Over the Fence: Lyssa Layne's Baseball Romances (29 page)

I try to focus on the game at hand and not that incredibly, sexy—
stop Tate, keep your head in the game.
But I can’t, all I can picture is Mia in that photo and those rookies oogling over her. I’m so far off my game it isn’t even funny. Three innings later and my teammates are less than happy about the loss that was just handed to us.

In the locker room, I try to zone out and figure out how I’m going to approach this with Mia. I don’t want any other man looking at her the way those rookies did. I don’t want this to hurt our future. I shake my head, sweat dropping on my bare shoulders from my damp hair. I’m in way too deep with her already.

“I wonder if she ever did Playboy.”

“Google it and see if you can find a naked pic of her.”

Fuckin’ rookies!
Clenching my fist, I bat the phone out of his hand breaking it into tiny pieces.

“What the fuck, James?” the puny outfielder yells at me.

“Show the woman some respect,” I say as I stare him down.

He’s pissed. His face is all red and scrunched up. That phone probably cost more than he got paid today. “You can’t fuckin’ break people’s shit,” he says, standing up and hovering over me.

God, like this day could get any worse.
I stand up and eclipse him in size. Chest to chest, we stare eye-to-eye. “Respect her and I won’t do it again.”

“What, are you sleeping with her or something? If you are, I’m sure you’re not the only one. I mean, if she takes pictures like that then she probably gets around.”

It only takes a split second before I shove him into his locker. Hangers sway back and forth and make a loud crashing noise as they fall to the ground when he hits them. I grip his jersey in my hand and pull back my fist, but before I punch, I feel a hand grasp my fist. Spinning around to see who’s ganging up on me, I relax when I see Grant Adamson, the team’s new pitching coach.

Restraining me by the waist, he pulls me away from the rookie and into the training room. As soon as the door closes, I let out a string of expletives and punch the table in front of me. I do this a few more times until my blood pressure starts to come down.

Adamson just stands there until I finish my tantrum. “Well, that’s one way to get over a loss.”

“It’s spring training; losses don’t matter.”

He shrugs. “Then what made you go Evander Holyfield on the rookie?”

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Grant raises an eyebrow. “If I had to guess, I’d say a woman.”

Lifting my head up quickly, my blood pressure starts to rise again. “Don’t you fuckin’ say one thing about Amelia Tomko because there’s no one here to stop me from giving you a beat down.”

Grant holds up his hands in surrender. “Wrong guy here and I don’t know who Amelia Tomko is unless you’re talking about the gorgeous woman in the stands that never took her eyes off you the entire game.”

I unclench the fist I’d made and lean against the table, trying to relax. “Yeah, that’d be her.”

Grant nods. “So, what’s the story?”

I stare at him, wondering if I can trust him. Back in Milwaukee I could talk to any infielder on the team and know it wouldn’t get out. I don’t know much about this guy other than he and Jace Richards, the Loyola alum who turned out to be scum, had a major rivalry. But hell, I don’t have anyone, and I need to vent before I see her, which will be sooner than later.

“I just met her last month, she’s my realtor. I thought we’d really connected, but apparently she has some secrets in her past.”

“Are they deal breakers?”

“I…I don’t know,” I answer, almost dumbfounded by his question.

“Then that’s a no. We’ve all got a past so give her the benefit of the doubt and move on.”

There’s more truth to that statement than Adamson knows.

Mia

I feel like a total groupie as I wait outside the stadium in the high Arizona temperatures. It’s hot. Really hot. Digging through my purse, I search for a ponytail holder with one hand while the other holds my hair off the nape of my neck. In a pair of jeans and a tank top, I’m doing my best to beat this Arizona heat.

Behind me, I hear a few whistles from men, but refuse to turn around. My face still flushes red, I hate that kind of attention. Out of nowhere, an arm slides around my waist and pushes me forward.

“Let’s go.” Tate’s voice is tight and raw. I’m happy to see him, but it’s hard to relax the way he sounds. He opens the door to his Ford F-350 and helps me inside. Before he closes the door, I recognize the pitching coach and the female trainer walking toward us.

“Hey, James, why don’t you and Mia join us for dinner?” the pitching coach suggests.

Tate glances up at me and I nod, letting him know it’s okay. Tate closes my door and I see the two men talk, their faces emotionless. Tate moves around the truck and gets in the driver’s side, turning on the engine without a word. We drive twenty minutes to an Italian restaurant that’s on a side street from the main drag. Tate still hasn’t said anything, much less hello.

I quickly get out of the truck before he can help me. I shake my long hair trying to get it off my back as I’m still sweaty. At least I shouldn’t be concerned if my makeup is running because it doesn’t look like this trip is headed anywhere toward a good time. Debating whether I should call a cab and head back to L.A. now or suffer through dinner, my thoughts are interrupted when the couple from the parking lot join us.

The female trainer introduces herself as Colie Adger and the pitching coach, her fiancé , as Grant Adamson. I’m totally jealous of Colie’s blonde hair and button nose. Linking her arm with mine, she walks us to the restaurant like we’ve been good friends our entire lives.

“That game was awful, wasn’t it?” Colie says with a roll of her eyes then lowers her voice. “Don’t bring it up, just act like you didn’t see it and hopefully their moods will get better.”

I nod and smile. “So that’s the baseball player’s girlfriend’s secret?”

Colie raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t know you and Tate were so serious…”

My face turns bright red and I shake my head quickly. “No, no…that’s not what I meant!”

Colie laughs at me as I try to recover and the men catch up to us. Grant slides his arm around Colie’s waist and gives her a kiss. “I guess Colie introduced herself?”

Colie playfully hits him as Grant acts like he’s hurt, rubbing his arm.

