Switch Hitter (4 page)

Chapter Three

Sean took the long way around to his new locker. He’d hoped for a better start with the Mustangs than sitting on the bench for the first series, but as punishments went, he’d gotten off easy. After greeting the owners of the lockers flanking his, he put on his practice uniform, then headed for the dugout and his first batting practice with his new team. At least Doyle hadn’t taken pregame activities away from him.

The summer Texas sun was unrelenting as he began his stretching routine. His ribs hurt from two rounds with Bentley, and his nose throbbed with every heartbeat. Both were constant, unnecessary reminders. Memories were all he had, and they never left.

Working by rote, he completed his routine despite the physical discomfort. He couldn’t let anyone know just how bad the pain was or he’d be out on his ass before he ever played a single game. Playing hurt was something he was used to—hell, every athlete was, but he, more than most, made a career out of it.

Rolling to his right hip, he leveraged his body using a two-armed push to stand. His left hip felt like it was on fire. With hands raised above his head, he leaned to the right, stretching the muscles along his left side. He closed his eyes against the pain knifing from his hip, down his thigh then upward to his aching ribs. The injury he’d suffered sliding into second base four years ago had healed, but it didn’t take much to aggravate it, and fisticuffs with Bentley amounted to a lot more than not much.

“You okay?”

Releasing the stretch, Sean straightened. Jason Holder stood before him, his brows knit with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little sore.”

“You had quite a row in the locker room. I take it you don’t get along with Bentley?”

Placing his right hand on his hip, Sean leaned into it—an easy stretch he could do without it pulling on his hip too much. “I owed him one,” he explained, keeping with their fabricated story. “It’s over now.”

“Well, I hope so. We can sure use your bat in the lineup.” Jason slapped him on the shoulder with his catcher’s mitt. “Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks,” he called to the starting catcher’s retreating back. At least someone on the team was glad to see him.

He waited for his turn to swing at a few pitches, managed to hit some without collapsing in pain, then headed for the locker room. Being one of the first back in, he showered then put on his uniform before most of the team finished batting practice. Since he would be warming the bench, he’d done enough. Maybe by the time his sentence was over, he’d be in good enough shape to play.

Wandering out to the dugout, he sat on the wooden bench. Damn. He hadn’t considered how sitting on a hard surface for hours would feel. Standing, he leaned against the rail, letting his right leg take most of his weight. After the home series, the team would be on an extended road-trip—three cities within ten days. He had to be better by then because traveling was difficult enough when you weren’t a physical wreck.

“Flannery,” Doyle greeted him.

“Hey.” Sean lifted his chin. “How’s it look?” he asked, referring to today’s match-up against the Angler’s.

“We should win today. Rodgers has been pitching well for us, and he has a good record against the Anglers.”

Nodding, he moved to a shadier spot. “Yeah, he has. I sure as hell can’t hit against him.”

“Well, thank goodness you don’t have to anymore. I wish I could put you in. We could use your bat. They’re pitching Roebuck today.”

“I think half my homeruns have been off him.”

Doyle laughed at Sean’s statement. “You’ve had your share.” His smile died. “You sure you and Randolph can get along on the same team?”

“Positive.”

“News to my ears.” The team manager hung the clipboard containing today’s lineup on the back wall then returned to the clubhouse.

Sean folded his arms over the top rail of the dugout fence then rested his chin on top. No one had to tell him the Mustangs were his last chance. Since leaving the Pioneers four years ago, he’d been traded two times. If he blew it here, his career was over.

Several more players entered the dugout. Resuming his seat on the bench, he fell into the general camaraderie. Most of them had been in his shoes, new guy on the team in the middle of the season, so they made him feel welcome. He laughed off a comment about restricting his swinging to the batter’s box then looked up to see Bentley Randolph step out of the tunnel leading to the clubhouse.

The object of all his fantasies accepted good-natured ribbing from their teammates, then as if to prove all was well, or maybe because they were the only two in time-out, he walked over to where Sean had staked out a place on the bench, and sat.

“See?” he announced to the dugout, “no problem. We’re pals now.” He half turned to face Sean. “Right?”

“Right. Pals,” he confirmed. He flashed a smile Bent’s direction then focused on the pregame activities taking place on the field.

Shit.
He had to concentrate on something other than the way the man sitting beside him smelled—like fresh soap with an earthy scent unique to him. He especially needed to think about something besides the way the shadows in the dugout made Bent’s eyes look like dark lakes and his full lips appear a deeper rose than usual. So damned kissable. He ached with the need to taste him, right here, right now—the whole world be damned if he did.

The team took the field for the national anthem. Afterward, Sean chose to stand at the fence, hoping being close to the action would help, but all he could think about was Bent sitting on the bench behind him. They were trying too hard to make it look like everything was all right between them when nothing ever would be. Bentley wasn’t going to acknowledge his feelings, and he’d promised his teammate he wouldn’t push him to. Shifting his weight to his right leg again, he forced his brain to focus on the game in front of him.

After seven innings, the Mustangs were up by three runs and the atmosphere in the dugout was guarded joviality. Spirits were high. When Jason Holder added a two-run homer in the bottom of the eighth inning and his brother Jeff came out of the bullpen to seal the deal, Sean found himself caught up in the moment. For the first time since he heard he’d been traded to the Mustangs, he felt as if it might work out. All he needed to do was focus on his job, shove his personal life back into the closet where it had been until Bentley walked in, opening the door, and everything would be okay.

Simple.

