Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance Page 4

So why was she so skittish around him?

  And why was he bordering on obsession around her?

  When he’d stepped from The Home Plate, he’d been heading for another sports bar, following the GPS on his cell phone. Not wanting to look like a vulnerable tourist, he’d put his phone away and walked casually down the route as directed.

  Obviously, a woman dressed in a white karate uniform would catch his attention. But being a street smart New Yorker, he quickly scanned his surroundings and noticed a fairly large man wearing a hoodie following her.

  He’d jogged across the street and cut across the path of the guy with the hoodie, making him aware he was being watched. When Jeanine turned around, the guy kept walking, but something else had spooked her and instead of going to her car, she’d gone back toward the direction she’d come.

  That was when he figured she needed someone to escort her to her car. He was about to call out when she turned on him, pepper spray in hand.

  Not that she would have nailed him. He had quick reflexes like any catcher had when nabbing one hundred mile per hour fastballs.

  After the taillights of Jeanine’s car disappeared down the darkened street, Kirk emerged from the bus stop and called for a cab. He knew exactly where Jeanine would be going, and this time, he’d park himself within her reach until closing time.

  She owed him a jacket and an explanation. Her body had responded to him, and he’d felt the tension and electricity that had flowed between them at the mere touch of a hand. She’d wanted him, leaned into him, and then pulled back as if jolted by a memory. He’d certainly not said a word, and he damn well should have let that baseball cap go with the wind.

  Less than half an hour later, a taxicab dropped him outside The Hot Corner.

  All he had to do was wait.

  Chapter Six

  After a hot shower and a plate of leftover macaroni and cheese casserole, Jeanine was ready to tend bar. She walked into the Hot Corner at ten o’clock to relieve Marcia who’d been there since six.

  She loved the excitement of the late nights, especially Friday nights after a game where ballplayers, fans, scouts, and tourists converged to either relive the game or watch sports on the large screen TVs.

  Marcia was at the bar drying wineglasses. Her shoulders drooped with fatigue, and her smile was so tired, it was as if she couldn’t lift her cheek muscles.

  Jeanine gave her a hug. “How’s the evening?”

  “Noisy. Hopping and busy. Bouncers had to throw out a few rowdy guys, but ever since they left, it’s been great.”

  Jeanine surveyed the customers crowded around the big screen watching a boxing match. “Looks like mostly the home crowd.”

  “Ryan’s over there. I swear, that guy’s been mooning over you since he got back from the disabled list.”

  “I shouldn’t play the home team,” Jeanine said, sweeping her long blond hair back and tying it into a ponytail. “Bad for business.”

  But then, this would include Kirk, too, if she were to be consistent.

  “It might be good for business if you settled down with one of our guys.” Marcia patted her back. “Oh look. Ryan’s coming this way. Now, be nice.”

  “We’re friends. I don’t do friends.” Jeanine washed her hands and dried them. A year ago, Jeanine had helped tend to Ryan when a line drive broke the bones in his face.

  “I’d say you’re running out of prospects. Everyone turns into a friend, sooner or later.” Marcia wound her way out from behind the bar. “Okay, take it over. I’m calling it a night.”

  “I’ll stop by Sunday for Bianca’s yellow belt testing.”

  Bianca was Marcia’s five-year-old daughter and Jeanine’s protégé. She was a tomboy, loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and dreamed of being a mixed martial arts fighter.

  “She’s totally excited. You might want to come by early and let her run through her forms with you.” Marcia stifled a yawn.

  “You go, go.” Jeanine waved off her friend who headed for the office. She nodded a greeting to Ryan and his buddy, Josh Johnson, the catcher who had also been on the disabled list. “What can I get you guys?”

  “Guinness on tap will do.” Ryan leaned up on the bar counter. “So, we have a bet going on.”

  Josh crossed his arms over the counter and grinned.

  “What’s the deal?” She retrieved tall beer glasses and pulled the handle on the tap, tilting the glass and straightening it for a nice head of foam.

  “How long can the guys going to The Home Plate hold out?” Ryan took the chilled glass of beer from Jeanine. “Everyone knows the Rattlers hang out here.”