“She’s had too much testosterone and is ready for another female to discuss wedding details with.”

“Hey!” Colie extends her arm, hitting him in the gut this time and Grant laughs.

Tate stands beside me, but there’s still at least a foot between us and he hasn’t spoken a word other than, “Let’s go.”

The restaurant is dark with dim candles to set the mood. I can hear an Italian voice singing lightly over the speakers in the ceiling and the smell coming from the kitchen makes my stomach growl.

Colie laughs at the sound and says, “Let’s feed this lady. I’m just as hungry as she is.”

We all take a seat at our table. Thank goodness it’s not a booth because I’d hate to see what Tate would do if he accidentally made contact with me. As he sits down, he still refuses to meet my eyes. Trying to act a little more adult than him, I don’t react, but this is getting ridiculous. I’ll get through dinner then I’m headed back to the airport. I just got out of a relationship where I was treated like I was invisible so I don’t need another one.

Grants orders for all of us in Italian, impressing even Colie who showers him with kisses. Tate and I make awkward eye contact and quickly look away from each other. The kisses stop and Grant fiddles with Colie’s bracelet.

“So Mia, what do you do back in L.A.?” Colie asks.

“I’m in real estate. I’m a realtor, but I also flip houses with my business partner.”

Tate finally speaks, which is a relief until I comprehend his words. “What else do you do, Mia? Any side jobs you have?”

My stomach sinks when he asks this. I see Grant shoot Tate a warning look. Thank God the only light in this room is from the glow of the candle because my face must be three shades of red. My leg bounces lightly until the table starts to shake and I grab the candle to keep it from tipping over. Looking Tate square in the eyes, I ask, “What kind of side jobs do you mean?” Although I can tell he’s found out.

He raises his eyebrow. “One in front of a camera?”

Not backing down, I’ve done that too many other times in the past, I raise my eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“When you’re almost naked and half the team is getting off to you, hell yeah, I have a problem with it!” Tate yells and diners at the other tables turn to stare.

Tears prick at my eyes. In a low voice, I look at Grant and Colie apologetically. “I’m sorry about this. Thank you for the invitation to dinner, but I should probably go.”

Pushing my chair back quickly, I stand and bolt to the front door. Once outside, I pace back and forth trying to gather myself as the tears rush down my cheeks. My chest heaves up and down and I try to focus on my breathing to slow it down. Once I can breathe without gasping, I pull out my phone to call a cab. As I wait, I decide to walk down a block in case Tate decides to come after me. Giving the call service the address, I hang up and laugh bitterly. He’s not coming after me.

I take a seat at the wooden bench and finally pull my hair into a high ponytail. Bringing my legs to my chest, I rest my chin on my knees. Sighing, I realize yet again I can’t pick men. The thought makes the tears come faster and I hide my head in my legs, trying to forget the past couple months.

“Mia! Fuck, are you okay?”

Lifting my head up, I wipe away the mascara streaks and see Tate standing in front of me. I quickly get to my feet, moving my hand to my hip. Motioning toward the restaurant, I answer, “Am I okay? I flew out here to see you and I didn’t even get a hug or a hello when you saw me. Instead you ushered me to the truck before anyone could see you with,
gasp!
, a lingerie model. Then you bring me to dinner with two total strangers that I’ve never met and embarrassed me. So no, Tate, I’m not okay.” My hands move around wildly as I speak, tears falling down my cheeks.

Instead of responding, Tate grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him. Our chests smash together and he fists my hair in his hand, looking into my eyes. “I’m an ass, Mia, I know it. I was completely out of line back there and I’m sorry. Please…forgive me.”

I easily want to honor his request, but I’m not sure I can handle another relationship like the one I just got out of. I close my eyes to think and I feel Tate’s lips press against mine. His kiss is urgent, he’s begging for my forgiveness. Hardly moving, I part my lips and feel his tongue roll over mine. The kiss gets stronger the longer we stand there, hands roaming over each other’s bodies until catcalls pull us back to reality.

Tate leans his forehead against mine. “Don’t let me act like that anymore, Mia. I need a woman like you who is strong and can tell me when to stop being an idiot.”

I laugh. Strong has not been a word used very often to describe me. Tate runs his finger over my bottom lip and if he’s like me, I know he’d rather be kissing than standing here on the sidewalk. He inhales deeply and slowly lets out his breath. “We both have a past and if we want this… relationship to go any further, it’s time we come clean with each other.”

My heart races for two very different reasons. Tate just officially labeled us, which makes me feel giddy like a teenager, and while I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level, I don’t think I’m ready to face my demons of the past.

CHAPTER 9

Mia

Sitting on the deck of Tate’s condo, I push my plate of pasta away. “I’m stuffed.”

Tate doesn’t hesitate to pull my plate in front of him and finish it off. When I raise an eyebrow, he shrugs. “I need my carbs for energy.”

Laughing, I take a sip of my wine. After an apology to Grant and Colie, Tate got our meals to go and we dined back at his place. To make up for his lack of attention from earlier, Tate’s hands haven’t left my leg, arm, hair… he doesn’t care where but he has to be touching me. It’s endearing, to say the least.

His left hand lingers on my thigh as he eats with his right. I set my wine glass down and trace my finger over his hand resting on my leg. I take a deep breath. “I didn’t go to Stanford to be a pretty face. I wanted to start a business, make my own fortune with my brains, not my body.”

Tate puts his fork down, giving me his full attention. He nods so I continue. “It wasn’t my idea to model, it was my ex’s, which is why I hate it even more. He insisted I do it and each shoot got more and more risqué. When he booked me for Playboy, I drew the line.”

Tate’s jaw is tight as he shakes his head. I can’t tell if he’s trying to hide his surprise or his disgust. Finally, he mumbles, “Thank you.”