Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6 (11 page)

“You did yesterday.” His near-sleepless night, coupled with the real possibility of her putting her hands on fuckin’ Tony Ramirez had darkened his mood from annoyed to pissed off. And she didn’t even have the good sense to appear contrite.

“After you left, I changed my mind. You did say if I didn’t want to take you up on your
generous
offer I should go home.” She shrugged and reached for a stack of papers on her desk. “So I did.”

He glared at her while she calmly stacked and shuffled papers, ignoring him. Finally, she stopped and looked up at him with eyes as hard as steel. “I think we’re even now.”

Even
. The word echoed through his skull, joining the hammering behind his eyes from the headache from hell. So, that’s what this was about—getting even. “Okay.” He held his hands up chest high in mock surrender. “You got me there. I treated you badly the other night, and you got me back. Fair is fair.”

“Fair is you leaving me alone to do my job.” Moisture dammed along her lower eyelids, looking like it could spill over at any moment. He felt like an ass. Thinking about nothing but sex when he should be considering the whole thing from her point of view. His career was his business. He had no right to bring hers down.

“I’m sorry, Tricia. You’re absolutely right.” He straightened and backed away from her desk, giving her space. “I’m not going to lie and tell you I don’t want you, but I promise I won’t pressure you for anything more than you’re willing to give. You need a test subject, I’m here for you. My body is yours.”

He watched helplessly as she dug in her giant carry-all and came up with a tissue she used to dab at her eyes. He would have given her his shirt if he’d thought she would have taken it from him.

“I know I started all this with my inappropriate behavior, and I apologize.” She sniffed back tears then squared her shoulders like a warrior ready for battle. “Since I started it, it’s my place to end it.”

God, he wanted her. And not because of the sex. Well, sex wasn’t the only reason. He admired her backbone. It had taken nearly a decade for Hannah to find the words to tell him what she wanted, needed out of life. Until then, she’d gone along with everything that happened in his life as if she didn’t have any goals of her own. And he’d let her.

It had been so much easier to believe his wife was happy than to deal with the possibility that she wasn’t. He and Hannah both were to blame for the way their marriage turned out. He understood his self-centered attitude hadn’t fostered an open atmosphere for communication, except in bed. Even Hannah would vouch for his attentiveness in bed. But sex hadn’t been enough to hold the marriage together.

Royce nodded. “I appreciate your honesty, though I could have made you stop. Full disclosure here. I didn’t want you to stop. I enjoyed every second your mouth was on me, and I look forward to the end of the month when I’m no longer your test subject.”

Her gaze was direct, clinically assessing. “Why?”

“Because I intend to pick up where we left off.”

He watched the muscles work in her throat as she swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the spot in the corner of the room where he’d made her come—twice. He might be clueless about some things, but desire in a woman’s eyes wasn’t one of them. She was as affected by what they’d done yesterday as he was.

“Believe it or not, I respect your research. My actions indicate otherwise, but from now on, you can count on me. I promise.” Before she could respond, a knock sounded on the door. Tricia leaned to the side in order to see around him. Royce half turned to look over his shoulder.

“Looks like I’m in the right place.” Tony Ramirez entered the room, an uncertain smile on his face.

“Hi.” Tricia stepped from behind the desk, her arm outstretched and a huge smile on her face. “I’m Dr. Reed, but you can call me Tricia.”

Tony took her hand for a brief handshake. “Antonio Ramirez. Everybody calls me Tony. Except my wife. Clare calls me Antonio.”

Perfect. He’s nervous.
Royce figured it wouldn’t take much to scare the big guy off. He smiled at his teammate. “Glad you could make it.” The two shook hands.

“Care to tell me what this is all about?” The center fielder’s gaze darted around the room as if looking for the hidden dangers.

“Dr. Reed is going to hook you up to her computer and run a bunch of tests on you.” He clapped Tony on the back. “Nothing to worry about. It doesn’t hurt much.”

The big man’s face turned white and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. It was all Royce could do to contain his laughter. His friend took a step backward—toward the door. “Look. Maybe I’m not the right person for this.”

“Stop it, Royce.” Tricia glared at him for a second before turning her attention to her next victim. “Tony, I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Mr. Stryker was just kidding.” Her gaze swung back to him. The banked fury in her eyes confirmed his own thoughts.

You’re being an ass again.
The idea of her putting her hands on any other man, much less the one inching his way to the door, made him crazy, but he’d be the biggest jackass in the world to interfere with her work. He grabbed Tony by the arm and dragged him to the center of the room. “She isn’t going to hurt you, but I suggest you do some serious shaving before you let her put those electrode patch things on you. I didn’t, and I cried like a baby when she ripped them off.”

