Going All the Way (Knights of Passion Book 1) (21 page)

“You didn’t have to drive home.” He avoided her gaze, looking out the window instead of at her.

She quirked an eyebrow, suddenly shy and hesitant. “I don’t recall anyone inviting me to stay.”

“If you recall, I didn’t invite you to come over in the first place.” He stood up and stalked around the bed, his intent clear in the wicked glint in his eye.

“Whatever. Get in the shower and I’ll find you something to wear. Then we’ll review the questions.” She turned her back and almost fled out of the room, resisting her body’s urge to hop in the shower with him.

Being a responsible adult sucked.

*

Jason stepped in
the shower and turned on the water, more on the cool side, hoping to quell the raging hard-on that seemed to be present every time Ms. Stacia Kendall was around. It’s not like he was still in his dry spell. They had sex only a couple of days ago, so he couldn’t blame it on that, not any longer.

No, the blame firmly lay with Stacia—she and her prim little teacher attitude was slowly driving him crazy. When she’d marched into his bedroom he’d almost thrown her on the bed and made them both late for the interview.

Yeah, that would have killed two birds with one stone—hot sex and no interview. Then chocolate cake for dessert. What could be better?

Instead, she was downstairs being happy homemaker, trying to unpack his clothes and dress him like a two-year-old, as if he didn’t know how to dress and act in interviews. He’d been doing it since he was thirteen and won the Little League World Series. He knew the game, knew how it was played. It wasn’t his fault that the rules changed.

He braced his hands against the shower wall, lowered his forehead to the cool tile, and sighed, letting the water sluice over him. Damn he hated this part of the game, the interviews, the reporters, the bullshit. The fans were fine if the media got out of the way. They didn’t care if you slept alone or with a supermodel as long as you hit the ball, caught the ball, and legged out your hits. The rules hadn’t changed. He had. He was no longer the superstar, could no longer ignore the catcalls and reporters. Hell, he was in his thirties. Maybe it was time he grew up and handled the situation better.

A toilet flushed and a blast of ice cold water hit him. He choked back a shout and yelled for Stacia.

“Are you okay in there?” Stacia’s soft voice sounded from the bedroom, all sweetness and light despite having flushed the toilet deliberately. Damnit, the cold water did nothing for the erection, still rock hard and begging for some TLC. The door handle jiggled. “Do you need any help?”

He cursed under his breath. “Only if you want to wash my back and other body parts.”

Her heels clicked rapidly as she left the room then echoed on the stairs. Probably a smart idea. Damned if he didn’t want her to stay though. And not just for the sex, which was pretty fucking amazing. He enjoyed her company, go figure. Liked talking to her.

He finished the shower, finally turned on warm water. Blue balls sucked. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into the bedroom. Stacia had returned and was perched on the bed, scrolling through her tablet. Her legs were crossed at the knees, skirt revealing a hint of creamy thigh and there it was. His hard-on was back.

She glanced up then down to his crotch, color pinking her cheeks. He dropped the towel, a perverse side wanting to see the blush deepen. “Did you find my underwear too?”

She pointed to the dresser, without looking at him. “Top drawer. I unpacked several things. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nope, that’s fine. Maybe I should hire you to be my housekeeper.” He pulled a pair of briefs out of the drawer and bent to put them on. A choking sound had him stifling a grin.

“I’ll wait for you downstairs. I left the list of questions on the bed.” She fled the room.

He frowned at the piece of paper, anger quickly replacing any sexual heat remaining. Tossing it aside, he quickly dressed and went downstairs. “You wrote my answers for me? Like I’m a fucking two-year-old?”

She glanced up from the easy chair and gestured to the chair across from her. “They’re just suggestions. Something to guide you down a safe path.”

He gritted his teeth, anger coursing through his body. “Do you really think I’m that stupid, that I can’t answer a simple question like, why do you want to play for the Knights?”

“Why
do
you want to play for the Knights?” she countered.

“Duh. Because no one else would hire me. Why else would I play for a perpetual cellar dweller like the Knights?” A shaft of guilt prodded him but he ignored it.

“And there is where the interview goes off track. Honesty is good, but it’s better to flavor the pot a little.”

He glowered, fist clenching. As if he would ever be so stupid to answer like that. It was insulting.

She handed him a new copy of the questions. “Read my answer.”

He looked down and snapped the paper. “This is sugary bullshit.” She tapped her foot on the hardwood floor and he sighed. “‘The Knights are a young team, up and coming in baseball today. They have great players and I can really make a difference in their playoff hopes, both on and off the field.’” He couldn’t help it, the laugh burst out of him. “Do you really think anyone is going to buy this load of crap? Remember, the biggest rap about me—I’m not a team player. No one will believe this shit.” He stifled the niggling feeling poking in his chest that maybe it would be nice if it were true, maybe it would be nice to be seen as a team player, a role model, not just some washed-up has-been.

“If you say it convincingly, they’ll buy it. Add a charming smile, which we both know you can do, they’ll eat it up like Thanksgiving. And if you stop torpedoing your career by stupid actions, maybe they’ll continue to buy it. Let’s try the next one. I’ll be the interviewer.”

