CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

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MURPHY TOSSED HIS dirty clothes into a canvas bag, dropping both into the tiny hall closet. He would have time enough to worry about his laundry when he was back in Seattle.

Maybe. If his body didn't give out first.

As he reached to open the refrigerator, Murphy groaned. Damn. Any hope that his long, after-game soak in a heated, bubbling tub would ward off the worst of the inevitable muscle cramps and stiffness had been a fool's fantasy. His thighs ached like a son of a bitch. And now, his lower back had started to sing with pain.

Murphy thought about the unopened bottle of cheap whiskey he'd found in the cupboard. A gift from one of his 'less than thrilled to have him there' teammates? Or accidentally left behind by the last tenant?

The first scenario carried a slightly sinister connotation. A deliberate taunt at the recovering alcoholic. A massive fuck you test for his sobriety.

However, Murphy preferred to believe the second option was the right one. The person who occupied the room before him simply forgot to take the booze with them.

Either way, his interest was low level at best. At one time, Murphy wouldn't have hesitated to take a few swigs—followed by the better part of the bottle—to help ease his pain. But the new, more evolved Murphy understood such an action would only be a temporary fix.

The crutch to ease him over a minor speed bump wasn't worth the inevitable hangover, recriminations, and self-hate. Not to mention the chance that somebody would find out. The mere hint of alcohol on his breath and Murphy would be out on his ass. Another statistic everybody would quickly forget after the initial flurry of bad press.

Murphy had left the bottle on the counter. In the morning, out with the trash. Tonight, a reminder he was a different man. In control. Ruled by his brain, not his baser instincts. Stronger than the demon alcohol.

The television was tuned to a channel unlikely to mention baseball. Ina Garten and her chopped parsley were no threat to Murphy's peace of mind. Taking the sheet from the bed, he spread the cloth on the floor. The carpet looked clean enough, but he knew from experience the wild parties motel rooms like this one often hosted. Spilled booze, projectile vomit. Semen. Each could linger for a long, long time. No matter how thorough the cleaning.

Murphy could have paid for his own accommodations. Some place that didn't smell vaguely of boiled cabbage and feet. But he was already an oddity in the clubhouse. Though only here for a few days, he tried his best to fit in. Several of his teammates rented rooms at this motel. What was good enough for them, was good enough for him.

Gingerly, Murphy lowered himself onto his back. Better, he thought with a sigh. The heating pad he'd purchased in anticipation was set on high. A Ziploc bag filled with ice from the machine outside his door rested on each leg. And despite every twinging ache, he smiled. His body raised hell, but his mind was as clear and bright as a high summer sky. A drug-free high. Naturally.

With a chuckle at his lame attempt at a joke, followed by a low moan, Murphy closed his eyes and thought about today's game. A sense of satisfaction settled over him. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

His mind and body settled, Murphy let the replay of his first game in over two years begin. Frame by frame. The plan had been for him to only play the first four innings. To ease in. However, when the top of the fifth rolled around, he felt so good, he talked the manager into another frame. Then another. Enthusiasm overshadowed common sense. As a result, he was doomed to an uncomfortable, fitful night's sleep.

"Who needs sleep? I'm back in the fucking show, baby."

If Murphy could have raised his arm without gritting his teeth, he would have pumped his fist in the air. At the plate, his timing needed some work. The bloop single he managed in the third had been a lucky break. But he'd find his swing.

The question he needed to answer was simple. Could he still play defense with the same degree of skill and finesse?

The position of catcher, the most challenging on the field, chewed up and spit out much younger men at an alarming rate. The ability to crouch behind the plate for nine innings was only a small part. Arm strength. Accuracy. When he called for a pitch down and away, his teammate on the mound had to trust him. Completely.

If Murphy couldn't block a ball in the dirt with the game on the line, he might as well hang up his cleats here and now.

To his relief, he'd done just fine. Better than fine as his dirt-stained uniform proved. When he left the game, he received a nice round of applause. And a slap on the back from his manager in the locker room.

A grizzled warrior who had seen his time in the trenches, Sandy Cole was an ex-pitcher who retired around the same time Murphy's career ended. Unlike Murphy, he had a job waiting for him as a minor league manager.

