It Happened in L.A.: Ms Match / Shockingly Sensual / Playmates

“Hell, no. They live for that stuff. They’d be crushed if you didn’t.”

“Wow, you are so good at your job.”

He laughed as he slowed down a bit. They were reaching the gateway to the clubhouse. Two very large men stood guard.

Paul stopped in front of large man number one. “Paul Bennet.”

The guard spoke quietly into his Bluetooth. Then he nodded at Paul as he stepped slightly to the right.

With her heart hammering, Gwen took her first step inside the hallowed space. How many times had she longed to get inside? To hear the pros do their own post-game analysis? She admired so many of them, making sure to focus her insatiable thirst for knowledge on their athleticism, not their personal lives. She might be a groupie at heart, but it was for baseball, not ballplayers.

“Watch your step,” Paul said. “There are lots of cables all over the floor. And if you see someone talking near a camera, lie low. No one wants to ruin a take.”

She nodded even though she knew pretty much all of what he’d said. She was a native Californian, after all. She’d grown up watching movies and TV shows being filmed. Often on her own street.

They got to the press area and the first person she saw was Takashi Saito, the relief pitcher. Then Nomar Garciaparra, and there was the catcher and her favorite first baseman, and holy crap, this was truly the mother lode. She got her program from her purse along with a pen, pissed she hadn’t thought of bringing a black marker.

Paul grabbed her hand as he slipped between a newscaster and her boom man. Even though she expected the cables, she almost tripped twice as they maneuvered through the tightly packed space.

He stopped right next to Dylan Hernandez, one of her favorite sportswriters, and waited while he interviewed Joe Torre.

Gwen tried to see everything at once. There were simply too many choices. Too many things she wanted to say to each of the players. Too big of a lump in her throat to even say boo.

The interview ended and Paul stepped right up to the Dodgers manager. “Joe, great game.”

Torre shook his hand. “How you doing, Paul.”

Gwen could hardly believe he was on a first name basis with the freakin’ manager.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. I know it doesn’t sound possible, but she’s a bigger fan than I am.” Paul stepped to her side, put his hand on the small of her back to gently urge her forward. “This is Gwen Christopher. You have any questions about your team, I’ll bet the farm she knows the answer.”

She stuck out her hand and she supposed it was shaken, but she was too busy trying not to act like a doofus. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Sir? You call me Joe.”

They said some things, things she knew she would want to remember, but nothing was getting through. It was Paul who had Joe sign her program. Then it was Paul herding a bunch of players in her direction. Each of them seemed delighted to meet her. Of course, Paul made her sound like the greatest baseball expert in the history of the game, and she was frankly too shell-shocked to correct him.

In the end, she’d met almost the whole lineup; her program was so precious to her she’d save it from a fire before her best friend.

By the time he called for the limo, she felt drained, exhausted and so damn happy she was beside herself. The parking lot was mostly deserted, which made sense as the game had ended two hours ago.

She turned to Paul. “I—”

He nodded. “I know.”

“But—”

“I know.”

“And you—”

“Seriously. I completely understand.”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. It was one of the greatest times of her life. It was…It was…She grabbed hold of his head, pulled him down and kissed him as if he was Elvis, George Clooney and Sandy Koufax, all rolled into one.

When she let him go, he seemed a little startled. Maybe more than a little. Which made her feel like an idiot and, dammit, why had she ruined this perfect—

“Well, damn,” he said, his sly grin growing. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter 8

PAUL GLANCED AT his dashboard clock, then at the traffic he was stuck in, wondering whether he should turn around and go home.

For a Monday, his day had gone well. In fact, it was the antithesis of last week. He’d gotten a prime gig for one of his sports clients, saved the internationally famous ass of one of his celeb clients and he’d had a phone call from his mother in Florida where they were actually pleasant to each other.

After work he’d gone to the gym. As he’d hit the showers he realized he didn’t want to go home and he didn’t want to go to a club. He wanted to play baseball trivia. With Gwen. If he could win twice…

They’d had a good time yesterday at the ballpark. And her friends hadn’t seemed to mind him crashing last week. If he didn’t get all high school about it, no one would think a thing. Besides, he had that gift for Gwen’s friend.

