Over the Fence: Lyssa Layne's Baseball Romances (72 page)

“Beautiful,” I comment, taking her bottom lip between my teeth and sucking lightly, “but not as hermosa as my Isa.”

I can tell by the dip in her lips that that wasn’t the right thing to say. I lift my head and look into her dark, almost almond shaped eyes that are outlined in black eyeliner while her lashes are a mile long as they are coated in mascara. Isabel once told me that a swipe of mascara and eyeliner is all a girl needs and I must say that I agree.

“Isabel, beautiful women outside of you exist. There’s a fine line between appreciating their good looks and disrespecting you, which you know I would never do.” Her chin drops and I move my fingers under it, raising her head to look me in the eyes. “You know that, don’t you, Isa?”

She shrugs, her fingers fiddling with my gold cross necklace which she would shit if she knew how much I paid for it. “I know, Ben Ben, but you know there’s so many pretty girls out there that would—”

“I don’t care, Isabel. You’re the only pretty girl I want.” With that, I crush her lips with mine, devouring her plump lips and the strawberry lip gloss that coats them. My fingers knead her hips and my cock throbs to be unleashed. “Where’s Marcos?” My fingers search the back of her romper, trying to figure out how the hell to get this thing off.

“At Janisa’s,” she mumbles, tilting her head back and her long, dark hair tickles my arm. “They’ll be here for dinner in about an hour.”

Giving up on finding a zipper, I grasp the straps of her romper and pull them down her arms, leaving her completely topless in the middle of our kitchen. A devilish grin creeps over my lips because in twenty years, every time I make love with Isabel, it only gets better and better.

CHAPTER 3

After an icy cold shower after some afternoon delight with my Isa, I’m stripped down to my undershirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts. With an ice cold Dos Equis in hand and a box fan blowing in my face, this place is a little more tolerable. Sitting on our orange couch that’s been passed down from generation to generation in our family, my feet are propped up on the worn down coffee table and I’m actually in my own kind of paradise. Isabel sings along with the music from the courtyard as she finishes dinner in the kitchen and I watch a muted baseball game on television. It’s like a glimpse into my future days of retirement.

“Pasteles? Again, Mama?” Our sixteen-year-old son, Marcos, questions Isabel’s dinner choice as he enters the apartment. His dainty girlfriend, Janisa, follows on his tail. She’s a cute girl with all the strong Puerto Rican characteristics from the dark hair to the curves on her small frame. From what Isa tells me, the two are inseparable and she’s a little concerned. I try to remind her that we were the exact same way when we were their age. Not realizing I’m in the room, Marcos curses under his breath in Spanish about tonight’s menu.

“Language, hijo. Men shouldn’t speak like that in front of women,” I remind him.

Marcos turns in my direction and I catch a glimpse of myself at his age. Our son is a perfect mixture of both us as he has Isabel’s eyes and my short nose. His dark hair is much longer than mine has ever been and it’s evident that he needs a haircut as he flips his hair back when he turns his head. He’s trying to follow in my footsteps of being a ball player, although he’s more into the batting side of the game than the pitching like me.

“Papa, I didn’t know you were home.”

His posture straightens and he takes Janisa’s hand in his own. I’m inclined to frown at his reaction to my presence but instead, I stand up and cross the room. Extending my hand, I shake my son’s hand to show him respect then I politely kiss Janisa’s hand.

“Lo siento, Janisa. Marcos knows better than to curse in front of a lady.”

Janisa has always been a shy girl and tonight is no different. Her cheeks turn red under her tan skin and she half hides behind Marcos, giving me a shy smile as she does. Marcos doesn’t respond to either of my statements. Instead, he changes the subject to baseball, which is both disappointing and exciting.

“Papa, you should see me hit! I’ve nailed our rival’s screwball and hit it out of the park. Will you be at our game on Tuesday?” Marcos’ eyes light up with excitement as he talks about America’s favorite pastime and the livelihood of our family.

Standing up, I walk to Marcos’ side and clamp my hand on his shoulder. “That’s great, hijo, but I’ll be back on the road tomorrow. Maybe your mother or Janisa could send me a video?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, shrugging out of my grip and taking Janisa by the hand. The young lovebirds retreat to his room without another word.

From the doorway, Isabel clears her throat. “He wants your approval, Benny.”

I shake my head, forcing a laugh to lighten the situation. “I approve. What father wouldn’t approve of his son excelling in something he’s interested in? It’s even better it’s the game I love.”

Isabel’s lips drop into a frown. “He’s a teenage boy, Benny. You remember what it was like to fight for your father’s attention.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “If you remember, gordi, my father was long gone by the time I was Marcos’ age.”

My parents’ story isn’t too different than Isabel and my own. High school sweethearts who found themselves preparing to be parents while they were still kids themselves. My father stuck around until graduation, when I was two, and then he split, unable to make a lifetime commit to my mother. He floated in and out of our lives until she finally gave him an ultimatum, either be the father I needed or stay away forever… he opted for the latter. Growing up, I faulted my mama for his lack of presence, especially when Marcos was a baby himself, but the older I get, the more I understand she was only doing it for my own benefit. I promised myself that I would never do the same thing to Isabel and Marcos, the two of them are my world.

Isabel moves beside me, her hands on my shoulders, massaging gently. “Well, don’t be your father, Benny. Be the father you always wanted for Marcos.” She gently kisses my cheek then returns to the kitchen to finish dinner.

