Worth the Trade (More Than A Game) (2 page)

Please don’t let her notice.
She was his boss. The worst thing he could do would be to get all worked up trying to picture what kind of underwear she wore under her various shades of gray. Her loose-fitting charcoal pantsuit was a little on the drab side. Almost as if she’d borrowed it from her father’s closet. Her blouse, the color of fog, was buttoned up to the hollow of her throat. But it was just soft enough to hint at the womanly curves she was trying to hide.

Still, something about her drew him in. Her eyes were a warm, golden brown. Her hair was pulled back in some uptight updo, but a single loose strand that curled behind her right ear looked soft, silky, and entirely too touchable. Like the delicate skin of her neck. He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d respond to the lightest brush of his lips, right there. Would she shiver? Sigh? Moan?

He’d made the innuendo about her being his own personal welcoming committee. Talk about stupid. Just put her on the defensive. But it had also injected a charge into their interaction. A sexual energy that might have stayed under control if he hadn’t opened his big mouth.

This wasn’t the first time Marco had experienced lust at first sight. But usually it was for a woman who had all her feminine assets on display. Showcased in tight, revealing clothing. Flashing tons of makeup and broadcasting her availability for a night or two of fun.

Hunter was the opposite. The way she dressed was the least of it. She wore hardly any makeup. Her lips were bare. Pink, soft, and lush enough to make him wonder what she’d taste like. No artificial cherry-vanilla flavoring, or glossy chemical taste. Just pure, unenhanced woman.

Who was one hundred percent off limits.

“Well, thanks for picking me up.” He winced. Every word out of his mouth tonight dripped with sexual undertones. “From the airport. And…uh…thank you for bringing me to San Francisco. I’ll make it worth your while. You’ll see.”

“I’m counting on it.” She glanced down at his lap and quickly turned away, color spreading across her cheeks. Damn. She’d noticed the effect she had on him. “Are you going to get out of the car? Or should I tell the driver you’ve changed your mind?”

“I’m going. I’m going.” He slid away from her. Reached for the door to make his exit, but he couldn’t quite pull the handle.

“Have dinner with me?” Maybe it was jet lag. Sleep deprivation. Or some seismic anomaly affecting his brain waves. Maybe going more than six months without sex had been a really bad idea.

“I’m sure you’ll find plenty to eat at the post-game spread.” Did her hesitation mean she was rattled? “We have an excellent caterer.”

“No. I want
you
to have dinner with
me
.” He leaned toward her, knowing she’d deny him, but he wanted to linger near her a little bit longer.

“I can’t.” She squirmed, avoiding his gaze. “It would be a conflict of interest.”

“You’re only conflicted because you’re interested.” He kept his smile to himself. He was getting to her. Almost as much as she was getting to him. Even though she wasn’t at all his type. Or maybe she was, she just worked so damn hard trying to hide it.

“I’m only interested in winning the division and making a strong run in the postseason.” She turned her head to look out the window as if to show she was unaffected by the chemistry between them.

“Aren’t you a rotten liar?” He chuckled softly. Oh yeah, he was definitely getting to her. “Don’t join in the poker game at the next owners’ retreat. You’ll be wiped out.”

She whipped her head around so fast the car shook. “I happen to be a very good poker player. I can hold my own against anyone. Anytime.”

Interesting. Her strong reaction told him two things. She was insecure about her place among her fellow owners. And yes, she was interested in him on more than a professional level.

“That explains your wardrobe.” He leaned back, not ready to leave her just yet. “You dress like you do to fit in with the old boys’ club. But you can’t hide the fact that you are all woman.”

“And you can’t hide the fact that you don’t want to be here.” She dared look him straight in the eye, but couldn’t hold his gaze.

“I’m starting to come around.” He gave her one last smile. “I think I’m going to like San Francisco. I think I’m really going to like it here.”

Marco slid out of the seat and headed into the ballpark acting like he owned the place.

The game had ended by the time he got through security and onto the field. The Goliaths had held their lead and a good portion of the crowd lingered, singing along to Tony Bennett. One of the on-field reporters recognized him and rushed over to be the first to interview him.

Showtime.

“Rachel Parker here, with the newest member of the San Francisco Goliaths, Marco Santiago.” The crowd cheered, as word of his arrival spread and they played the interview on the scoreboard. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

“I sure did.” Marco flashed his million-dollar grin. He earned the rest of his salary with his bat and his glove. “I’m just so happy to be here. In this ballpark. With these fans. And this team… This team has a real good chance of going all the way. I can’t wait to get out on the field and make a contribution. To thank the ownership for bringing me here.”

“We’re happy to have you here in San Francisco.” The reporter was friendly, almost too perky. “What does your family think of the change?”

“I’m sure my mother will be happy for me.” Guilt hit him at the realization he hadn’t talked to her since the trade went down. She had to hear it on the news like everyone else. “But she’s always been proud of me.”

“You’re not married?” Was she asking for herself or all the single ladies who might be watching the broadcast?

“Just to my job.” He hoped she would drop the subject of his personal life. He didn’t have one. Didn’t want one. Not until he was settled more permanently. “My focus is on helping my team get to the postseason. The ownership and management took a chance on me. I won’t let them down. I won’t let the fans down.”

He didn’t want to let anyone down.

The rest of the night was a blur. He signed quite a few autographs, took tons of pictures, and introduced himself to his teammates. His manager, Juan Javier, made him feel welcome, as did the coaches, trainers, and support staff. It probably didn’t hurt showing up after a victory, when the whole ballpark was buzzing from the win.

