Going All the Way (Knights of Passion Book 1) (13 page)

“Are you for real? Have you ever hit a baseball? Oh wait, you might loosen up and that stick up your ass might fall out. Or do you need a drink to relax?” She winced as his words hit home and he turned away, guilt gnawing at him for taking out his frustration on her. She didn’t deserve it but maybe, if he pissed her off enough, she’d leave without bitching about his interview the other night.

She narrowed her eyes, anger finally snapping in them. She tossed her bag on the other side of the wall and glided over to him. She took the bat and hefted it, swinging it around, probably like she’d seen the players do in the on-deck circle, stumbling in her heels as the weight of the bat threw her off balance.

He snorted. “Not like that.” He grabbed the bat from her hands and showed her circles to warm up her arms and open her back.

She followed his movements carefully, precisely. “Put the ball there.”

He obliged and stepped back. She swung and promptly missed, wobbling on her heels. He grabbed the bat and stalked to the line of bats propped against the wall. Tossing his bat and finding a lighter one, he walked back and handed it to her. Then he held out his hand. “Shoes.”

She stared at him. “These are eight hundred dollar Manolo Blahniks. I am not going to just hand them over.”

“You will if you don’t want to break your pretty little ankle perched on them.”

“You wear cleats.”

“No comparison. Cleats are less than an inch and made for digging in.”

“So are these.”

“Not here. If you want to bat, take off the shoes. I don’t need you crying lawsuit when you break your neck or something else.”

She huffed. “Fine.” She all but tossed them at him and took the bat, swinging like he had shown her. She paused and slipped off the suit jacket, handing it to him, revealing a fitted white blouse, edged in the lace he’d seen peeking out. The blouse wasn’t sheer, but it sure left little to the imagination. She started swinging the bat again, pulling the blouse against her firm breasts, the skirt running tight against her behind. Jason stared and before he could drool, he tossed the coat on the hook near the entrance to the batting cage and the shoes on the ground and gathered his composure.

“Ready.” She set her stance and wiggled her butt a little, stretching that blue skirt almost to its breaking point. His groin tightened in response and he shifted his own stance, subtly adjusting the cup’s positioning.

She swung, and promptly missed again. This time she swore softly and glared at him, huffing a lock of her auburn hair out of the way. “What am I doing wrong? It looked so easy when you did it.”

“You’re the hitting coach. Relax and feel it.” He mocked her words, enjoying finally getting the upper hand.

Her eyes narrowed, not appreciating his joke.

“Fine.” He pushed away from the wall and came up behind her. He was going to so regret this. He put his hands on her hips and held them still. “Keep these straight toward the plate. Don’t turn toward the pitcher until you swing. And for God’s sake, no wiggling.” He gripped her tighter as she wiggled her butt into his crotch. Thank God he had his jock on to shield him, but the heat almost melted the plastic. “Okay, hands up, bat steady. Keep your eye on the ball.” He positioned her arms, his hands skimming the sides of her breasts. The slight catch in her breath told him she was as affected as he was. “Now, swing through the ball.” He guided her hands through the motion and to the ball. It sailed off of the tee.

She squealed. “I hit it!”

He stepped back and grinned, his gut twisting at the joy on her face. Wondering what else he could do to see that happiness again. “Yup. Try again.” He put another ball on the tee and moved away.

She glanced over at him, pouting slightly. “You’re not going to help me?”

Now he was suspicious. What game was she playing? Like a moth to a flame, he came around behind her and positioned her, trying to avoid touching her, but she wiggled and slid against him. He jumped like a scalded cat and said, “Swing.”

She swung and hit a line drive. She laughed and turned, right into his arms. She tilted her head, her lips a few inches from him, her body molding to him, the heat scorching him.

“Not bad. But you’re not ready for a real pitcher. Not even the machine.”

“I don’t want the machine.”

Before he could stop himself, he lowered his head and kissed her, a light teasing touch, a fleeting brush of the lips, before he settled in for a longer, deeper embrace. His tongue probed her lips, licking gently but not delving inside until she responded. He then pulled her closer, his hands slipping down to cup her firm buttocks, lifting and molding her into his body, her thighs cradling his cupped cock.

She twined her arms around his neck, tangling her hands in his hair, tugging him down firmly.

Despite the roaring of blood in his ears, he heard a sound deep in the tunnel. Voices of players coming for their own batting practice since it was raining and they couldn’t take BP on the field. He broke the kiss and stared into her green eyes, caught the confusion mirrored there. “You might want to get dressed. Players are coming for BP.”

She patted her hair back to some semblance of order. He handed her the jacket and shoes and she quickly dressed. She was just settling when a few players and the hitting coach stepped into the small cage area.

Jason leaned against the far wall, faking a casual pose that he was far from feeling.

Stacia tossed her hair and settled a stern gaze on him. “We still need to discuss your actions the other night.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What?” Recognition dawned. “Hey, he started it. Was I supposed to sit there and take it? And if you had wanted to discuss that, we didn’t need the little batting lesson.”

Judging by her perfectly shaped raised brow, she didn’t believe him. “You’re clearly busy so we’ll talk later tonight, back at the hotel. But we will talk. Please keep your temper. Avoid reporters for now.” She grabbed her bag and tossed it over her shoulder. “And remember, relax. Your swing will be much looser and you might actually get something out of the infield.”

The players hooted and jeered at Jason, who only smiled and inclined his head slightly.

Round one Stacia Kendall.

But somehow, he’d won too. He’d never felt so relaxed before a game, not in the past several seasons at least. He was looking forward to the next time they’d met. She wasn’t unaffected as she’d like him to think. He adjusted the cup. Neither was he. They weren’t over by a long shot.

