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Kelly’s eyes lit up at the sight of him—and frankly, he was a little impressed himself. Massively engorged and desperate to be in her, he stood before her, fully erect, until he reached for her, digging his fingers into the soft folds of her flesh, burying his face in her neck and, with one arm wrapped around her waist, picking her up and then falling onto her couch with her on top.

Kelly quickly lifted one leg, planted her heel beside him, and slid back to his thighs. She dragged her fingers down his chest, to his groin, and wrapped her hand around him.

“Shit,” he muttered as she took him fully in her hand and started sliding up and down. He slipped two fingers into her cleft and matched the rhythm of her hand, sliding up and down and around and around to the point that Kelly closed her eyes and dropped her head forward. The ends of her hair whispered against his belly, and Parker was thinking of taking matters to the next level when Kelly released a tiny cry and suddenly let go of him and pushed his hand away from her body. She grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted up, moving her damp body against the tip of his cock. With a very seductive smile, she started to slide her body onto his cock.

He groaned like an animal as she slid down on him; he gripped her hips and began to move with her, watching her face, watching her find pleasure in his body.

Her eyes looked like the blue-green flame of a fire, hot and intense and filled with ecstasy, and Parker experienced a strange feeling in his chest, a weird simpatico as if he had connected to someone totally and completely. Unlikely as it was, he was feeling a very deep and profound connection with Kelly at that moment.

Kelly sank her teeth into her bottom lip and began to move faster, but Parker wasn’t going to let her ride away with this. He caught her by the waist and rolled off the couch, stopping their fall to the floor with one arm. Now she was on her back and he was on top of her—still connected—and her black boots around his waist.

Kelly laughed, put her arms around him, and kissed him tenderly. This was heaven, purely heaven. Parker reached between them and stroked her as he began to push deep into her. She sighed blissfully—her head rolled to one side, half covered with blond hair. She moved her hips to meet him, moving faster as she neared her release, and when she came, she let out a groan of rapture.

That groan sent Parker over the edge—he held her steady with his arm around her waist, reaching as far inside her as he could. His release was bubbling up in him, along with several deep-seated emotions that surprised him. There was something here that went beyond a primal coupling, something she had touched in him, some barrier she had broken through. Those emotions and his pleasure spiraled around one another until the bubble burst and he came, hard and long and completely.

Reduced to a mass of flesh—there was nothing left inside of him—he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. Kelly wrapped her arms around his head and sighed contentedly. They remained like that for a few moments until the heel of Kelly’s boot stabbed him in the butt and he yelped. “Sorry,” she said, and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

So did Parker. And they lay there, giggling, until Kelly suggested that the guy across the garden could see Parker’s bare ass.

Parker and Kelly did not leave that cozy apartment that
afternoon, but ended up in her four-poster bed, giggling like teenagers and speaking about their lives, their dreams, and their desires. Around six that evening, when Kelly’s stomach started to growl, they reluctantly got dressed and went out for what turned out to be a long, leisurely dinner. And still Parker did not leave. They returned to her apartment and made love like they’d been lovers for months instead of moments, bringing each other fulfillment in ways neither of them had experienced in a very long time.

The next morning, Parker woke to an empty apartment. He stretched, got up, found a radio, and switched it on, finding Kelly’s show as they were discussing the Mets’ series against the Chicago Cubs. He was leaving today.

“I’m just saying,” Kelly said, “that if he could get his batting average up to around .285, .300, the guy would be unstoppable.”

“You mean if he’s got any glove,” Guido said.

“It definitely goes without saying that if he ain’t got glove, he ain’t got game,” Kelly quipped, and Guido provided the sound of laughter.

“But I think we might have seen a turnaround, Guido. I think maybe the Mets are back.”

That was met with a stadium cheer, which Guido really seemed to like.

“Let’s go to the phones—this is
Sports Day with Kelly O’Shay
. Who are we speaking with?” Kelly asked, and Parker turned it off. He didn’t need to listen to her show anymore and walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower. Actually, he didn’t think he needed much of anything anymore. He had a very fluid feeling that he’d found what he was looking for.

