Fastball (3 page)

Robbie enjoyed bringing up Jake’s teen years
in Minnesota, where he’d worked for several summers on a dairy farm
a few miles outside Mankato, his hometown. With his tall physique,
blond hair, fair complexion and big mitts, Jake had to admit he fit
the stereotype of the mid-western farmer. But he’d loved those
summers on the farm, and he never tried to hide that.

“Rob, I’d love to stand around here all
afternoon looking down at the top of your head,” he joked to his
pint-sized teammate, “but I’d better go up and get some rest so I
can help you losers win tonight.” He slung his duffel bag back over
his shoulder and gave his friend an affectionate little punch on
the shoulder.

Robbie snorted in derision, although Jake
detected some relief in his friend’s expression.

“Right, like we really need you,” Robbie
said. “But, okay. Go rest up, and then get your ass across the
street in good time. Maybe I’ll see you in the weight room if you
get finished with your beauty sleep early.”

“I’ll be there.” Jake strode to the
elevators, feeling a brief spike of energy. It was great to be back
with the team. And Robbie was the best—a true friend, despite all
the ribbing, and the kind of teammate you wanted covering your
back. Though Robbie’s talent was slowly slipping away, he still had
a big heart and an unflagging determination to win.

After Jake unpacked his bag and took a quick
shower, the exhaustion he’d been fending off for hours closed in.
Not that he was complaining. He was in San Diego, he was back in
the majors, and he was going to be starting in the outfield
tonight. Man, it felt so damn good to be back.

* * *

An insistent knock pulled him from a deep
sleep. Glancing at the digital readout on the clock radio beside
the bed, he was shocked to see it was already nearly five o’clock.
He groaned.

Dummy. Forgot to ask for a wake up call.

He should have already been at the clubhouse,
getting his gear arranged and working out before the scheduled
batting practice at five-thirty. Jumping up, he strode to the door
and threw it open to find a young man in a Patriots warm-up jacket.
Obviously one of the equipment guys had been sent over to find
him.

After sending the kid on his way with the
message that he’d be right over, Jake hustled to get ready.

“What a way to start your first day back in
the bigs, asshole,” he muttered as he laced up his shoes. He
grabbed his windbreaker and was out the room, bypassing the
elevator to take the stairs six floors down to the street entrance.
From there, it was a quick jog to the players’ entrance to the
stadium.

Inside the visiting team’s clubhouse, the
Patriots players, coaches, and staff greeted him with handshakes,
bear hugs, and a ton of good-natured verbal jabs. He’d always been
blessed with the respect of the other players, something he could
truly appreciate after his long hiatus. Jake had worked hard to be
a team leader in the years before the injury, and he had every
intention of doing his best to resume that role. Yeah, it sounded
kind of arrogant, but his productive bat and his experienced
leadership would be important—possibly critical—to the Patriots’
hopes for a pennant this season. He knew he’d been given a
gift—another chance to lead the team to victory—and he had no
intention of wasting it on false modesty.

Hanging in his locker was a clean, crisp new
uniform with his long-time number, lucky twenty-one. He changed in
record time and headed right out onto the field to loosen up before
batting practice. After about ten minutes of warm ups, Jake jogged
over to the batting cage to wait for his turn. As he leaned on his
bat, watching other guys take their cuts, he got a prickling
sensation on the back of his neck, like someone was eyeballing him.
He was used to that, but this felt different and slightly
unnerving.

A moment later he heard a voice as smooth as
a shot of the finest single malt calling out from behind him. “Hey,
Jake. Got a minute for me?”

Unable to resist those rich amber tones, Jake
turned and looked back at the rail behind first base. A woman stood
there, a woman so freaking gorgeous the sight of her caught up him
up short, as if he had run nose-first into a sheet of
Plexiglas.

The eyes got him first—eyes of startling,
vivid blue that were made even more striking by her flawless,
lightly tanned complexion. Her mouth was pink and full, her smile
an intriguing combination of sensuality and, weirdly enough,
innocence. She was short, not much more than five-three, but she
held herself with a slender, athletic strength that took nothing
away from her bombshell looks.

