The Lucky Charm (The Portland Pioneers) (14 page)

She laughed at his almost-earnest expression. “A lot of people? Who exactly?”

Izzy was sure she’d stumped him because for half a moment, he looked nearly frantic, but before she could tell him so, he suddenly gave her a smooth, charming smile, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Toby. He practically has a heart attack whenever I get near one of his reporters.”

“Good point,” she had to concede. “He did freak out that one time.”

“About that…” Jack almost winced. “I feel like I should apologize.”

“For the interview?” She didn’t understand; she’d thought it went pretty well, regardless of the bomb she’d dropped on him about moving the team to Vegas. Actually, now that Izzy considered it, maybe she should be the one apologizing to
him
.

“No,” he said, suddenly looking very interested in the beat-up sneakers on his feet. “Not the interview. The whole damsel-in-distress thing.”

“You’re apologizing for catching me? You’re the only reason I didn’t fall on my butt, what is it, three times now?”

“Yeah, but that first time, I was kind of a jerk afterwards,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know that’s not me. I’m not that guy. Not usually, anyway.”

No, she was beginning to understand how he wasn’t
that
guy. He wasn’t a douchebag, but he wasn’t a saint either. In fact, he was just the right balance of cocky and crazy, sweet and sarcastic, and if she was being unpleasantly honest with herself, the combination was
really
attractive.

“You’re forgiven,” she said, hoping her words would dissipate the awkwardness growing between them, but they didn’t seem to make a dent.

“You want a tour?” he finally asked, and she could hear the tremble in his voice. It was even cuter that he was nervous.
You’re in big trouble here, Iz.

“A tour would be great. Like I said, it’s a gorgeous house.”

“Turn-of-the-century farmhouse.” He was all eagerness now. “I wanted to make sure we kept and restored the wood. Especially the floors.” She glanced down and was surprised at the beautiful patina of the wood.

“It’s the history,” he continued. “I just couldn’t destroy the history. Had to find a way to continue it. Add to it, I guess.”

She cocked her head to the side and contemplated him as they walked out of the family room and through the kitchen. “That’s a pretty old-fashioned idea,” she said.

“I’m a ballplayer. We’re pretty old-fashioned as a breed.” Defensiveness edged his voice.

“I like it,” Izzy admitted.
I like you.

Jack led her up the stairs and to her surprise, the upstairs had been broken down into basically two rooms—an expansive master suite and a media room. “I promised you a gigantic TV,” he joked. “Wouldn’t want to let you down.”

She gazed at the TV, which stretched over most of one wall. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to make up for something.”

“Well, we could always tour the bedroom next.” He grinned at her unrepentantly. “If you wanted.”

I do
, she nearly said,
take me there now. And then take me now.

His eyes grew impossibly bluer at her silence, and he took a hesitant step toward her, but a knock on the door interrupted them. “That was quick,” she said awkwardly, the moment broken.

“Grab the beer from the fridge, and I’ll get the pizza,” he called out as he descended the stairs.

“Where are we going?” she asked as she reached the empty kitchen. Jerking open the refrigerator door, she found a six pack of beer with a bottle missing on the middle shelf. She grabbed it and glanced out toward the front where she could hear Jack talking with whoever had just delivered the pizza.

Izzy paused, wondering if she should meet him in the entryway, but there was the basic fact that they’d avoided discussing—nobody could know they were friends. Jack might act like it was no big deal for them to hang out, but she knew better. Of course, when it came down to it, she’d be the one who paid the price for their friendship.

She heard the door close and Jack’s footsteps in the hall. His head popped around the corner. “What are you waiting for? We’ve only got a few more minutes.”

“For what?” she asked, a little exasperated with the secret he wouldn’t share.

“Patience, Dalton,” he teased. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Jack didn’t like that she was scared of anyone seeing them together. If he was being brutally honest, he also didn’t like that she refused to admit to anything other than platonic feelings. Yes, the risk might be on her side, he was more than ready to admit that, but what she didn’t know was the lengths he’d go to protect her. He’d never thought of himself as particularly protective, but there was something about her that made him want to be better.

“This is the strangest non date I’ve ever been on,” Izzy grumbled next to him as they walked down the gravel path. “You won’t even tell me where we’re going.”

“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.” Also, he was suddenly afraid that she’d be disappointed. This was one of his favorite spots to hang out, but when it came down to it, he didn’t know her all that well. He wanted to change that, but they had to start somewhere and he’d figured that the best way would be to give her something close to his heart.

What he hadn’t anticipated was how much putting himself out there sucked, especially when she kept pulling the just-friends card.

“I’m glad I changed,” she observed as the incline of the path grew steeper. “This would be a nightmare in heels.”

Jack glanced over at her—she’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt, an outfit almost identical to his, but he couldn’t help noticing the way the fabric clung to her slender curves. He wanted to tell her she looked more like
her
like this, and also that she looked beautiful, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

They reached the summit, and Izzy stopped in her tracks. A bench, wood with simple wrought-iron lines, stood on the crest of the hill, and stretched out in front of them was a view of the entire valley. The sun had just started to set, its rays touching everything in sight with dappled golden light.

“Wow,” she said quietly, setting down the beer she was carrying on the bench. She walked out toward the edge of his property, and hugged her arms around her chest. “It’s so beautiful.”

She was so absorbed by the setting sun that he figured he was safe enough. “It is,” he said, his eyes never leaving her. “Really beautiful.”

“This place is amazing,” she gushed, finally turning back to him with a smile that he knew he’d remember for a long time. Sleeping, waking, playing ball, he was pretty sure it would be burned onto his brain for maybe the next thousand years. And
he’d
made her feel that way.
He’d
given her that smile.

