Love Bats Last (The Heart of the Game) (18 page)

Gage tied off the Zodiac, and Alex gave Jackie a hand up onto the dock.

“Breakfast.” Gage beamed. “We get twenty percent off at Captain Drake’s.”

“Food is not anything I can consider right now,” Jackie said weakly.

Alex looked at his dive watch. “I have an hour to get to the stadium. I’ll have to pass.” He turned to Jackie. “You okay to drive?”

“She’s never okay to drive,” Gage quipped.

“You are
officially
fired,” Jackie said with a weak smile.

“When she’s fired me a hundred times, that’s when it’s official. I think we’re at forty-seven.” He looked at Alex. “Thanks. From both of us.”

“I can say my own thanks,” Jackie said as she peeled her wetsuit down to her waist. The thin rash guard under it did nothing to hide her taut nipples or the lush roundness of her breasts. He looked to her face and felt heat rise up his neck; she’d caught him staring. He was almost glad she didn’t peel the damn thing the rest of the way off, although he couldn’t help but wonder what she had on underneath it.

“I was thanking him for me and the
sea lion
,” Gage said with a wink before walking off down the dock.

Jackie was still pale and shaky. Alex wanted to wrap his arms around her. Hell, he wanted to kiss her. But instead he stepped back.

“I could take you to the stadium and drive you home after,” he offered.

“Thanks, but I have a lunch appointment. That is, if I can even think about food by then. But Bradley’s got some new restaurant in mind. Maybe it’ll spark my appetite.”

Bradley
. Just the way she said the guy’s name made Alex growl inside.

He couldn’t deny that helping with the work meant a lot, made him feel in a small but significant way he was contributing to a greater good, but when it came to Jackie personally, it might be time to admit that he really was wasting his time. In his mind he’d tried out several scenarios for asking her out, but clearly he was too late. She liked the science guy; Gage had said as much.

She grabbed her gear bag from the edge of the dock. “You and Gage shouldn’t be allowed to cook these sorts of excursions up,” she said with a smile. A real one. She pulled a sweatshirt out of the bag and shimmied it over her head. “But I am grateful for the help,” she said as her head popped out. She pivoted and snatched up the bag. “See you at the Center.”

Her stride was slower than usual, but the way her hips moved as she strolled along the dock made him crazy. He was pretty sure she didn’t know she moved like that. If she did, she’d button it up in no time.

Chapter Thirteen

Scotty was on the mound.

Alex watched him from first base. It was unusual for a pitcher and a hitter to be friends, but he’d liked Scotty from the first day the kid had joined the team. Besides, there were few players he could talk science with.

Who was he kidding? Scotty was the
only
one.

Scotty bent down and grabbed the resin bag, bounced it in his hand and dropped it at the back of the mound. He glanced up into the third tier and then pulled his hands to his chest. After all these years, and all the pitchers he’d seen, the gesture still struck Alex as prayer-like. Some days pitchers relied on everything they could. Scotty had done some pretty sweet talking and even prettier pitching to get Walsh to let him pitch in the ninth. It was his first complete game. Well, it would be if the Giants won in the bottom of the ninth. Scotty wasn’t the only pitcher in the park keeping the hitters off the bags. Alex was ready to get something going.

Scotty looked in at Aderro, their catcher, for the sign and nodded. He and the veteran catcher were like points on a wave; on their good days they rarely disagreed. Aderro had a lockdown mind; no batter’s pattern or statistics went unregistered. Alex liked to pick his brain.

Scotty wound up and released the ball. It looked to Alex as if Scotty moved the seams around on the ball, as if his hand was at one with it and his whole body surged with the power of the pitch. There were few things in life as impressive as watching a pitcher in the zone.

The thump of the ball hitting Aderro’s mitt was nearly eclipsed by the cheers of the crowd.

Alex didn’t move for a moment, just watched as Scotty fisted his hand, pulled it into his chest and did a little hop. Bolton cursed and walked back to the dugout. Scotty shot Alex a smile as he strode off the mound.

As Scotty bounded into the dugout, Alex high-fived him, then grabbed his batting helmet and headed back up to the on-deck circle.