From the stricken expression on the other man’s face, Royce wasn’t doing a very good job of convincing him he was going to be fine. “Shaving? You mean besides my face?”

“Yep. Chest, arms, legs. If your underwear covers it then it’s okay. The rest?” He ran his hand over his hairless forearm. “Smooth is the new look.”

“Seriously?” A big grin broke across his face. “Clare is going to
love
this.” He rubbed his hands together like a kid who’d just been told he could have anything in the candy store he wanted. “When do we start?”

Royce rolled his eyes. Tricia smiled. “Mr. Stryker is right. The less hair, the less pain, but body hair doesn’t interfere with my readings. It’s up to you. If you want to do some hair removal at home, then we’ll just do the preliminary stuff today.”

Tony’s expression grew serious. “Prelims it is. What’s first?”

“First is a blood test.”

Royce smirked as Tony’s naturally dark skin paled.

***

The following day, Royce was finishing up another round of
wired
exercises when Tricia’s new test subject arrived. Though he was free to go, he hung around the small office. Happily married or not, he still wasn’t comfortable leaving Tricia alone with Ramirez, especially knowing how her hands felt pressing the electrode pads to the man’s skin. Tony would have to be a monk not to respond, and when he did, Royce was going to pound him into the ground.

Tricia yanked the pads off Royce’s back while he tugged the ones off his front. He wouldn’t say the sensation was pleasant, but keeping the hair growth under control was the key.

“Ouch,” Tony said, observing the task. He yanked his shirt over his head revealing the smooth bronze skin of his chest. “Glad Clare helped me shave this morning. That looks like some serious hurt.”

Royce clamped his jaw tight then jerked the corner of the last pad on his pec. Tossing the used strip in the wastebasket sitting atop the desk, he reached for his shirt. “You missed the fun part.” He tapped a spot high on his left thigh about as close to his junk as it could be without him removing his underwear. “This is the worst one. Hair or no hair. Hurts like a son of a bitch every time.”

Tony’s hand went to the same spot on his own leg. Pulling his shorts on, Royce chuckled.

Tricia dug in her big bag, came out with a new box of electrode pads. “Don’t let him scare you, Tony. When it comes to pain, Royce can dish it out, but he can’t take it.”

He couldn’t believe her comment. He was sure she didn’t mean it to sound the way it did, but he couldn’t say the same for Tony.

Ramirez cut his eyes to Royce. One side of his mouth raised in a smirk. “Is that so? Like to make ’em scream, Strikeout?”

“I’ve made my share of batters scream in frustration.”

“Not lately.” Tony hooked his thumbs in his shorts waistband, shoving them down to his ankles.

Royce had to do something with his hands to keep from punching the smartass in the mouth. He grabbed his shoes off the floor and, without sparing his teammate another look, he stormed out of the office.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing. I was just pushing his buttons. He’ll get over it.”

“I certainly hope so.” She needed Royce in her study. Of all the potential players the Mustangs had offered her, his problem seemed the one most likely to benefit from her research. If she could find something…
anything
to help the man get back on his game, everything she’d sacrificed for her research would be worth it. And not just because positive results would be a great marketing tool, but because she wanted to see Royce succeed.

Her feelings for the man were as far from rational and objective as they could be, and she’d known him for less than a week! It made no sense, but that’s the way it was.

“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to get the baseline readings first, then we should have time to rig you up with the wireless sensors, too. You wear those during the game so I get real, game-time readings to compare with the baseline ones.”

“My body is yours to do with as you please. Clare said to tell you, if the jock strap covers it to keep your hands off, otherwise, have fun.”

Tricia laughed out loud. “I can’t wait to meet your wife. She sounds like one of a kind.”

“You don’t know how true those words are. Clare Kincaid Ramirez is a rare diamond.”

Tricia’s fingers stilled on the box of pads she’d picked up. The reverence in Tony’s voice when he spoke of his wife nearly brought tears to her eyes. She hoped Clare knew how lucky she was. Royce instantly came to mind. The things he’d done to her body had set the bar high for future lovers. It was too bad the man didn’t appreciate the other things she had going for her, because she was afraid she was one kiss away from thinking of him the way Tony thought of Clare. And that just wouldn’t do.

No more kisses. No more orgasms—at least none courtesy of Royce Stryker. She wouldn’t think of the man behind the baseball player. The one who’d bought a home instead of a house then refused to let someone who didn’t know him decorate it. Or the man who’d asked nothing for himself, but gave her what she needed when she hadn’t known she needed anything—much less
that
.

