“You look lonely.”
“I’m good,” she said as she looked up from the newspaper that partially covered her tan legs. It was the morning of the first game day of spring training; the sun had barely cracked the sky. I always got to the field before anyone else. It was a habit of mine and helped me prepare my mental game. I never expected company, and I’d watched her arrive hours too early for a regular fan. I had assumed she came with one of the players, but no one claimed to know her when they started trickling onto the field. She looked completely at ease as she ignored the bullshit and the banter that surrounded her when we began to warm up.
With minutes to spare before the stands started to fill, I let curiosity get the best of me and thanked Christ for that as soon as I got a better view of her. I pulled off my hat, ran my fingers through my hair, and flashed her my best smile. “Let’s not fight the inevitable. I think it’s pretty important we get to know each other for the good of the team.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “In that case, you’re wasting your time on the wrong girl.”
The scorn in her voice gave me temporary pause. “Not a fan?”
“Of yours? I don’t even know your name. But if I had to guess—” She crossed her legs playfully before she placed her hands at her sides, tilting her body my way.
I enjoyed the display, but I would have rather had that look back, the one of discovery we’d shared minutes earlier when I peeked over my shoulder and damned near got nailed with a dinger in the mask. She scrutinized me before she’d flashed me a breath-stealing smile.
She hid that smile as she looked up at me but kept the scrutiny front and center. “I would say you’re a rookie. First year.”
“You know damn well who I am,” I chided. My name had been in the papers—including the one she had in her lap—for weeks. It wasn’t every day a catcher got a contract the size of mine.
“You,” she mused as her eyes trailed down my body. “Well, you’re trouble with a number.” I was dismissed. She gripped her paper and shook it out, determined to brush me off. Her words behind the wall of paper and ink between us confirmed as much. “I’m flattered, really, but I don’t date ballplayers.”
“Oh, well, then I fucking quit.” I threw my glove. She chuckled dryly as she looked up wistfully through thick lashes. That look told me my chances were slim to none.
“If only it were that easy, right?”
She was like a mirage sitting in the stands with her raven black hair and vibrant brown eyes. I’d kept my neck craned for half of warm-up. Getting distracted by beautiful women while I was on the field had never been an issue, but I couldn’t stop staring. I needed to look at her. I needed to have another hit of that smile.
“What do you have against baseball?” I asked, taking the seat next to her.
She wrinkled her nose. “Everything.”
“You want to tell me what you’re doing perched up like hot-shit hours before the first game? Unless—” I nodded over my shoulder “—you’re here for someone?”
“I’m definitely not here for any player on that field.”
“Ouch. You can’t mean that. Baseball is America’s sport. A national pastime. It’s worthy of your attention.”
She quirked a brow. “Are we still talking about baseball?”
“Maybe,” I said, brushing my shoulder against hers. “Let me take you out tonight. I bet I can convince you we’re both worthy of your attention.”
“Absolutely not, Makavoy, but I’m flattered.” She picked up her paper and resumed her reading, and I stuck a finger in the crease then lowered it.
“Ah, caught you in a lie. You do know my name, and if you play your cards right, I’ll let you chant it as often as you like.”
“That’s disgusting. Never going to happen for us, Ren.”
I bit my lip at my piss-poor choice of words. This girl wasn’t even close to the type that line would work on. If she wasn’t a fan, she damn sure wasn’t a groupie. But she was a beautiful mystery that I wanted to solve.
“I’m not changing my mind,” she sighed as she shot a wary glance my way. “It’s not in the cards for us.”
“Now there’s an idea,” I said, standing.
“Makavoy!”
Without turning in the direction of the field, I flipped the bird toward the shithead fuming at the mound then sank back into my conversation.
“You’re wanted on the field, number two,” she muttered.
“You know my number, too. Now I’m flattered,” I teased, my lips twisting into a satisfied smile. I could see the barest hint of a blush beneath her sun-kissed complexion. She was a hard sell, but I knew just the trick. “Wait right here, okay?”
I hustled to the dugout, grabbing a stick of gum and my lucky deck of cards. I made my way back and sat next to her, my hip touching hers as she scanned her article, doing her best to seem indifferent.
