CHAPTER ONE
Kane
“Hey, Kane, you made the front page… again.”
A magazine was slammed into my chest before I even registered the words, halting me from a semi-jog. I didn’t want to look because I didn’t want to know what lies the gossip mill would be spitting out about me today. I glanced over to Joey Something-or-other, the newspaper stand dude outside my building.
“Is it bad?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Joey just smirked.
Yeah, it’s bad.
Against my better judgment, I looked down at the vile rag. There was a full-color picture of me on the front, a gorgeous woman on my lap. “Beasts’ First Baseman Kane Steele Hits Homerun with Porn Star.”
What the hell?
Chelsie was — is? — in porn?
I was so screwed.
Not only by the New York Beasts owner and my boss, Rhett Hamilton, but by my…
My phone vibrated, and I looked at the screen.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Speak of the Chanel-wearing devil.
I stared at the name, debating on whether to answer or not. If I didn’t, she’d just call back… again and again… and again. Or jump on her personal jet…
Fuck me standing.
Well, that was what got me into this mess. I’d fucked the icy blonde with the full lips and huge rack while standing, sitting, practically upside down. Chelsie was a total Tasmanian devil in bed. Now I knew why.
Tossing the magazine in the trash, I tapped the damn green button, praying to whatever god whose job it was to look over drunks and idiots to intercede.
“Hi, Nana,” I said in my most cheerful voice, “how is the most gorgeous and remarkable grandmother who ever lived?”
“Kane Bartholomew Steele!”
I stifled a groan. This was going to be worse than I thought. When Nana brought out the “B” word, I was toast.
“A porn star? Of all the beautiful and sophisticated ladies in New York City, you have to go… lay with a woman who has relations for a living?”
A flood of love ran through me, even as I listened to her scathing tone. Lay? Relations? Those words perfectly reflected my grandmother. A rich California socialite dripping diamonds and Chanel No. 5. God, I missed her. Even now when she was about to verbally spank me.
“Nana—”
“Don’t you Nana me, young man. Your grandfather is probably rolling over in his grave right now.”
Grandpa is probably dreaming of rolling around with a porn star in his grave right now is more like it.
“You are bound and determined to smear your family’s good name,” she continued without taking a breath. “First, you put aside your duties to play baseball.” She practically spat the last word out of her mouth as if it tasted dirty. “When your father dies, who will be at the helm of the company your grandfather and great-grandfather slaved over all these years?”
Oh, shit. Here comes the guilt.
“Nana, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was in the business. She’s a very nice—”
“Harlot?”
I nearly laughed out loud.
“Woman, Nana. She seemed like a very nice woman.”
“Hmph.”
That was Nana’s go-to sound of disgust. She didn’t use it often because it wasn’t very ladylike, but she was using it now with what sounded like a megaphone blaring through my phone’s speakers.
“Do you plan on seeing this nice woman again, Kane Bartholomew?”
I cringed. I was still in a deep well of trouble.
“No, Nana. It was one…” night of pure unadulterated gymnastic-style sex with an apparent pro, “…meeting.”
She hmphs again. “That is excellent news and somewhat puts my mind at ease, but let me explain one thing to you, young man. I will not condone you continuing to flit your life away like this. You are better than this. You deserve better than this. So do the people who love you. Please, Kane, come home and take your rightful place in the family.”
I rolled my eyes. You’d think I was ascending a throne or something.
“I will, Nana. I promised you, Mom, and Dad that I’d give the majors five years then come back to California and get to work. This is my first year, so cut me some slack.”
She sighed dramatically. “Well, if you hadn’t languished for so long in the minors, this would have been the third year, and we’d have you back soon.”
Now, I was getting pissed. I’d worked my ass off in the minors, trying to prove my worth. So, I hadn’t been one of the lucky shits to go straight to the bigs right out of college, but I’d fought my way up in the ranks and earned the contract I received. And I didn’t use my family money either. Even now, most of the guys had no idea that my family was worth billions.
If I can keep my damn name out of the damn tabloids, that would help keep my wealth on the down low.
“Nana, let’s not go over this again. This is my dream. I’m living it. Loving it. When I turn thirty, I’ll come home and live yours.”
The silence stretched between us. “Very well. Just please find a good girl and stop embarrassing your family with your wild ways. Is that too much to ask?”
I blew out a breath. “I’ll do my best to not cause you any additional suffering.” I even managed to keep the sarcasm out of the words.
“That, young man, would be greatly appreciated. Now to change the subject from that unpalatable business… are you sure you won’t escort me to the children’s hospital gala next Saturday? I’m sure there will be many promising candidates there.”