  “Apparently, the news hasn’t gotten to everyone,” Jeanine said.

  “Especially that cocky Kirk Kennedy,” Josh drawled. “I don’t know what Riggins was thinking trading Mountford for him.”

  “Heard he can hit,” Jeanine said.

  “Oh, he hits all right,” Ryan said. “Women of Arizona, watch out.”

  “Speak of the devil.” Josh tilted his head toward the entrance.

  Golden boy, Kirk Kennedy, sauntered through the parting crowd like a male model on a catwalk. He had a denim jacket slung over his shoulder, and he swaggered like he was the star of some defunct Marlboro man commercial.

  She hated him. Okay, that was definitely overstating it. She didn’t know him enough to hate him, but she definitely hated the off-balanced feeling she had whenever he was within fifty feet of her.

  Her body didn’t know up from down, and her skin tingled as if splashes of wildflowers blossomed all at once. Her heart stumbled over the butterflies panicking in her belly and damn, those traitorous knees had to pick this moment to turn into jelly.

  But her mind retained control—strong enough to counteract the hormones this arrogant, cocky man stirred up.

  Jeanine concentrated on swiping Ryan’s credit card through the card reader and focusing her practiced smile on her customers. She wasn’t going to give Kirk the pleasure by joining in on the gawkfest all the other women in the bar were giving him.

  Out of the side of her eye, she spied a buoyant brunette approach Kirk. The woman winked and eyed him steadily while drawling, “You’re buying me a drink.”

  Kirk shrugged good-naturedly and drawled back at her. “I suppose I will.”

  Great. Now, he and the brunette barracuda were headed her way at the bar.

  “What are you having?” Jeanine acted like he was any other customer, not the man with the spine-tingling grin and deep blue bedroom eyes promising hours of torturous, toe-curling climaxes—if advertising could be believed.

  Kirk turned toward the brunette who batted her eyelashes and ordered a Screaming Orgasm.

  How utterly unoriginal. Jeanine bit her tongue. Whoever invented that cocktail had to be rolling in his grave at the number of women who’d used “ordering” it as a way of signaling what they wanted in bed.

  Brilliant, if one owned stock in Baileys Irish Cream. Did these women know how fattening a Screaming Orgasm could be? They’d be screaming all right, the next time they couldn’t fit into their skinny jeans.

  Jeanine added an extra dollop of cream and handed the drink to the brunette, who by now, had her arm wrapped around Kirk’s waist, as if she owned him.

  “You’re not ordering anything?” She spared Kirk the briefest of all glances as she took his credit card.

  He clasped his hand over hers, the one with the credit card, and leaned over the counter, tugging her to whisper in her ear, “I’ll have a Between the Sheets at your place tonight.”

  “You are so unoriginal,” Jeanine muttered. If he hadn’t been a customer, she would have socked him one in the kisser. Yeah, right. More like crushed his lips with her kisser. “You and your screamer over there.”

  “Keep an eye on me, and I’ll show you how it’s done.” He blew lightly in her ear and let her go.

  Her face flushed hot, and her heart hammered in her chest. The nerve of this Casanova. She most definitely was not going
to keep her eye on him. He could pick up half the bar and then some for all she cared.

  She turned away from him, ran his card, and mixed him a Between the Sheets cocktail. Without meeting his eye, she slipped him his credit card and drink.

  Later, the night drew to a close, and one by one, the ballplayers departed. Jeanine was too busy to notice who Kirk had gone home with—not that she cared. Okay, so she had purposely refrained from looking for him to quell any chance of seeing the evidence of his womanizing.

  Ryan and Josh were still seated under the big screen TV nursing their drinks.

  “Last call for the night,” Jeanine said. “You guys have a game tomorrow?”

  “Doubleheader,” Ryan said. “I’m not pitching though.”

  “I’m not playing, either.” Josh rubbed his forefinger and thumb over the rim of the almost empty glass. “Kirk’s been bragging about his super human powers, so Coach is letting him play both games of the doubleheader.”