Jason went four for four that night with a home run.

*

Jason slipped out
of the locker room as soon as he could, avoiding the press of the media and his teammates, needing some quality time alone with a beer and a burger. He should have been celebrating, out with his buddies. Four for four in only his third game back against a pretty tough leftie. Not bad for an old-timer, a has-been, a wash-out.

Instead, he was grounded, headed back to his hotel room like a recalcitrant child. Of course, even if he wasn’t grounded, who would he celebrate with? The twenty-somethings in the locker room who celebrated losses as well as victories? He didn’t even know most of their names yet and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Who knows where any of them would be tomorrow, or the next day?

Every ballplayer learned to live with trades, releases, faces coming and going. Since it was halfway through the season and the trade deadline had just passed, it was unlikely that many of these guys were going anywhere. So, why didn’t he want to bond with them?

As he walked into the lobby of the hotel, he paused outside the bar and grill. Echoes of the events a few nights previous and the high-pitched laughter of women inside almost caused him to head for the elevators instead. He didn’t need any more trouble. He had enough with a curvy redhead who thought she could advise him on hitting a baseball.

But that perverse side of him, the rebel, refused to be banished. How much trouble could he get into, having a beer? Besides, he expected Stacia to show up anytime, especially since she hadn’t after the game. He strode into the bar, not letting anyone tell him how to live his life. Seating himself at the bar, he ordered a beer and a burger, and munched on popcorn while he waited and stewed.

Hell, she barely knew anything about the sport. How could a woman, who had no discernible talent or knowledge of baseball, be so right about his swing? Relax and swing? It was almost as bad as breathing through the freakin’ eyelids. Yet, he couldn’t deny the results. A couple of singles, a double and his first home run of the season. It had felt great rounding the bases, hearing the jeers and feeding off them.

And it was all because of her. It irked him to have to admit it but it was true.

He hadn’t felt so alive in over a year, since his shoulder gave out and his so-called friends bailed on him. This time, rounding the bases and landing on home plate greeted by only the next guy up to bat. He didn’t expect a crowd, but a few more cheers from his own team would have been nice. Had being on the road always felt like
Deja vu
? Or was it just his new reality—different place but still the same. Him sitting in the hotel bar, having a drink, eating dinner, then going to bed. He had expected Stacia to join him after the game but, since that episode in the batting cage, she was off the grid. She must have been tired and gone to bed.

The bartender slid his meal in front of him and he sighed. Another dinner alone. He used to be more comfortable alone. When did he start wishing for company?

Damn, the least she could have done was have dinner with him, after getting him all hot and bothered.

The door opened and reflexively he scanned the people coming in. Couple of reporters following the team but no one else he knew. He turned his attention back to his burger and resumed eating.

A squeal had him groaning. Another goddamn groupie. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it! Jason Friar!”

Did he always hook up with skanks? Sheesh, she was young, probably early twenties and dressed like she should be working the street or a low-end strip club. What the hell had he been thinking all those years?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a reporter grab his phone. Before the young woman could latch onto him, another woman stepped in the way and hooked her arm onto his.

“Honey, do you want to introduce us?” Stacia looked up at him with a sweet smile on her face, only her eyes snapped fire, promising retribution. The other woman stopped dead in her tracks, confusion written all over her face. Stacia held out her free hand. “I’m Stacia, Jason’s girlfriend. You are?”

The other woman stuttered, muttered something and stumbled away; all the while Stacia smiled a brittle, cold smile that left no one doubting she was a woman who was well and truly pissed.

The reporters slowly settled in their seats, waiting for the next drama.

Stacia slid onto the bar stool next to him and took a swig of his beer then leaned over and kissed him on the lips, a brief girlfriend type of kiss, signaling to everyone he was taken. “Play along,” she whispered. “I’m trying to save your ass.”

He stared at her, not sure what had just happened, but he knew one thing. “Damn woman, you’re better than kryptonite. I’m keeping you around.”

The idea slammed him out of nowhere, like a pitch to the head. The notion of keeping her around felt so good, so right, that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

Stacia snagged a French fry and signaled to the bartender for a beer. She snagged another fry and he grabbed her hand. “You’re eating my meal. Get your own.”

“Girlfriends always eat their boyfriend’s food. You want people to think we’re together, right?”

“So, you believe me.” He studied her, watching her eyes, seeing if she truly believed him.

“After that little incident, yes.” She snagged another fry. “And management will believe me too when I tell them. So, no worries about your contract.”

“Right,” he said, drawing out the word, trying to understand the situation. “What about the reporters? They’re watching every move.”

She casually glanced at them and waved. “So, maybe they’ll get off your back.”

He stared at her, suspicion and another feeling—jealousy maybe—reared its ugly green head. “How many times have you played the girlfriend card to help a client?”

She frowned, her eyes shadowed and shuttered. “Too many. It’s part of the job.”

“How about being in my bed?”

“I haven’t been in your bed.”

“I seem to recall something different.”

“It was in the hotel bed
before
you were a client,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t count.”

“What about tonight?” He held his breath. Would she do it?

“Tonight, according to everyone, we’re dating. If I choose to sleep with you, then it’s my choice.”

“It’ll look odd if you’re on the road with me as my girlfriend and not sleeping with me.” Irritated at the game, he dragged his plate away and swatted her hand. “Mine.”

“True, but I don’t see any other guys with girlfriends or even wives on the road. They’ll think I met you here.”

“And slept in your own room.” He slid his plate away from her. “I’m hungry. Get your own.”