Zack stood ready in the batter’s box. Alex had calculated that he’d need to bat in at least 140 guys to make the Triple Crown, and that meant the hitters ahead of him getting on base. He had faith in Zack. Nope, not just faith—the man was a solid hitter. Give him a few more years in the majors, and he’d be chasing all of Alex’s records.

Alex watched him swing and heard the crack of the bat. Not the cosmic crack that signaled a ball going over the wall, but the sound of a good, blasting double. Zack slid into second. The game-winning run was on base.

Alex stepped into the batter’s box. He grooved a bit of a hole with his back foot, getting set, digging in. All they needed was a single from him to end the game. He took a timing swing and then crouched in his stance. He saw the ball coming and barely had time to twist away. It slammed into the back of his left shoulder. He glared at the pitcher but as he jogged to first, all he could think was that he hadn’t moved in time. Whether anybody could have wasn’t the point.
He
hadn’t.

He could see that Campion, now batting, was fired up. Sometimes a pitcher clipping a hitter intimidated the batter that followed. But this pitcher didn’t know Campion. He connected to the first pitch and blasted it through the gap in left center. Zack crossed the plate as Campion ran to first and tagged the bag. Alex tagged second and rounded third. He veered across the infield grass and went through the motions of the celebratory handshakes and back pats, but his heart wasn’t in it.

After the game, Alex stood under the shower, running his at-bat over and over in his mind and rubbing out his shoulder. He'd let his focus slip—not much, but enough. He walked to his locker, still kicking himself as he tugged on his street clothes.

“Target practice doesn’t suit you.” Scotty laughed. But then he glanced at Alex and his face sobered. “I know that look,” he said with a shake of his head. “Bro going down, sound the alarm.”

Alex glared at him. “You do
not
want to hear the line that just went through my head.”

Taking the hint, Scotty shuffled off to the celebration still resounding in the clubhouse.

“Hey, congrats, man,” Alex called after him. Scotty deserved to celebrate his achievement, no matter how Alex felt about his own playing.

Scotty threw a wave over his shoulder.

Alex grabbed his bag and slammed his locker. He turned to see Hal Walsh making straight for him.

“Thought we could catch up a bit,” Walsh said, motioning with his head toward the back corner of the clubhouse where his office was. “Catching up” was manager-speak for being called on the carpet. Alex followed him to his office.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Walsh asked as he sat behind his desk.

“My game’s a bit off.”

“Tavonesi, tell me something I don’t know.” Walsh scraped a hand through his hair. “You’re showing up late, the trainers tell me you’re a mess and you’ve got bruises in places you shouldn’t.”

He gave Alex his eagle eye, the eye that had taken the team to the World Series two years in a row.

“You’re one of two men who have a real chance at the Triple Crown and you’re blowing it.” Walsh leaned his elbows on his desk. “You’ll be an old man for this game in two years. Whatever’s inspiring all this funny business can wait until the end of the season. You’d better buck up if you want that title.”

It was the longest speech he’d ever heard Walsh give. From anyone else it would’ve been a reproach. But from Hal, those words were a compliment.

“Right,” Alex said. “Got it.”

“Right. Get some sleep.”

Alex made his way slowly to his car and then sat in the stadium lot, staring through the window at nothing in particular. He let the heat of the car bake him for a few moments and then opened the windows. The voices of his teammates drifted in.

He grabbed his phone from the glove compartment and called Gage.

“Bummer shot you took today,” Gage said. “Looked like he was aiming at you. Probably my fault for dragging you out this morning.”

“It happens,” Alex said, and then he paused.
Just say it
. “I have to stop volunteering.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like abandoning commitments.”

“I get that,” Gage said. There was a moment of silence. “Well, we’ll always have Paris.” His Casablanca reference landed flat, didn’t cover the disappointment in his voice.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I’ll send you some tickets.” He clicked off the phone.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then hauled in a breath and turned the key.
Why was it that good decisions could feel so rotten?

Chapter Fourteen

The sounds of crickets woke Jackie.

She closed her eyes to shut out the morning and bring back the night.