She stood just above the barrier, her
knee-high leather boot propped casually up on a concrete step. That
pose hiked her short skirt up, affording him an unimpeded view of
her shapely legs. Her black stockings emphasized the unconscious
sensuality of her stance, and a slow crawl of lust began to build
in his muscles. Letting his gaze drift upward to the sweet curve of
her hips and her slender waist, he took in the gently swelling
breasts outlined in a trim-fitting black jacket.

Finally, he returned to her striking face and
those magnetic blue eyes, framed by glossy, short black hair. And
what he liked even better was her aura of quiet confidence. No
simpering smiles, no overtly flirtatious glances or wriggling her
hot body in an effort to attract him. She just waited for him to
answer—cool, collected, and totally beautiful.

Oh, yeah, I’ve got a minute for you,
sweetheart. No worries.

Jake did his best to look nonchalant as he
crossed the dirt path and approached her, but the truth was that he
wanted to hustle over like he was trying to stretch a single into a
double. As he closed in, the woman’s engaging smile made him break
into a grin himself. She held out a small, slender hand for him to
shake, and he took it firmly but as gently as he could. But he
needn’t have been concerned about crushing her hand. The pressure
of her grip surprised him.

“I’m Maddie Leclair,” she said in that
amazing voice of hers. “I’ve been covering the Patriots for the
Philadelphia Post
since the beginning of the year.”

Jake knew who she was as soon as he heard her
name. He was not one of those athletes who ignored the sports
press. In fact, he liked to read all the coverage he could, from
the daily papers to the magazines and the Internet sites. It was
just something he’d always done, because he wanted to know what was
going on—what people were saying and thinking about the game.

“It’s a pleasure, Maddie.” He slowly released
her hand, letting his fingers graze her smooth skin as he pulled
back. “I’ve read your stories and columns. But that grainy little
black-and-white photo on top of your column doesn’t even much look
like you, let alone do you justice.”

What he was really wanted to say was that no
picture on earth could possibly capture her luscious magnetism.
He’d only just met her and she was exerting a pull stronger than a
riptide.

She sighed dramatically, even though her eyes
laughed at him. “The only worse shot of me is my passport photo,
which should tell you something.” That amazing gaze dropped
briefly, giving his body a quick up-and-down. “But your picture in
the media guide doesn’t exactly capture your many qualities,
either.” Her lips tilted in a knowing smile that shot heat right to
his groin.

“Well, I appreciate that. I think.” Jake
almost had to laugh at his lame reply. He was normally at ease with
banter and pretty quick with a response, but little Ms. Leclair was
making him feel like a tongue-tied fool.

She moved to lean against the barrier, her
posture a little tense. In an instant, her startling blue eyes
turned serious. Intent. All business.

“Jake, I know you don’t have much time to
talk, so I’ll get straight to the point. I was wondering if you’d
be willing to do a feature interview with me tomorrow. I’d like to
write an in-depth piece on you for the Sunday edition. You’ve been
away for quite a while, and I think the readers would really like
that.”

The idea of spending time with Maddie Leclair
sounded pretty attractive, even in a professional setting. The
little slip of a thing was pulling on Jake’s imagination and hard,
which was a hell of a surprise. Like most players, he’d been
pursued by beautiful women throughout his baseball career. It was
something he’d learned early on to keep in perspective, so his
extraordinary response to her didn’t make sense a lot of sense. All
he knew was that when he saw her again, he wanted to be alone with
her, not in some formal interview under the watchful eye of one of
the team’s PR guys.

It was a crazy idea on his part, but it had
already taken hold and he couldn’t seem to shake it.

He nodded. “I think I could manage that.”

Just as he was about to suggest some
conditions for their meeting, Maddie jumped in. “Great!” She
flashed him a blinding grin. “How about tomorrow morning? If that
works for you, I’ll get Media Affairs to set it up. Here at the
park, as usual.”

That’s what he’d expected to hear, but it was
definitely
not
what he had in mind. He didn’t say anything
for a few moments, rapidly formulating a plan.

