Double Play Read online

  The booths that would sell food during the games weren’t open today. Family members or girlfriends, who had come to cheer their fellas on carried coolers and climbed into the stands.

  Fortified with hot dogs, sodas and fries, the two women grabbed seats just behind the dugout. Instead of her usual Stetson, Sky wore a Barefoot Bay Bucks ball cap, her hair in a low ponytail pulled through the back. Kelly did the same with her blond tresses. She passed a tube of sunscreen to Sky. “This is Florida. Don’t think you won’t get a nasty sunburn just because it’s February.”

  “Good point. One more thing to add to my shopping list.” She poked Kelly in the arm. “Hey, there’s T, D, and H.” She pointed toward the pitcher’s mound. “I noticed he signed up at your table earlier. What’s his name?”

  “Cal. He told me his mom named him after Cal Ripken.”

  “That’s some name to live up to. Got a lot of details already, huh? When’s your first date?” Sky chuckled.

  “Actually …” Kelly looked sheepish.

  “Seriously? He asked you out already?” Sky rolled her eyes toward the heavens.

  “Well, no. But he did ask for my number. I think he wanted to wait until he knew he’d be here a while.”

  They watched as Cal threw a few pitches. The radar gun read eighty-nine, then ninety-three. The second pitch was a little wild, but the catcher was on it.

  “Wow, he’s pretty fast,” Sky said. “And not just on the pitcher’s mound either.” She slid a look over at Kelly.

  “Don’t interrupt me while I’m drooling. Damn, the guy is hot.”

  The next pitcher took the mound, and as Cal walked back toward the dugout, a curvy blond in the stands stood up and yelled. “Way to go, Cal. Great pitch, baby.” He looked up into the stands and waved toward the woman.

  Kelly’s enthusiasm visibly drained away. “He’s already got a girlfriend.”

  “She might not be a girlfriend. Maybe she’s just a fan.”

  “Or maybe she’s his wife.”

  “Don’t talk like that. She could be his sister. We can find out more tonight.”

  Kelly frowned. “How?”

  “I heard there’s a new bar not too far away from the stadium. It’s called Buckskins, and apparently a lot of the Bucks’ employees hang out there.” She grinned. “It’s my kind of place. Country music, jeans and T-shirts, longnecks and margaritas. We should go tonight and catch the latest news about who’s in—or out.”

  Kelly nodded. “Good idea. Maybe you’ll see that guy who was taking up extra time in your line today. I saw him lean down and whisper something to you.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t get all excited for me. He was one of those guys Kathryn warned us about. All handsome and charming and acting privileged. You know, like he’s just so damn cute he can get away with anything. He didn’t want to sign his full name. Just wanted to use his initials. ‘AJ is what I always go by, miss,’ Sky mimicked, ‘so please don’t make me write down my full name.’ I mean, really, how big a deal was it? To write his legal name? He probably won’t even make today’s cut.” Sky crossed her arms over her chest and huffed out a breath.

  Then sucked one in as AJ strode toward the pitcher’s mound.

  His plain white T-shirt, damp from a few hours in the Florida sun, clung to his torso, outlining his six-pack abs and stretched taut across broad shoulders. His sandy blond hair was just long enough to curl over his ears. His eyes were a luminous blue, even in the shadow under the brim of his ball cap.

  Sky’s mouth went dry.

  “Ah, yeah, he’s a hottie, all right,” Kelly said. “Not that you’re affected by his looks.” She tapped Sky’s hand.

  Sky glanced over and realized she’d unconsciously grabbed Kelly’s arm. She snatched her hand back and tried to compose herself. No. No, no, no. I am not interested in Mr. AJ Reed. He’s just like Handsome Ben. Probably has a dozen girlfriends. And a fancy car. And a rich daddy. Except he’s not my boss, thank God. Besides, he may not even make the cut today.

  Which would be the best thing for my piece of mind.