I sigh, running my hand through my sweaty hair.
Ugh
! I swear some days I sweat more in my apartment than the ball field. My mind drifts to all the ways our lives could improve if Isabel would let us just use the money I’ve earned but I stop myself before I get too worked up. We’ve been down this road before and it doesn’t do any good to get upset over something that will never change—Isabel’s mind.

Picking up my phone, I glance into the kitchen to make sure Isa isn’t paying attention. Quickly, I scroll through the concerts playing this weekend. A smile comes to my face when I see
Finding Nolan
is in town. They just happen to be Marcos and Janisa’s favorite band or at least that’s what’s blaring from his room right now. A few clicks and I’ve just purchased two front row seats for Friday night’s show. A huge grin on my face, I walk to Marcos’ bedroom and open the door without knocking. 

“Cabron!” Marcos shouts out the f-word in Spanish which takes me by surprise. Not just his language but sight of the two teenagers tangled around each other wearing very little clothing.

“What is going on in here?” I ask, channeling my most intimidating, fatherly tone.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Marcos retorts, pulling a sheet over both of them.

“This is my house, Marcos. I don’t need to knock.” I cross my arms, trying to picture how Grant Adamson would handle this situation.

“It’s an apartment,” Marcos mutters with disgust. “An apartment without air conditioning. We were just trying to cool off.”

Yeah, sure they were.
I’m not exactly clear how him laying on top of her is “cooling off” but this is unfamiliar territory to me so I nod and retreat, leaving the door open as I leave. I march into the kitchen, positioning myself so I can talk to Isabel and make sure that door doesn’t get closed again.

“Do you know what I just witnessed?”

Isabel glances over her shoulder at me. “Judging from the profanity that our son just shouted, I have a good idea.”

“So you know what they were doing?” I ask in an incredulous tone, shocked that Isabel is being so calm.

She stands up and turns to me. “I don’t know exactly but they’re teenagers and I know what we were doing when we were their age.”

“Exactly!” I throw up my hands in exasperation. “Don’t you think we should stop them?”

Isabel sighs and throws the dish towel she’s holding on the counter. “What do you want me to do, Benny? I’m here alone with him while you’re on the road and I work full-time. If they want to have sex, they’re going to do it no matter what we do or say.”

“So that’s just it? We let them have sex?” My temper, which is usually pretty even keel, is rising. I can think of maybe three other times I’ve ever felt like this before and they’ve all been on the baseball field.

“Yes, Benny, we let them have sex. As parents, we tell them how to protect themselves and prevent pregnancy and then it’s up to them to follow through. You know, it would mean a lot more coming from you than me.”

I take a deep breath, trying to find my center and calm down. “Isa, you don’t have to work. I provide plenty for our family. If you didn’t have a job, maybe it would help Marcos and Janisa to cool it.”

Isabel isn’t happy with my idea as she rants in Spanish about my chauvinistic ideas and my caveman attitude. For whatever reason, Isabel has always resented my work and today is no different. Pressure builds up behind my eyes and I can feel a migraine coming on. Looks like I’ll be having a chat with Marcos about the birds and the bees while Isabel is at work tomorrow.

CHAPTER 4

“Yes!” Jace hisses under his breath as our pitcher ends the inning with a strikeout. “You ready to close this thing out, Martinez?”

“Huh?” I glance up at the scoreboard, my mind clearly somewhere else and not in the game right in front of us. “Oh, yeah, Dickey. I’m ready whenever.”

Jace scoffs as he stands up and walks over to the water jug. Under his breath, I hear him mutter, “Seems like it.” He pours himself a cup of the ice cold liquid, only taking a small sip then dumping it over his head to cool off. No one ever said baseball was a cool game, especially not when we’re playing in the muggy midwest weather. He returns to his seat beside me in the bullpen and looks in my direction. “What’s up with you? I’ve never seen you all weirded out like this. It’s kind of freaking me out, Benny.”

“You’ve got teenage boys!” It hits me in a
Eureka!
moment that Jace has two teenage males of his own. Why didn’t I think to ask him sooner? I pause for a second, thinking back to how poorly Jace treated his ex-girlfriend, Grant’s now wife, and I remember why I never thought to ask Jace Richards for parenting advice. But that was then and this is now and Jace has proven that he’s a changed man.

Jace scrunches his forehead, completely lost by my statement. “Yeah and they’re a fuckin’ handful.” A smile comes to his face before he continues. “God, I love those boys.”

Yeah, those boys saved his life and Richards will be the first to admit that. His sons, neither biologically his not that anyone can tell from the way they all interact with each other, are a few years younger than Marcos but I recall Dickey saying one of them went on their first date recently.

“They’re dating now, right?”

Jace groans. “Yeah… Laurel’s about to fuckin’ lose her shit having to deal with it on her own.” He drops his head, remorse washing over his face and it’s times like these that I wish Dickey would stop feeling bad for following his dream and leaving his family behind while he’s on the road.

Ignoring his guilt that he doesn’t hide, I continue on. “What’s your stance on them having sex? Try to stop them or give them condoms and pray for the best?”

Jace looks up, slightly shocked at my question, but he laughs as he shakes his head. “You really want to know?” I nod and Jace holds up his hands as if to warn me. “It’s split in our house. If Laurel could have it her way, the boys would never know what sex is, but then again, she got knocked up with Grey when she was in high school.”