Fielder's Choice (14 page)

Her defense systems were definitely in need of a tune-up. That or a complete overhaul.

Chapter 11

Monday mornings were Matt’s least favorite time of the week. When Sophie was in school, it was a mad scramble to get her out of the house. But getting her ready to return to the ranch for the second week of summer camp was proving even more difficult. He’d paid Mrs. Wallenberg that morning and told her to take the week off. Now he wished he’d had her stay to help him get Sophie organized. Too late now.

It hadn’t helped that when he hadn’t been able to banish thoughts of Alana from his mind, he’d stayed up late in the night searching for references to her on the Internet. The photos and videos of her at parties all over Europe fit the image he held. Most of what he’d found hadn’t surprised him. But the Sorbonne site had. Her paintings were astonishing. Somehow she used color and shape to breathe life and soul into landscapes. Her technique was subtle, but the effect wasn’t. What other sides of her personality had she hidden from most of the world?

When he got down to the kitchen, Sophie was stuffing oranges and bread and cheese into her backpack.

“Don’t they feed you?” Matt didn’t like the short sound of his tone. It wasn’t Sophie’s fault that the rain delay in Colorado had made the team late getting back to San Francisco, eating into his sleep time. He tried not to be grouchy, but on four hours sleep he wasn’t in much of an organizing mood.

“I just wanted some extra snacks.” Sophie scampered over to the pantry and stuffed a box of granola bars into the front zippered pocket. “And can I take our new butterfly books with me? And that flower holder from the den?”

“Is this for a project? Don’t they have supplies?”

“Dad, I
need
these things for something I’m doing. You’ll see.”

The last time a mysterious project grabbed her attention, all his clothes ended up covered in glitter when she’d turned on the ceiling fan in the laundry room to dry the glue on her drawings. It’d taken him half an hour to get glitter flakes out of Sophie’s hair. Worse, when he’d stood at the plate for his first at-bat that night, the opposing pitcher made the umpire stop the game while Matt brushed several flecks of glitter off his cheek. The reflection was distracting, the pitcher had said. He grunted at the memory. There was no end to the preciousness of pitchers.

“Is your fleece packed in your suitcase, Sophie?”

“Um... maybe.”

He went upstairs to her room. Sophie’s fleece jacket was draped over the back of the little chair at her desk. He grabbed it but as he did, a drawing on her desk caught his eye. It was a half-finished picture of a woman that looked a bit like Alana. Sophie sidled up to him.

“Is that Alana?” He tried to sound neutral. He sure didn’t want Sophie focused on Alana; one of them dealing with her was enough. He’d already determined Alana wasn’t long-term-relationship material. He didn’t want Sophie getting her hopes up.

Sophie pushed the drawing under another paper. “Oh, no, it’s... um... it’s a lady who lives sort of near the ranch.”

Evasiveness was not one of Sophie’s better skills.

“Which lady?”

“Just a lady.” She avoided his eyes. “I need to get my toothbrush,” she said, slipping away and into her bathroom.

Matt looked back at the drawing. Butterflies had been drawn in a frame around the figure of the woman. She sat in a small hut of sorts, although it could’ve been a tent. He’d ask Sophie about it again when they weren’t pressed for time. He liked to keep on top of the people hanging around his kid. He wasn’t paranoid, but something about Sophie’s furtive manner set off alarms.

When they arrived at the ranch and pulled into the parking lot, Matt certainly didn’t expect to see a man with his hand around Alana’s waist leading her between two rows of olive trees.

Sophie unstrapped her seat belt and jumped out of the car.

“Alana! I have the books, see?”

Alana turned and waved. The man didn’t remove his arm.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Alana said to Sophie.

Alana turned to the man who slowly raised his arm to point at something in the trees and then slowly lowered it to drape it across her shoulders. They took a few steps toward one of the larger trees, and the man pulled his arm away and reached out to tug down one of the branches. Alana leaned close and laughed at something he said.

Matt slammed the door of his car. His chest tightened, and the muscles around his eyes tensed. His chest felt as though wasps were crawling through it. He rarely felt jealous, hadn’t had much occasion to become familiar with the feeling. But he damn sure felt it now. The woman kisses the socks off him and the next time he sees her she’s with another man, acting completely casual about it?

He swatted down the anger threatening to rise in him. Not only did she stir emotions he wasn’t used to wrestling, but she was wrong, wrong,
wrong
, and he’d better move on before he did something foolish. They’d made a date to get together on Thursday evening after his day game. He’d even considered the menu for the romantic dinner he’d planned to make since he’d have the house to himself. Now he felt foolish for even considering such preparations. He was pretty sure he’d be better off meeting her in the local cafe and telling her he’d made a mistake, that they really shouldn’t bother to get together since they were clearly so mismatched.

But as she turned and walked toward him and Sophie, the barrel-chested, cheery guy walking close beside her, a primal surge of possessiveness and competition blazed, and he knew he’d do no such thing. He’d at least have her before he cut it off. She wanted him, he was sure. He hadn’t spent most of his life learning to size up bodies and intentions to be wrong about hers.

“I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow,” Alana said as she bent down to look at the books Sophie had brought.

“Apparently,” Matt said, instantly regretting his biting tone.

Alana glanced up at him, and a sly smile lit her eyes.

“These books are wonderful, Sophie. Just what we need to plan the butterfly garden. May I hold on to them for a few days?”

“Sure,” Sophie said. She shot a killer glare at the man.

