Boys Of Summer: Sliding Home / Fever Pitch / The Sweet Spot

4

A few days later

RILEY HADN’T thought much about the fact that he hadn’t been laid in ages until he noticed the brunette in red. The woman was sitting a few tables away at Diamond, his favorite restaurant. He’d watched her come in, her nicely curved body nicely displayed in the sparkly cocktail dress that revealed a mile of leg. Not to mention a mouthwatering hint of delicate cleavage.

Riley’s heart had skipped a beat when she’d entered the place. It’d skipped another when he heard the soft, lyrical sound of her voice talking to the hostess as she’d approached.

She was a beauty, but a quiet one. A classy, petite, perfectly formed feminine package, and she’d made every masculine cell in his body come to attention. Instantly.

For some reason, he’d felt a flash of recognition, as if he knew her. But he knew he didn’t. He’d definitely have remembered a woman as sultry as this one.

Sipping his beer, he’d ignored the voice in his head that tried to convince him his celibate streak ought to end, because she had to be meeting someone. But as the minutes had stretched on, no one had joined the woman. He couldn’t believe any man would stand her up, but it looked as if that’s what had happened.

Since she was seated facing him, he surreptitiously noted the slender neck and her high cheekbones. Her delicate face was almost heart-shaped, framed by a mass of rich brown hair. Highlighted with streaks of gold, her hair was pulled back except for a few long curls brushing her shoulders.

Then there were the eyes. Wide-set, big and brown, like dark chocolate. With her lush red lips the color of ripe raspberries, he couldn’t stop thinking of the ice cream the shop around the corner had named after him. And how much he wanted to lick her juicy lips and to taste that creamy vanilla skin.

“Enjoying your evening, Mr. Kelleher?” a smooth voice asked.

He shook off his study of the stranger and glanced up to see the owner of the place. Rumor had it she was about to remarry Donovan Ross. “Yes, thanks, everything’s wonderful, as usual.”

“I was glad to hear you’d be dining with us,” Callie Andrews said. “Though I do wonder why you never bring anyone with you.”

He hadn’t been tempted to bring anyone anywhere—into this restaurant, into his life—for a long time. So why he couldn’t stop focusing on the brunette, he had no idea. “Can’t get a better steak in Louisville,” he said, speaking to Callie, though his attention was glued to the female four tables down.

The female who suddenly looked up and caught him staring.

Riley almost looked away. His first instinct was to break the visual connection and let his attention casually roam over the other diners in the restaurant. Evade. Avoid. Walk away.

That had been his strategy for some time now. Evade emotional traps. Avoid potential complications. Walk away from anything that could be construed as genuine personal interaction.

Even sexual interaction was something he didn’t think about too much these days. Sure, in the first year after he and Bronwyn, his first wife, had split, he’d taken solace in the arms of any attractive woman he’d wanted. But it hadn’t helped. He’d quickly realized he was being stupid…as selfish and self-indulgent as his ex had been. So he’d gotten back on track, determined to remain private, unattached. Detached. Except for his family, he’d let no one come close. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

It had worked. Pretty much.

He and the stranger continued to watch one another. Riley noted the way her eyes flared and her mouth opened as she sucked in a quick breath. Her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and a slow flush of color rose from her neck up her cheeks. Not a flush of embarrassment…their staring hadn’t disconcerted her. But a warm rush of heat. As if she’d sensed he’d been undressing her in his mind, considering letting go of his rules and his self-imposed exile from anything resembling romance.

Then she smiled. A tiny smile…a welcoming smile. A come-here-and-buy-me-a-drink-and-I’ll-make-your-night-divine smile.

Oh, man, he was in trouble.

“So what have you been doing with yourself?” Callie asked.

“We’ve been on the road a lot.”

“Don’t I know it,” she mumbled.

Smiling, Riley lifted his beer mug. “Been missing Donovan?”