* * *

He’d spent three days looking at Sean’s ass while his own squirming backside rode the dugout bench. With a smile pasted on his face, he congratulated his teammates on their successful three game sweep against the Anglers, all the while he seethed inside. In a profession where there was always someone younger, someone eager to make his mark, a player couldn’t afford to sit out a single game, much less an entire series. Over the three game home stand, it was obvious Rick Powers was capable of playing left field with the big boys, and he would smile while he did it for millions less than Bentley’s contract.

Bentley kept his morose thoughts to himself as he packed for the road trip. No need worrying Ashley. She’d bought the same story he’d told team management to explain what happened in the clubhouse, and as far as she knew, a three game suspension would be the end of it.

He knew better. The media was having a field day with the unexplained benching, speculating on what had caused the Mustangs to discipline two seasoned veterans. Bruising on both their faces led to mostly accurate speculation about some kind of physical altercation, leaving the reporters shaking their heads as to a reason behind it.

“You’ll be back on the field tomorrow, won’t you?” Ashley handed him a stack of folded briefs to add to his suitcase.

“Yeah, I will. Doyle said three games.”

“That’s good.” She returned to the dresser, pulling a drawer open. She counted out the number of socks he would need. Juggling them across the room, she dumped them unceremoniously on the bed.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She was doing it again—that thing she did when she was pissed at him. It was far from yelling and screaming, yet it wasn’t the silent treatment either. She talked to him, but in clipped, coldly formal sentences. It drove him nuts.

“Just say what you want to say,” he said, halting his packing to confront her.

She folded her arms across her breasts and glared at him. Brittle silence descended on the room, broken only by the distant hum of the air conditioning unit straining to keep the Texas heat at bay. Cold sweat formed on his nape but he refused to look away.

“I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“I’m going on the road.” He gestured at his half-packed bag. “That’s what’s going on.”

She sighed then, like a popped balloon, dropped to the edge of the bed. “Bent,” she implored, “I know something is wrong. I’ve known you long enough to know when you aren’t telling me everything. Something happened with Sean Flannery, and I want to know what it was.”

“Nothing happened. He’s new in town. He came by to get some advice on where to look for houses.”

“He’s been traded enough to know the relocation service can help him find a place. Even if he did come here for help, why you?”

Bent shrugged. “I don’t know. We played on the Pioneers together for a while. I guess he thought he could trust my judgment.”

“So, he comes over to ask advice then, as soon as he leaves, you decide you want to get married and have kids.”

One of the reasons he loved Ashley was because she wasn’t stupid, but right at the moment he would give almost anything for her to be at least a little oblivious.

“He’d been gone for a long time when you came home. It might have seemed sudden to you, but it wasn’t to me. I’ve been thinking about marrying you for a few months.

“But you hadn’t bought a ring, or planned something romantic for your proposal?” She held one hand up, her high ponytail swishing over her shoulders as she shook her head. “I’m not buying it. Impulsive is not your style.”

“Maybe I’d been out in the sun too long. I don’t know, Ashley. I’m sorry I wasn’t eloquent or romantic, but none of it changes the facts. I do want to marry you and have kids. I was being honest with you.”

“I know it is. I wouldn’t have said yes if I thought otherwise, but ever since you came home with a black eye, you’ve been keeping something from me. You won’t tell me how you got it, or why you were fighting. I love you, but I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me. I don’t like it.”

“The black eye was nothing. I told you it was just a clubhouse disagreement.”

“That got you benched for three games! You and Sean Flannery.”

Bent pressed his lips together, refusing to acknowledge the truth of her statement.

“Go on. Pack.” She waved her hand at the gaping luggage. “Go on the road. Leave the ignorant little girlfriend behind to worry about you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled.
Shit.
He walked around the bed, holding his arms open for her. She walked into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist, then proceeded to sob against his shoulder.

He hated her tears. He never knew what to do to make them stop.

“Babe. I’ll be fine. No more fighting. I promise.” He hoped to God he was saying what she wanted to hear.

“Use your words, not your fists?” She snuffled into his shirt.

That’s more like it.
Smiling, he kissed the top of her head. “You know, you’re going to make a wonderful mom.”

“You think so?”

She hugged him tighter, her feminine frame feeling good pressed against his length. He stroked her back with one hand while he held her close with the other.

“I know so. You’re intuitive, loving, wise, and protective.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. I hate seeing your face bruised up. I wanted to hit someone myself.”

He chuckled, imagining her fighting off bullies for him. “It won’t happen again,” he promised.

Her hands slipped down his back then inside the waistband of his shorts. His cock, half-alert already came to full attention as her hands played over his bare skin, kneading, exploring. So different from the way Sean had touched him, but just as arousing.

He pushed thoughts of big, callused palms and blunt fingers out of his mind to focus on the woman in his arms. He wanted her and no one else.

Leaning forward, he brought his face even with hers. “I want you.”

Her lips opened, invited him in. He accepted the invitation, covering her mouth with his, plunging his tongue deep to taste her.

She intoxicated him, made his cock swell and throb with need. Her fingers found his cleft, played there a bit though her arms weren’t long enough to allow her better access. He flexed those muscles, startling a groan from her.

He held her close with a hand pressed between her shoulder blades while his other one snuck between their bodies to stroke the satin skin of her stomach. Inching lower, his fingers found her soft mound, then lower, her moist slit. She writhed against him, encouraging him to explore deeper. Blood rushed to his groin, making him lightheaded, desperate.