He snorted but studied the sheet, not quite willing to admit out loud that she might be right. Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, to be the nice guy, not baseball’s bad boy?

“Jason, you’ve been gone from the sport for a year, after a serious shoulder injury. What did you miss most about it?” She asked.

“You mean besides the accusations, the booing, the lies, and most of all the rejection by everyone?” He ran a hand through his hair. Damnit. He just couldn’t stop the mouth from spouting bullshit.

“Okay, that’s it.” Stacia slammed her foot on the floor and stood up. She stalked the three steps over to his chair and leaned down, her face in his, nose to nose. “Listen up, Friar, because I’ll only say this one more time. This time, I’ll use words I hope you can understand.”

She poked her finger in his chest, repeatedly, as if pushing the thought into his body, forcing him to internalize it. “Stop screwing around. This is your last chance and you’re fucking it up by acting like a prima donna, pushing everyone away, and being a Class-A asshole.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his mouth. “No, I’m speaking and you’ll damn well listen. You have people here who want to help you, and yes, we have our own agendas. Everyone does. Get over it. If you truly want to play this sport next season and onward, you need to straighten up and start acting like an adult. You’re no longer the golden boy, the darling of baseball. No one wanted to hire you and no one will again if you keep acting like this. Get your priorities straight or stop wasting my time.”

She straightened and turned back to her chair. She stuffed her tablet in the bag and slung it over her shoulder, almost hitting him in the process. “The interview is at the stadium at three p.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”

And she swept out of the condo, but he hoped not out of his life.

*

It was quiet
in the stadium, especially near the locker room where the office-sized closet Stacia was assigned was located. The players hadn’t yet reported for the night game, having played late the night before. Management never required them to report before four on a game day following a late night, especially this late in the season. Only players with assignments and interviews reported, and the occasional player who wanted to work out. However, it was August and the guys were tired from the long season. Most decided not to overdo it, hoping to maintain their energy for the stretch run in September.

Stacia left her office door open then sorted through emails and news stories on her laptop. One headline in particular caught her attention:

Jason Friar turning over a new leaf?

Has Jason Friar finally settled down? Gone are the days of groupies. Instead, Jason Friar was recently seen with a girlfriend, not a bevy of girls.

No wonder he was so pissed at the media. These so-called sports reporters completely ignored his decent showing in the last two games. Instead, they were more worried about his personal life, whether he was sleeping around and could they write about it. At least her stunt had paid off and they were paying him a compliment, of a sort. Guilt prodded her at the lie she was perpetuating, especially if it wasn’t a lie. How would a breakup play in the media? The off-season fallout was something she had not figured in her calculations.

Her phone buzzed, vibrations making it dance across the desk. She glanced at the display.
Michael Higgins
. Yeah, she was so not answering that call.

Eventually, the phone stopped dancing and she returned to scanning articles and emails. When the phone went off again, she almost ignored it, assuming it was her boss, but a flash of pink caught her attention.
Sophie.

That call she’d take.

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you all week,” Sophie demanded before Stacia could answer, in full vintage pissed-off mode. “Never mind. Are you really dating Jason Friar? He’s your
client
. What are you thinking?” Her voice rose at the end of the question, echoing in the small office.

“Okay, I’m not.” Stacia swiveled the chair around to face the wall, fully aware of the ambiguity in the statement.

“Bullshit. You’re sleeping with your client?” Sophie’s voice was a full octave higher, piercing Stacia’s eardrums. “After being accused of doing the same thing with Glazier? Stacia, not a good idea.”

“I know, I know. But I had no idea that night.” When did her social life, or even work life, become Sophie’s concern? Stacia bit back the question, taking several deep calming breaths.

Sophie snorted. “Only your luck. I mean, he’s hot and everything, but a client. Stacia, not a good idea.”

“Actually, the team is my client, not Jason.

“Semantics and you know it.” Sophie’s voice was lowering in disapproval. “Just be careful, okay? I know how you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stacia spoke more sharply than intended, but her irritation at being second-guessed by everyone was really pissing her off.

“Friar is a serious player, dating every supermodel and actress he could find. Despite the papers and the advantage you give him in the ratings, he’s not going to be there for the long haul. He’s not for you.”

“I know, Sophie. I’m not getting involved. It’s just an act, for the ratings.” She crossed her fingers at the blatant lie. She was already in deep, almost over her head. She had to pull herself out before admitting it to anyone.

“Right. Well, take care.” Doubt clouded her friend’s tone, but she finally moved on. “And just so you know? Glazier decided to do an independent bid, arrogant asshole. Donna is sucking at it. Nothing is going right for him right now. He’s missing you, even if he won’t admit it.”

A dart of satisfaction zipped through her and she laughed. A cough in the doorway had her whipping around to see Cole Hammonds standing in the doorway. She gestured him in. “Sophie? I have to run. I’ll call you later.”

“I want details!” Sophie called through the phone before Stacia could disconnect.

Cole arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He sat in one of the chairs facing her desk and crossed one leg over the other, barely creasing his charcoal suit slacks. “I’ll admit, I was initially concerned about your plan but the headlines show a better reaction than I could have expected. This way you also have an excuse to stay close to him and keep coaching him. Your boss isn’t as confident in this approach.”