He was hurting inside. It didn’t take a psychologist to see his divorce had rocked his confidence and led to a breakdown in his professional life as well. If she could get enough data, she was sure she could isolate the muscle groups he needed to concentrate on in order to get back on track. Once he got his professional life in order, no doubt he’d be back in the saddle, so to speak, too. He’d ride off into the sunset with the hot babe of the day, leaving her and her computer program in the dirt.

Mentally slapping the dust cloud out of her brain, she unwrapped the first of many electrode pads and turned to Mustangs’ Test Subject #2. “You shouldn’t tease him about his pitching. It won’t help him get back in form.”

“Maybe not.”

Tricia adhered the first pad just above Tony’s left nipple then reached into the box for more of the individually wrapped packages. She kept one for herself and handed the rest to Tony. “Here. Open these. That will speed things up.”

They worked in tandem for a few minutes, Tony unwrapping then handing the sticky pads to Tricia to slap on his skin.

“You always this gentle?”

Kneeling in front of him, she looked up.

His eyebrows were knit in confusion. “If you want to slap somebody around, I’ll call Strikeout back in here. He’s riding the bench today. Me? I’ve got to play, and it’s hard enough without being used as a punching bag before the game.”

She ducked her head and, placing her hands on the floor, pushed to her feet. “I’m sorry, Tony. It’s just….”

“Strikeout? You and Royce got something goin’ on? If the scumbag is leaving you unsatisfied, I’ll set him straight.”

“Oh God.” She grabbed Tony’s arm and squeezed. The last thing she needed was this man going to bat for her with Royce. “No. Please don’t say anything to him. It’s nothing like what you’re thinking.”

“I knew something was going on between you two. The man has it bad for you.”

Tricia froze as her new guinea pig’s words registered. Hope flared hot and bright in her chest like a sparkler on the Fourth of July, but fizzled out just as fast.

“Please don’t say anything to him. I’ll be out of his life in a few weeks, and he’ll forget all about me.”

Tony cleared a spot and sat on the corner of the desk. “You’re really hung up on him, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t think he feels the same, and I have no right to expect him to. Besides, I have a job to do here, and a personal relationship with one of my test subjects could jeopardize my project.”

“First, it’s plain to anyone with eyes Strikeout is nuts about you. So much so, it’s making him crazy. Yesterday, he basically told me to stay away from you, and that scene a few minutes ago? All because I didn’t listen to him and stay away.”

Tricia applied a pad to his right calf, this time smoothing the edges down with a touch so light, he could understand Royce’s interest. If Tony didn’t have Clare waiting at home to make his skin quiver, he’d sure as hell respond to Tricia’s touch. “Thanks for ignoring him,” she said, reaching her hand up. Tony placed the pad he’d just unwrapped in her palm and set about opening another one. “I hope he doesn’t succeed in scaring off others. I need several more players to participate, or the findings won’t mean anything.”

“You tell me who’s next in line, and I’ll make sure they show up.” She didn’t respond to his offer, just continued silently placing pad after pad until he looked like a pair of jeans, patched too many times to wear.

“You think you can find something to help Royce get back on his game?” he asked while she attached wires to the electrodes dotting his body.

“I hope I can. I’d hate to think a man’s career could be ended simply because he isn’t using a specific muscle group to its best advantage.” She hooked a wire to an electrode on his left shoulder blade.

“What about me? I’m playing just fine. Shouldn’t you be testing players who aren’t doing so well?”

“There’s always room for improvement.” She clamped another wire to a pad on his biceps. “You may think you’re playing to the best of your ability, but my research thus far suggests athletes know very little about their own bodies and how they move.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I can see your point. So, you’re saying this computer program of yours can help anyone, not just a player going through a periodic slump.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If the program works, it could eradicate the occasional slump from the game entirely, as well as indicate when a player is in an irreversible decline as opposed to a slump.”

If her program even came close to working, it would change professional sports across the board. From a player’s standpoint, it could prolong his career, or end it prematurely, depending on what team owners did with the information acquired from the players. Fuck.

He asked a few more questions while she continued to hook him up to her computer. Concentrating on her work, she didn’t seem to be holding anything back in her answers. He genuinely believed her when she talked about using her research to benefit wounded soldiers and civilians facing physical challenges. All that was fine and good, but so was nuclear power unless it ended up in the hands of someone with no moral compass.

