Throwing Heat: A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel (17 page)

It was going to be spectacular.

If she’d had the idea of jumping him like a trampoline the day after the bet ended, well that was her secret. So was the fact that thoughts of
what
if
had drifted across her mind once or twice, or maybe a dozen times.

Her phone rang and she snatched it up, answering as she climbed into her Mini. She set the gift bag she was carrying on the passenger seat and said into the speaker, “Leslie Cutter.”

“Hey, sis. Lorelei wanted me to call and double-check that you had the correct directions to our place. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that she might have written it down wrong for you.” Her brother sounded happy and that made her heart smile. He and Lorelei were having a housewarming party to celebrate their new home.

“I think I remember how to get there on my own, actually. Lorelei took me there a few weeks ago right after y’all had closed on it, remember? But here, hold on a minute and I’ll read them off to you.” Leslie rifled through her oversized hobo purse and found the scrap of paper the directions were scribbled on.

She relayed the directions quickly and Mark replied, “You got it!”

Well
,
sure
. Women actually knew how to copy down directions. They didn’t just set off into the great unknown hell-bent on figuring it out for themselves using the sun and a piece of string as guides.

One time back in high school, she and Mark had wound up lost and out of gas in Florida’s backwoods in their dad’s old Buick. All because Mark had insisted that he knew the way to Tammy Lynette’s pig farm where there was a kegger waiting and had refused to stop and ask for directions when all the gravel roads had started to look the same.

They slept in the Buick that night and woke the next morning to the greeting of a six-foot snake on the hood of their car and had two very irate parents when they got home.

Leslie shook her head, amused now at the memory. “I’m just leaving Peter’s place, so I should be there in forty-five minutes or so.”

Mark grunted. It was his non-verbal form of
gotcha
. “See you soon.”

She started the car and pulled on her seatbelt. “Yeah.”

About to hang up, she stopped when Mark asked, “So how is Peter treating you since you’ve been staying at his place?”

Um . . .
“He’s been great.”

Mark’s voice took on a tone that meant he didn’t believe her. “What’s going on? Is he giving you a hard time?”

She snorted. She couldn’t help it.
Hard time
.

Leslie wished he was giving her a hard time.
After
she won the bet. “No, he’s been great.”

Her brother seemed to relax and his voice became less sharp. “Okay. Let me know if he steps out of line though, you hear?”

“I’m a grown woman. I can handle my own life.” Her conscience nipped at her, pointing out that given her current situation it wasn’t so apparent that she could handle it. And
then
it said that she was only in her current situation because her life had been soundly ruined in the first place. She wanted to smack her stupid conscience for reminding her.

He must have heard the mounting tension in her voice because he replied, “I know. It’s just that I know Pete too.”

“I hear you. Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.” It felt good to know that somebody cared.

She and Mark talked for another minute as she backed out of the garage and pulled onto the road. Then they hung up and she was left with a quiet, cozy car and the open road. For the next half hour she cruised out of Denver and then hopped on Highway 287, which would take her the rest of the way to Lafayette, where Mark and Lorelei now resided.

Just north of the town, tons of open land sprawled, with the Rockies standing sentry to the West. It was beautiful, all the gently rolling hills. She could see why they’d fallen in love with the location. So much breathing room.

Coming to her turnoff, Leslie slowed her Mini and whipped around the turn, grinning. Her baby cornered like a golf cart. Slinging it around corners was just so much fun.

Slowing as another smaller, tighter turn appeared before her, Leslie scanned the directions again very briefly and took the hard left. Alpine Road. She’d found it. Downshifting, she took that corner at a conservative speed and smiled happily as she passed a pasture full of horses.

Leslie turned down the gravel road to her brother’s new place, enjoying the way the house came into view through the trees, their bold autumn colors framing the huge farmhouse beautifully. About twenty or so cars were already parked here and there, most just pulled off into the grass by the side of the drive. Scanning the vehicles, Leslie released a tense breath, unaware that she’d even been holding it.

There was no yellow FJ Cruiser.

