on more than one attacker in a street fight without rules and a referee.

  “Sure, I’m free all evening.” He cocked his head as if he’d scored a point. “Wherever you want to take me, I’m game.”

  Jeanine stiffened her voice and grumbled, “This isn’t a date. What were you doing in this neighborhood if you weren’t stalking me?”

  “You really have a one-track mind.” Kirk grabbed ahold of her hand, and Jeanine barely caught her next breath.

  Was he electrocuting her? Or short circuiting her heart? Because seriously, it was just a hand, but then her entire arm glowed with heat, and sparks danced over her shoulders and spread over her body.

  She peeked at him, wondering if he felt it, too, but all he did was smirk, pull the brim of his cap down, and lead her toward the parking lot of the tire store.

  He had to have been stalking her to know exactly where she’d been headed. But she didn’t want to destroy the warm glow between them, a
nd okay, so her heart was fluttering because of that monster truck and the skateboarders, but having her hand wrapped in his big catcher’s mitt felt safe, comforting, and for once in her lifetime, wouldn’t it be great to rely on someone else?

  She leaned closer as the wind picked up and threw long, thin strands of hair over her face. She swiped her hair and tossed it back, shuddering when she spied him staring at her. His gaze moved down to her chest, and she realized the lapels of her karate gi had sagged open, exposing the sports bra which was wrapped tightly around her boobs.

  Heat seared through her veins, and she would have been insulted had he not looked, but she’d only offered him a ride, not a romp in the backseat. She tugged the uniform closed and turned to where her car was parked.

  The sight of the monster truck slammed reality home to her. Trusting someone bigger and stronger was bad medicine. She couldn’t have Kirk with her all the time, no matter how much her body purred its satisfaction as if he were catnip to her inner cat. No, she had to be stronger, a tiger and not a kitty—not when it came to men and their wily ways.

  Jeanine pulled her hand from Kirk’s and groped in her purse for the key fob. The gust caught his baseball cap and blew it from him, sending it scuttling down the boulevard.

  “Just a minute,” Kirk said as he hurried out onto the street to retrieve his cap.

  The kids were gone, so Jeanine ran toward her BMW. She unlocked it, shoved her things in, and tore out of the parking lot.

  Her heart stuttering, she glanced in the rear view mirror, but didn’t see him. Not that it mattered. She owed him no explanation.

  * * *

  Kirk stood behind the partition of a bus stop and watched Jeanine jam from the parking lot. This was the second time she’d run from him.

  At least this time, she hadn’t taken anything of his—other than his pride.

  Women didn’t run from him—especially women who were out for a good time. Jeanine seemed to fit that bill. She said she loved sex and had nothing against picking up men for a night of heat—no strings attached.