The atmosphere had a much better vibe than in his former clubhouse these last few weeks. They weren’t officially out of it, but with such high expectations the season had been more than disappointing. When management started trading away all their star players it started to feel like they were giving up.
Rebuilding.
In other words, dumping big salaries and trying to salvage their financial asses.

He knew it was just business. Nothing personal. This trade had nothing to do with how anyone felt about him. The St. Louis owners thought they could make more money without him and the San Francisco group thought they could make more money with him. Hopefully they were both right.

But he felt bad for the fans. They’d embraced him in St. Louis. There were bound to be folks who felt let down. People who worked for a living and spent their hard earned money on seats in left field. It didn’t matter whether they made it to one game a year, or all eighty-one. The fans made signs, shouted his name. They bought the T-shirts, jerseys, and bobble heads not to add to the team’s profits, but because they loved their team. Because they wanted to be a part of something bigger than themselves.

Maybe he wasn’t too crazy about being traded once again. But now that he was here, he’d give it everything he had. For his teammates. For the fans. For the lovely Miss Hunter Collins.

* * * *

Since he couldn’t sleep, Marco pulled out his iPad. Good thing he’d kept it in his carry-on bag. After sending a quick e-mail to his mother letting her know he’d arrived safely in his latest temporary home, he decided to do some Internet research on his new team. Who was he kidding? He wanted to know more about his new owner. He hoped to satisfy his curiosity and move on. Instead, he became more and more intrigued by the woman as he watched her life unfold through a series of pictures, videos, and articles about the little girl who was raised by her single dad and the entire Goliaths organization.

What was he doing? Hunter Collins was his boss. Hadn’t his family suffered enough at the hands of an employer who’d taken advantage of his employee? He couldn’t risk it. No matter how much he wanted her. He’d be a free agent at the end of the season, looking for a team he could finish his career with. He had to make a good impression. On the field. Only on the field. He didn’t need any distractions. Especially not one with the power to end his career right when he was hitting his prime playing years.

Still, he went to a little extra trouble with his appearance the next day before heading to the ballpark. He put on his best semi-casual dress shirt. The one that made his eyes bluer than a summer sky. Or so he’d been told. And not only by the salesgirl who sold him the overpriced garment. He spent a good half hour debating whether to shave or go with the scruffy look. He shaved. Since he was starting with a new team, he decided his face needed a fresh start.

Besides, it’s not like they were going to hop into bed right away. No. He liked to take his time. Get to know a woman. Draw out the seduction over a period of weeks. Some guys preferred the easy in, easy out approach to relationships. But a woman wasn’t a drive up window. He didn’t want to just toss her aside after a quick taste. He liked to savor a woman. Leave her with no regrets tainting the memories they’d made.

He wondered what kind of memories he could make with Hunter Collins. She was different than any of the women he usually dated. For one thing, she wouldn’t be impressed by what he did for a living. She was around professional athletes all the time. She’d surely known too many ballplayers who thought they were God’s gift. He’d need to show her how he was different from every other man in that dugout.

What an idiot
. He probably wouldn’t even see her. It’s not like she’d be hanging out in the clubhouse. If she even came to the game, she’d be sitting pretty in a luxury box, looking out over her investment. He’d do well to remember she was an owner. She was only interested in him because he could make her money. He should only be interested in her signature on his paychecks.

He needed to focus on getting ready for his first game as a Goliath. He needed to prove he was worth the trade. This was his fourth team since making it to the majors. He hoped it would be his last. He’d spent far too much of his life moving around. As a kid. Again in the minors. When he was drafted in the second round, he thought he’d finally found a home. Texas would keep him around. People loved the local boy makes good story.

But he’d quickly learned that baseball was more than the national pastime. It was a business. Big, big business. Loyalty only went as far as the bottom line. And the investors were restless. Every team started the season hoping this would be their year. For the twenty-eight clubs who didn’t make it to the big dance, someone was to blame. Players were shuffled. Free-agents signed. Salaries taken on and dumped. All in the hopes of a share of the postseason pool.

Marco had been called up, sent down, brought back up, and traded three times in the last six years. In the process, he’d become somewhat of a streaky player. One who could turbocharge the lineup for weeks at a time. Then he’d hit a plateau. His average would dip. Run production taper off. And the pressure would get to him. He tried not to listen to the talk shows or read the blogs. But he knew what they were saying about him. Knew it was only a matter of time before someone else started looking better.

He needed to make sure that for the last two months of this season, the grass was greenest in left field beneath his feet.

* * * *

Marco went about his usual pregame routine. He’d eaten two bananas, a peanut butter and honey sandwich on whole-wheat, and washed it down with a quart of chocolate milk. He filled his back pocket with sunflower seeds and put on his new jersey—number 9. After donning his new cap, and picking up his trusty glove, he headed out to the field.

Standing on the sidelines, hat over his heart, he took in the sights and sounds of the ballpark as the national anthem rang out over the loudspeakers. He closed his eyes, letting the words and the music fill him. He knew how fortunate he was to be standing here instead of on the street outside the stadium. He could easily be the guy cleaning up after the game, instead of the guy hitting cleanup.

When the song ended, he happened to glance into the stands. Hunter Collins sat behind home plate. She caught his eye, held his gaze for a moment, and then tried to busy herself with the scorebook on her lap. But she dropped it. He was close enough to notice a blush creep across her cheeks.