"I thought the Cyclones' brass was crazy when they signed you," Sandy told him after they were alone in the locker room, the press and other players long gone. "You surprised the hell out of me today."

"I don't think you were alone," Murphy said in good humor. Smiling was easier with a good game performance under his belt. "But one game doesn't make a season."

"No. But for a vet like you, your performance today was enough of a sample size for me. I was wrong, and management was right." Sandy shook Murphy's hand with a lot more enthusiasm and sincerity than before the game. "Too bad we can't keep you around for a while. My pitching staff could benefit from your experience."

"They're a good bunch," Murphy said. "Young. But time will age them fast enough. As we both know."

"True," Sandy sighed wistfully as if he could picture the good old days of his youth. "Good luck. And do us old men proud. You hear?"

"I'll do my best." Murphy coughed to clear the emotion from his throat. "Thanks, skip."

A few of Murphy's aches faded at the memory. He hadn't polished his reputation in one day. However, he could say without question that a little of the tarnish had been knocked off.

Half asleep, half wondering what he should have for dinner, Murphy cursed when a loud knock on the door disturbed his peaceful solitude. Too comfortable to move, he grumbled but kept his eyes closed with the hope whoever it was would take the hint.

The second knock was more of a pound. Three, to be exact. Hard and in rapid succession.

"Go away!" Murphy yelled.

"No," the woman's voice shouted back. "Open up."

"No!" he shouted back. "Whatever you're selling, I don't want any."

"Pull your mind out of the gutter, Baldwin. What I have to offer is free. No strings attached." She paused. "By the way, did you ever name your dog?"

Murphy's eyes popped open.

"Jordyn?"

"You haven't forgotten me."

Forget Jordyn? Impossible.

"If you open the door, you won't be sorry."

"No," Murphy muttered under his breath. "But getting across the room might kill me."

But to be near Jordyn again, Murphy knew he had to try.

Murphy attempted to roll to his feet, and for an instant mind almost conquered matter. Then reality had the last laugh as every muscle in his body seized up. He felt like the Tin Man before oil loosened his rusted joints.

The only reason Murphy didn't crawl to the door? His pride wouldn't let him.

"Murphy?" Jordyn knocked again. "Did you slip out the bathroom window?"

"I'm still here. Just give me a second."

As he unlatched the safety chain, Murphy let out a grunt. Damn. His right shoulder was on fire. He turned the knob. Sunlight streamed into the darkened room, some from the late afternoon sun. The rest—most—came directly from Jordyn's smile.

Dressed in a simple, bright-yellow top, loose white pants, and a pair of flat sandals that allowed her pink toenails to peek out, Jordyn took his breath away. Shiny dark hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in waves of temptation. Murphy's fingers itched to touch the silky strands. Keep on touching. Which was ironic. Even if Jordyn let him put his hands on her, he wasn't in any condition to follow through.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, concern in her deep green eyes.

Murphy could have lied. Bluffed his way through. But, he felt like crap and didn't have the energy to put on a happy face. She was young and vibrant. He was a broken-down racehorse ready for the glue factory. And she deserved to know the score.

"I feel old."

"Then get ready to meet the fountain of youth."

Jordyn pushed past him. In her hand, she gripped a large black suitcase.

A little bemused by her presence, Murphy closed the door. Jordyn's scent—clean, subtle, fresh—filled the room, replacing the stale air the clanking wall-mounted fan tried and failed to circulate around the room.

"Do you plan to move in?" Murphy asked as Jordyn hefted the suitcase onto the bed. Not a bad idea from his perspective.

"If you can joke, you aren't too far gone."

"Far enough."

Intrigued, Murphy looked over Jordyn's shoulder, into the open case. The inside was filled with jars and tubes of various shapes and sizes. Candles? A stack of fluffy-looking towels?

"What's going on, Jordyn?"

"I told you. Behold the fountain of youth." She opened a small blue jar. Inside, a white cream. "Smell."

Murphy expected something exotic. So, he gave the contents a tentative sniff. Frowning, he sniffed again.

"I don't smell anything."

"Exactly. Fragrance-free. And completely natural."

"I'm confused." To say the least. "I thought you sold your products online and in stores. Not door to door."