He moved another foot, then another, and for a few minutes there it looked as if he might make it in time to chat before the trivia began. But it being L. A. and it being a day ending in Y, traffic bogged down yet again.

He put on the radio, to the newest station on his rotation, National Public Radio. It had surprised him, how he’d gotten caught up in so many discussions that had nothing to do with the business. Tonight they were talking about happiness. A professor from Harvard had written a book on the subject. The program turned out to be interesting and if it hadn’t been so late when he got to Bats and Balls, he’d have listened to the end.

Instead, after grabbing his baseball cap from the backseat, he headed inside, optimistic that this decision had been a good one.

His gaze went straight to her table. There she was. Gwen hadn’t noticed him yet. She was busy talking to Holly. From the excitement on Gwen’s face, he was pretty sure she had her copy of Sunday’s program laid out on the table. He wondered if she’d laminated every page yet.

Ah. He’d been spotted. Gwen’s head moved up, her eyes locked on to his. For a split second, there was hesitation there, an almost wince, then it was gone. Holly waved him on as she scooted over to an empty seat at the table.

“I told her you’d be here. I even got you a machine, see?”

Holly held it up, a symbol of good faith.

“Thank you.” He sat down, squeezing between the two women. “I had to see if I could do it again.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, big guy,” Gwen said. “You got lucky last week.”

“If I were a gentleman, I’d agree with you. But the hell with that. I trounced your ass.”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed, but she had trouble maintaining the scowl. “I’ll let that go, but only because you introduced me to Saito.”

“Phew.” He looked around for the waitress, but he’d have to wait.

“God, Paul, Gwen hasn’t shut up about yesterday.” Holly looked different from last Monday. Ah. Makeup. Mostly around her eyes. And her curly blond hair was pinned up. She must have come right from work. Her blouse and skirt were a bit too dressy for Bats and Balls. “I swear she was stopping complete strangers on the street and telling them how she met her fabulous Dodgers.” Holly gave him a very dramatic eye roll. “I mean, really. If it had been Brad Pitt, that would be a whole different story.”

“Oh, then you probably don’t want this.” He put the baseball cap on the table making sure Holly saw Garciaparra’s signature.

“Are you kidding me?” She looked from the hat to him, then back to the hat. “This is for me?”

He turned the cap slightly so she could see where it said, “To Holly.”

She burst into a ferocious grin, grabbed the hat then leaned over and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

“You’re welcome.”

She leaned past him. “Gwen, did you see?”

Paul turned to her. He hoped for…he wasn’t sure what, but the look Gwen gave him came damn close. Huh. She must have come right from work, too. She was in pants and blouse, very feminine and nice. Like Holly, she’d done something different with her makeup. Subtle, but well-done. She looked prettier. Had her hair always been that soft blond?

Gwen eyed the baseball cap. “I didn’t know you’d gotten that. I, on the other hand, was a complete selfish bitch who thought of no one but myself.”

“You weren’t supposed to think of anything else. That was my job.”

She didn’t respond. Simply looked at him for a long while, but he had the feeling there was something important going on inside that brain of hers.

“Anyway,” he said when he felt heat creep up his neck. “Where is that waitress? I’m dying for a Heinie.”

Gwen laughed out loud. “Knowing this waitress, I’m pretty sure you can get it.”

“Heineken. Heineken. Jeez, make one little slip of the tongue—”

“I repeat, knowing this waitress…”

Everyone at the table found that one particularly hilarious, which made Paul wonder about this waitress. When he looked back at Gwen, her smile had faded but her interest in him hadn’t. It was as if she was seeing him now for the first time. Either that, or he had something weird on his face. “Is everything all right?”

She nodded.

“You keep staring at me.”

“Sorry. I keep wondering about you. It’s odd to me that you’re here.”

“I can leave.”

“No. I’m glad you’re here.”

He rolled his eyes a bit. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“Stop. I had the best time yesterday. I should have said that first thing. It was a spectacular day.”

