Boys Of Summer: Sliding Home / Fever Pitch / The Sweet Spot

But her feet wouldn’t move. The longer he stared—so intent, so silent—the heavier her limbs felt. The laughter of the children faded into the distance, until she heard only the buzz of a passing bee…and the sound of her own breath. Finally, unable to stand the tension, she whispered, “What?”

“I’m trying to figure something out,” he murmured, still focused entirely on her face.

“What’s that?”

With an unapologetic shrug he admitted, “Which I want to see more—your pretty brown eyes without those awful glasses? Or your magnificent ass in something other than those hideous jeans.”

Janie’s jaw dropped open and she sputtered something. Her heart pounding in her chest, she tried to fathom it—he was flirting with her. Riley the Rocket flirting with her?

Before she could say anything, the man with the magic hands on the field reached out and tilted her mouth closed. His touch was warm, the scrape of his fingers on her skin electric.

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” His voice sounded thick, less flirtatious, as if he didn’t like what he had to say. “I may have a reputation, but I don’t go after innocent little coeds like you.” With a shrug that looked mournful, he muttered, “Damn, I know I’m gonna regret this. Someone musta shined my halo today.”

And turning on his heel, he walked away, striding toward the building without a single look back.

2

Five weeks later, mid-April

RILEY KELLEHER had known from the age of seven that there was nothing he wanted more in the world than to play baseball. Well, in the fall of 1981, he might have wanted the brand new Pac-Man game for his family’s Atari system more, but in terms of what he wanted to be when he grew up, there’d been no other career for him since that day. October 21. Yankee Stadium. Game Two of the World Series, Yankees vs. the Dodgers.

He’d walked in a typical kid who sighed whenever his talkative grandfather started reminiscing about his days in the minor leagues. He’d walked out a complete baseball junkie.

Before the first pitch, going to a World Series game hadn’t seemed as exciting as getting out of school for a couple of days to take an impromptu trip to New York City with Gramps. The man had scored a pair of tickets in some magazine contest, and no one had been more surprised than Riley when he, the youngest grandson, had been the one chosen to fill the second seat.

Now, of course, he understood. Gramps had seen it in him long before Riley had recognized it in himself: he’d been born with the gene. The game was in his blood in a way some people would never understand.

His grandfather had been thrilled. He’d told him so as they’d left the stadium, wide-eyed and full of excitement about the Yankees victory. Gramps had discovered the baseball gene in himself at the age of seven, too, when he’d watched Lou Gehrig oust Babe Ruth as the Yankees’ power hitter by nailing four home runs in one game.

Riley’s relationship with his grandfather had changed right then and there. Even now, twenty-five years later, he could still close his eyes and recapture the sounds, the smells. He could also remember the sudden rush of a surprisingly adult realization about just how much the Second World War—and a Nazi bullet—had cost Edgar Smith. Not simply some of his mobility, but also, most likely, a place in the majors. A spot in history.

Which was one of the many reasons Riley so loved his job. He was living the dream for both of them.

“Now don’t you forget to ice that shoulder down,” his grandfather said as the two of them walked toward the entrance of the retirement home one Sunday in mid-April. Edgar had, as usual, attended that day’s Slammers home game, sitting in the private skybox reserved for players’ families.

“I’m fine. That shoulder stretch during the bottom of the eighth was strictly to psyche out Rodriguez.”

The old man’s eyes gleamed his approval. “We’re on again for Tuesday?”

Riley nodded, already back in his routine for this season, which included his grandfather in the stands during every home game. His parents and brothers had flown in from Texas for Opening Day a couple of weeks ago—and would probably do so a few more times this summer, but Gramps never missed a home game.

Riley didn’t want to think about what would happen if the team moved.

Signing with the Slammers and moving back to Louisville from Houston—where he and his family had moved when Riley was in high school—had been the perfect way to take care of the old man, who’d refused to move with them. Riley had never regretted making that choice, though he missed his parents and brothers. Still, being a successful ballplayer had a few perks…not the least of which was the money to buy a lot of airplane tickets for a lot of loud, boisterous family vacations.

A sharp spasm shot through his shoulder, which did, indeed, desperately need some work. Riley flinched a little, then surreptitiously rotated it, planning to head back to the Slammers complex as soon as he left here. If he’d gone for a rub down immediately after the game, his grandfather would have insisted on taking a cab back home, something Riley would never allow.

Gramps obviously noticed. “‘Psyche out’ or not, you take care of that arm, boy,”

“I’m fine,” Riley insisted

“You’re no twenty-year-old, anymore.” Gramps’s blue eyes twinkled, so Riley knew he was trying to get a rise out of him.

Keeping the laughter out of his voice, he gave it right back. “And you’re no eighty-year-old, anymore.”

His recently-turned-eighty-one-year-old grandfather gave a phlegmy chuckle. “Like they say, there may be snow on the roof, but there’s still a fire in the hearth.”

Riley didn’t point out the obvious: the “roof” was almost completely bald.

“Ah, look who’s here,” Gramps said, sounding pleased.

Riley followed his stare to see an elderly woman standing at the door, a smile of greeting on her face. He recognized her instantly…Gramps’s girlfriend. The one who read him sex books.

