Game Plan (2 page)

He pressed a scrap of paper into her hand, letting his fingers linger a little longer than necessary. “My number.” Another sizzling smile later, he was walking away, backward.

She set the ice pack aside and stood, taking a tentative step toward the chain link fence beside the diamond. Pain shot up her leg and she winced. He stopped and she waved him to keep going. “I’m okay.” She was so not okay.

He shook his head. “Call me, I’ll come over and ice it for you.”

“What if it’s the middle of the night?” Wow, she did not say that in front of all these respectable family types.

“I’ll be lying awake thinking about those pretty painted toes anyway.”

Andie glanced around. No one had heard the exchange, everyone was intent on the game. Her son’s game. Where her attention should be, instead of flirting with a strange man, regardless of how hot he was. Much as she wanted one more gawk, one more sexually laced comment, she kept her eyes on the juvenile baseball players wearing Jell-O green. But she wouldn’t soon forget the major player in gray and black.

Getting bumped to this shitty, small ballpark wasn’t pissing Mason off anymore. And for the first time in his life, he wished he played catcher. Playing deep centerfield meant he couldn’t see the neighboring diamond. If this inning dragged on much longer, he might not get another look at the woman he’d sort of purposely hit with a ball. Andie. The name suited her—uncommon in a totally good way.

He’d noticed her as soon as she got up and started cheering. Sure, lots of people yelled, whistled and clapped. Especially at kids’ games. But Andie’s actions seemed different. More enthusiastic, for one, and genuine. Of course it helped that she was hot. Not in any overdone or obvious ways. A long, brown ponytail poked out the back of her ball cap. Very cute. She wore a formfitting white t-shirt and rolled-to-the calf, skin-tight jeans that accented a trim waist and very fine ass. Even in those basic things she oozed sex appeal. So he’d ditched his regular warm-up routine and chucked the ball her way. He intended it to land at her feet, not ricochet off her body. In a way, it worked out better than his original plan.

Up close she didn’t disappoint. Pretty face to match the nice body. Big, round blue eyes, clear and sparkling as an untouched lake. Plump lips that begged to be kissed. Then there were the shoes. Not your average mom shoes, that’s for damn sure. He could barely look her in the eye once he touched her leg. No way could he hide it. One look at his face and she had to know he was thinking of fucking her wearing nothing but those shoes and a smile.

A lazy fly ball fell into his glove making the third out. About time.

He reached his team’s bench as the other game wound up. One of the boys hopped the fence and practically bowled Andie over with a hug. Must be her son. That a kid his age showed affection that easily said a lot about the parent.

Or parents. Shit, where’d the guy with the fluorescent-green golf shirt come from? She’d definitely been alone during the game, aside from the female friend who’d eyed him up as though he were dinner. If there’d been any sign of a man at Andie’s side, Mason wouldn’t have made a move. And her hands had confirmed it—no wedding ring. No tan line where one usually sat. Fair game in his mind.

Their attraction was mutual. He was positive about that, because when he touched her leg, the sparks between them were almost visible. One simple touch and his cock had started rising. Her expression told him she had some control issues of her own brewing too. No way he’d misread the chemistry.

But from the dynamic in his line of sight right now, golf-shirt guy had to be Dad. What Mason couldn’t tell from this distance was whether he was something more.

“You got a thing for the MILF on diamond two?”

Mason forced his eyes from Andie and tried not to glare at his idiot teammate. Only a classless jerk referred to a woman as a Mother I’d Like to Fuck, no matter how sexy she was.

“I appreciate good-looking ladies, sure.”

“Ever been with an older woman? I hear they’ll do anything and everything to get some hard, young dick.” The loudmouth stared toward Andie and adjusted his junk. “She looks all right. I’d do her.”

“Don’t be so fucking disrespectful, Ev.”

Evan snorted. “What’s up your ass—what, was she your babysitter or something?”

“No, your older sister babysat me, and not only did she help me with my math homework, she taught me about oral sex too.” A huge bullshit lie, but Evan’s head looked ready to pop off, which was awesome. He’d apologize later. To Evan’s sister, not to the dickwad.

“Fuck you, Lang.”