“It was pretty great. We’ll have to do it again, sometime.”

She looked down, then past him. Her arm went up to call the infamous waitress, who came over. The woman had enormous breasts. She’d probably tried out for Hooters but the T-shirts wouldn’t stretch enough. He’d actually never seen breasts that large in real life.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she said, her voice kind of scratchy, as if she’d just come back from her cigarette break. “I sure haven’t seen you here before.”

Now that he was looking at her face, he saw she was older, maybe early forties. “Heineken for me. And refill the table.”

The waitress, Carla according to her name tag, winked at him, leaving a tiny smudge of mascara on her cheek. “A hunk and generous. Ain’t that a pisser.” She walked off with a sashay that Autumn would have envied.

“Game’s gonna start in a few minutes, Newbie,” Gwen said. “Better get ready.”

“I’m always ready.”

Gwen’s look told him he’d better watch the clichés. Funny, that line would have garnered a deliciously salacious response from Autumn. Or from most of the women he knew.

This was a different crowd with different sensibilities, and he felt like a foreigner learning the language.

It was weird, too, because he’d been in all kinds of social situations. With Yale professors, multimillionaires, CEOs, even minor royalty. Yet none of that experience helped him here.

Maybe it was because they all worked together? No, he’d hardly spoken to any of them, except Gwen and Holly. In fact, Holly didn’t make him feel this way.

It was Gwen, then. She made him feel awkward. He never felt awkward. His job, in fact, was to make other people feel awkward. Or comfortable. Or whatever he damn well wanted them to feel. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, he looked at his talent in a new light.

“Hello?”

Paul’s gaze snapped up to meet Gwen’s. “Sorry, what?”

“Log in if you want to play.”

He turned his attention to the machine, and a few moments later, to the game. And his drink. The other people at the table as they thanked him for the round. Anything but Gwen.

HER MOUTH WAS OPEN, but nothing was coming out. Mostly because she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Holly, the woman previously known as Gwen’s best friend, had just told Paul that she couldn’t drive Gwen home. Despite the fact that she’d driven them both to work. Despite the fact that they lived in the same apartment complex. The excuse was obviously fake, but did that stop her?

“I’ll be happy to take her home,” Paul said. “Even though she beat me.”

“By two points,” Holly said, pushing in her chair and fitting her purse strap on her shoulder, the better to make her escape. “I have to run. Thanks, Paul. See you tomorrow, Gwen. Bye.”

So now she was standing next to Paul with nothing but a giant slice of awkward between them.

“It’s no big deal. It’s not as if you live in Connecticut.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you especially since you had no choice.”

He pushed his seat in, picked up his machine and Holly’s, and they left. “I don’t mind.”

“Thanks.”

As they passed Carla, she gave Paul a lascivious grin. Paul barely noticed.

He made the lights of his Mercedes flash with his remote as they hit the parking lot. It wasn’t as warm as it should have been in April.

Paul glanced at her as they circled a behemoth truck. “I’ve got a jacket in the car.”

“Thanks, I’m fine.”

They reached his car, and he was very gentlemanly, as always, and yet the touch of his hand on the small of her back made her shiver. It was becoming something of an issue, these butterflies. Whether his hand landed on her arm or her back, it didn’t seem to matter. Alarmingly, tonight, in the middle of the game, all it had taken was meeting his gaze. She’d like to blame it on his looks alone, but even she’d stopped believing that. Something was happening here, and she had no idea what to do about it.

Once he was behind the wheel, he started the engine and the heater at the same time. The radio came on, too. She recognized the voice from NPR, but he turned that off before she could identify a topic.

“NPR, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a fan, too.”

He got them out of the lot and on the way to her place with a minimum of fuss. She stole glances as he drove, the silence in the car not all that uncomfortable, except for, well…She put her hand on her tummy. It occurred to her that things had changed yesterday. He’d been so thoughtful. Gracious. Downright adorable. Dammit. And then today when he’d given that cap to Holly. She sighed. Baseball had leveled the field. There was a common ground between them and yep, that had taken their relationship into a whole new direction.

