Read Online Stopping Short: A Hot Baseball Romance by Mindy Klasky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mindy Klasky
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Contemporary Romance, sexy romance, Contemporary Fiction, Baseball, spicy romance, Sports, Sports Romance, hot romance
Ads: Link
and finally uncurled her fingers from the watch.
He didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. He felt like he should give her something, tell her a secret, like the one she’d just told him, something about his past. But he didn’t talk about his past. Not ever. To anyone.
He could tell her where he’d spent the night.
But he couldn’t give that up either. Not when she was getting out of here in a month, heading back to New York as soon as she’d finished screwing with his Sympathy Index and his Competence Index and his whatever the hell the third one was, the one they were merging into Competence.
Shit. This talking stuff was impossible. No wonder he’d never thought about proposing to a girl for real. He braced himself and got to his feet. “I don’t have to be at the ballpark until noon. I’m going to get some sleep.”
He headed toward the closet, toward the extra blanket for his makeshift bedroll, the one they took apart and hid from the maid each morning. Before he could reach it, though, Jessica swung her legs over the side of the bed. He told himself not to look at her, not to pay attention to the oversize T-shirt that didn’t hide nearly as much as she probably thought it did.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Take the bed. I’m getting a shower and heading downstairs for breakfast.”
He thought about protesting, but the idea of pressing his bruised back to the floor was too painful. When he lay down, the mattress felt like heaven, and the sheets were still warm from her body. He punched up the pillow into a more comfortable shape and groaned as he pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder. He was asleep before she got out of the shower.
CHAPTER 4
Forget the signs flashing from the first base coach to the runners on second and third. Drew got the message loud and clear: Skip was sitting him down. Teaching him a lesson.
Yeah, it was spring training. No one took substitutions seriously in March. But Skip wasn’t even putting him in .
Truth be told, Drew had been glad for the break after he’d gotten beaned. Sure, he’d dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his clothes, clenched every muscle in his body against the throbbing pain of his bruised back. But once he got to the park, he could sit forward on the bench, watch the game from the dugout, rest his aching muscles, and recover.
By Wednesday, he’d been ready to get back out there. Hell, if it had been the regular season, he would have sucked it up and headed back out the day before, bruises or no bruises.
But benched for two weeks while Ordonez strutted like a goddamn peacock? That was a message—loud and clear. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing Drew could communicate in response. Just sit there, follow the game, and look as eager as a rookie.
Feeling helpless was actually worse than watching his career circle the drain. Feeling helpless brought back too many nights of throwing his clothes into garbage bags, of sneaking out to a car that rumbled lights-out on the driveway, of heading to another run-down apartment on another crumbling street to start at another goddamn school where no one knew his name.
And being benched was a thousand times worse because of Jessica. She put on a show every morning, kissing him in the hotel lobby, sending him off to the wars like she believed in him. She sat in the stands every game, whether he played or not. She waited for him in the Vista Linda lobby at the end of the day, after all the time bullshitting in the locker room, after all the team meetings, after all the suspense of whether Skip was going to call anyone into the office, trade someone or cut someone before the end of the day.
And damn if Jessica wasn’t starting to convince him with those kisses.
One month into their crazy fake engagement game, Rule Two still applied. One kiss in the morning, one at night, five seconds a clinch.
But tongue hadn’t been in her initial game plan. Neither was the way she brushed her tits against him
He didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. He felt like he should give her something, tell her a secret, like the one she’d just told him, something about his past. But he didn’t talk about his past. Not ever. To anyone.
He could tell her where he’d spent the night.
But he couldn’t give that up either. Not when she was getting out of here in a month, heading back to New York as soon as she’d finished screwing with his Sympathy Index and his Competence Index and his whatever the hell the third one was, the one they were merging into Competence.
Shit. This talking stuff was impossible. No wonder he’d never thought about proposing to a girl for real. He braced himself and got to his feet. “I don’t have to be at the ballpark until noon. I’m going to get some sleep.”
He headed toward the closet, toward the extra blanket for his makeshift bedroll, the one they took apart and hid from the maid each morning. Before he could reach it, though, Jessica swung her legs over the side of the bed. He told himself not to look at her, not to pay attention to the oversize T-shirt that didn’t hide nearly as much as she probably thought it did.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Take the bed. I’m getting a shower and heading downstairs for breakfast.”
He thought about protesting, but the idea of pressing his bruised back to the floor was too painful. When he lay down, the mattress felt like heaven, and the sheets were still warm from her body. He punched up the pillow into a more comfortable shape and groaned as he pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder. He was asleep before she got out of the shower.
CHAPTER 4
Forget the signs flashing from the first base coach to the runners on second and third. Drew got the message loud and clear: Skip was sitting him down. Teaching him a lesson.
Yeah, it was spring training. No one took substitutions seriously in March. But Skip wasn’t even putting him in .
Truth be told, Drew had been glad for the break after he’d gotten beaned. Sure, he’d dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his clothes, clenched every muscle in his body against the throbbing pain of his bruised back. But once he got to the park, he could sit forward on the bench, watch the game from the dugout, rest his aching muscles, and recover.
By Wednesday, he’d been ready to get back out there. Hell, if it had been the regular season, he would have sucked it up and headed back out the day before, bruises or no bruises.
But benched for two weeks while Ordonez strutted like a goddamn peacock? That was a message—loud and clear. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing Drew could communicate in response. Just sit there, follow the game, and look as eager as a rookie.
Feeling helpless was actually worse than watching his career circle the drain. Feeling helpless brought back too many nights of throwing his clothes into garbage bags, of sneaking out to a car that rumbled lights-out on the driveway, of heading to another run-down apartment on another crumbling street to start at another goddamn school where no one knew his name.
And being benched was a thousand times worse because of Jessica. She put on a show every morning, kissing him in the hotel lobby, sending him off to the wars like she believed in him. She sat in the stands every game, whether he played or not. She waited for him in the Vista Linda lobby at the end of the day, after all the time bullshitting in the locker room, after all the team meetings, after all the suspense of whether Skip was going to call anyone into the office, trade someone or cut someone before the end of the day.
And damn if Jessica wasn’t starting to convince him with those kisses.
One month into their crazy fake engagement game, Rule Two still applied. One kiss in the morning, one at night, five seconds a clinch.
But tongue hadn’t been in her initial game plan. Neither was the way she brushed her tits against him
Similar Books