Mission accomplished on getting rid of Evan. Too late, though. The crowd at the other diamond had turned over and new teams were on the field. No sign of Andie anywhere. Shit.

Mason’s mind stayed on Andie for the remaining innings. One, because she’d gotten under his skin in a big way. Two, because he couldn’t stop thinking about dumbass Evan’s comments. Yeah, she was older than him. Maybe a few years, maybe a few more than that. So what? He didn’t care about an age gap and neither should anyone else.

But what if they did?

He was getting way ahead of himself—the odds of her using that piece of paper he’d slipped into her palm were slim. If she did call and they hit it off…his friends and family were good people. Nobody he cared about would give a rat’s ass about an age difference. What losers like Evan thought counted for jack. Now that that was settled, he’d just have to wait and hope for the phone to ring.

* * * * *

Andie hated feeling pissy about Dylan spending every weekend with his dad. She didn’t blame Dylan for wanting to go. No boring hanging around the house when he spent time with his dad. Scott used his wealth to great effect. This weekend, they were off to Toronto. Tickets to both Blue Jays’ games, premium dugout seats—nothing but the best—and a field-view room in The Dome’s Marriott Hotel so Dylan could watch the teams warming up. They’d done things like this as a family until she asked for the divorce.

A little pang of regret popped up. Squashing it was as easy as recalling Scott looking on while she packed for an excursion, then taking out whatever clothing he deemed inappropriate for
Mrs. Scott Finch
to wear publicly. Bye-bye tops that even hinted at cleavage and jeans that accented her curves. His replacements—pressed pants and bland blouses. Knee-length skirts. Monochromatic outfits in tan, navy or pastels. And decently sexy high heels? Never. Not for a woman of her social position. Gag.

No, she was never going back to living that way. Not with anybody. Sometimes, though, being alone sucked. Like tonight, and all of the weekend nights that she ate alone, watched a DVD alone, drank a glass—or several—of Cabernet alone. Still, she’d take the trade-off. Being alone meant wearing what she wanted, painting her nails hooker-red and shaking her ass to a rocking beat. She liked belonging to herself.

Though, belonging to a sexy man for a smoldering night of fun once in a while would be nice.

She moved mindlessly through the nightly routine. Teeth brushed and flossed, face washed and age-defying night moisturizer applied. She hobbled through the empty house to her bedroom. Turned down one side of the covers and slid into the king-sized bed. The crisp, cool sheets tickled her skin. She shimmied out of her sleep shorts and camisole. Why not sleep naked—it’s not as if anyone would walk in on her. A breeze drifted through the screen, raising goose bumps and sending her nipples to attention. She trailed her fingers across the peaks. A shiver rippled through her, sending a jolt of sensation between her legs. Nice, but she needed something stronger. She licked her fingers, drew them into her mouth like a cock. God, she needed to do that for real, and soon. Somebody virile and totally hot. Like the guy from the baseball game.

Mason, according to the scrap of paper on her bedside table. A fitting name for a guy with a solid physique. No doubt his cock would be hard as stone too. She sent the moistened fingers back to her nipples, toying with them by rolling and squeezing. She closed her eyes and imagined him. A man like Mason would take charge of the pleasure. She squeezed the buds until heat bloomed in her breasts and made a beeline lower. She snaked one hand between her legs, slid two fingers inside her cock-deprived channel, then dragged them up to her clit. A few light strokes to tease like his tongue would do. She pressed harder, rubbed faster, imagining his face there. Orgasm hit and finished too quickly. Not nearly satisfying enough.

Masturbation usually helped her sleep. Not this time. Tonight it made her more aware of being alone in bed. Because that’s what she needed to dwell on…not. She stared at the clock for three insanely long minutes. Half past ten. Too late to bug friends. They all had kids or significant others, or some combination thereof, except for Lasha. By this point in the evening, her best friend would be incommunicado due to much more thrilling sexploits. And that left Andie a little green.

Not that she wanted Lasha’s brand of freewheeling promiscuity. Just some adult companionship once in a while. A couple hours of fun. The no-strings-attached kind—and if it came with some nudetastic action, as Lasha had called it, the vibrator collection in her bedside drawer would probably appreciate having a night off.