Trying to ignore the relief that coursed through her, because if she acknowledged it, it would mean that there was something she had been stressing about, Leslie found a place to park in front of a big, old-fashioned red barn. She grinned and felt warm fuzzies fill her when a small, fluffy, white-and-gray kitten waddled out of the cracked-open door and meowed at her. Instantly in love, she climbed out and grabbed the gift bag, eyes locked on the furry little heart-stealer.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she crooned and crouched down, crooking her finger at the kitten.

The fat little thing let out a tiny cry and hurried over to her, obviously a little lonely and in need of some affection. “You’ve found the right girl,” she said and ran a finger down the kitten’s downy-soft head.

She was so completely, hopelessly infatuated with her new acquaintance that she didn’t hear the door to the barn creak open. She was lost in the feel of the kitten’s soft, round belly as she gave it a good rub, so she jumped when a boy’s voice cut through her bubble of love. “Isn’t she the most adorable kitten ever in the whole entire world?”

It was Charlie, in a gray hoodie and jeans.

“I saw that somebody had put out a ton of food for them. There’s two more inside, but they’re still scared and hiding behind the hay bales.” Sweet, blue eyes turned to her and Charlie bent his head to the side and asked, “Do you want one of them? Lorelei said that I could have one if Mom agrees, and I bet she’d give you one too if you want.”

“No thanks,” she said instantly. When would she have time to take care of a kitten? Her life was so busy as it was. “Oh don’t you look at me like that, missy,” she chided down at the kitten, feeling guilty. What was the use?

She was such a sucker. Little miss was going home with her. The decision made, Leslie gently set the kitten on the ground and stood up. Then she grabbed the gift bag full of baking goodies for Lorelei and said, “Let’s leave them for now and we’ll come back later. How’s that sound, Charlie?”

The boy gave her a sunny smile and nodded, his blue eyes sparkling. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

It was the story of her life.

Charlie put his kitten down on the ground next to hers and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. “Wanna go inside?” he asked, his gaze turning to the big blue-gray two-story house with the wraparound porch.

She tossed her arm over his shoulders and replied, “Sure, kid. Let’s go see if there’s anything good to eat.” Mark had promised to grill up a couple tri-tips and she had a hankering.

He grinned up at her happily. “My mom made her homemade apple pie. It’s world famous.”

Leslie felt her stomach growl and said, “Sounds awesome.”

They had just stepped across the gravel drive to the huge expanse of front lawn when the sound of a vehicle grabbed their attention. They turned around together to look, her arm still slung over the kids’ shoulder and her smile froze on her lips.

Coming down the drive, making its way toward them, was a bright yellow FJ Cruiser. Fantastic. Awesome.

Crap
.

Peter had arrived.

Chapter Sixteen

P
ETER STEERED HIS
SUV around the bend, enjoying the view until he spotted Leslie on the front lawn. Then his smile of appreciation turned into a frown and his good mood immediately plummeted. Now that he knew that
she
knew the whole sordid truth, he’d avoided her to the best of his ability, bet be damned.

Humiliation, embarrassment, a slap to his manhood—call it whatever, he didn’t care. He felt unmanned. Like he’d plucked off his balls and just handed them to her with a big dumb frigging smile on his face.
Here you go, sweets. Why don’t you just keep those for a while? I don’t need ’em.

What kind of dumb-shit guy couldn’t do the nasty when he had the hottest woman on the planet naked and begging for it underneath him? It still grated. After all these years it grated every frigging bit as much as it did the night the whole damn thing had happened.

She was his fantasy. He just didn’t get it. It should have gone down in the record books as the best night of his life, not the most degrading.

Peter climbed out of his Cruiser just in time to see Leslie turn with Charlie and walk up the front steps into the house. Which was just fine with him. He’d rather not have to talk to her until he’d regained some shred of masculinity back.

Carl Brexler and José Caldera came around the side of the house just then carrying a Wiffle bat and ball. When they spotted Peter, Carl hollered, “Hey, Walskie. You up for a game of Wiffle ball? Mark’s got a diamond set up out back and a bunch of us are playing.”