“This is Enzo,” Alana said as she stood. “Enzo, meet Sophie and her father, Matt. Sophie is one of our most dedicated campers.”

Enzo held out his hand to Sophie. Matt saw the debate in her eyes, but then she politely offered her hand. Enzo bowed over Sophie’s hand and brushed the air above her fingers with a kiss.

“
Piacere
,” Enzo said with a wide grin.

Matt suppressed a laugh as Sophie made a face and drew her hand to her side. When Enzo turned and offered his hand to Matt, he shook it, although he wanted to crush the guy’s knuckles. It didn’t escape him that he was behaving like a teenager.

Enzo took Alana by the arm, and the wasps revved up their wild dance in Matt’s chest.

“We must hurry,” Enzo said in a thick Italian accent. “The wine tasting is at noon.”

“My
dad
likes wine,” Sophie sputtered.

“Then you are living in an excellent region,” Enzo said. He glanced at his massive Rolex. “Ah,” he murmured as he began to tug Alana away, “there’s just enough time to see that painting you wanted to show me.”

“It’s a study for the label for this year’s vintage,” Alana said, as if her words explained why the guy was holding her arm. Alana patted Sophie on the shoulder. “Thank you for the loan of the books, Sophie.”

She turned her gaze to Matt. It was all he could do not to punch the guy and throw Alana over his shoulder and carry her into her house. Instead he held his face placid, as if facing a veteran pitcher.

“See you Thursday,” she said with a glittering smile before she turned and walked off with Enzo.

Sophie looked at Matt as though he’d just let the dragon walk off with the princess.

Maybe he had.

“Let’s get you settled in, Punkin. I have to head to the stadium.”

Thursday’s date had taken on a whole new angle. It’d be all he could do to wait until then to sort things out.

Sort things out, my ass.

The only thing that calmed the jealousy burning in him was imagining Alana in his bed, lost in the throes of sexual ecstasy. Ecstasy that he’d mastermind and render with exquisite control.

Chapter 12

Matt ran for his phone, stubbing his toe on his dresser as he grabbed for it. Sophie’s ringtone always had his heart beating a little faster. Emergencies were rare, but he didn’t like her calls to go to voicemail.

“Hi.” Alana’s voice had a lilt he found irresistible. “Sophie loaned me her phone—I lost your number.”

“Bit early to be up and about, isn’t it?”

It was only six thirty. He imagined her as the type that slept in.

“Camp drills are at six. I decided to give them a go. It’s exhausting, really, all those jumping jacks, but the kids seem to love them.”

“I didn’t know jumping jacks were still considered a useful exercise.”

“Apparently they rank right up there with tap ‘n’ tote, whatever that is,” she said with a laugh. “Look, I have to cancel our date for tomorrow night. I’d forgotten it’s the campfire night. Evidently my grandmother always attended, so I must as well. We’ll have to reschedule.”

Reschedule
.

She said it like he was a slot on a calendar, an activity in a series of activities planned at her whim: hump Enzo, buy tickets to Paris, book hair appointment, reschedule night with Matt.

Brakes
. His ridiculous reaction told him it was time to put the brakes on.

He was blowing every interaction with her out of proportion. If she wanted casual, he was good at casual. Or at least he used to be in the years before he’d married Liza.

“No problem,” he said, hoping his tone sounded more laid-back to her than it did to him.

“Parents are invited,” she said cheerily. “Encouraged to come, I’m told.”

Though most of his waking moments for the past seven months had been focused on him being the best parent he could be, he didn’t like the way Alana said the word
parents
. Like he was in some sort of circumscribed, predictable club or something.

“Gotta run’” she said over the clanging of pots and excited voices in the background. “They’re serving blueberry pancakes for breakfast. If I don’t see you tomorrow, call me and let’s find a time to get together. Ciao.”

Matt rubbed out the pain in his toe. Ice would be good. But maybe he’d be better off with it on his head instead of his foot.

The woman riled him. And worse, he was pretty sure she wasn’t trying to.

As he drove to the stadium, he decided that what he should do was go out after the game and get laid. Maybe that’d clear his head. But he was way out of practice in the pickup scene. He’d been married and faithful for six years and hadn’t had much interest in sex since Liza died. Except for his disastrous hook-up with a woman in Philly and inevitable sessions with his tried-and-true hand, he hadn’t pursued his body’s urges. Until he’d met Alana. Until the feel of her body and the erotic pulse of her lips set him on fire and left him unable to douse the flame.

Great. He was horny, and the object of his fantasies was inviting him to campfire night. Wasn’t that a kicker?

Matt grabbed his glove and jogged out to the field. Yesterday’s victory combined with a win today would sweep the Braves. The prospect of the sweep put everybody in a good mood.

But the Braves were a tough team. Their starting pitcher had pitched a no-hitter against the Mets the previous week, and their lead-off hitter was on a nineteen-game streak.

Playing a tough team upped Matt’s game. The sheer physicality of seeing another player make a near-impossible play revved him. It didn’t matter who the guy played for, but he preferred it to be the team he was on.

Sometimes he’d watch the plays of the week just for the jolt of inspiration, the flash of awe that zipped through him. He craved the rush, but there was more. He had a theory that the body had a mind of its own, that by seeing new patterns of movement—the nuances of a unique power swing or the angle and torque of a spectacular spinning catch and release—and holding them in the mind’s eye, those patterns laid down new possibilities, the way a spider could spin a web and then travel across it.