Dreams. She'd had some delicious dreams. She pressed her palms to her eyes, and they began to coil back into her consciousness.

Alex had reached for her repeatedly. But that hadn’t been his first move. He’d studied her first, watching her watching him. And any time she quivered or sighed or reached for him, he’d grinned, as if he knew exactly what his attention did to her. But then, when she burned for him, he’d reached out his hands and stroked her, heating her skin to a fevered pitch, setting her heart racing.

And she’d touched him. God, had she touched him.

Her hands tingled, even though every caress had been only in her mind. But her body didn’t accept that truth. It felt Alex. And if she felt this way after only dreaming of him, what would happen if they touched in truth? If he ran his hands down her body, if he cupped her breasts? Tasted her skin? Pushed between her legs?

Her eyes flashed open, and she cupped her very hot cheeks.

In her dreams she hadn’t waited for him—she’d done what she’d wanted. She’d pushed his shirt off, demanded that he kick off his pants. And then they rolled around on a massive bed topped with richly thick bedding.

They’d kissed, mouth to mouth, bodies pressing slick and warm against one another, and then Alex had kissed his way down her body.

Jackie groaned. She’d groaned in the dream too.

His mouth had been magic.

“This is ridiculous.”

She rubbed at her eyes, then her neck. The kink in it reminded her she’d fallen asleep on the futon.

Alex had no magic mouth. Or maybe he did, but she knew nothing about it. She’d just been caught up in a dream version of the man. She had no idea how the real Alex kissed, if he even liked tasting a woman, liked pleasing her until she screamed...

But she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him.

No! She slammed a pillow against her face. Why was she giving any time to thoughts of him? He was a volunteer. Even worse, a ball-playing volunteer. Allowing him to traipse naked through her dreams was one thing—she knew the subconscious worked out all sorts of issues, sex included, in dreams. But her purposeful thoughts? She could control those. She
would
control those.

“Damn, damn, damn.”

She banished the image with thoughts of the two surgeries she had scheduled for that day. She would control her thoughts. And her libido.

The crickets sounded again, louder and more insistent.

At first she lay listening. But there weren’t any crickets around at this time of year. When she woke properly, she realized the crickets were singing in her purse. Which meant that Gage had been toying with her ringtones again. She snatched up the phone. Only he would call her this early.

“You are
not
going to live,” she barked into the phone. “Not another day. I’m going to feed you very slowly to the great white sharks and th—”

“Uh, Dr. Brandon? It’s Tanya. Monday morning crew.”

“Oh. Tanya. Right.” Toeing into her shoes, she glanced at the clock. Six thirty.

“There’s a man outside. Says he’s got to get into the necropsy lab pronto. Should I let him in?”

“Who is it, Tanya?”

She heard commotion in the background and the slamming of a door.

“Sorry, Dr. Brandon, I didn’t ask. The fish delivery came just before he did. They got our order wrong. Again.” She paused. “I can run out and ask him.”

“Have him wait. I’ll be right there.”

Less than five minutes later, Jackie pulled into the lot next to a big blue van nearly as dinged up as her truck. Painted across the side was a very expensive-looking logo: Thomas and Sons Floor Solutions.

She walked to the necropsy lab. Gage stood in the doorway, arms crossed, talking to a man in coveralls crouched on the floor beside him. That she’d somehow been expecting Alex, even though he’d quit almost a week ago, had put her on edge.

“Would you be wanting the curved edge at the bottom, like this?” the man said, looking up at her. He held a tile sample up against the wall and bent a curve into it. “From what I was told about your work here, you’ll need it like this for cleaning. Maybe we should take it up sixteen inches, to right about here?”

“We are not taking anything up, anywhere.” She motioned to Gage to step outside. “We can’t afford it.”

“Look, ma'am,” the flooring guy said as he stood, “it’s paid for, like I told
him
.” He nodded toward Gage. “And I gotta get this in today. I have a big job in Tiburon starting tomorrow. I worked this job in as a favor.” He pushed the sample toward her. “Hope you like the color. The gentleman told me to pick it out.”

She did not have to ask which gentleman. And she wasn’t sure if she was steamed or relieved. Or maybe even touched.