Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance) (7 page)

“Oh. I was in recovery.” Swallowing the lump of whatever has formed in my throat, I blink and look at this … this unbelievable woman in bed with me. “Who are you?”

“Gina.”

“Come and give me a kiss,
Gina
, because I’m too weak to move.”

“Well, I’ll let you rest a little, but I’m not even close to being done with you yet,
Ryder
.”

I have a feeling this is going to be a long, but unforgettable night. I only hope I can show up at practice on Monday morning.

GINA

When is the last time I’ve ever felt this well fucked? I can’t remember if ever. The throbbing between my legs is a constant reminder like a blinking sign that reads
Ryder’s been here
.

“Gina.”

I turn to find my boss, Sam, frowning at me. He must have been asking me a question or something the way his suspicion grows.

“What?” I say jovially.

His eyes narrow. “You’re smiling. What, did you win the lottery or something?”

“Or something.”

“Maybe that something has a name.”

Which reminds me that I need to rip Sam a new one. “How could you tell some guy where I live?”

“You mean, Ryder Wilde, Fletcher’s cousin, the Fletcher that’s married to your best friend, Cassidy. I thought he was safe. And besides, by the grin you are sporting, things turned out good.”

Unable to wipe the smile from my face, I focus on the bar and continue to wipe it down, ignoring his supposition. The lunch crowed has breezed through, and as soon as the last customer leaves, I’m free to head upstairs before the dinner rush.

Eleven minutes and thirty seconds pass before the guy finally pays and leaves me shit for tip, but who’s counting? Normally, I’ll cuss and threaten Sam to quit for the millionth time. But today I find myself skipping up the back steps as if Pharrell’s song “Happy” plays in the background.

Only when I get my head out of the clouds do I realize a woman stands at my door. Instantly, my good mood fades. She doesn’t look that old, but still I’m cautious.

“Gina Ferraro?”

“Who’s asking?”

She holds out a hand I only glance at. Her smile falters, and a business-like expression covers her face. She drops her hand. “My name is Sara. Ryder Wilde sent me. I’m an organizer.”

I’m going to kill him.

“Oh, did he?”

She isn’t fooled by my wide grin. There must be murder in my eyes. I push past her and let myself in the door because I’m not going to have this conversation out in the open.

“Wow, he’s right.”

Spinning around, I say, “Right about what?”

Her professional demeanor is back, and I can see why Ryder knows her. She’s beautiful in that polished way I’ll never be. An ugly part of me wonders if he’s banged her.

“He said you had a lot of…” She searches for a word. “… collectables and things that might look better displayed and organized.”

Not bothering to comment, I pull out my phone and dial the asshat in question.

“Gina.”

Giving the woman my back, I say, “Don’t
Gina
me.”

“You’ve met her,” he deadpans. “And don’t snarl at me. I just thought I could do something nice for you.”

“Nice is flowers, not a decorator.”

“I’m not a decorator,” Sara chimes, because I hadn’t exactly gotten out of earshot.

“Send her away if you want, but I’ve already paid her.”

Grrrr.
How could he possibly know that would be the magic answer? There is no way I want him wasting money on me.

“Fine,” I growl.

“You should know I got shit today because of you.”

That makes me smile. And I walk toward my bedroom to give us some privacy. I don’t say anything to Sara because I doubt she’s going to leave.

Once I close the door, I say, “Why is that?”

“Because I think I pulled a muscle in my ass.”

A bubble of laughter bursts out of me. “Like my finger there, huh?”

“Don’t remind me. That shit isn’t natural.”

“Puns upon puns,” I say. “But it made you come for days.”

“It sure did. But I’ll be damn if I tell Fletcher about it.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ve schooled Cassie on it. I’m sure Fletcher’s gotten the full treatment.”

We trade laughter for a few seconds, and damn, if it doesn’t feel good to be happy for once in my life.

“As much as I want to sit here on the phone with you talking dirty shit, I have to go. I won’t get to see your pretty ass for a few days. But you know that, don’t you?”

“Why would you think I would know your game schedule?”

“The calendar on your refrigerator was my first clue.”

Damn
, he’d seen that.

“It was a free magnet I got in the mail from a realtor.”