  “Yep, he’s hot. No argument there. But there are things a lot more important than hotness.” Like kindness, honesty, intelligence. Things Handsome Ben—and probably Mr. AJ Hotness—does not have.

  ~~~

  AJ wiped his left hand down the leg of his pants and stuck it into his glove. He’d watched five other would-be pitchers show what they could do. Now it was his turn, and he was nervous as hell. He was more anxious now than he’d been at his job interview five years ago. He’d waited all his life for this chance, and if he bombed, his dream of playing in the Bigs would be over.

  He didn’t have the time to chase all over the country for other open tryouts. Most of the guys here were younger than him. He’d had to pay his dues to his grandfather before he could even think about playing ball as a career. He’d ghosted out of Cambridge “on vacation” without telling the old man where he was going, knowing his grandfather wouldn’t be happy if he found out. And when his grandad wasn’t happy, he didn’t suffer in silence. AJ had no idea how he’d tell him if he did make the cut down here, to say nothing about how he’d explain to his mom if the old guy slammed the family door in their faces.

  Again.

  He’d worry about that later. Right now, he had tunnel vision, focused on the stocky guy behind the home plate. The catcher threw him a new ball and squatted. AJ glanced around the field. The stands held a fair number of relatives and friends from the sound of the shouts and whistles, plus some local fans who’d come to see the new stadium for the first time. He swallowed, though his throat was dry as the mound he stood on. He toed the rubber and shut out the noise from the stands. One deep breath to settle the jitters in his gut, and he wound up and fired the ball over home plate. His pitch slammed into the catcher’s mitt with an audible thwack. The radar gun read ninety-eight. His taut nerves had powered the hell out of his first pitch. The catcher threw it back and AJ caught it easily, although it was high and a bit off to the right. Probably just another test. He wound up and threw another fastball. This time the read was ninety-six on the radar.

  The catcher tossed it back. “You got a curve?”

  AJ nodded. Felt for the seams on the ball. Took his stance, wound up, and threw.

  A foot in front of the plate the ball dropped like a stone.

  The catcher called, “Do it again.”

  AJ did, with similar results.

  “Let’s see somethin’ else.” The catcher grinned as he threw the ball back this time.

  AJ shot a slider over the left corner of the plate, just inside the strike zone.

  The catcher stood. “That’s good enough for now. You better go talk to Donnie.”

  AJ grinned like he’d won the lottery. “Thanks. Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

  “Yeah, maybe so. Name’s Mack.”

  “Mine’s AJ. Catch you later, Mack.”

  “That’s my line.” Mack grinned.

  The walk back to the dugout didn’t take long. His step was lighter, and his stomach had uncurled a bit—enough to notice the babe who’d taken his paperwork perched behind the dugout. She sat next to the blond who’d manned the other table. They both were a pleasure to look at, but his eyes returned to the brunette. Now there was one pretty lady. Big, beautiful brown eyes and plump lips made to be kissed. She’d pulled back her long, silky fall of brown hair into a ponytail under a Bucks ball cap. He didn’t know how tall she was, but from the waist up, she was a knockout. If he made it to the end of the week, he’d definitely want to try out for some of that.

  He almost ran into Donnie Betz before he jerked his gaze away from her. Get your head on straight, idiot. She’s the fun. He’s the boss.

  “Mr. Betz,” he put his hand out.

  “Donnie.” The big man scowled at him. Didn’t reach for his hand. “You come here to play ball or get laid, Reed?” He jerked his head toward the stands behind him.

  AJ dropped his hand. Yep,
no slack from Donnie. He didn’t miss a thing. “Play ball, sir.” His New York formality slipped in, again.

  “Donnie.” Betz corrected him. “Or, ‘Coach’ works, if you’d rather.”

  AJ merely nodded, afraid to speak and put his foot in his mouth again.

  “You looked good out there. Was that a fluke, or can you do it on a regular basis?”

  Now was not the time to be modest. “All the time, coach.”

  Donnie snorted. “What’s your batting average?”

  Shit. He had to lead with that? “In college it was two-seventy-five, but that was a few years ago. Now that I play on a senior league team, it’s two eighty-eight.”

  “Humph. How come you ain’t been playing real ball, son? You seem to like it, and you look fair to middlin’ on the mound.” Betz’s eyebrows were like two bushy caterpillars vee’d over eyes that were sharp as tacks.