She slowly shook her head. “You know, you’re probably about ten seconds away from having your ass handed to you, and quite publicly.”
Just as she predicted, my name was barked from the field. “Makavoy!”
“They can wait,” I said dryly. I pulled my cards out and began to shuffle. She glanced over at the working of my hands before she pressed her full, glossy lips together. She was dressed in an old, faded series T-shirt—not a fan, my ass—and shorts, but the sight of her had my breath coming out ragged. I had the innate need to touch and taste, but more than that, I wanted to know what her laugh sounded like.
After a few minutes of shuffling my deck, I had her full attention.
Her face lit up as she watched me manipulate the cards. “Wow, that’s—that’s awesome.”
I let out a dry laugh as I flicked the deck with precision; the cards flew toward her, and I caught them before they hit her in the chest.
Wide brown eyes scrutinized me. “Holy shit! How did you do that?”
I chuckled. “I’m one of the best defenders in the League, and this is what impresses you? They don’t call me the ‘Tin Man’ for nothing.”
Another wrinkle of a perfect nose and an eye roll. “For a second, I forgot you were a ballplayer.”
I ignored her blasphemy against the greatest sport in history and sliced the deck in half with quick fingers before I thrust them in front of her.
“Pick a card out of either hand, and if I guess what you pull, we eat dinner tonight.”
“Ren,” she groaned. “I’m seriously not worth your trouble. Trust me.”
“I’m pretty good at making calls.” I lifted the cards up again, forcing her hand. She set her paper aside then locked eyes with me. Something raw tore through my chest at that moment and filled my throat. Intuition told me even if I had pulled that trick off over a dozen times, knew it inside and out, I’d be devastated if I fucked it up this time.
She pulled the card I purposefully but subtly thumbed toward her fingers before she held it up, curling it at the sides so that I couldn’t see it.
“All right, now put it back in,” I said, spreading the deck.
She pushed the card in carefully as we kept our eyes glued. For a moment in time, there was no outside noise, nothing to distract me, and nowhere in the world I’d rather be than sitting across from her.
Another second passed and then another as something inside told me this woman would change every-fucking-thing. Swept away by the feeling of her, I leaned in. Her lips parted, and I knew, without a doubt, she was feeling the same thing.
I traced her hairline down her cheek with a single finger as I spoke. “So, this is where you come in, huh?”
We were still caught in the moment when I heard my name growled at my back.
“Queen of hearts,” I whispered.
Even with all the static between us, she didn’t miss a beat. “But where’s the card?”
“Do you like Italian?” I asked, pushing my cards back in the box.
“You didn’t show my card, Makavoy,” she said, pulling back, doing her best to hide her disappointment.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I assured, readjusting my hat with a wink.
“That was so lame,” she protested as she lifted her paper, and the card fell into her lap.
“Oh my God,” she whispered as she studied her card.
Appreciative and warm eyes glanced up at me before she rewarded me with her smile.
“That was awesome.”
“Goddammit, Ren!” I knew that tone. And I was about to be publicly humiliated.
“Shit,” I muttered as I glanced over my shoulder.
“Thought you were quitting,” she reminded, her paper forgotten.
I grinned down at her. “You’re really going to make me choose?”
“Never,” she said without second thought. “Because I don’t date ballplayers.”
“I’ll let you convince me of that over dinner. Oregano’s, eight o’clock. And bring my card back to me, would you?”
“I won’t be there,” she insisted.
“I’ve had that deck since I was thirteen years old. I can’t play a game without it, so I’m going to need that card back. You don’t want to be responsible for ruining my career, do you?” Her silence had my smile stretching wide.
I wasn’t a superstitious man. In fact, when I was young, I never believed in luck, so I decided to make my own. Over the years, I guess life got the memo because it started cooperating. Staring at that beautiful woman, whose name I didn’t know, but whose smile had me practically kneeling before her, I knew luck and I were still in sync.
Sliding my hand in my glove, I kept my eyes locked on hers until I had no choice but to leave her there.
“I’ll see you tonight.”