“I come here a lot. To think, mostly. It’s a nice, quiet place,” he said, dropping to the bench and setting the pizza down next to him. The leaves above him swayed with the breeze and he leaned back, enjoying the spring evening and her presence in his favorite place.

“And here I thought baseball wasn’t a thinking sport,” she teased, dropping down to the bench and opening the pizza box between them.

“It’s more than just one unmovable force hitting another, like football or hockey. There’s finesse in baseball,” he retorted, grabbing his own slice of pizza.

She chewed for a minute, glancing out at the sinking sun. “Are you telling me that quarterbacks don’t have any finesse?”

Shrugging, he grabbed a beer out of the cardboard carrier with his free hand. With a perfectly angled swipe, he smacked the cap against the edge of the bench. The cap hit the ground and he took a long gulp. “It’s not the same thing.”

“You think?” she asked with a smirk at the cap lying on the ground.

“I never said I had finesse with
everything.”

“You’ve had a lot of finesse lately,” she asked. “What’s been up with you and your current impression of Jack Bennett as Superman?”

“I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t ask me about that,” he said between bites of pizza.

Izzy shrugged, and grabbed a beer for herself. He was about to offer to perform the same
finesse
on it that he had on his own bottle, but she was too quick. Before he could even open his mouth, she’d dug her keys out of her pocket and had popped the cap off with an expert movement.

“College,” she said by way of explanation, and he wondered if it would be considered out of line for him to genuflect at her feet.

“Other than the fact that you hate baseball, I think you might be a perfect woman,” he said with a grin.

“Is that you avoiding the question?”

Jack took a swig of beer. “Everyone gets streaks. Up and down. Cycle of life.”

“I was actually wondering if you had anything more to say on superstitions.”

“Not really,” he said, even though he hated lying to her. “I meant what I said before. Superstitions are crap.”

“That means you haven’t done anything even remotely crazy to keep your streak going?”

He practically tasted the words in his mouth.
This, right here, right now, this is what’s keeping it going. You’re what keeps it going; keeps
me
going.
But he kept quiet and just shrugged.

“Awfully subdued for you,” Izzy pointed out. “From my research, I thought you were like the World’s Greatest Ego, or something.”

“You researched me?” he couldn’t help but ask with a knowing grin. “What kind of research?”

She punched his shoulder, but her smile was so bright he felt permanently blinded by it. In the best way possible. “Basic stuff. Same stuff I did on everyone else,” she said, but she couldn’t quite look him in the eye, and he had a feeling there’d been a lot more to it than she was fessing up to.

Which was perfectly fine with him. There was definitely an undercurrent between them, and as long as she wasn’t completely immune to him, he could work with that. Someday, she’d have to acknowledge what was brewing between them, but he was a patient guy and could wait until she felt more comfortable with the idea.

“So you’re not going to tell me?” she asked again, digging in the box for another slice of pizza.

He sighed and the irrational part of him wanted to confess that he was half convinced he’d struck out because he hadn’t actually talked to her in a week. “The lucky streak is great and all, but how can I crow about something that has nothing to do with me?”

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “Of course it has something to do with you. Or are you saying those three strikeouts today didn’t have anything to do with you?”

He nearly choked on his pizza. “Three strikeouts and a home run that won us the game, thank you very much.”

When he glanced over at her, her expression was pure, pristine innocence. “You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to let you know if I need mouth-to-mouth,” he grumbled.

She flushed and looked away, her fingers picking at the edge of the label on her beer. “Why are you so sure the streak will pass?”

“They always do,” he admitted. “And I’ll be honest, I’ll be glad when it does. Something bizarre about this one, the way we keep talking about things and then they happen. Honestly, that’s why I was firing up the mower today. I needed a distraction.”

“But I showed up and distracted you from your distraction,” Izzy said, and he could tell she was worried about it.

“Trust me, this is better.” He leaned back and tipped the beer bottle against his mouth. “Much better.”

CHAPTER TEN

M
onday morning felt like walking into the enemy camp. Izzy ducked her head low and tried not to look any of the production team in the eye as everyone gathered around the conference table for their weekly meeting. Despite the near impossibility, Izzy almost believed that what she’d done the day before must be written all over her face.

She’d had dinner
with Jack Bennett. While it had just been pizza and beer, he’d taken her somewhere totally personal and meaningful. If they hadn’t agreed to be just friends, it totally would have been a date.

Who was she kidding?
It had still been half a date.

“Earth to Izzy. You there?” Nearly terrified she’d been caught red handed with increasingly romantic images of Jack flashing through her head, Izzy jumped and turned to see Ina Rosen, Toby’s assistant standing there with an amused expression on her face.

She doesn’t know
, Izzy reminded herself,
nobody knows.
“Sorry,” she stammered apologetically. “Spaced out there for a moment.”

“Monday morning before a long road trip, I totally get it,” Ina said conspiratorially. “Can’t say I blame you much.”

“My first big road trip,” Izzy added with an enthusiasm so forced it was a wonder that nobody saw right through it. Or maybe Ina did because her face softened, and she drew her over to the corner of the conference room. More specifically, on the opposite side of the room from the donuts and coffee where the rest of the crew had camped out.

“Izzy,” she said, the note of sympathy in Ina’s voice speeding up her heart more than was probably healthy, “after the meeting, Toby wants to see you.”

“Oh.” This wasn’t unusual—she’d had lots of one-on-one time with Toby during spring training, while she’d still been getting up to speed—but the timing had Izzy’s pulse racing just a little faster.