  AJ wasn’t about to spill the long and complicated history of his background and the promise his mother had made on his behalf. “I had … other obligations.” Weak-assed answer that it was, it would have to do.

  The coach stared from under those brows for what seemed like forever. “Obligations over now?”

  Mostly. How he’d explain all this to his grandfather, he had no idea, but he nodded once. “They are.”

  “We’ll see how you hit. If it’s half as good as you pitch, we might offer you a contract come Friday.”

  “Thanks for the chance, Coach. I won’t disappoint you.”

  Betz looked him up and down. “You married?”

  “No.”

  “Engaged?”

  AJ shook his head.

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Nobody special.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. These baseball Annies that hang around after the games are deadly. They’ll suck the life right out of you, and before you know it, you won’t be worth shit out on the mound.”

  Okay, then. Was Donnie Betz going to tell him to eat his vegetables, drink plenty of milk and be in bed by nine, too? He suppressed a smile. “Right, Coach.”

  “Stick around. Once we finish trying out the pitchers, we’ll have you back out there to see how many fellas can hit your stuff.” He walked away and shouted at the guy on the pitcher’s mound. “Get the hell out of here, kid. You can’t pitch for shit.”

  AJ felt sorry for the young man but was impressed that, while he’d thought he had the coach’s undivided attention, the man had been watching the other poor boy pitch. He’d bet not much got past Donnie Betz.

  He looked up into the stands to see if Miss By-the-Book was still watching. No luck. Both women were gone, so he took the steps down into the dugout and found a seat on the bench.

  The day wore on, and before he knew it, he was back on the mound. Mack was still catching—the man must have hamstrings made of piano wire—and he strolled up to the mound and made sure they both agreed on the signals for the type of pitch he wanted him to throw. AJ pitched to ten men, doing his best to strike out as many batters as he could. Several of them managed to connect with the ball, and the shortstops and outfielders got to show off their skills. By three o’clock, Donnie told him he was done for the day and could hit the showers. His elation about getting this far was tempered by the thought of how he’d tell his grandfather—and Zeke—that he had to quit. He had a week to come up with a plan, because come Friday, he damn sure would be a Barefoot Bay Buck.

  He found his name written on duct tape on a locker. An easily removable assignment of space. He’d keep that in mind. It wouldn’t pay to be cocky. He still had to make it through the rest of the week. He took a look around, found the showers, and pulled a clean pair of briefs and a shirt out of his duffel bag. He found an index card inside his locker with a room number on it. How it got there so fast, he had no idea, but arguing with success wasn’t his style. He stripped and headed for the showers.

  Several guys were already cleaning up after their turns on the hot seat. The first man who pitched grinned. “Well, I made it past today’s cuts anyway,” he said.

  “Hey man, you’re a sure thing,” said another guy, whose turned-down mouth indicated there was no locker with his name on it. “The way you pitch, they’d be crazy not to sign you up.”

  “I hope you’re right, but after they see me hit a few, they’ll know my batting average sucks. I just hope Donnie likes my pitching enough to take me anyway.” He nodded to AJ “Hey, man. I’m Cal. How’d you make out?”

  AJ stepped under the spray. “I’m good until tomorrow, too.” He grinned. “I go by AJ. He filled his palm with shampoo and lathered up. “Here’s hoping we both get signed up by Friday.”

  “Amen, bro. Amen.”

  A few more men drifted in. The steam from the showers got thicker, and AJ grabbed a towel from the stack on a bench.

  “Hey, did anyone see who drove the Lamborghini in? I’d pay a few bucks for some time behind that wheel.”

  “Probably belongs to one of the owners,” said another. “What idiot would be trying out for an A-league team in the minors if he could afford to drive one of them?”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. That would be pretty unbelievable.”

  AJ kept his mouth shut. Stupid move, driving the Huracán down. If the other guys found out it was his, they wouldn’t take him seriously. If he did make the team they’d believe he’d bought his way in. Probably give him a world of grief, too. He quickly decided to garage the car in Naples and rent a ride with a lot less hubris. Glad he was one of the early tryouts, AJ would sneak out after he found his room and make the swap before anyone was the wiser.