“Desperately.” She quickly glanced side to side, as if afraid she’d been overheard. Lowering her voice, she added, “But don’t tell the big jerk I said that. His head’ll swell too much to fit through the door.” The sparkle in her eyes told him Callie wouldn’t have her ex-husband any other way. That she adored him.

A sharp stab of want hit Riley in the gut. Damned if he was a jealous man, and he didn’t covet Donovan Ross’s fiancée. But maybe, deep down, he coveted that feeling Ross must have when he looked at the woman he loved and knew she loved him just as much.

He’d never had that.

Oh, he’d loved, but as for being genuinely loved in return? Well, he didn’t know if any guy in his position could ever be sure of that. Because most women they met were after a notch on their own player’s scorecard. Or a big fat alimony check, like the one he wrote out every month, which was the real cherry on the sundae since he’d been the wronged one in the marriage.

The judge hadn’t cared. And the media hadn’t bothered to question Bronwyn’s claims that Riley’s off-the-field playing was responsible for the breakup of baseball’s favorite sweethearts.

Those closest to him—his parents, brothers, good friends—knew the truth. To hell with the rest of them. He’d long ago realized people would believe what they wanted to believe.

Shaking off the memories, he glanced at the stranger again. She was sipping red wine, which left her lips ripe with color.

“She’s very attractive, isn’t she?”

He should’ve known the restaurant owner would pick up on his not-so-subtle interest. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Want an introduction?”

“You know her?”

“I might. Shall I…fix things up?”

“Got a second career as a matchmaker going?”

She shuddered visibly. “Donovan would never forgive me.”

“Then it’s just as well I’m not looking to be fixed up.”

“Suit yourself. If you like dining alone….” Walking away, she left him with nothing to do but look into the depths of his drink. Or at the woman across the room.

She was definitely a more interesting subject, and apparently she felt the same way about him. Because again, she caught him watching her and after a quick, nearly imperceptible shift of her eyes and quiver of her body, met his gaze boldly.

But that tiny flash of hesitation told him something. Right at that moment, Riley got it. This woman hadn’t been stood up. The tightness of her lips, the tremble in her hand, betrayed her nervousness and he finally figured out her game. She’d come here, dressed like that, to one purpose: to pick up a man. Any man. And he was the man she’d chosen.

He could almost visualize what would happen if he accepted the hot, unspoken invitation in the brunette’s eyes. He’d smile as he walked to her table. She’d invite him to join her. They’d share another drink and talk about nothing while whispering a million silent, erotic promises.

They might make it through dinner…or they might give up any pretense and walk out before their food arrived. Their hands would clasp, fingers entwining as they left the building, knowing what was about to happen. Her leg would brush against his, a delicate touch of near innocence that was utterly sinful.

They’d make it to the parking lot before they kissed. Riley’s hands would be buried in her soft hair while he roughly explored the depths of her mouth with his tongue. They’d share breaths, share heat, share an almost indescribable excitement.

Once inside his car, they’d pause for another intense, more private kiss. And if they were lucky, he’d have the strength to start the car and drive to his place—or hers—to finish what they’d started. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to wait, though, and his cramped car would do for some quick, hot, fabulous sex.

He’d played this scene before. Not recently—not for a few years. But it had happened in his early days with the Slammers.

You’re not that guy anymore.

No, he wasn’t. He’d long since realized meaningless sex was not the way to eradicate the memory of his failed marriage. And that, as strange as it seemed, he was being used, too, by women who never wanted Riley the person…just Riley the pitcher.

He didn’t hate them for it. Hadn’t his wife, the woman who’d pledged to love and honor him until death, wanted the sports star, too?

Not the man. Never the man he was inside.

So he’d changed. He wasn’t one of the players off the field anymore, despite the rumors. And he didn’t care. Life was good now without women. Which made it hard to understand why he couldn’t stop thinking about the brunette.

