Worth the Trade (More Than A Game) (6 page)

“So why did you quit?” There was something in Johnny’s voice that made Marco think he was leading him somewhere.

“I didn’t love it.” Marco shrugged, still not sure what soccer had to do with his problem with Hunter. “I knew baseball was it for me.”

“But you could have kept playing soccer, right? You might have been really good.”

“True. But why take a spot away from someone who really wanted it?”

“Why be with a woman if she’s not the one you really want?” Johnny asked.

Okay, he got the picture now. Mostly.

“I don’t know, man. If I got cut from the baseball team, I might have taken up another sport. How’d you do it knowing you couldn’t have her? It would be like if you’d quit after throwing your perfect game, knowing you’d give up a hit again.”

Johnny folded his hands behind his head. “I guess you could say I gave up on women, but I never really gave up on Alice. My secret, or whatever, was to channel it all into my game. The night I threw the perfect game? It would have been her tenth wedding anniversary.”

“Really?” Marco was even more impressed now.

“Yeah. So I did the only thing I knew how to do, I pitched my heart out.” Johnny chuckled. “Good thing I had some of it left when I found out she was no longer married.”

“I think I will take a look at your apartment tomorrow.” Marco felt a little like he’d walked in on a private moment. Johnny’s very public perfect game had a personal meaning behind it. “But call me when you’re ready. You need to spend time with your wife.”

“Don’t worry. We’re pretty good at making up for lost time.” He grinned, obviously looking forward to reuniting with Mrs. Scottsdale. “So tell me, is there someone back in St. Louis? Someone you’re trying to figure out if she’s more like baseball or soccer?”

“No. Not in St. Louis. Or Florida or Texas.” Marco couldn’t admit that he was hung up on a woman he couldn’t have. He knew she wasn’t like soccer, just a way to get his kicks. But he didn’t know if Hunter could be it for him. Could she be more to him than the game itself?

* * * *

The road trip hadn’t been a total disaster. They hadn’t lost any ground. But they hadn’t gained any. Every time the Goliaths won, so did their rivals. Every time L.A. lost a game, San Francisco dropped one, too.

Hunter was getting anxious as the remaining games became fewer and fewer in number. It was still too early for either team to start thinking about the magic number—that mathematical combination of wins by the leading team, losses by the second place team, and games left to play—but the tension was mounting.

She’d feel a lot better when the team was back on home soil. More in control of things. The players each had their own pregame rituals, and she had hers. Intellectually, she knew it didn’t change the outcome of the game if she didn’t line up the bobbleheads in her office just so, or forget to pat the large foam finger proclaiming
We’re #1!
as she left the office for the day. She knew turning her broom bristle side up after winning the first two games of a series wouldn’t guarantee a sweep, but she did it anyway. It couldn’t hurt.

And maybe, just maybe, a little pregame warm-up might be necessary to get Marco Santiago out of his slump.

She’d known the man ten days. And after tossing and turning in her bed for ten nights, she realized she couldn’t deny the attraction that sizzled between them. He’d made it very clear that he was game for a little outside the park action. She’d shut him down. And he’d admitted that her denial was at least contributing to his lack of production at the plate.

She decided she couldn’t deny him any longer. She couldn’t deny herself any longer either. It had been more than two years since she’d last gone out on a date. Since her father’s cancer had returned. She didn’t want to think about how long it had been since she’d last had sex.

She wasn’t a prude or anything, it was just that most of the men she’d gone out with didn’t really do it for her. They were nice, decent men. On paper, just what she was looking for. But she hadn’t felt that spark. That sizzle. That something extra that went beyond stats.

Until she looked into Marco Santiago’s eyes. She felt it then, the hyper-awareness, that same nervous anticipation she felt when the Goliaths held the lead in the bottom of the ninth and they were down to the last strike.

She felt it so much that she’d filled a prescription for birth control pills, picked up an extra-large sized package of condoms, and put fresh sheets on her bed.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to seduce the sexiest man in baseball.

She drove to the ballpark to meet the team bus. Most of the players left their cars in the secure players’ lot, rather than the airport’s long-term parking. Many of the wives and families who lived in the area would meet the team bus. There were always a few fans who stood just outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of their heroes and let them know they’d been missed while on the road. There were usually large crowds after a long road trip or an important series.

Hunter stood off to the side. She didn’t feel like she belonged with the players’ wives and girlfriends. Even if they knew who she was, it didn’t mean they would accept her into their circle. She was just their husband’s or boyfriend’s boss.

Besides, this was their time. Time to welcome home the men they loved. The men with whom they shared a life outside of baseball.

As she watched couple after couple reunite, Hunter felt a pang of loneliness that went deeper than just not having a man in her life. She missed her father. The thought of going back to her empty house was almost unbearable.

He’d died not long after opening day. She’d known it was coming, but it still hit her pretty hard. She was grateful he’d hung in there until after the season started. So she’d have something to focus on other than her grief. She could surround herself with her team. Her family. The only family she had left.

Alice Scottsdale approached her as they waited for the bus to unload.

 
“I don’t know if you remember me, we met a few times through my work with the Harrison Foundation.”

“Of course, I remember you. And congratulations.” Hunter hoped her smile hid her feelings of envy. “On your marriage. The baby. Everything.”

“Thank you.” The other woman actually glowed with happiness. “I wanted to extend my condolences. Your father was a good man. I enjoyed working with him through the foundation.”

