4
LANCE SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN surprised to wake up alone that morning. But he’d gone to sleep with Jamie’s scent on his pillow and the memory of her body imprinted on his, so that when his alarm went off, he’d still been disoriented by the empty echo of his bedroom.
As he dressed for batting practice that afternoon, he reminded himself he’d known up front that winning over Jamie would be a long shot after what she’d been through with her ex. When a woman wanted to avoid headlines, the last thing she should do was hook up with a ballplayer. Especially in New York where baseball was more than a hallowed tradition—it was a city obsession when the Scrapers were in the running to make it to the playoffs.
Still, ten hours after waking up solo, Lance didn’t want to believe she could turn her back on what they’d shared so easily. The sex hadn’t just been recreational. It had been emotional.
Transcendent.
“You look a little misty-eyed, Montero,” the first baseman shouted as he tightened the laces on his cleats a few benches away in the locker room. “You’re not still reminiscing about that little hopper you hit over the right fielder’s head last night, are you? Because if that was as much power as you’ve got in that bat this season, you’ll never beat out a good fielder. Everybody knows Jason Morenz is a game away from going back down to the minors.”
The razzing came in fast and furious then. The second basemen took up the cause by reminding Lance he was probably only a year or two away from retirement with such a weak swing and the third basemen contributed run-of-the-mill smears on Lance’s all-around shortcomings that would probably knock him out of the running for the Gold Glove this year.
Basically, it was the kind of roast that normally got him going on a slow day, the solid camaraderie that could take a locker room from a bunch of random guys to a committed group that played like a team. Too bad Lance’s focus was still on his personal life and the way Jamie had shut down their future together without even giving them a real chance. No option for a dinner date or a movie. Geez, he didn’t even have her flipping phone number. Of course, he could find that out no problem—or people he knew could. But would she have a wall of bodyguards around her to keep him away? If so, they’d done a piss-poor job of protecting her from other people out to make trouble for her.
“Maybe Montero didn’t see this,” called another teammate—a relief pitcher that normally never joined in when the guys got wound up.
Pitchers in general lived on their own planet, coached by a different staff and contributing something totally different than the rest of the players. But when a team had pitchers who would hang with the rest of the guys—that was damn cool and another sign of an organization that could do special things.
“What’s that?” Lance hollered back, recognizing the importance of making the pitcher feel like one of them. The kid was all of twenty-two, weathering a rocky rookie year.
Lance peered through his teammates’ shoulders to where DeShea Bronson sat with a Blackberry in hand, his thumbs twitching over the keypad.
“It’s the new video your girlfriend posted on YouTube. She’s, like, really hot.”
Catching the dreamy stare on the kid’s face, Lance figured he would overlook the need for team-building if junior got out of line. His jaw flexed as he snagged the handheld device.
“If anyone posted questionable footage of her, I swear I’ll find a better use for my bat than—”
The words died on his lips as he pressed the play button.
With ten other guys pushing to get a view of the screen over his shoulder, Lance watched as Jamie lit up the frame with the confident grin he knew hid a more vulnerable woman inside. A woman who had subverted her talents for too long while she weathered one media storm after another.
But she wasn’t half-dressed in some grainy video obtained by subterfuge. Thank You, God. Instead, she sat in a seat at a half-empty baseball stadium, the sun streaming down all around her as she adjusted a ridiculous pair of oversize fan sunglasses with the Scrapers logo brightly painted on every conceivable square inch.
She also wore a Scrapers baseball jacket and a team T-shirt tied in a knot just beneath her breasts. Her denim miniskirt looked to have been stuck with team pins up the side seams.
“Greetings, New York!” she trilled out between the snapping of a piece of pink bubble gum. “This is a message to all of you who were kind enough to make my presence felt at Scrapers Stadium last night.” She lifted a beer in one hand. “Thank you for cheering Lance on to a three-run homer!”
Lance frowned, confused at what the heck she was doing. She’d made her own video and posted it to support him? How did she think this would throw the media off their scent? Yesterday they’d run from the press. Why would she engage them today unless—
His gut clenched with a new fear.
What if she was going through with her idea of a pubic breakup? She wouldn’t really dump him on YouTube. Holy crap, she’d picked a hell of a time to get her confidence back about appearing in public. Apparently just in time to give him the heave-ho like she’d threatened yesterday.
In the video, a small throng of baseball fans clapped in the background, and he could see there were a handful of people seated in the stadium around her only too glad to be a part of a celebrity entourage if just for the afternoon.
“But I want all his fans to know that further imitations of me will not be necessary as I am now a season ticket holder and can be here to support Lance in person.” Whoever was working the camera zoomed in on the number of the seat where Jamie was holding court. The camera panned back again, showing the seat’s position just above the first-base line.
What was she doing? She’d be mobbed every time she attended a game now that all of America knew where to look for her. Her tactics were a long way from the public breakup he’d been expecting.
“I’ve got to get out there.” He handed the Blackberry back to the pitcher, realizing that Jamie was no doubt sitting in her assigned seat right this very minute. With the Scrapers game not scheduled for another hour and a half, she must have come early for batting practice.
“There’s more,” the rookie called to him as he headed for the tunnel. “The video still has two minutes to go.”
Lance quickened his pace as he reached the passage from the players’ locker room to the field.
“That’s the problem with you kids today,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Too tied to your technology when you could be experiencing real life.”
He didn’t mind taking time to razz the new guy since his mood had improved ten-fold the moment Jamie said she was there to support him. Hell, she’d essentially announced to the whole world she wanted to be a part of his life. That had to count for something.
Knowing that she wanted to be there for him made his whole season in a way no three-run homer or Gold Glove nod ever could.
Levering open the door into the home team dugout, he stepped out in the sunshine to join the ground crew on the field. Fueled by eagerness to see Jamie, he climbed the rail where the players stood to watch the game and hauled himself up to the roof of the dugout. A small cry went up from a few early-bird fans scattered around the seats.
But his eye went straight to seat 65K, section 22.
Adrenaline pumped through him as his gaze scanned the stadium since he still half-expected her to have meant the video as a stepping stone to the big breakup. But any doubts he harbored fell away as he spotted the big, foam finger she waved that declared the Scrapers were number one.