The Hot Corner Page 17

  That declaration led to some hoots and hollers, and a path opened up for me. Despite the people all around us, no doubt staring at the spectacle we were making, I launched myself into him and kissed him hard. What was old was definitely new again. We’d done this dozens of times before, but this felt even more significant. He was Bradley Reynolds, superstar, and he was claiming me in front of stadium full of people. Or was I claiming him?

  “Mmm, that was a phenomenal good-luck kiss. I’m sure to hit a homer today.” A cheer erupted from the crowd, and I smiled and gave him a much more appropriate kiss. “What was that one for?” he asked, running a finger along my cheek.

  “For my baseball.”

  For just one moment, he looked younger, almost bashful. “I hoped you’d still like that.”

  “I love it.” God help me, but I could love him again. Maybe I’d never stopped.

  “Good. How do you like your seat?”

  I grimaced before I could help myself, and he frowned. “Are they giving you a hard time?”

  That was the last thing he needed to be worried about before they kicked off a divisional stand against the Padres.

  “No. Someone’s just bitter that you rejected her advances.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I know who you mean. Don’t listen to a word she says.”

  “I won’t.” All that mattered were the sweet words he’d written to me.

  He tugged on my ponytail. “I meant what I said, though. Hands down, you’re the most beautiful woman in this stadium. I have proof.”

  I batted at his hand. “How could you possibly have proof?”

  “There are cameras at every entrance. I’ve been watching diligently as every fan entered, so I know of what I speak.” His grin was contagious even if he was full of shit.

  “Funny, but it seemed to me that you had batting practice, fielding warmups, and a team meeting.”

  “I multitask.” He turned to the balding, pudgy man in a Dodgers jersey standing to my left. “Isn’t she beautiful? Wouldn’t any guy be lucky to have her?”

  I felt my cheeks heating as the man gave me the once-over. “I’d sure consider myself lucky. Don’t tell my wife I said that.”

  Brad chuckled and took his ball, signing it with a flourish. “I’ll never say a word. Thank you for your totally unbiased opinion.”

  “Unbiased, my ass. He wasn’t going to insult me in front of you.”

  “Well, I could ask that teenager behind you who hasn’t taken his eyes off your ass. He might back me up.” I turned to see a young boy ducking behind some smaller children. I smiled and hoped he wasn’t too embarrassed.

  “That was mean,” I said, turning back to Brad.

  “Maybe, but he needs to watch what he ogles. I’m very possessive of what’s mine.”

  Oh, man. I felt my insides turning mushy even as I sent him a glare. “I’m not a possession.”

  “No, you’re a prize.”

  Jesus. “You need to go play baseball before I forget where we are.”

  He laughed and pulled me in for another kiss. “Hold that thought for the next three hours and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  I had no doubt about that. My head was still spinning as I gave him a wave and turned to head back to my seat. I glanced back over my shoulder, and he was still watching me as he signed a few more autographs, the heat from his gaze nearly enough to have me heading back over to him, but I needed to rein myself in. There was a time and a place, and a baseball stadium filled with tens of thousands of people wasn’t it.

  A lot of eyes were on me as I made my way back to my spot, and I finally got to focus on Linda and the woman she’d been talking to about my man. They were staring at me, openly looking me over as I moved past a pretty blond lady to reclaim my seat. I wasn’t sure which was which, but since the brunette one looked pissed off, I was betting she was the rejected one. Good. Suck it, Linda. The other one, with auburn hair, gave me a half smile and looked almost apologetic. I smiled back and sat down, feeling a bit smug after the display Brad and I had put on for them. Let them stew in their jealousy.

  “Hi, you must be Dani. I’m Melody Craven.” I turned to the woman next to me, the pretty blonde I’d had to move past to get to my seat.

  “How’d you know my name?” I asked.

  “Charlie told me about you. He and Brad are friends.” Right, Charlie Craven, starting catcher. He’d had a lot of positive things to say about Brad when I’d interviewed the team.

  “Oh.” I badly wanted to ask what he’d said, but that might be a violation of Brad’s privacy, or husband-and-wife confidentiality or something.

  She laughed. “You want to know what he said, don’t you?”

  “Kind of,” I said, and she laughed a little harder.

  “Well, all Brad told him was that you two were old friends and that he was officially off the market.” She smiled. “Let me tell you, it’s a relief to have Brad taken. I was afraid he’d get Charlie into trouble every time they went away.”

  I frowned. “You thought Brad would encourage him to cheat?”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head and placed her hand over her belly. I noticed she had a slight bump and felt a little envious. A baby.

  I’d always wanted children. It was one of the reasons I’d said yes when Jason asked me to marry him. Of course, I’d never pictured our children the way I had with Brad. I’d wanted a little boy that looked just like him, though I’d probably regret it once the kid hit his teenage years; I’d have gray hair before my time. And I’d always imagined a little girl with my wild red curls and Brad’s beautiful green eyes. She’d have my skin and some freckles on the bridge of her nose.

  “Did I lose you?”

  I shook my head and blinked. Those were dreams from a long time ago. Even if I was back on the path toward making them a reality, there was still a long way to go.