“Here’s my problem with that, Maddie,” he
finally said, frowning a little. “I don’t think you’re going to get
the kind of interview you’re looking for if we’re stuck across a
table in some formal media room, like we’re a couple of lawyers
facing off against each other.” He shook his head slowly, as if
pondering. Yeah, he was being manipulative, but he had the feeling
it would be well worth it. “It’s one of the reasons I don’t give
many interviews, and tend not to say a whole lot. I’m afraid that
if we do it the way you said, all you’re likely to get from me is
stuff everybody already knows.”

Maddie shot him a quizzical look, edged with
a tinge of wariness. “Do you have an alternative in mind?”

You bet.

“Absolutely. This is a little unorthodox, for
sure, but why don’t we meet for dinner tomorrow evening? That way I
can give you all the time you need, and I guarantee you’ll get a
much better story that way. I can relax and not worry about some PR
guy waiting to jump down my throat.” Jake casually swung his bat,
keeping an easy smile in place and knowing he risked putting her
off from the get-go. It was obvious from the way her eyes had
narrowed and her body tensed that she was surprised, if not
shocked, by his unusual proposition.

“Hmm,” she murmured in a suspicious tone. She
dropped her arms from the railing and crossed them over her chest,
clearly perplexed by his request.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” he
said. Actually, he wanted to push her for an answer, but he sensed
she would bolt if he did. “You can catch me after the game, or
leave a message at the hotel.”

Maddie smiled but didn’t look particularly
happy. “I’m not sure taking time will help, Jake. We both know that
all
formal interviews with players are supposed to be set up
by the team and take place in the media room or another approved
location. You know what could happen if we violated those rules.
Media Affairs hates it when players go rogue. It wouldn’t be smart
for either of us to do that, as I’m sure you realize.”

Despite her words, Maddie’s assessing gaze
suggested she might actually be mulling over his suggestion. And
she hadn’t said no. She’d said it wouldn’t be smart, which he
figured was a long way from a flat turndown.

He dropped the bat at his feet and leaned
both arms on the barrier. “I admit it’s a bit unorthodox. But the
PR flacks don’t have to know, right? We can make it an
informal
interview,” he said, playing on her words. “And we
can pick a totally out-of-the-way restaurant, like somewhere up the
coast. We meet, we eat, you ask all the questions you want, and
then we go our separate ways back to the hotel. We’re in San Diego,
not Philly, so it’s pretty unlikely anybody would recognize you,
anyway. Then, if somebody asks where we did the interview, we can
say we did it over the phone.”

“Lie, you mean,” she said in a doubtful
tone.

“A harmless lie. And we can have a phone
call, too.”

She peered down at her feet, suddenly looking
a bit shy and fidgety. Jake could practically hear her thinking it
through, weighing the pros and cons. God, she was cute. He decided
to push it another notch.

“Look, I don’t much like anybody trying to
tell me who I can talk to and where,” he said. “Or when. If that
isn’t written into the Constitution, it damn well should be.
Freedom of speech and freedom of association are God-given rights,
aren’t they?”

That earned him a wry, slightly more relaxed
smile. “I can’t really argue with that,” she said. “Even though I
know your logic is seriously flawed.”

Jake shrugged, trying to keep it casual.
Inside, he felt anything but casual. Suddenly, getting her to agree
to his idea felt as important as winning tonight’s game. “Freedom
of speech. Freedom of association. Freedom of the press. As far as
I’m concerned, that’s three strikes against what everybody knows is
a pretty stupid rule.”

He leaned forward slightly, staring directly
into her eyes. A faint wash of pink colored her lightly tanned
complexion as she gazed back at him.

“What do you say, Maddie? You know I’m
right,” he finished softly.

He sensed she wanted this meeting as much as
he did. Okay, probably for different reasons, but he could work
with that. He waited her out, even though he knew he was pushing
the envelope by not getting into the batting cage yet.

After a few more moments, she sighed gently
and gave in. “I’m nuts to agree to this. But you’ll have to promise
you’ll give me full answers to anything and everything I ask if we
do it your way. And we need to make absolutely sure we don’t go
near any place where players, reporters or management hang
out.”