“Uh huh. Do you own some property I don’t know about?”

Crap, I’m striking out seriously.

“Don’t you worry about that, Cowboy. Now, go pitch a no-hitter.”

“Not sure that is possible. My arm feels like a wet noodle.”

“I bet your dick feels the same,” I counter.

“Actually, my dick perked up as soon as I heard that voice of yours.”

“You’re such a flirt. How many times have you used these lines?”

“Never,” he breathes. “And how about another line that makes total sense?”

“What’s that?”

“Dream about me, Gina.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “You wish. Your cheesy lines aren’t getting you anywhere. Besides, we’re just friends. And who knows how many friends I can make while you’re out of town.”

I hang up as he tries to say something. Laughing to myself, I go to talk to Sara.

“Fine. Do your worst. But if you throw anything away, I’ll personally clutter the room with your face.”

Her jaw drops, but I walk out the door not wanting to watch. Personally, I like my chaotic mess. It makes me feel in control of my own destiny. But I couldn’t explain that to Ryder. Best to limit our conversations to naughty talk only. Whatever this is we have together won’t last. He’ll get bored and move on. I need to protect myself. However, there isn’t any harm in enjoying him while he’s interested. Or is there? And when in the hell did I let a guy rule the show?
This time, Gina.

Later that night, I’m working the bar. It’s full of Cougars fans. Ryder’s game is on, and I’m trying not to keep my eyes glued to the screen. From what I’ve heard with groans from the crowd, he’s playing like shit for most of this inning. And they are going to pull him if he loads up the bases with his next pitch.

“Come on, baby.”

After the words slip off my tongue, I actually stick it out and glare at it.

“I can give you a place to put that.”

I glance up to see a sexy tourist sitting at the bar studying me. I’ve never seen him in town, so I know he’s not local. I may not know everyone, but I’ve seen everyone at least once in the twenty plus years I’ve lived here.

He has a faint accent and dark entrancing eyes. He’s the kind of once in a lifetime stranger I might have hooked up with in the past. Hadn’t Ryder been that? He’d been my annual itch of fun. That
screw it fuck
I do sparingly because once in a while a woman needs to be reckless. But my quota is currently filled.

“And where would that be?” The glacial stare I give him should make his balls shrivel.

“Ah, feisty. I like that.”

Damn, if his accent isn’t sexy on his tongue. It makes you want to do the Italian rumba or some kind of dance. But who cares, he looks every bit the Italian stallion. And something tells me by the way he hasn’t backed down, he can back up his flirtation.

But then the place gets quiet, and I glance up at the TV screen. The manager on the field has just left the mound. How could I have forgotten Ryder? The camera zooms in on him, and his face is a mask of concentration.

“Come on, baby,” I say again, without admonishing myself.

When he lets the ball fly, I barely see it. I let out a breath when the catcher reveals the ball in his glove.

The bar is still so quiet because apparently the game is on the line.

The camera comes back to my guy. He spits out something I don’t care to think of until the camera pans in closer still. His mouth is sin, and I have the sudden urge to want to ride it. The angle switches, and we see the manager doing some complicated rain dance to signal what pitch he wants Ryder to throw next. The screen switches back to Ryder, and he nods. He winds up and lets the ball fly. I swear I need my eyes checked because it isn’t until the instant replay on slow-mo do I see the fastball he threw.

“One more, baby,” I mumble.

I’m not even aware I’m saying it until the stranger repeats the last word. Ignoring him, I don’t take my eyes off the screen. I wait like everyone else.

The pitch leaves Ryder’s hand like he’s a magician. The ball is just there in the catcher’s glove a second before players swarm the field like ants to the mound, swallowing Ryder until I can’t see him anyone. Apparently, it’s a big deal. Normally, they don’t let the starters pitch an entire game. But he’d had a no-hitter until that last inning. Somehow he convinced the manager to let him stay in. This will up his ranking for sure.

“So, you have a boyfriend, yes?”

I glance back at the stranger and wonder why I thought him so attractive. Okay, maybe he is. But honestly, it takes one move of my legs to remember all the reasons why I don’t need a one-night stand. Still, the stranger doesn’t have it quite right.

“Why would you say that?”