Sounded fun, like a great way to keep up this whole
avoiding
Leslie
thing he had going.

“I’m in. Just let me take this inside.” He held up the bamboo plant he was carrying. He’d brought it for the new homeowners because it was supposed to bring good luck. “Who’s manning the grill today?”

Usually get-togethers like this happened at his place, and he got to put on his chef’s hat and play grill-master. It was kind of his thing. The last two soirees had been way memorable though, and not in the best way. There’d been more drama than a Greek play. He’d been thinking that he should maybe lay off the party-hosting for a while, so this was great.

But it was a bummer about the steaks. Considering that grilling meat over an open flame while he nursed a brewskie was the only thing he could do in the kitchen realm with any measure of success, he tended to take his duties seriously. He had the apron and everything to prove it. If it happened to have a crude slogan about cooking his meat on it with a highly inappropriate image, so what? He was the master.

Climbing the wraparound porch, Peter opened the door and stepped inside. Players and their families milled about the spacious, traditional farmhouse with moving boxes piled high in the corners. He stopped in the entryway, took off his coat, and hung it on the coat rack.

Mark walked by just then from the half-unpacked living room, carrying a baseball mitt in his hand, and grinned when he spotted Peter. “Welcome to my new pad, man. Give me a few minutes and I’ll take you on the official tour. Paulson is whining about his hands like a girl so I’m gonna run this out to him. I’ll be right back.” He took two steps and stopped, glanced back over his shoulder at Peter. “You brought your Gibson right?”

Peter just raised a brow and gave him a
brother, please
look and the catcher laughed good-naturedly. “Yeah, forgot who I was talking to for a second.”

He actually kept a second guitar in his SUV, just in case. He never knew when the mood was going to strike him and he’d want to fiddle. Which was pretty much any time he wasn’t playing baseball.

“I want in on the game, so how about we do the tour later and go humiliate Paulson now?” He’d just caught sight of Leslie’s straight blonde hair through the doorway, so it seemed like a real good time to go check out the backyard.

Someone hollered for Mark and he recognized JP’s voice. “Put a hustle on, Cutter! We’re all waiting.”

Mark frowned and yelled back, “Tell Paulson to stop being a wussy! I’ll be there in a minute.”

They made their way through the crowd and Peter tried not to think about just how hard it was and how much effort he was putting into ignoring Leslie. She was everywhere. They went right through the wide archway into the kitchen and she was already in there swapping recipes with Lorelei and Sonny.

And when he and Mark finally made it into the backyard she was already there, too, her hair slicked back in a low ponytail while she took a swing with the Wiffle bat. He couldn’t help watching the way her hips spun when she swung the plastic yellow bat, and it made him think of the way her hips had ground and rotated on the bar the other night when he’d had his tongue on her. The memory brought him to full painful attention, and he raked a hand through his hair and blew out a breath.

The woman was going to be the death of him.

“Hey, Walskie. What do you say to a friendly wager?” inquired Drake as he sauntered up with a toddler about three years old, squealing and laughing while he carried him tucked under his arm like a football.

“Again!” the little boy demanded excitedly when the big veteran tried to set him on the ground.

Drake shook his head at their teammate Ken Jenkins’s son and said, “Not until I sort out some important business, little man. Go jump on JP and tell him to give you a ride.” He pointed across the bare late October lawn to where the shortstop was talking shop with Carl and José. Every few minutes he’d look around the yard, and when he spotted Sonny he’d relax and his smile would go content and easy.

“Okay!” the toddler exclaimed and ran off across the crunchy grass as fast as his chubby legs would take him.

Peter watched him go with amusement. The little kid ran like a windmill, arms churning for momentum. It was actually kind of cute.

Turning his gaze from something cute to something ugly, he looked at Drake and smirked, “What’s this friendly wager?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Leslie walk past as the backyard ball game was getting ready to resume. She had her nose in the air and was trying real hard to pretend that she wasn’t eavesdropping. But he knew her way too well by now. He guaranteed she was listening.