  “Shouldn’t be too bad,” Jeanine said. “All he has to do is sit there and catch the ball.”

  “You kidding?” Josh lifted an eyebrow. “Playing catcher is the hardest position on the field. You try squatting, not sitting, and catching balls thrown at you at over a hundred miles an hour. Then blocking pitches, grabbing pop flies, and rushing to throw out guys at second or third—not to mention protecting home plate with your body.”

  “Okay, okay, sorry,” Jeanine backpedaled. She couldn’t let her hostility toward Kirk the catcher spill over to the other catchers on the team. “I’m sure it’s a real man’s job.”

  “You got it,” Josh said. “The catcher’s the heart of the team.”

  “Speaking of black hearts,” Ryan said out of the side of his mouth. “I can’t believe he’s back already. What’d he do? Have a quickie in the alley?”

  “Don’t tell me that’s another cocktail recipe I don’t know about,” Jeanine grumbled under her breath.

  “I heard that,” Kirk said, his eyes penetrating her, not in a mean, threatening way, but more knowing than he had a right to be. “Make me a long, slow screw, and I’m yours for the night.”

  For the first time in her life, Jeanine’s tongue froze. Either that, or her brain was mush, because she scrambled for an insult and came up empty.

  A long, slow, comfortable screw between the sheets called for vodka, Southern Comfort, Sloe Gin, rum, brandy, and orange juice.

  Or so she told herself, her toes curling, as an image of Kirk moving slowly between the sheets pumped molten heat through her body.

  * * *

  Kirk bade his teammates farewell while Jeanine strode to the front of the bar, her backside swishing in a skimpy black dress, and switched off the “Open” light.

  He wasn’t about to leave this delicious nook, no matter how late it was. Sure, he had to get up in a few hours for the doubleheader, but he was horny, revved up, and ready to go.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” Jeanine parked her luscious breasts in his path and pointed to the door.

  “You were about to make me a drink.” He narrowed his eyes to admire her in that sexy bedroom gaze which hadn’t failed him since he’d turned eleven.

  “I’m not going to be your trick tonight,” Jeanine said, despite the blush flooding her face. “It’s late and if you’re looking for a doubleheader, look elsewhere.”

  So, she thought he’d gone somewhere with the brunette, Gloria something or other.

  “Actually, I just want to talk.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked on his heels, the better to intimidate her and show her his manly ways.

  “Then you can watch me clean up.” Jeanine turned toward the kitchen and shouted orders to the remaining staff. It was as if she’d decided to switch him off like a rerun on TV.

  Kirk shrugged and folded his arms, leaning against the end of the bar. He’d never get tired of watching this energetic blond dynamo go, go, go. But the real story was, what made her tick?

  Was it truly possible for a woman to be a player like a man, collecting a string of one-night-stands, quick, emotionless sex, and not be hurt?

  Weren’t women wired differently than men? More emotional, caring, and relationship oriented? How could it be that Jeanine was exactly like him? Interested only in physical sensations, the thrill of the unknown, and hardened enough to discard a body once she was done with it?

  “Sir, we’re closed.” A male voice barked, causing Kirk to startle. It was one of the bouncers.

  “I’m waiting for her.” Kirk shrugged an elbow toward Jeanine.

  “She always goes home alone.” Another bouncer approached. “The boss lady’s off-limits.”

  “I’m not going home with her. She has something that belongs to me. Go ahead and ask her.”

  The bouncers obviously thought better than to disturb their boss.

  “We’ll be watching you.”

  “Good,” Kirk said. “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

  He affixed himself next to the door, and his patience was rewarded. After Jeanine switched off all the lights, she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the back door.

  “I’ll be fine,” she told the bouncers who exited with them. “See you tomorrow night.”

  As soon as everyone was gone, she pushed Kirk against the wall of the alley and slid her hands up his shirt. “Is this what you want? A quickie in the alley? Is this what it’ll take to get rid of you?”

  “Get rid of me? What would you want to do that for?”