  Cal stopped by his locker as AJ stuffed his sweaty clothes in his bag. “You going over to the Buckeroo Barracks?” At AJ’S confused scowl, Cal explained. “That’s what I heard a couple of guys call the dorm.” He held out his own index card with his room number printed on it.

  “Yeah, let’s go see where we get to bunk until Friday.”

  Cal nodded. “And, hopefully, all season.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” They left the locker room and followed the signs that led to the back doors. It was a quick walk to the horseshoe-shaped building.

  “Speaking of drinking, I hear the plan is to toss back a couple at a place called Buckskins tonight,” Cal said. “Kinda celebrate making it past the first hurdle. You in?”

  “Hell, yeah. I have an errand to run first, but that shouldn’t take long. I’ll meet you there around seven.”

  “Sounds good.” Cal checked his card and stopped. “This is me.” He opened the door. “See you later, AJ. And hey, congratulations, man.”

  AJ slapped Cal a high-five and continued on down the hall. He opened the door that matched the number on his card. Inside, the room reminded him of an upscale college dorm. Bed, dresser, desk, private bath. Nice. The faint odor of paint still lingered. He noted two things his college dorm hadn’t come with: a flat-screen TV and a California King bed. Luxurious by any standard for dormitory digs. The bed was made and a sign on the closet door proclaimed that linens would be exchanged weekly, but residents were responsible for their own laundry, which could be done in the laundry room at the end of the hall.

  AJ heard another door close and voices in the hallway. He left his bags on the bed to unpack later. First order of business was to ditch his car and find a replacement. He opened his laptop, found the Wi-Fi password that had been thoughtfully taped to the desktop and got on line to find storage in Naples for his car. Ten minutes later, he was out the door, thankfully making it to his car without running into anyone.

  He didn’t notice the slip of paper trapped under his wiper blade until after he got in the car. Getting back out and snatching it was a matter of seconds. It better not be some kind of parking ticket or… The two words written on it cooled his irritation, and the exclamation point actually made him smile. Someone liked fast cars as much as he did. He flipped the paper over again. No signature, not that he expected one. But he’d like to know who was en
amored enough with his favorite possession to leave a note. He doubted it was one of the guys trying out today. Guys didn’t leave notes like this. So a woman. His grin widened. He’d think about who later. Right now his priority was to get out of the stadium lot without being recognized. He left the top up and sped toward the exit.

  AJ drove the main drag past the turn-off to the Casa Blanca Resort and down to the intersection that led to the causeway to the mainland. He’d stop into the Fourway Motel on his way back and cancel the reservation he’d made, just in case he didn’t make the cut. He grinned again as he passed it. His spirits rose with the odds of becoming a Barefoot Bay Buck feeling more and more in his favor.

  If he saw Miss Rules at Buckskins tonight, his day would be a complete success.

  Chapter Three

  Sky stood after AJ left the mound and disappeared into the dugout. She didn’t want to appear too interested in the man’s fate.

  “Hey, Kel, I’m going to stop at the Shop-n-Save and pick up groceries. My two brothers should arrive tomorrow with my stuff, and they are always like ravening wolves where food is concerned. I’ll meet you back home later, okay?”

  Kelly joined her as they walked to the parking lot. “I have a few errands to run, too. See you back at the ranch.”

  Sky had parked in the last row of the lot, and when she rounded the back of her rental CR-V, she stopped short and stared at the sleek, low-slung sports car parked next to her. “Oh my God, it’s a Lamborghini,” she gasped, and put a reverent finger on the electric blue rear-view mirror. The convertible top was up, so she leaned down and looked inside, awed by the instrument panel on the console as well as the one behind the steering wheel.

  When baseball season was over, she and her brothers kept up with the Formula One racing circuit, so cars like this made her heart beat fast. While the boys salivated over Ferraris and MacLarens, and Handsome Ben had expected to impress her with his Porsche, she had always been a Lamborghini fan.

  I wonder who owns this beauty. It can’t belong to one of the tryouts, so… Yeah, no doubt one of the Big Three, as she now referred to Nate, Zeke and Elliott, must be the lucky guy. She dug in her purse, took out the notepad she always kept there and scrawled “NICE RIDE!” in capital letters, then tucked the note under the wiper blade. She stood back and sighed. She’d never make the kind of money required to own a car like this.