Parker called her every day from Chicago, and every day, he played spectacularly.

Every morning, Kelly sang his praises on the radio, giving him credit for single-handedly turning the Mets around. When Guido questioned that on the air, she retorted, “Hey, if he could single-handedly bring the team down, then doesn’t it stand to reason that he could single-handedly build them up? You can’t argue the facts, Guido. Two homeruns, four RBIs, and three double plays in the last two weeks.”

And for a couple of weeks after that, the Mets were suddenly so hot—thanks in large part to Parker’s bat—that Kelly had to turn her on-air attention to the Yankees, who had an uncharacteristically bad slump after losing a series to the Red Sox.

In the meantime, Kelly was on cloud nine. Between her negotiations with ESPN and spending every moment she could with Parker, she felt like she was living in a dream.
Everything
was going her way. Her ratings were at an all-time high. New York,
which she’d once likened to a stinking cesspool in the dead of summer, suddenly seemed beautiful, filled with flowers and bright sunshine, friendly people, and lots of shiny cabs.

Guido was beside himself over Kelly’s new positively giddy demeanor and started teasing her mercilessly, calling her Priceman’s Payment Plan, or making cooing noises when Parker would call. Once, when she said something glowing about his performance on air, Guido hit the thousand-smooches button, making the entire booth sound like it was filled with kissers.

There was a time when Kelly would have chafed beneath such teasing and thought it was undignified for a female sports radio talk show host. But now she didn’t care in the least and just laughed at Guido. How could she care? She was very happy. She loved being with Parker. She loved the way he laughed, how he seemed to take everything in stride, and how he was so very attentive of her. It was true—they were hounded wherever they went by eager fans wanting an autograph or to talk baseball, and while she admired the way he spoke to each person as if they were a personal friend, he still managed to be sure she had his undivided attention.

Parker was also determined to infuse some culture into her, and marched her from one museum to another—which, Kelly was privately surprised to discover, she actually enjoyed. She would have thought she’d be deadly bored in them, but instead, she was intrigued by the art and artifacts.

They also attended some Broadway shows, which she tried very hard to like, but finally used as an excuse to insist they do some of the things
she
liked. Parker thought that was great and dove right into spending an entire Monday afternoon and evening in a movie marathon of Kelly’s creation, watching the classics and sharing several big bowls of popcorn, which Parker insisted on slathering in butter.

When the Mets played in town, Kelly had great seats behind home plate. Parker made it a habit to look up and find her when
he walked out to bat. She would smile and give him a thumbs-up. It worked like magic—Parker was hitting so well that the airwaves were full of Parker Price, calling him the best ballplayer of the decade. Once, when Kelly went to the game with her sister, someone tipped off the network booth as to who she was. Her picture was broadcast up on the Jumbotron in the stadium and to Mets fans across the world, along with the commentator’s remark that she was Parker Price’s new love interest.

Needless to say, Guido was merciless after that and had the entire radio station staff teasing her.

A few days after another fantastic afternoon game against Milwaukee in New York, Parker brought Kelly home with him to his house on Long Island. When they arrived, a blue-haired woman was waiting at the bottom of his drive, holding a box.

“Uh-oh,” Parker muttered as the gate to his house swung open.

“Uh-oh? Why uh-oh?” Kelly asked, fearing a deranged stalker.

“My neighbor,” he sighed as he put the car in park and got out. “Hello, Mrs. Frankel.”

“Parker, you hit pretty well today,” she said, nodding approvingly. “I won’t lie to you—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far, you’ve managed to hang on.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Frankel,” he said.

The woman turned to Kelly and suddenly smiled brightly. “This must be the gal they showed on the TV,” she said, her old brown eyes glistening with excitement. “Honey, you’re even prettier in person. I made Parker a pie I was so pleased with him today, but I want you to have it,” she said, thrusting the box forward.

Kelly took the box and looked down. It was a pie, all right. Homemade and smelling like apple.

“The Mets oughta thank you,” Mrs. Frankel continued as Kelly juggled the huge box of pie.