"I told you. What I have to offer is free of charge. From one friend to another."

"Friends?" Murphy wasn't sure he deserved the distinction.

"Didn't we part on good terms?" Jordyn asked. She placed the jar on the bedside table. "Of course, at the time, I didn't know your secret. My family. My friends. Everybody but me knew."

What could he say? At the time, Murphy had been rock-solid certain he was right to keep his past from her. Now?

"I wish I'd told you."

"You and me both." Jordyn crossed her arms. She wasn't angry. Her deep-green eyes were too clear. Determined was a better adjective. "I want to hear your story, Murphy. Everything. Warts and all. Warts especially."

Murphy sighed. His story. Every trial and tribulation had been well documented. Though he received some very lucrative offers, he never spoke publicly about what happened. Except for his therapist, nobody knew his innermost thoughts on the subject. Friends didn't ask. His parents didn't want to know. They had their son. Alive. Healthy. The rest didn't matter to them.

Jordyn was the first person to ask who wasn't out to make a buck. Who wasn't interested in the salacious details for her own second-hand thrill.

Murphy trusted Jordyn to keep what he told her private. However, he was afraid. What if the light went out of her eyes? Could he take the risk?

"Another time." Jordyn took the decision out of his hands. "I didn't mean to get into a heavy discussion. All I want tonight is to help you feel better and get you ready for tomorrow's game."

"Okay."

"You trust me to help?"

"I trust you. With everything."

Funny how the truth had a way of coming out. Murphy hadn't consciously meant to speak. But he knew the moment the words came out of his mouth, he meant every single one. The look of pleasure on Jordyn's face simply drove home how right he was.

"Thank you." Jordyn placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now, take your clothes off."

"As tempting as your offer is, I'm afraid I would disappoint us both if I tried," Murphy said with genuine regret.

"Not sex. A massage."

"Given to me? By you?"

"Who else?"

"You touch me? And I don't have to do a thing?"

Chuckling, Jordyn nodded.

"Talk about a win/win." Warily, Murphy eyed the products in Jordyn's case. "The terms of my contract say the team and the league have the right to test me for drugs anytime they want. A snap of their fingers and I have to pee in a cup. Even all natural-products can be problematic. I trust you, Jordyn. But…"

The last thing Murphy wanted was to offend Jordyn. But he was given a second chance to play ball again and rebuild his reputation. One slip and he would be through for good.

"Blind trust is foolish." Jordyn dismissed his concern over her hurt feelings with a wave of her hand. "Which is why I consulted an expert. Claire Thornton."

Murphy knew Claire. They'd met through her husband, Logan Price. He liked her. A lot. But he couldn't figure out what she had to do with his current situation. Then he remembered.

"Were those creams and whatnots made by Claire's company?"

"Better. Claire made them personally. By hand. Before she became a beauty maven, Claire specialized in products specifically geared toward athletes. She researched and tested every ingredient." Jordyn took a piece of paper from the case. "Nothing, alone or in combination, will show up in your blood or urine as a banned substance."

"Looks like Greek to me."

"Me, too. But Claire knows her stuff. She even signed the bottom of the paper. I have her on speed dial if you want her personal assurance."

Murphy couldn't believe how thorough Jordyn had been. Words didn't seem enough, but they were all he had.

"I don't need anybody's word but yours." Murphy brushed a kiss across Jordyn's cheek. "Thank you."

A flush rose across the very cheek he'd kissed, prompting Murphy to repeat the action.

"I need you naked." Jordyn tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Now."

Murphy let out a regret-tinged sigh. "Another time, I would grovel at your feet to hear you speak those words."

"Another time, I'll let you." Jordyn pulled the tie at the waist of his sweatpants, then pushed them past his hips until they lay, a puddle of cotton, at his feet. "No underwear?"

Murphy gritted his teeth as Jordyn raised his t-shirt. Carefully, she worked the sleeves over his arms.

"I could barely get the pants on." When the shirt was off, she helped him to the bed. "As freaking helpless as a little child."

"If you call me Mommy, I'll kick your ass."

Face down, Murphy snorted, then groaned. "Damn it, don't make me laugh."