“You know what,” he murmured to his waitress as she came to deliver his dinner, “I’ve changed my mind. Can you box that up?”

The waitress jerked her head up and down, as obsequious to one of the star players in this town as most other people.

Like the lady in red?

That cinched it. He wasn’t certain the woman had recognized him, but it was possible. And he sure didn’t want any obsequious woman willing to do anything to say she’d made it with a sports star. He’d been there, done that. So as soon as the waitress came back with his food and check, he handed her some cash and stood to leave. His stride didn’t slow as he passed the stranger, though he was unable to resist giving her an appreciative nod, if only to thank her for the distraction she’d provided.

Once outside the main dining room, however, he realized he’d forgotten his dinner. “Damn,” he muttered. Because he was hungry. And because he’d look like a loser going back in there to get it after playing Mr. Cool and Confident while escaping.

“Problem?” the hostess asked.

He could ask her to retrieve his bagged dinner. Or he could walk out and hit a drive-through on the way home. In the end, however, he decided on a third option. “I just decided to go into Fever Pitch for a while,” he told the woman, smiling as he crossed the vestibule to the quiet bar, which served light food. Not his nice medium-rare steak, but it’d do.

Anything would do, as long as it got his mind off the temptress he’d just walked away from.

* * *

“THIS WAS the stupidest idea on the face of the earth.”

Janie didn’t bother keeping the disgust out of her voice. There was no point. Callie had witnessed the entire humiliating scene that had just unfolded in the restaurant. There was no way the other woman, no matter how loyal, could deny the truth: Janie had given it her best shot. And had been completely shot down.

“He was interested.”

Snorting, Janie reached for her wineglass. “Right.”

“He could barely keep his eyes off you.”

“Sure managed to keep his hands off.”

As the owner of Diamond, Callie enjoyed a lot of privileges. Like being able to ignore the rest of her customers and sit at Janie’s table. “Janie, he was so into you. Maybe he was just unsure…needing you to make a more obvious first move.”

More obvious? Good grief, the only way she could possibly have been any more obvious was if she’d stripped off her dress and flung it at the man. “Riley and unsure are two words that do not belong in the same sentence.”

Callie frowned. “I can think of one: Riley wanted you badly but you are unsure of that fact.”

She didn’t give an inch. “Riley wanting me badly is, I am quite sure, fiction.”

“Why are you convinced you don’t have a shot with him?”

“Why are you so determined to think I do?”

Callie leaned closer, staring so hard at her that Janie wondered if she had a splash of wine on her cheek or something. “I am determined to think that,” she said, her voice low and no-nonsense, “because ever since you first mentioned who your mystery man was, I knew you two would be perfect together.”

Knew it? Janie barely knew whether she’d be able to get her newly cut, newly highlighted hair back up into this style again after tonight. Much less who her perfect man was.

But her friends really had tried to help her, and, despite what had just happened with Mr. Slammer Stud, Janie was feeling pretty good about herself. Maybe she wasn’t sexy enough to garner the attention of a sports superstar, but, for the first time in a long time, she felt capable of holding her own with a normal man.

Okay, probably not her customers, the jocks who wanted big-boobed blond bimbos, either. Still, she looked good and felt almost capable of trying to pick up a man for some much needed sexual release. A normal man. Teacher. Accountant. Salesman.

Yawn.

It was no use. There was only one man she wanted. But she wasn’t brave enough to go after him again, not in this lifetime.

“This can work. I know it.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” she murmured, giving Callie a weary smile. “Though I do appreciate everything you and Babe did.” Remembering one particular part of her makeover—a visit to a woman’s salon earlier today—her smile faded, dissolving into a shudder. “Except the, uh, painful waxing. I will get even some day for this afternoon’s experience.”

Callie bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back a grin. “Janie, honey, I didn’t suggest that thorough a wax job.”