Hunter couldn’t speak past the familiar lump in her throat. Grief was something that would sometimes hit her all of a sudden. She tried to push the feelings aside. To save them for the offseason. She didn’t have time to deal with it now, she had a team to run. Too many people were counting on her. Not just the players, but also coaches and support staff. Even the people who worked at the ballpark—the concessioners, ushers, and parking lot attendants—all needed the Goliaths to be successful.

She had nightmares of losing control of her team. Of someone like Clayton Barry running the franchise into the ground or deciding it would be more profitable to try and move the team. She couldn’t let that happen.

“I’ve always been impressed with the way you’ve run things from the top down. The Goliaths have always been a first class organization.” Alice was talking to her, but her focus was on the bus. “And I know that this team means more to you than just a business.”

“This team is all I have left.” Hunter didn’t mean to say that out loud. Even if it was true. “What I mean is, this team is like my family. I grew up around these guys. Well, not these guys. But the men who came before them. It was like having twenty-five brothers who all looked out for me. Only now, I’m the one looking out for them.”

“And you are doing a great job.” Alice put her hand on Hunter’s shoulder, but then her attention was drawn to the last two players to emerge from the team bus, Scottsdale and Santiago.

Chapter 4

As the last man off the bus, Marco was forced to watch his teammate fling himself into the arms of his awaiting bride. The woman who had been the force behind The Monk’s success this season.

Marco was almost able to brush away the envy. But standing next to Mrs. Scottsdale, was the one woman he was determined to forget. Hunter Collins.

What the hell was she doing here?

Other than the fact that it was her team, her bus, and her ballpark. Hell, for all he knew, she owned half the city. Including him.

Maybe he could slip past her. Get a cab back to the hotel and take the world’s longest, coldest shower.

“Marco.” Too late. She’d spotted him.

“Polo.” He tried to joke. To pretend her rejection hadn’t hurt. Hadn’t messed with his mind.

“Can I give you a ride to your hotel?” She smiled. A real, open and warm smile. Warning bells sounded in his head. He should run the other way. Catch a ride on the Muni. Walk. Take a cable car or hitchhike.

“Sure. Why not?” Damn. He wished he had his Mustang. Then he could drive his own sad self to the hotel. But it was still in St. Louis. Apparently along with his pride and his ability to hit a fastball.

“Great.” She smiled again. He wanted to go running to The Monk. To have the other man teach him the ways of the celibate competitor. But The Monk had his arms wrapped around his wife.

Marco shouldered his bag, following Hunter like a lemming going off to certain demise but unable to help himself.

She walked across the parking lot with determined steps. He supposed if she’d wanted him to get back on a plane to St. Louis, she would have met him at the airport. When she stopped in front of a red Mini Cooper convertible and disabled the alarm, he threw his head back and laughed.

“What?” She spun around so fast that a few strands of hair shook loose from her uptight hairdo.

“I just never would have matched you with this car.” It was red. And fast. And kind of sexy in an offbeat sort of way. “I would have pictured you as a BMW, Mercedes or… I don’t know, a Bentley kind of girl.”

“A Bentley?” She drew her brows together. She was cute. And far too sexy. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. Almost forgetting the vow he’d made to himself. The vow of forgetting her. “It seemed like a good guess. When you’re not riding around in a limo.”

“It’s fun to drive.” She didn’t really need to defend her vehicle choice, but she did anyway. “Easy to park, and on those really fabulous Northern California days, there’s nothing like driving a convertible up the coast.”

“But it’s red.” He swept his gaze over her gray pantsuit and ivory blouse and black shoes. Her outfit made the red car seem that much brighter. And it made him wonder even more if she was hiding something. The image of a red lace bra and matching panties popped into his head. He had to shove that thought down deep into his subconscious. He was only asking for trouble by even imagining it.

“Yes. It’s red.” She placed her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I was starting to think you were color blind.” He walked around to the back of the car. “Is this open?”

She opened the tailgate so he could toss his duffel bag inside. She slammed it closed and marched around the front of the car. Great. He’d pissed her off. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe she’d stop trying to help him.

“Thanks for the ride.” He squeezed himself into the front passenger seat. At six-four, he wasn’t exactly comfortable in the compact car. Another inch and he’d need to ask her to put the top down. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She didn’t even look at him as she put the car into reverse. “Sorry it’s not in a Bentley.”

“Look, I like the car. It’s cute.” He shifted, trying to get comfortable. Trying to keep from putting his foot in his mouth, but that seemed to be the only place it fit.

“Cute? Huh? What do you drive?”

“A Mustang.” At least she was still talking to him. “A ’65 classic.”

“Convertible?”

“Of course.” Something they actually had in common. They both understood the amazing freedom of hitting the open road with the wind in their hair.

Hunter laughed as she maneuvered her little car around the city streets. She zipped around obstacles and whipped through traffic like Matt Damon in the
Bourne Identity
. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Of course, her knees weren’t pressed against her chest and she wasn’t fighting a most unwelcome erection.

Finally she pulled up in front of his hotel. Marco bit back an invitation for her to join him. He already knew he’d strike out. Again. He’d had enough of that at the plate. So with a heavy heart and too tight jeans, he unfolded himself from the passenger seat. He stretched before he headed around to retrieve his luggage.