I bit back a groan. I’d already checked the dates, and we didn’t have a game that night, but I absolutely did not want to put on a monkey suit and sip champagne with a bunch of geezers who covertly boasted about their portfolio. “Sorry, Nana. But I do want to see you, Mom, and Dad while you’re in town. Want to come to a game?”
She sniffed. “Maybe brunch before we fly out Sunday afternoon?”
“It’s a date. I’ll make reservations and connect with Saundra to confirm time and place.”
I couldn’t help but grin each time I thought about my grandmother’s seventy-six-year-old personal assistant. What eighty-three-year-old needed a PA anyway?
“That sounds lovely, my dear.”
Whew. I’m forgiven.
“Bye, Nana. Love you.”
She sighed. “I love you too.”
I went to tap the red button but paused when I heard her mutter on the still open line. “Men. They’d have better luck thinking with their assholes than their dicks.”
Nana!
It was the first time I’d ever heard my grandmother curse. Before I could call her on it, the line went dead, and I could imagine her scowling at the antique gold-plated baroque-style telephone she always used, her manicured fingertips tapping the original Louis XV table it graced in the parlor of the Steele family mansion.
I was still smiling when my phone vibrated in my hand. The smile faded when a text message appeared from Rhett Hamilton.
Rhett: A porn star? You have a meeting with Katrina at 2 to discuss PR control.
Great. Now I’d get to discuss my sex life with the Beasts’ public relations director. At least it was Katrina Delaney now and not that bitch Lana from earlier this year. Katrina, I could handle. She had already dealt with her own personal scandal, so she probably wouldn’t judge me too harshly for mine.
Me: I’ll be there. And sorry for the bad PR. I didn’t know who she was until I just read about it.
Rhett: Do you need to make an appointment with team physician? STD panel?
Holy fucking shit.
Me: No. Not stupid. Strapped up tight.
Rhett: That’s what Ace thought before Little Ace came along.
I pressed my knuckle into my eyeball. This was fucking embarrassing, but he’d brought up a good point. An STD panel might not be a bad thing. There was the woman from last night, and God knows how many men she’d been with before. Then the groupie two nights ago. Then…
Dammit. I was turning into Ace Newman, man-whore extraordinaire. Well, the Ace Newman before settling down with Holly and having a baby. The badass shortstop was an ooey gooey lump of family man now.
Me: I’ll take care of it.
Rhett: Good. Not to sound like a daddy, but I dropped sixteen million on your ass. Don’t need syphilis rattling your brain.
I was so glad we weren’t having this conversation face-to-face.
Me: Copy that and agreed.
Rhett: Focus on breaking this losing streak instead of pussy.
Dammit. Nothing mattered more to me than winning and taking advantage of the five years of freedom I’d been granted, and it pissed me off that my boss thought differently.
Me: Absolutely. We’ll get back on track.
I stared at my screen, waiting for his reply. When nothing came, I shoved my phone deep in my pocket, daring the damn thing to vibrate again. I started jogging, which was why I was out on the sidewalk to begin with, needing to loosen up my muscles after last night’s sex-a-thon. “See, Rhett,” I mumbled to myself as I picked up speed, “I’m focused.”
So far this season, we’d played one hundred and forty games. Up until two weeks ago, we’d won a shit ton of them. Then we hit a slump, and dammit, we were still slumped. Bad. We’d lost eleven straight games. If we didn’t pull our shit together, we wouldn’t even make it as a wildcard, let alone a contender to the playoffs.
My phone vibrated again. Dammit. What now?
I considered ignoring it but wasn’t a “put off until later what you can do now” kind of guy.
Stopping, I moved out of the way and into the mouth of an alley. Dreading looking at the screen, I scowled at the unknown number but tapped the glass to pull up the text.
Unknown: Last night was the bomb. Ready for round two? I’m free tonight☺
Oh hell no. It was Chelsie.
Me: Did you see front page of Behind the Scenes?
Chelsie: Yes!!! ☺ It’s on all the major websites now. My agent is thrilled. Already booked two new gigs!!
I stared at my phone. Un-freakin-believable. And how did she get this number?
Me: Congratulations?
Was there an emoji for sarcasm? I wasn’t sure.
Chelsie: Thanks! <3 What about tonight?
Me: No but good luck with your life.
With some quick actions of my thumbs, I blocked her number and powered off my phone before I threw the damn thing against the wall.
Jamming it back into my pocket, I turned and ran straight into someone, reaching out to steady them — her — after nearly knocking her down.
“Oops,” she said, the bright smile not leaving her face as her blue eyes met mine.
Damn. It was like staring into the sky on a sunny day.
She blushed, and the freckles on her nose seemed to grow darker. But before I could say a word, she darted around me and continued down the alley.