His eyes cast to the right where a delivery guy stands with a vase full of peach colored roses.

“Is there a Gina Ferraro here?”

“That’s me,” I answer begrudgingly. Now the stranger knows my name.

“I have a delivery here for you.”

I bite back the
duh
that wants to lash out of my mouth. Signing at the bottom where indicated, I shift my focus to the gorgeous flowers for a long minute. No one has ever sent me flowers before, not even Mark. But then we dated when we were young and jobless. I’ve had guys give me grocery store bundles in offer to get in my pants. I’d turned each one of them down along with their sorry flowers. But I’ve never gotten a thought out delivery before.

The card reads simply.

Just because ~ Ryder

I feel pinpricks of tears in the back of my eyes. Fuck that. I blink that shit away. Just because no guy had ever done something so nice didn’t mean I had to get mushy about it.

“Since you don’t have a boyfriend, will you let me take you out to dinner?”

My eyes leave the roses in favor of the stranger. “It’s past dinner, and if you haven’t guessed, I’m working.”

Could he be that dense?

“I didn’t mean tonight. Tomorrow or whenever you have a free moment.”

Sexy as he is, I’m not in the mood. I want to go to the back and call my baseball player and tell him what a jerk he is for almost making me cry.

I say, “I’ll be free in like…” I tap my chin and add, “never.”

My stranger doesn’t give up. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. “That’s too bad. I find you rather attractive. And something tells me we would have a lot of fun together.” His eyes caress me, and I barely manage not to shiver. It isn’t like I want the man, but he oozes sex. It’s just I’m not in the market right now.

As I start to slide the card back toward him, he places his warm palm on the back of my hand.

“You’ll want that. You remind me so much of your mother.”

I snatch my hand away as if I was burned.

Cue in the heavy sigh he lets out. “You’re spitting images of each other. Though I must say, you’re far more my type.”

“You can leave now,” I order.

“Yes, she thought you might respond that way.”

Out of thin air he produces an envelope and sends it across the bar top to me. “Read this and then give me a call. I have a feeling we’ll be having dinner anyway.”

He winks, fucking winks at me. I watch him walk out in tailored pants and an expensive shirt. When I glance down at his card, I see he’s a lawyer. That only makes me curious about what’s inside the letter. I stuff it into my back pocket before getting back to work. I want to be happy about the gorgeous flowers Ryder sent. Instead, the envelope weighs on me.

I glance up in time to watch Ryder leaving the field when a zealous fan jumps down. The next thing I know her lips are on his. Before she can be hauled away, the mic zooms in as she lifts her shirt. Her blurred tits are on display as she begs Ryder to sign them.

Disgusted, I turn away to fill a drink order.

Why in the world would I ever think I could compete when women offer themselves to him all the time? Didn’t Riley say that her brother was a lover of many women?

When I finally make it upstairs to my apartment, dog tired, it feels like Ikea had a blue light special that ended up in my apartment.

Bookcases flank either side of my TV with all my trinkets and knickknacks. Everything is in a place that makes fucking sense, if I have to admit it. But the tears don’t come until I get in my room. All the clothes that had been in organized piles on the floor are gone. Panicked, I throw open the closet doors, afraid that
the bitch, my stepmonster
had somehow gotten in my apartment and threw away all my clothes. But there they are, all in color-coordinated fashion. The closet had a makeover, too, and I have shelves for sweaters and shoes. Everything somehow fits.

My phone rings off in the distance, but I can’t. I fall to my knees and cry like I haven’t done since I was a teenager. Everything is so pristine, yet it feels like I’ve lost all control over my life. The organization, my mom wanting to show up in my life, Ryder, and most important, how I can’t have him. And no matter how irrational it is, I can’t stop crying.

RYDER

Gina’s not answering her phone, which is weird. I called Cassie to make sure everything was fine with her because I was beginning to worry, but she assures it is. After Monday night’s game, I was so stoked, I needed to hear her voice, yet no answer. I figured maybe she was at work and couldn’t talk, but I called two more times, well past closing when she should’ve been home, and still nothing. Was she with someone else? We’re not committed, but what we shared over the weekend, I find it hard to believe she would want to be with another man so soon.