  “Sorry, I was lost in a memory for a minute.”

  She smiled. “Looked like a good memory.”

  I wasn’t about to elaborate so I just returned her smile.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I trust Charlie, and I even trust Brad. He’d kick Charlie’s ass if he thought about cheating on me. I meant in trouble, like, if Brad hit on the wrong girl and her boyfriend attacked him or something.”

  Of course. That was a situation that could arise. “Did that happen often?”

  She shook her head. “No. But I know Charlie’s thrilled to have his friend to himself on the road. They had dinner together before heading back to their rooms so Charlie could call me, and maybe Brad could call you?”

  I smiled wider, and she laughed. “Yeah, I thought so. I’m happy for you both.”

  “Thanks. It’s new. Well, sort of new. We were together years ago and now . . .”

  “You’re figuring it out again,” she said. “That’s great. Did your book bring you back together?”

  “I guess you could say so.” I was thankful I’d stumbled into writing. It had been nothing but blind luck and being in the right place at the right time, but somehow it had led me here, back to Brad.

  The opening strains of the National Anthem started, and we both stood and sang along. She turned back to me once the boys took the field. “You two should come over for dinner sometime. I know Charlie would love to get to know you better and, well, I’d love to see you two in action. If what I saw below was any indication, I think you’re really cute together.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled down at the baseball I still held in my hand. “He still knows how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

  “As far as I know, he hasn’t tried to in ages. They just flock to him.”

  “Tell me about it.” I shook my head. “No, don’t. How about you tell me what it’s like to be a baseball wife?”

  She laughed lightly. “Are you asking for your book or for your own personal information?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “God, no. I was just making conversation. I didn’t think—”

  “Hey, you
never know.”

  But I did know. Once upon a time.

  “It’s great when he’s home,” she said, “though he eats, sleeps, and breathes baseball most of the time. But I live for off days. It’s not so fun when he’s away, and it’ll be even less fun once the baby is here, but I can’t complain. I’ll have a nanny to help if I need one, plus my parents are more than happy to pitch in, as are Charlie’s. They’re excited to be grandparents.”

  “I bet.” My parents would be beside themselves, I knew. Especially Mom. She probably already had baby booties stashed away somewhere.

  “Away games are the worst when you’re newly wed. It was so hard getting used to being alone in that big house by myself. But I got a puppy and that kept me busy, and I do a lot of charity work. I keep myself occupied. I won’t lie, though. My favorite time of year is winter because I get him all to myself for four months.”

  I smiled as Brad made a diving catch to rob the Padres’ first baseman of a single. “I can’t say I blame you. I’d probably feel the same way.”

  Melody and I chatted though the first two Dodger at-bats, a fly-out, and a strike-out. I sat forward as Brad came to the plate, and she laughed. “It’s always exciting to watch him bat, isn’t it? Charlie says he’s never seen anybody with as much natural talent as Brad has. I think he’s in awe of him.”

  I couldn’t fault Charlie’s taste. Brad’s uniform was crisp white and perfectly fitted as he stepped to the plate. I very much wanted to have my way with him when he was wearing that uniform. Maybe I could get him to keep it on after the game.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the pitcher firing high and tight to the inside. Brad leaned back from the plate, and I gritted my teeth and bit back a string of profanaties since there were a lot of little kids in this section.

  “Oh, yeah, Crabtree is pitching. He and Brad have a history.”

  “Oh?” I asked, glancing at Melody.

  “Last year, Collins hit their star, Halvorson, in the thigh, and Crabtree retaliated by throwing at Brad’s head. He got out of the way, but he charged the mound. There was a huge fight.”

  I nodded. “I remembered seeing that on the news!” Now I really wanted Brad to hit the ball out of the park.

  Not five seconds after I’d had the thought, the ball flew over the plate and Brad’s bat met it with a resounding crack. I knew that sound. Everybody got to their feet as the ball sailed over the right field fence and landed about ten rows back. I couldn’t see Brad’s face through his batting helmet, but I knew he had to be smiling. The pitcher threw down his glove in disgust as Brad crossed the plate and celebrated with his teammates.

  He took his helmet off and looked into the stands, right at me. There was that grin. I grinned back and jumped around like a crazy person. He blew me a kiss, and I felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest.

  “Oh yeah, he’s gone,” Melody shouted, celebrating next to me. He wasn’t the only one. I was as gone as that home run ball, and I felt pretty darn good about it, finally.

  Chapter 20

  I didn’t have a right to be annoyed. I knew that, logically. Not that logic came into play when I was sitting in a hotel room in Chicago, alone, fending off Brad’s attempts to get me to spend the night in his room instead. It had been seven years. Of course he’d forgotten. It was no big deal.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re technically working. Do other players have women staying the night in their hotel rooms?”

  He laughed. “Are you seriously asking that? You’ve met my teammates.”

  He had a point there. “Don’t they have bed checks?”

  He laughed even harder. “We’re not in college anymore, Red. Some guys even bring their families on the road.”

  Still, I felt weird about it. Like I’d be doing a public walk of shame leaving his room in the morning. “Won’t everyone know?” I asked, glancing around my hotel room. It was fine, just a standard hotel room, but I was willing to bet Brad’s was a lot better.

