Worth the Trade (More Than A Game) (5 page)

“Looks like we have a deal.” She leaned across the armrest and shook on it. She got a shiver down her spine at the contact. But it wasn’t the good kind of shiver. Not at all like the kind of tingling she felt when she touched Marco.

That kind of tingling must have short-circuited her brain. She’d just bet ten percent of her team—her legacy—on a player who didn’t want to be there in the first place. A man who was more interested in hitting on her than hitting a baseball.

What could possibly go wrong?

Maybe she wasn’t ready to run the team. No. She was ready. She’d been doing it long enough. Marco Santiago was a good acquisition. He was a good player and once he had a chance to settle in with the team, he could be a great player. One she could count on. What she hadn’t counted on was the crazy attraction between them. It had thrown her off her game, but she’d shake it off. She had to.

Chapter 3

After his last at bat, Marco glanced over at the empty seat behind home plate. Even without her sitting there, he still felt the overpowering presence of Hunter Collins. He wanted her. Wanted her more than was good for him. Or the team.

The Goliaths had a six game road trip coming up. He was already packed, ready to head straight for the airport after the game. He hoped getting away for a few days would give him the space he needed to get his head on right. To work out the flaw in his swing. Yeah, sure, the flaw was in his swing. In the swing of his head toward Hunter’s seat. Then up toward the booth, where he imagined the owner’s box was located.

A road trip was just what he needed to clear his head. To get back in the game. And every other cliché guys like him used to excuse their poor performance.

Hunter believed in him. Or she had until he got one look at her, and he’d somehow forgotten everything he’d ever known about hitting a baseball. It couldn’t come at a worse time, either. Not when his contract was up at the end of the year.
 

This was supposed to be his chance to sign the big deal. He hoped it would be here, in San Francisco. In the short time he’d been in the Goliaths clubhouse, he’d noticed the guys had something special. A camaraderie that he hadn’t found anywhere else. Instead of a collection of players, all doing their own thing, they were a
TEAM
. They backed each other up. And not just when the spotlight was on them. It was like they were more than teammates. More than friends, even. It was like they were a family.

But he was still the outsider. The new guy who wasn’t quite cutting it. Wasn’t pulling his weight. And that was one more reason he needed to stay as far away as possible from Hunter. He didn’t need to sleep his way onto the roster. That wouldn’t do either of them any good.

He needed to forget about her. Starting now. He’d board the plane for Atlanta, and when he returned, he wouldn’t be bothered by her presence behind home plate. Wouldn’t even think about unbuttoning her stuffy shirts or unpinning her uptight hairdo. He wouldn’t wonder if she was as soft underneath as she pretended to be hard on the outside.

And he damn sure wouldn’t worry about her partner, married or not, sliding up next to her in the luxury suite, laughing at what a mistake she’d made in bringing Marco Santiago to San Francisco.

No. He couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let him put her down. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying
I told you so
.

Marco would just have to work harder. Smarter. And better than anyone else on the team.

* * * *

Six days later, Marco was the last one to board the plane back to San Francisco. He’d improved his batting average, gotten his first extra-base hit, and two more RBIs. But he still wasn’t in his groove. Most of those hits were just plain lucky. Weak ground balls that squirted through the infield. Bloopers that fell just short of the outfielders. He wasn’t making real good contact, and he had far too many strikeouts.

His concentration was still shot.

It helped a little that Hunter wasn’t sitting behind home plate. But she was sitting there in his head. Tormenting him. Tempting him. Torturing him.

He’d never let a woman come between him and his game. Not in high school, college, or the minor leagues. Especially not when he’d made it to the majors. He’d always kept his personal life separate. Any time a woman even got close to coming between him and baseball, it was always easier to let her go than try to juggle her needs with the needs of his team.

Ever since he stepped into that limo with Hunter, he couldn’t get her out of his system. Must be pheromones or something. How else could he explain an intense sexual attraction to a woman who was not only his boss, but was sending seriously non-sexual signals?

The way she dressed, for example. He couldn’t think of one thing he liked about her wardrobe. She dressed like she was going for a job interview at a funeral home in a black-and-white movie. He’d only seen her in black and gray. Conservative. Boring. Like she was trying to hide something. Her femininity. Her passion. But he saw right through her. Or rather, he felt something, an underlying sensuality that she couldn’t quite keep hidden. Not from him.

And he wanted to uncover that sensuality in the worst way.

But despite their mutual attraction, she’d made it very clear she wasn’t interested in him.

Time to let it go. To take the advice of the master of control. The man. The myth. The Monk.

“Hey Johnny, I’ll bet you’re looking forward to getting home.” Marco sat down with an empty seat between him and his teammate.

“Yeah. It wasn’t a bad road trip.” They’d won four out of six games in Atlanta and Milwaukee. “But I’m definitely ready to sleep in my own bed.”

“For me, one hotel is the same as the next.” He wasn’t complaining, just stating a fact.

“You’re still at the hotel?” Johnny shook his head. “Man, you need a place of your own.”

“I haven’t had time to look.” He was too busy trying to get Hunter out of his head. Trying to get his swing back. “Besides, at this point I don’t even know how long I’m going to be here. Kind of hard to find a decent place willing to rent for only two or three months.”