“Yeah, well, I wish you had been a little more clear with that Brazilian woman before you let her drag me back into the torture chamber. She could give tips to the mob on making people talk.” Janie shifted in her seat, still not entirely accustomed to the feel of her, um, bareness. There wasn’t much left down there, other than what her torturer had referred to as a “landing strip.” It felt strange against the skimpy-to-the-point-of-nothingness panties she was wearing.

“I hear some women get off on just the process of having it done,” Callie said with a shrug.

Oh, right. How arousing…having her hair ripped out by the roots while being fingered pretty damned intimately by another woman. “Look, I don’t think Angelina Jolie could convince me to swing to the dark side sexually, so I’m quite sure a three-hundred-pound Brazilian woman named Consuela couldn’t.”

Callie snorted.

Finishing her wine, Janie pushed her chair back from the table. “Thanks again for everything. But I think I’ll go and turn back into my real self before I change into a pumpkin.”

No, it wasn’t midnight. But it didn’t matter. As much as Callie and Babe had played fairy godmothers, Janie hadn’t ended up with the handsome Prince Charming. She wasn’t Cinderella.

She was still Just Janie. And despite her best efforts, still very vanilla.

* * *

UNFORTUNATELY, his dinner in the bar did not do a damn thing to eradicate Riley’s hunger. Physical…or sexual. It didn’t change a thing. By the time he finished his burger, an hour after he’d left Diamond, he’d decided he was a total moron. He’d let his unexpected reaction to a woman drive him out of his favorite restaurant, away from a juicy steak that had most likely turned into a congealed, artery-hardening mess by now. “Asshole,” he muttered before he paid his tab and left.

It had been a long time since a woman had so disconcerted him…had left him questioning his decisions. Ever since his first sexual experience back in high school, he’d never questioned his choice to accept or decline an opportunity. So why couldn’t he stop thinking he’d made a mistake this time?

For half a second, while passing the entrance to the restaurant, he considered stepping inside to see if the brunette was the kind who liked to linger over a long dessert and coffee.

Chocolate and raspberries.

But he thrust the idea away. He’d look ten kinds of fool. Besides, she’d been pretty set on leaving with someone and he didn’t particularly want to see who she’d chosen in his place.

Having been invited by Callie Andrews to park in the alley out back to avoid some of the more persistent Slammers fans—or critics, given their recent six losses in a row—Riley headed down a quiet rear hallway. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he couldn’t help wondering how his night might have ended up if he hadn’t grown something of a sexual conscience.

He was so focused on the slew of delightful possibilities flashing through his brain that he almost didn’t notice the crash. But it was followed by a loud, feminine scream.

Hell, that shriek could startle a man out of contemplation of a Penthouse centerfold, so it certainly interrupted his own rather mild visualizations. “What now?” he mumbled, turning around. No one was in the hall behind him, but he had just passed a door marked Round The Bases: Deliveries. Pulling it open and sticking his head in, he said, “Hello? Everybody okay?”

No response.

Probably the noise had come from the restaurant, but just in case someone was hurt, he stepped inside what appeared to be a stockroom. Shelves laden with jerseys, Slammers caps, coozies, pennants and seat cushions surrounded him. And right in the middle of it, covering the floor, was a mountain of big yellow foam hands with index fingers sticking up.

He saw the hands, which proclaimed Slammers Are #1, during every game. But he’d never seen them moving by themselves, undulating on the floor like a big yellow serpent.

Suddenly a head popped out of the pile, and he realized it wasn’t the hands moving. It was the woman beneath them.

At least, he assumed it was a woman. Since he could only see the back of a thick head of dark hair, he couldn’t be sure. But given the shapely figure outlined by a tight pink T-shirt and jeans that worked its way out from beneath the yellow mountain, he figured he was right. That was confirmed when a feminine voice muttered a very foul word. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh.

“Slimy salesman. Oh, sure, we needed a thousand of these things,” she said as she sent a bunch of the hands flying in all directions. “I’ll tell you where you can shove your dumb…”