So much so, that she hadn’t thought about her sister more than a couple of times tonight. The evening had been really fun. Winning had been great, yes, but that wasn’t all of it. He’d laughed at Steph’s jokes, and Kenny’s, too. He’d been made fun of, and he’d accepted the ribbing with humor.

Yet, was he worth knowing? Outside of baseball, was there anything in him that she could admire? Did it matter?

They pulled into her apartment complex just as she decided that it did matter if she were to become friends with him. She didn’t take friendship lightly.

He found a parking spot pretty close to her apartment. As she grabbed the door handle, he turned to her. “Are you happy?”

She stopped. Debated laughing off the question, but didn’t. “Yeah. For the most part, I am. Why?”

Paul turned off the engine. “Do you think it’s because you’re close to your colleagues?”

She exhaled, curious. “That’s part of it, I guess.”

“What else?”

“I haven’t thought about it all that much. I like my work, but it’s not my whole universe. I’m usually busy. I play trivia, I go to old horror flicks, my book club once a month. I watch way too many games, but I guess it doesn’t matter because who cares? I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling.”

“Huh,” he replied, as if she’d said something he hadn’t expected.

“Why?”

He leaned back a little, staring at her in the semidark. “I’m damn busy, too. I love my work. I have most everything I could want. The car, the house, the women, the toys. But I don’t think I’m very happy.”

“You don’t think you are?”

“Okay. Gun to my head? No. Don’t ask me why, but that’s a very difficult thing to admit. I should be happy. I’ve got it made.”

“Have you felt this way for a long time?”

“Nope. I used to love every second of my life. I’m not even sure when it started to lose its shine. But the parties aren’t quite so fabulous, the wins don’t give me that jolt as often.”

She could tell it was true. Now that she could really see past the handsomeness, there was a sadness in his eyes. There was a decision to be made here. One that led them right off that predictable baseball-loving path. Did she want that? It seemed she did. “Come in. I’ll make us coffee.”

He smiled. “I’d like that.”

IT TOOK A BIT OF TIME to make the coffee and get settled on the couch. He sat at one end, she at the other, but since the couch was curved it made for easy conversations. She’d only put on the mood lighting and as she sat back against her pillows Gwen felt better about her decision to ask him inside.

Yesterday in the clubhouse and tonight at the bar had helped her to see Paul as a person. She’d been so ready to dismiss him as someone empty, someone like Autumn. It hadn’t been easy to admit that she had the same kind of prejudice as the people she disliked the most, but there it was.

Without knowing a lot more about him, she couldn’t say if the two of them could be friends, yet she was a lot more willing to find out. For him to admit his dissatisfaction with his life was a big deal. It made her like him more than their trip to the ball game.

“This is great,” he said, holding up his coffee mug. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Tell me something. Was there an event that got you thinking about all this?”

He didn’t seem to mind that she’d brought them round to their earlier conversation. “Nothing that stands out. Although I was listening to this guy who wrote a book about happiness.”

“Dan something?”

“Yeah. Dan Gilbert. Harvard guy, but I won’t hold that against him. He said that the things we think are going to make us happy usually don’t. Not for the long run.”

“Right, right. That we tend to use our imaginations to predict the things that will make us happy, when we’d be better off using outside resources. Other people who’ve gone through the experience.”

“That’s it,” he said. “The part that got me was how he talked about how our world is built on the supposition that more material goods equals more happiness. Not that I hadn’t heard that before, but it’s a damn hard concept to dismiss. Anyway, he also said that the happiest people were those with strong social connections. Family and friends. Like you have.”

“I’m not close to my family at all.”

“No, but you’ve created an alternative in your coworkers. I see how you all interact. It’s not like that for me.”

“Because you’re the boss?”

“That’s some of it, but not all. I suppose I could have made an effort to make friends with other CEOs.”

“But?”

He put down his cup. “Let me tell you about my poker night. I go once every month or so, if I can. Nothing too formal because we’re all busy, successful guys. We’ve known each other for years. And every single time I’m there, it ends up being a pissing contest.”