“You could sublet my apartment,” Johnny offered. “It’s right across the street from the ballpark. Now that Alice is over her morning sickness, we never stay over. It’s just sitting there. Vacant. It would be perfect for you, if you’re interested.”

“That might help me feel a little more settled.” Anything was better than staring up at the ceiling in his hotel room that was so like any other hotel room in any other city. A bed. A shower. A minibar. He hadn’t even bothered to unpack his suitcase. He’d given up a long time ago trying to ever make himself at home.

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow morning and take a look. If you want it, it’s yours. Through October. This team has come too far to go home at the end of September.”

“Sounds like a good deal.” Marco leaned back in the seat. Having a place to live was only part of his problem.

“Anything else I can do to help you settle in?” Johnny asked. The man must have noticed Marco’s lack of concentration.

Marco leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So how do you keep your head clear? Your concentration is legendary.”

“Well, to tell the truth, a lot of it was not having anything else to think about. I didn’t have anything else to care about.”

No woman getting under his skin.

“Well, you’ve got a lot now. A new wife, a teenager, and a baby on the way.” Marco was surprised by the little stab of envy. “You still manage to keep your head in the game.”

“Now I’ve got even more reason to keep my focus.” Johnny’s face lit up with the mention of his family.

Again, Marco felt like he was missing out on something. Not that he was looking to get married any time soon. But he thought he’d want a wife. A couple of kids. Someday. When he had a long term contract. When he could offer security. Stability.

He knew he wouldn’t want to uproot a family every couple of years. He’d done enough of that growing up. He’d always hated being the new kid. Having the teacher assume he didn’t speak English because he was one of those migrant worker’s kids. Sometimes they wouldn’t even bother to check his birth certificate to see that he was, in fact, here legally. He was born in Texas, just like two former presidents.

“I need to find my focus,” Marco stretched his legs out in front of him. “Otherwise, I won’t need to bother unpacking my bags. My contract is up at the end of the year. Then I’m a free agent.”

“So you want to make sure you finish strong.” Johnny knew the game. The whole game, both on and off the field.

“I want to help the team finish strong.” What he really wanted was a long-term contract. “The postseason bonus would be nice, too.”

“Not to mention make you more marketable.”

“Hey, maybe if I get my act together, they might want to keep me around.” Marco threw it out there as a joke, but yeah, he’d like that. He’d like that a lot. “It seems like a good organization. A team that’s only going to move forward.”

“Yeah. I’ve loved playing with these guys this year. More than being a collection of all-stars, it really feels like a team, you know?”

“I haven’t quite felt like one of the guys yet.” Marco had never had trouble fitting in with his teammates. But not this time. Mostly because he felt like he was letting everybody down. He didn’t want to be the reason they didn’t make it to the postseason.

“You will. You’ve been with the team, what, a week?”

“Ten days.” Ten days and he hadn’t done shit. Other than hit on his new owner, struggle at the plate and keep to himself. Yeah, that was a good way to fit into the clubhouse.

“You’ll feel like one of us by the end of this home stand. They traded for you for a reason. I’m sure you’ll be a key member of this team by the end of October.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re The Monk. You’re sure of everything.”

The other man just laughed.

“What looked like confidence on the outside”—Johnny turned and gave him a serious stare—“was just a way of covering up my fear. For most of my career, I was too scared to get rattled. Afraid if I let up for one game, one pitch, the whole world would find out I was a fraud.”

“You’re hardly a fraud.” Marco had a hard time picturing future Hall of Famer Johnny Scottsdale as having any doubts. “You’re practically perfect.”

“I was perfect. Once. For nine innings. I got over it.” Johnny also had two Cy Young Awards. “Besides, I still had to come out to the ballpark week after week. Play my game, even though I knew I wasn’t going to be perfect. I knew I’d make mistakes. And it wasn’t until I realized that I didn’t have to be perfect that I was able to relax again. I just have to go out there and be the best I can be on that day.”

“You know, that’s probably the best advice anyone’s ever given me.”

“Anytime.” Johnny stretched out his legs, leaned back in his seat, and tried to relax a little.

“How’d you do it all those years?” Marco needed to know about the non-baseball stuff. “How did you stay a monk off the field?”

Johnny chuckled. Shook his head and pulled his legs up so he could rest his elbows on his knees.

“It was actually a lot easier than you’d think.” He gave Marco a sideways glance. “For me, anyway. I could resist temptation because there was really only one woman for me.”

“Your wife.” Envy shook Marco like a blast of turbulence. “How did you know she was the one?”

“I just did. It’s hard to explain, especially since she married my best friend right after I left for the minor leagues.” Johnny leaned back, stretching out again. “But it was already too late. She had me the first time we met.”

“And you never even looked at another woman?” Marco was starting to understand what that felt like. There had been women on the road trip who normally would have caught his eye, but he wasn’t interested. Not now. He could tell himself it was because of the slump, but he’d busted out of slumps before with the help of a little female companionship.

“You ever play any other sports?” Johnny asked. “As a kid?”

“Sure. I played soccer a couple of years.” Marco wasn’t sure what this had to do with his question. Maybe Johnny was just tired of the whole monk thing. “But after a while, I gave it up.”

“Were you any good at it?”

“Sure. I was fast. Aggressive. Could kick the ball pretty hard.”