MLB and the team owners were without morals, but they controlled the money, and with it, the players’ lives. Technological advances over the years had changed the face of the game in many ways—stadium lighting, enclosed stadiums, better bases, equipment, and safety gear. Hell, television coverage and, now, the instant replay had altered the game. But mostly, the players had remained untouched. There was Tommy John surgery, a miracle medical procedure that had saved many pitching careers in the last two decades, but, not much else had touched the human factor of the game. If Dr. Reed’s computer program did what she hoped it would do, he could see owners using the tool as a means to select players, ensuring they had only the best of the best on their roster.

Of course, that’s what they tried to do now, but the decisions were based on many factors, not scientific analysis of the person’s physical abilities and limitations. What about personality or eagerness or flat-out hunger for a World Championship? Those were the kinds of things a computer program couldn’t measure, yet they could be the difference between a good player and an exceptional player.

Tony followed Tricia’s instructions, allowing her to collect the data she needed regarding his off-the-field fitness level. Ripping off the first set of electrodes was every bit as unpleasant as Royce indicated it would be then he stood before the good doctor once again in nothing but his jock strap while she applied a set of wireless transmitters he would wear while playing.

Fuck. He needed to talk to Strikeout, see if the man shared his concerns about Tricia’s research. Maybe Tony was paranoid, but he didn’t think so.

“Would you call this medical research?” he asked, carefully tugging his practice uniform on so as not to dislodge any of the porcupine-esque wires attached to his skin.

“Most definitely.” Tricia tapped the keys on her laptop, her gaze glued to the small, rectangular screen.

“Who do you see using this, in the League, I mean? Team doctors, physical therapists, trainers?”

“All of the above and the players themselves.”

“What about management?”

She looked up at him. “What about management? I don’t see the information being of any use to them other than to help their players perform to the best of their ability.”

Which answered his question. It hadn’t occurred to Dr. Reed that her project could be used to manipulate careers or in the grand scheme, to change the game by putting a crop of emotionless, physically-fit robots on the field in place of human beings.

He could tell by the look on Ramirez’s face as he strode across the dugout toward him that Tricia had convinced the man to wear the wireless sensors for today’s game. Royce knew firsthand how those things could pinch as your body moved in the normal range of motion.

Tony rubbed the top of his thigh and instantly Strike remembered the day that particular electrode had malfunctioned on him.
Christ.
The idea of Tricia doing to Tony what she’d done to him made him see red before he forced rational thoughts to take over. Ramirez was married, very happily so it seemed. The idea of her seeing and touching Tony…shit. The thought fucked with his sanity.

“Come with me.” Ramirez barked the order as he passed Royce in the nearly empty pre-game dugout and headed into the tunnel leading to the clubhouse.

What the fuck?
Out of curiosity, he followed. When Tony opened the door to the very same supply closet where things had gone beyond heated to explosive with Tricia, and motioned him inside, Royce balked. “You got problems with the equipment, you fix it yourself.” He turned to head back out to watch batting practice only to have Tony’s hand clamp down on his elbow, stopping him.

“Get in here. Now. We need to talk.” Surprised at the usually jovial man’s angry tone, Royce glanced up and down the hallway to make sure no one was around then stepped into the closet.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Have you given any thought to this research bullshit?” Tony stood with his hands fisted on his hips. Royce had never seen his teammate this pissed off.

“Tricia’s research?”

“What the fuck else would I be talking about? Do you have any idea what this could mean if she succeeds and it ends up in the owner’s hands? We’ll all be out of a fuckin’ job. There won’t be anyone on the field except perfect fuckin’ robots. We’ve got to put a stop to this. Now. Before she comes up with something concrete.”

“Whoa.” Royce held up a hand to stop Tony’s rant. “Stop right there.
We
aren’t going to do anything to stop Tricia’s research.” He waved his index finger between them. “
You and I
are going to wear her fuckin’ electrodes so she can collect whatever fuckin’ readings she wants. Then you’re going to stay the fuck away from her.”

“Seriously? Are you even listening to yourself? You’re so much in love with the woman, you can’t see what’s going on here.” Tony jabbed a finger in the center of Royce’s chest. “Fuckin’ management is using her research to screw us all out of our contracts.”

Royce was so hung up on Tony’s assertion he was in love with Tricia, he almost missed the last part of the man’s statement. “What the fuck are you talking about? You think management is using her?”

Ramirez explained his thoughts, ending with his belief that Dr. Reed was completely innocent in regards to his conspiracy theory.

Royce gripped the corner of the metal shelving to keep himself upright. “I should have seen it. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“Like I said, you’re in love with the woman.
She’s
all you can see right now.” Tony clapped Royce on the back. “I don’t blame you a bit. If I didn’t have Clare, I’d probably make a run at Tricia myself.”

Royce glared at the other man. “I am not in love or anything else with Dr. Reed.”