  “Know what? That we’re sleeping together? I think they might have clued in when every sports show ran pictures of us kissing in the stands.”

  I groaned. Pictures had been everywhere. Even my med student brother, who barely came up for air, knew about it. I was worried that my publisher would be unhappy, but Bec informed me they were delighted and that my books were flying off the shelves. I had a feeling she was exaggerating, but sales were up quite a bit, likely due to my national exposure. Still, it was embarrassing.

  “Come on, are you ashamed of me?”

  I scowled even though he couldn’t see me. “Of course not. I just feel like there should be a boundary when we’re both traveling on business.”

  “I’m your business, am I not? Shouldn’t you be observing me and how I adjust to life on the road?”

  He sounded quite proud of the little point he’d just made, and I couldn’t fault him. It was a good one. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Well, that’s something at least. And while you’re at it, why don’t you think about giving up hotel life and staying at my place?” He’d asked that question every day for nearly a week since our mini-golf date. “It’s the thrifty thing to do. It’s stupid to make your publisher pay for a hotel room when I have all that space at my condo. We spend every night together anyway.”

  I wasn’t sure we were ready for what was essentially living together, but I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out either. “We don’t even stay at your place—we stay at mine. Your place doesn’t feel like . . . anything. Besides, we’ve already discussed this.”

  “No, I’ve discussed. You’ve eluded and made excuses. Don’t you want to be with me?” His voice sound pleading, and I sighed and shook my head.

  “You know that’s not the issue.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “It’s too soon and you’re gone too often. I can’t see myself working there. It’s cold.”

  “So warm it up. It’s not like it won’t start looking lived-in the instant you step foot in there. You’ll toss a shirt over the couch, leave those ugly slippers you love so much in the middle of the living room, shoes will litter the hallway, a half-eaten bag of chips will get stale on the coffee table—”

  “Are you calling me a slob?” I asked, trying not to laugh. So it was sort of accurate. But at least my space didn’t look like a museum. And my slippers weren’t ugly.

  “No, I’m calling you comfortable. Come on, Dani. Move in. Give my cleaning lady something to do.”

  I laughed. “But I have a cleaning lady to keep busy at the hotel.”

  “She has other people to clean up after.”

  “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

  “You like me that way.”

  I did. Nobody else I dated would pester and cajole me to get their way.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “All this thinking. Better be careful or you’ll get a headache.”

  “I already have one. He’s about six foot three, two hundred and twenty pounds, black hair. Maybe you’ve seen him.”

  Brad laughed. “All the time. And it’s a pleasure to. He’s a handsome man.”

  “Your ego knows no bounds.”

  “Oh, you manage to keep it in check. That’s why I need you around.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you have a game to go play?”

  “Don’t you have a game to come watch me play?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I need my good-luck kiss.”

  “Oh no, no more public kisses.”

  “Come on, baby, the public expects it now. We have to give them what they want.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not enduring any more taunts about being the real Baseball Annie.” Damn the tabloids and their nicknames.

  “But it works so well with your hair.”

  “Ass.”

  “But I’m your ass.”

  I smiled. So
mehow, again, he was.

  “Take my ass and get it to the stadium. I’ll see you after.”

  “In my room?” he asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Good enough. See you later, Hot Corner Cutie.”

  “Ugh!” I buried my face in my hands. The LA papers had started calling me “Hot Corner Cutie” since Brad played third base—the hot corner. “Bye, jerk.”

  I let loose the laughter after I got off the phone with him. The man was persistent, I had to give him that.

  I stopped laughing when I remembered that he forgot. Why should I spend the night in his room when he’d forgotten my birthday again? Okay, so seven years had gone by, but I still remembered his. It wasn’t a big deal, really. I was just another year closer to thirty, which wasn’t something to celebrate anyway.

  My phone rang before I could sink into depression, and I smiled when I saw Bec’s name on the caller ID.

  “Hi, woman,” I said.

  “Happy birthday, Annie!”

  I was seriously going to kill the next person who called me Annie. “I’m hanging up on you.”

  “Oh, come on, it’s cute. You’ve got those gorgeous red curls and you’re dating the hottest baseball player on the planet. Your name even rhymes with Annie. It’s perfect.”

  “Betrayed by my own kind.” The New York Post, king of the headlines, had started it by printing a side-by-side picture of me and Little Orphan Annie, our wild red hair so similar. My fellow journalists were now the enemy.

  “But now all the bitches know you’ve got your hooks in Brad. It’s a win all the way around.”

  “For you, maybe.”

  “You’ll be laughing all the way to the bank. The amount of hits searching for your name has gone through the roof, book sales are up, and the publishing people are crying tears of joy. Not to mention, I’m getting a ton of inquiries from athletes hoping to be the subject of your next book.”

  I squinted my eyes shut. “They want to be the subject or they want to be the next one I’m caught making out with in the stands?”

  “Either/or. Doesn’t really matter! We’re talking big names!”

  Big, slutty men who wanted to sleep with the easy author, she meant. I threw myself back onto the bed and glared at the ceiling. “I told you this was a bad idea.”