"All you have to do is relax and enjoy. Leave the work to me."

"The last time a woman said something similar, I said…" Murphy broke off before his very inappropriate story.

"Let me guess? You said, yes please."

If Murphy hadn't liked her before, Jordyn and her sly wit would have just won him over.

"Close enough."

"Ready?"

Murphy braced himself. He expected a jolt of cold against his overheated skin. He should have known better. Warmed by Jordyn's hands, the lotion felt like silk as she smoothed the balm into his tortured muscles.

"So good," Murphy sighed into the pillow.

"The massage? Or Claire's lotion?" Jordyn asked as her fingers worked at a particularly tough knot at the base of Murphy's neck.

"Mmm. Both."

"Shoot. I forgot to light the candle. Claire swears by aromatherapy."

"Stay," Murphy said when he felt Jordyn's weight shift. "You smell better than any candle. Like a warm summer's breeze over a field of wildflowers."

""Really?" Jordyn sounded pleased. "What a sweet thing to say."

His limbs grew heavy, relaxed from Jordyn's devoted ministrations.

"Not sweet," he sighed. "The truth."

While Murphy sank further and further into a state of rarefied bliss, Jordyn kneaded and soothed every inch of his back. His shoulders, neck, and arms received equal treatment. However, when she reached his ass, a certain part of his body finally took notice.

Down, boy, Murphy warned his twitching dick. Don't start something you can't finish. Unfortunately, the appendage between his legs was connected to his baser instinct and easily bypassed his brain and common sense.

"So stiff." Jordyn had moved to the top of his right thigh.

"You have no idea," Murphy muttered.

He should have known Jordyn would catch his meaning. Sharp as a tack and quick on the uptake, the woman didn't miss much.

"I guess you aren't as tired as you thought," she snickered without the least bit of sympathy for his growing plight.

"I don't have this problem when I get a massage from a man. Or a woman. The blame lies solely on your shoulders."

"Flatterer."

Murphy gripped the sheets as Jordyn's thumb found a spot on the pad of his foot that hurt like a son of a bitch. Then, felt so good his blood practically did a happy dance through his veins.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"Claire gave me a lesson. And a map to follow," Jordyn explained. "I had no idea how many pressure points there were on the human body. She claims, if done right, I could make you orgasm without ever touching your penis."

"I doubt— Holy shit!"

"Did I find the magic combination?"

Jordyn sounded delighted at the prospect.

No. Murphy shook his head. But damn close. Slowly, he filled his lungs, held his breath, and exhaled. In. Out. He hadn't inadvertently spilled his seed since he was a 'wet behind the ears' teenager. Now wasn't the time to start.

"Turn over," Jordyn whispered, her lips so close to his ear he swore they brushed against him.

"I'd rather not."

"Now isn't the time to turn shy on me," she chuckled. "Besides, you don't have anything I haven't seen before. Literally."

Murphy didn't have a shy bone in his body. But the idea of presenting Jordyn with his erection in a non-sexual situation felt more than a little odd. And unnerving.

"Leave the lotion. I can take care of the rest after you've gone."

"Think how much more fun you'll have if you let me take care of the rest."

Fun for him? Sure.

"What about you?"

"Me." Gently, but firmly, Jordyn rolled Murphy onto his back. Her green eyes sparkled with good humor. And something else he recognized. Desire. "I'm having a blast."

"Are you, now?"

"Your body is beautiful, Murphy."

As Jordyn licked her bottom lip, a gesture that sent his heart racing, she traced the scar above his right hip.

"Another time." Jordyn echoed her earlier words as she pressed a kiss to the long, faded, white line that marred his skin. "I read about how you broke your hip."

"Not me," Murphy corrected. "A two hundred and fifty-pound battering ram who masqueraded as a first baseman broke my hip when he took me out at home plate. He was suspended for three games."

"And you were suspended for ninety days."

"Both of us deserved our fates."

"I wouldn't have come within a mile of you back then," Jordyn said, matter of fact and to the point.

How many times had Murphy told himself exactly the same thing? Different words, same sentiment. Yet, truth or not, to hear Jordyn speak his thoughts was like a punch to his midsection, and he felt his erection begin to flag.