She flipped on the bedside lamp and picked up the slip of paper. She’d had plenty of chances to throw it away—at the ball park, when she stopped for takeout, at home—but she’d kept his number. Using it would be crazy. And yet the phone was in her hand, her fingers pushing the buttons.

One ring, two. Her heart beating its way out of her chest almost drowned out the third ring. Good, he wasn’t home, saving her from one giant, embarrassing mistake.

Then he answered, “Hello.”

Most people used the simple, standard greeting in question form. Not Mason. His hello was a statement that slid into her ear like a caress. An invitation. As if he knew she was naked and had recently come while fantasizing about him.

“Sorry, I think I’ve called the wrong number.”

“I don’t think you did, Andie.”

Dammit. Foiled by Lasha’s big mouth and caller ID. Now what?

“I’m glad you called, I was thinking about you.” Rustling followed a beat of silence on his end. “How’s the foot?”

Ah ha. That kind of thinking about her, the guilt-ridden kind. “I iced it when I got home, like you said, and the swelling has gone down a lot. But your sloppy throw cost me a night of dancing, so you know.” The around-the-house-by-herself kind, but he didn’t need to know that part.

A low laugh that curled her toes filtered through the line. “That’s too bad. But I’m sure your date found other ways to entertain you. Better ways.”

“My date?”

“The guy from the ball park. Glasses, green shirt.”

“Oh, him.” Mason had seen her talking to Scott after the game…interesting. But she and Scott giving off a couple vibe? Not possible. They’d barely touched each other while married and Andie always kept at least a foot between them now. Still, if people—such as Mason—got the wrong impression, she obviously needed to make some changes. “He’s my ex. Definitely not a date.”

“In that case, I’d like to make it up to you.”

Andie listened to more shuffling on Mason’s end. She rolled to her back and it struck her—the rustling sound could be bed sheets. Mason lying in bed, stretched out in his naked glory… The mental image made her mouth water. And reach for her southern parts.

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m fine. That’s really what I called to say.”

“At ten-thirty on a Friday night?”

The amusement in his tone initiated a blush she was glad he couldn’t see. “Busted. That was lame, I admit.”

“Lame but cute, and I like that you’re owning it. So, how about it, are we on?”

God, he had a sexy voice. Like broken-in leather, rough and soft at the same time. She could listen to him talk for hours. About anything. So why not do it—accept his offer, grab the opportunity before it disappeared. Before she chickened out. “Okay. Make it up to me sometime.”

“Now works for me.”

No backing out. She looked down at her naked body. Freshening up in a bath would be nice, but take too long. “I need a few minutes to get dressed. Where should we meet?”

“By the fountain at Museum Square. We’ll go from there.”

“Okay, it’s a…a meeting.” She slapped her forehead. Lame, lame, lame.

“It’s a
date
, Andie. I’ll see you soon.” Mason waited for her to hang up before reaching over to disconnect. As soon as he’d seen her name on the call display, he’d switched to speakerphone mode. He wanted her voice in the air around him. And yeah, he wanted his hands free for other things.

The guys from his team had razzed him plenty when he bailed on pub time. Not because he skipped partying for sitting by the phone—none of them put those pieces together. Instead they ribbed him about work, since morning appointments were the excuse he gave. He could live with that. Only he needed to know the truth.

By the time the phone rang, he’d already fallen into bed, horny from thinking about her all evening. He’d been halfway to finishing when her voice echoed through the speaker. Talking to her made it worse. He palmed his cock once, and again. He needed release, but not now. He grabbed clothes and hustled from the bedroom. He’d come later, after some close-up time with Andie. Then he’d have every detail of her face and scent committed to memory. It’d be worth the wait.

Downtown was busy. Not surprising, the temperature and clear sky made it an ideal night for bar-hopping. His buddies would still be at it, meaning he and Andie had a few less options. If the team saw him out with a woman after ditching them, he’d never hear the end of it. And he’d rather they didn’t have something to ride him about next time out. If anyone was going to ride him, it was Andie.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted his hard-on as inconspicuously as possible. Stupid move, thinking about sex again. His balls would be blue by the time he got home. He cut around a group of Goth wannabes and spotted Andie, sitting on the edge of the fountain. She hadn’t seen him yet. He slowed up and enjoyed his last minute of anonymity.