“Kind of like playing baseball trivia?”

He sighed. Picked his mug up. “Yeah. Kind of like that.”

“What would you want it to be?”

He took a sip first, then said, “I watched Holly play tonight. Half the time, she didn’t even bother to select an answer, even though she had a one-in-five chance of being right. She got too involved in talking, or laughing, or just watching. And I don’t think it’s just because she didn’t have a chance at winning. She was there to socialize. She won because she was there.”

“I don’t see that as a solution for you. There’s no way you could go to that bar on Monday night and ignore the play. You’re too competitive.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be. Not all the time, anyhow. Maybe I’d like to go to a party and not see how many new contacts I can score. I enjoyed yesterday so much, I didn’t care who won. Well, not much. I wanted you to have a great day. That was it. The whole goal.”

She felt something inside, another shift she hadn’t expected. She mattered to him. Everything he’d done since the party had shown her that, and yet she still found it unbelievable. “You did an extraordinarily good job.”

“I wasn’t…Thanks. The point is, I couldn’t tell you the last time my agenda wasn’t about winning. And I suppose I did win, but it was different. I felt fantastic last night. After I dropped you off, I went home. I read, watched a little TV, went to bed. I haven’t felt as good or slept as well in ages.”

“Wow. Maybe you should keep doing that.”

His grin was teasing and warm. “Taking you to Dodger games?”

She smiled back. “Stepping outside your comfort zone. Building a new social network.”

“I don’t know. It’s not easy.”

“I have to give it to you. You’re sure trying.”

“I am. It’s so unlike me. This isn’t the kind of thing I do. I’ve never had to. I was always part of whatever social group I wanted. All through school I had the right friends, I was in the right sports, the top fraternity. This is outside of my experience.”

“That’s what I don’t get. Why now?”

He shook his head, then his gaze caught hers. He stared at her for a long time, the expression on his face changing from confusion to something more intense and unsettling.

“What?” She broke the connection, suddenly uncomfortable with how he was making her feel.

“I think about you a lot.”

She had to put her mug down before it slipped from her fingers. “Me?”

“Yes, you. It would be a lot smoother of me to make something up, but I don’t want to do that. I’m not on sure ground here, so forgive me. I don’t think I’ve known anyone like you.”

“I’m not that unique.”

“I doubt it. Maybe the world is filled with people who are pragmatic and sensible and sure of themselves without having to win all the time. You love sports, but you don’t play games.”

Paul stood up and she could see the tension in his body. His shoulders were tight; he rubbed his hands together as he paced on her pale Berber carpet.

She felt badly for him. This had to be difficult, questioning the dream life he’d built for himself. “Do something, then. Who was it that said if you always do what you always did, you’ll always get what you always got?”

He stopped, came back to the couch, only this time he sat right next to her. His expression was expectant and the scent of him faint but familiar, reminding her of the night they’d slept together. “I am doing something. I’m here. I keep coming back to you. But I know you don’t want me.”

She looked at her hands. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Not that you said it out loud, but I know you don’t believe I’m someone worth knowing.”

“I…” That was exactly what she’d thought, but if she could do it again, she’d have responded differently.

He touched her, his hand warm on hers. It made her look at him again, to see the sincerity in his gaze. “Give me a chance.”

She had to swallow the lump in her throat. The unsteady beat of her heart. “I don’t know what that means.”

He leaned toward her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, his words were quiet, humble. “I love horror movies. And playing softball. I’ve never been in a book club, but I’d give it a try. I want to be in your life. It’s crazy. I don’t get why. But you’re the key.”

Chapter 9

PAUL COULD TELL he’d made her uncomfortable. He felt like a fool for talking like this, to a woman he hardly knew, but he was also sure that if he didn’t say it tonight, he’d convince himself that he was nuts. That all he needed was to get laid a whole lot more and think a whole lot less. He knew that, and something told him if he didn’t act, if he didn’t put himself on the line right now, he would be sorry. The type of sorry that doesn’t ease up with a drink or two.