"But the man you are today? I like him. A lot."

Jordyn's smile sent a new rush of blood to between his legs. Naturally, she noticed, shaking her head.

"Nothing keeps you down for long. So to speak."

"Men are pigs," Murphy sighed without a trace of regret.

"Men are men," Jordyn amended. "Some are bad. Some are good. Most are simply human."

Murphy hummed with pleasure as Jordyn gently rubbed his temples. When one of her hands slid down his chest to wrap around him, he grabbed her wrist.

"You don't have to, Jordyn."

"Have to? No," she agreed. "Want to? Definitely. Unless you object?"

All Murphy could do was laugh as if Jordyn had delivered the funniest punchline ever. Object? Not in this lifetime or any other. But he did have a question.

"Mind if I watch?"

"I don't know." The strokes of Jordyn's hand were slow. Almost thoughtful. Definitely teasing. Her eyes sparkled like priceless emeralds. "What if I get performance anxiety?"

Murphy was so close. But he wasn't going to give in quite yet. Who knew when, if ever, a moment so extraordinarily sensual might come along again?

"You seem pretty confident to me," he said, amazed by the calm timbre of his voice when he was about to explode with pleasure.

"I've never done anything like this before." Leaning close, Jordyn whispered. "Yet, touching you so intimately is the most exciting experience of my life. My heart is racing a mile a minute. Feel."

Jordyn placed Murphy's hand under her breast. She was right. The beat practically jumped from her chest to his palm, vibrating down his arm to his very core. Thump. Thump. Thump. Three beats and the rhythm of his heart synced with hers. Intimate, indeed. Beyond the physical, he'd never felt as close to anybody as he did to Jordyn. Right then. Right now.

Murphy could no more have held himself back any longer than he could have stopped a tidal wave from pounding the shore.

"Better?" Jordyn asked.

"You have no idea."

"I think I do."

Eyes closed, Murphy felt as loose as a bowl of barely set Jell-O while his mind floated happily on a carefree cloud. Absently, he listened as Jordyn moved across the room, the sound of running water carried to him from the kitchen.

Then, he remembered.

"The whiskey was here before I moved in," Murphy said. And waited. Jordyn's opinion mattered. More than he wanted to admit.

"Okay."

"I don't drink. Ever."

"I know." Jordyn set the jar of magic cream on the bedside table before she sat next to him. "Were you tempted?"

Murphy's feelings on the subject were hard to explain. He wasn't certain anybody who hadn't walked in his shoes could understand. But he wanted Jordyn to at least have an idea of who he had been and, on some level, always would be.

"I'm not an alcoholic. I'm a drunk."

Murphy stole the line from Lost Weekend, but right now bluntness counted more than originality.

"I remember the movie," Jordyn said. "Do you think the comparison between yourself and the main character is fair?"

"A drunk is a drunk, Jordyn." Murphy refused to paint himself as better than he was. "Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise."

Jordyn stood. Her back to him, she snapped the suitcase closed.

"Do you want to scare me away, Murphy?"

"I told you the truth. What you do now, is your decision."

"The truth," Jordyn took a deep breath as she turned to face him. "However, only part of the story."

"Too many chapters. Too little energy."

Murphy was done. Shot. He couldn't summon the motivation to crawl under the covers let alone tell Jordyn what she thought she wanted to know.

"Another time." Jordyn let out a mirthless chuckle. "Seems to be our motto."

"Keep the t-shirt for yourself."

"I don't think so." Jordyn didn't try to rearrange the sheet. Instead, she pulled the blanket over him, tucking in the edges. "Your body needs rest."

"Thank you."

"Sleep."

Murphy thought he felt Jordyn brush a kiss across his forehead, but he wasn't sure.

"Jordyn?" he called out when she was almost out the door. "The puppy? I named her Casey."

"At the bat," Jordyn said. "Very appropriate."

The door clicked shut, and Murphy was alone. The woman was so damn smart, he thought. And kind. And beautiful.

Maybe Jordyn would decide he wasn't worth her time. Maybe she would open her heart and give him a chance to prove he deserved her. Maybe.

Murphy cleared his mind of every doubt and maybe. As he drifted off, only one thing remained. One thought. One Jordyn.