“Thank
me
?”

“Well, sure! It wasn’t until Parker settled down with you that
he started hitting and fielding worth a darn. You’re his lucky charm. Isn’t she, Parker?”

“She sure is, Mrs. Frankel,” Parker said, rolling his eyes over her cotton-candy head.

“Oh, I think that’s overstating it a bit—”

“It’s the truth, and everyone knows it—even Parker,” Mrs. Frankel interrupted, and looked at Parker for confirmation. “Just think about it, now. He doesn’t play as well on the away games as he does at home. That’s because
you
are here.”

Parker cocked his head to one side with an expression that suggested he hadn’t really thought of it before.

“Am I right?” Mrs. Frankel demanded.

“You’re right,” he said, nodding thoughtfully, but then grinned at Kelly. “She’s definitely my lucky charm.”

“Well God knows you needed one,” Mrs. Frankel said, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t let her go, at least not until the season is over, and you better not let the season end before October, mister. Now. Can I have my bat?”

Parker winced, shook his head. “I think I better hang on to that until the end of the season.”

Mrs. Frankel huffed about that but was all smiles when she shook Kelly’s hand once more. “Oh, you’re so young and pretty,” she said admiringly and then walked on down the street.

Kelly looked at Parker. “Her
bat
?”

“Long story,” he said. “Come on, let’s eat some pie—Mrs. Frankel is ornery, but she makes a great pie.”

During the week, when Parker was in town, they stayed at Kelly’s apartment in the city. But on weekends, they spent lazy days at Parker’s palatial home, usually around the pool, talking about life and the future. Kelly was still uncertain what would happen with ESPN—having negotiated a deal, she was waiting for the muckety-mucks there to decide if they wanted to send her for a pilot test. Parker liked to make Kelly practice for her ESPN on-air audition poolside.

Wearing a bathrobe over her bikini, Kelly would laughingly swipe up a banana and begin her spiel: “Parker Price has one hundred and ten million reasons he might want to leave town if he doesn’t get a hit tomorrow night,” she’d start, and with Parker good-naturedly hissing and booing, she’d go on to trash the overpaid but very sexy short stop for the New York Mets.

Parker would laugh. “And don’t forget,” he’d remind her, “that Parker Price lost his big toes in a tragic tree-climbing accident, which makes him molasses-slow when running the bases.”

Kelly laughed. “You’re such a good sport, Parker.”

“Nah,” he grinned. “If anyone else was doing that kind of number on me, I would come out of my tree—
with
my toes. But with you? Never. This is so much better than where we started, baby. I’m just not worried about any of that anymore.”

“Worried?” she said, crawling on top of him as he lay stretched out on a chaise longue. “Were you really worried?”

He smiled self-consciously. “I guess a little,” he said, lifting his hands to her breasts and caressing them lightly. “I’ve never had a slump like that, and I’ve never had any trouble with my glove.” He glanced up. “But I found my lucky charm.”

“Stop, Parker. You know there is no such thing as a lucky charm. I had nothing to do with your slump
or
your comeback. Remember what you said one time? That you had ebbs and flows like anyone else?”

That caused him to burst out laughing. “Did I really say that?” he asked, pulling Kelly down to kiss him. “What an asshole!”

“I thought it was poetic.”

“You did?”

“Yes! It was poetic in a jock sort of way.”

He laughed and nibbled her lower lip. “I hope we’re together for a long time,” he said, kissing her cheek and the side of her mouth.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He put a hand to her face and pushed her hair out of the way. “You know that I’m falling in love with you, Kelly.”

She knew. Just as well as she knew that she was falling in love with him, too. She traced a line with her finger across his bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

“Damn sure. I’ve never felt this way about a woman in my life. You make me happy . . . and I play so well with you in my life,” he added with a grin.

“There was a time that you weren’t such a big fan of mine.”

“That was before I knew you . . . but you weren’t exactly a fan, either,” he said, stroking her cheek.

“That was before I knew what a fabulous ballplayer you are.”

“Wow,” he said, his brows rising up. “That is
very
high praise coming from you.”