Where was she going?
“Hi, Joseph,” I heard her say but didn’t see anyone in the dim light. A dog jumped out from behind a dumpster, its tail wagging in delight. She squatted down and reached into one of the large canvas bags she carried, patting the dog on its head. “Hi, Target. Have you been a good boy? Ready for some breakfast?”
Stepping back so she wouldn’t see me hovering like some psycho stalker, I looked around the corner to see her feeding the dog. The thin creature gobbled it down in only a few swallows, then looked up at her, his face filled with expectation of more.
“Time for your flea medicine,” she said and pulled a little tube out of her bag. Within seconds, she’d dosed the happy dog. Soon, he was chewing on a bone while she ran her hands down his spine. She lifted all four paws, checking the pads. “You look so much better, don’t you, boy?” I smiled at the dog’s response to her baby talk.
She stood and pulled out a brown paper bag. “Ham and cheese today, Joseph. Hope that’s okay.” She pulled out a box of antibacterial wipes and opened the lid. A man stepped from behind the dumpster and took several, wiping off his face and hands.
“Thank you, Eliana. I’m sure it will be as good as always.”
“Here are your vitamins.” She dropped several pills in the man’s hand then gave him a bottle of water, waiting until he washed them down. He guzzled the water, emptying the bottle. She took it from him and handed him another. Watching him drink so thirstily made me feel like shit. I wrote huge checks to various charities but had never reached out beyond the Beasts sponsored events Katrina forced us too. I’d have to change that.
She leaned forward and kissed the old man on his cheek. “Need anything special tomorrow?”
The man was already biting into an apple. “No, no. You already do too much.”
“Be sure to eat all of it. Target has already eaten, so you keep the rest for you.”
The old man laughed. “I will. Thanks again.”
She patted Target on the head one last time before turning my way. I jumped back and stepped into the doorway of a store, pulling my cap down lower on my forehead.
Peeking out, I watched her cute ass practically skipping down the sidewalk, the ponytail containing a mass of hair that wasn’t quite red or blonde or brown swinging side to side. Was she always this happy? Did her skin always glow?
Wearing dark skinny jeans and slip-on canvas sneakers, she’d topped the casual look with some filmy peasant-looking top that kept sliding off one shoulder, giving me a glimpse of freckled skin.
Damn, I wanted to play connect the dots with my tongue.
Everywhere she went, she stood out among the rushed urgency of businessmen and women talking on their phones or tapping at screens, as if some ray of sun followed her every movement.
At the next alley, I witnessed the same interaction, except the dog was a hound named Daisy and the homeless man called Lou. She fed them both, poked and prodded the animal before dosing her with flea meds and playing a game of fetch with the long-legged, floppy-eared animal.
Fascinated now, I followed her to two more alleys. More food. More flea meds, the dogs always overjoyed at her visit. She handed additional bags of food to those without animals, addressing each of them by their names, but she only spent real time with the dogs.
Feeling decidedly like a stalker now, I waited until she exited the last alley before deciding to approach her, because there was no question… I had to approach her. But even as I picked up my pace, her steps began to slow, her shoulders sagging just a little.
Wondering about her sudden change in mood, I hung back, wanting to see what she would do next. What she did was drop her now empty canvas bags to the ground and turn to face a store window with a heavy sigh I could hear from where I stood.
Pulling my cap lower, I grabbed a newspaper — a real one, not the gossip shit — and sat down on a nearby bench. She had stopped outside a plush eatery. Not quite a diner but not quite an upscale restaurant either, I hadn’t eaten there before. She — Eliana, the homeless guy called her — squatted down and began rolling up the canvas bags, tucking them into a large Prada hobo. With two sisters, I knew everything Prada.
Standing again, she pulled the band from her ponytail, her unique colored hair falling around her shoulders in waves. She ran her fingers through it several times before twisting it into some high knot on top of her head, securing it with pins she pulled from her Mary Poppins bag. She smeared on lipstick, a much darker shade than she’d been wearing, and stuck some dangling earrings in her ears, then a few strands of beads around her neck.
Was she getting ready for a date?
If so, it wasn’t a happy relationship based on her body language.
Next, she kicked her sneakers off and stuck her feet into Jimmy Choo wedges. The never-ending bag revealed a two-toned jacket that only came to her waist, not covering the glorious ass I’d been admiring the past half hour. When she was finished, she stood there, staring at her reflection. She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. I could imagine that she was giving herself a mental pep talk.
What was she dreading so much?
I didn’t know what she was doing or why, but my fascination with the amazing woman only grew with her sidewalk transformation.
And when she gathered her things and walked into the restaurant, I waited only a few minutes before following.