  “Because you bother me.” She hissed at him as her fingernails dug furrows in his chest. “You piss me off, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”

  Before he could answer her, she launched herself at him, crashing her lips, teeth, and fury over his mouth. The force of her attack knocked his head against the wall and inflamed his blood with wild, crazy lust.

  He grabbed her ass and lifted her up, and her long legs wrapped themselves, quicker than a whip, around his waist. Heat flashed through him, and his cock hardened at an alarming rate. Raw desire grabbed ahold of him, and he turned her around so her back was pressed against the wall. Much better.

  Her mouth was hungry as she fed from him, sucking, licking, and nipping. He grappled both sides of her head, wrapping her hair, which had loosened from the ponytail, around his fingers, pulling it tight.

  The tiny sounds coming from her throat, a cross between moaning and squealing, were sexy as all get out and shot bolts of desperation through him. How was he supposed to not come apart at such raw and primal need?

  Her nails were short, but her fingers were strong as talons as they ripped down his back, tearing at his shirt before going for his belt. His body jumped alive and his cock throbbed, burning to leave his pants.

  He ripped his mouth from hers and rasped harshly, “Not here. Let’s go inside.”

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Hot Shot? Going shy all of a sudden? What happened to the brunette you took to the alley?”

  “You jealous?” He speared her with narrowed eyes, let her down, and dragged her toward the door they’d come from. “Unlock it. Now.”

  She hissed, her heat sizzling off her skin like drops of water thrown into hot oil, but she unlocked the door.

  He twisted the handle and shoved her inside. They were in a narrow hallway leading to the kitchen. He shut the door firmly and locked it.

  “Now, show me what you’ve got,” he challenged the vixen in front of him. Grabbing her hand, he pressed it over his hard-on. “Big enough for you?”

  “I don’t know which is bigger, your ego or your cock.”

  “Try both.” He grabbed her ass and crushed her crotch against his erection.

  That was all it took for her to launch her attack, her lips smashing him with urgency, demanding his response, and her fingers busy ripping the buttons off his shirt.

  He slid one hand under her stretchy cocktail waitress dress, and worked a finger into her panties, sucking in her rough and desperate moans.

 
“Shit. You’re freaking wet. Soaked. You’ve been waiting for me all night, haven’t you?”

  “Just fuck me and get it over with.” Her voice came in a needy groan.

  “Fine.” He’d fuck her first, and discuss terms afterwards. He wrestled a condom from his pocket and gave it to her. “Not yet, not until I’m ready. I just want you to hold it because my hands will be busy.”

  Before she could respond, he yanked her panties to her knees and slipped his middle finger between her slippery folds, caressing one side, then the other side of her clit.

  She moaned and wiggled, her thighs clenching his hand and her hips rocking. Fingers clutched his shoulders and she threw her head back, exposing her neck. He leaned over and sucked the white column of her neck, marking her so she could not deny him or what he was about to do to her.

  She wanted him, arched closer with one leg hooked up to give him access. Her body twisted and turned, hot and eager as he stimulated her inside and out.

  The squishy sounds of his finger thrusting in her wet heat coupled with the sexy moans from her throat turned him on like he hadn’t been before. She was one rock star of a woman, perfect, and hotter than a hellcat.

  “I bother you, don’t I?” he taunted. “But you want me. You want me to keep this up.”

  She was close to the edge, her facial muscles tightening, juices running down his hand. His cock throbbed with every stroke of his finger, and he used his thumb expertly to twiddle her sensitive bud.

  “Answer me,” he urged. “It’s me you want, Kirk Kennedy. You’re going to come for me, babe.”

  No answer. She was straining her entire body into his hand, searching for the bliss he knew only he could deliver.

  Since she wouldn’t acknowledge his prowess, he slackened the pace and lightened his touch to a slow caress, even as her insides quaked close to that sweet release she sought. So close, but not there. He held still as her eyes snapped open and she pushed his hand or pulled it, he couldn’t tell.

  “Don’t pride yourself, Kirk. I can get this anywhere.”

  He removed his hand from her sheath. Slowly, he licked and sucked on his fingers, watching her eyes widen with frustrated passion. “You’re wrong, sugar.”