Closing his mind against that image, he couldn’t help looking around, thinking of the pretty volunteer he’d met here a little more than a month ago. He had no idea why a petite, twentyish young woman would so occupy his thoughts, but she had. Every time he’d come to visit, he’d kept an eye out for her.

He’d never asked Gramps about her. As if Edgar knew Riley was interested, he’d been closemouthed about his young friend. Gramps had never completely abandoned the idea that Riley was an off-the-field playboy. He’d likely have panicked at the thought of his grandson targeting an innocent young volunteer.

Riley wasn’t targeting her. He just wouldn’t mind seeing her again, without the glasses. And in a much tighter pair of jeans.

Strange that he couldn’t stop thinking about Just Janie. He’d certainly seen more beautiful women. God, in his line of work, he had females throwing themselves at him all the time, and a piece of ass was never more than a wink away for any player who wanted one.

Riley had gone through a phase of being one of those players. Briefly. It’d been right after his very ugly, very public divorce, when he hadn’t given a shit about anyone or anything. Except his family, and the game.

Not anymore, though. He’d gotten it out of his system. Especially once he’d realized he’d turned into the kind of person his ex-wife had been. He, at least, had waited until after their divorce. She hadn’t waited much beyond their honeymoon.

From betrayed husband to playboy to…well, loner. That’s the way his life had gone. So maybe that was why the image of sweet, sassy Janie had popped into his head on more than one occasion in recent days. Maybe it was the smile, the laugh. The big heart. Hell, maybe it was even the blush. He couldn’t recall having met a woman who blushed since he’d gone pro.

“Annie and I are going to our poker game now,” Gramps said, smiling at his lady friend. “Can you take this to my room for me?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gramps shoved his Slammers pennant, noisemaker and a big plastic tub used for holding unshelled peanuts into Riley’s hands. The tub came with free refills. No matter how many times Riley offered to have a caterer bring a full spread into the skybox, his grandfather never wanted anything more than his peanuts and exactly two ice-cold beers. Riley paid the stadium staff to clean up the shells, since, after all, there was no point eating peanuts at a ballpark if you couldn’t toss the shells to the ground. Since they all knew and loved the old guy, nobody seemed to mind.

“Have fun you two,” he said. “Don’t fleece anyone.”

“What fun’s that?” his girlfriend asked with a wink.

Laughing, Riley watched them walk away, then headed to Gramps’s room. This upscale place offered its residents as much independence as they could manage, but had medical care at the push of a button if they needed it. The doors to the suites of rooms were usually kept unlocked for such care. So Riley didn’t even pause when he reached Gramps’s, he simply pushed on in.

And was greeted by the sight of a female, on all fours, sticking out from underneath his grandfather’s bed. Presenting him with a very nice—very familiar—view.

Oh, boy. He definitely recognized that feminine backside, and couldn’t prevent a low groan of appreciation. Yeah, definite appreciation. Which could mean trouble all around.

Knowing she hadn’t heard him enter, he murmured, “Hi.”

Janie, the very woman he’d been thinking of just moments before, jerked so hard that she struck her head on the underside of the bed. The thunk told him it had been hard. Her string of muttered curses told him it had hurt.

So much for the “sweet little thing” image. Somehow, he liked the idea that she had a naughty side. “You okay?”

She wriggled out from under the bed, backward—Lord, have mercy—then swung her head around to look at him over her shoulder. When she recognized him, she jerked again, lost her balance and started to tumble sideways onto the tile floor.

Riley dropped the items in his hand. Lunging forward, he instinctively slid in as if Mike Piazza were above him, reaching for the catch from the third baseman during a bases-loaded forced run. He was on the floor beside her before her hip, or any other body part, could painfully land on anything harder than his lap.

Which was exactly where she ended up.

“You,” she muttered, staring at him owlishly from behind those same thick glasses.

He grinned. “Me. You’re not real graceful, huh?”

Her brow pulled down. “And you’re not terribly polite.”

He shook his head. “Well, here I thought I just saved you from takin’ a painful tumble.”

She looked down, obviously just acknowledging the fact that he’d dived to the floor and she was now pretty much lying on him. Fitting very nicely against him, truth be told, with her soft hip and thigh cradled between his legs and her curvy little ass doing tantalizingly wicked things against his groin.

“I’m sorry. You did. I just meant, you startled me, bursting in like that,” she mumbled as she slid away.

Bursting? If she didn’t get off him, that could be what his jeans would soon be doing.

Shaking off his increasingly heated thoughts, he rose to his feet, knowing Gramps would never forgive him if he seduced—then drove off—one of his favorite new people. So hands off. He could almost hear the old man barking the order in his head.

He obeyed, though he did offer her one hand, to help her up. She was so slight, one pull brought her up with an oomph.

She appeared embarrassed as she glanced down and brushed away some dust from her loose clothes. A strand of her hair had worked its way out of her ponytail and it fell forward, curtaining her eyes. Riley couldn’t resist reaching out to brush it back. The moment his fingers touched her cheek, she gasped. But she didn’t move away. She simply stared at him, as if silently asking what the hell he was doing.

He didn’t know. Couldn’t have explained it if he tried. So he merely dropped his hand. “Speaking of being startled,” he said, “what were you doing under there, anyway?” A disturbing thought made his mouth pull tight. “Please tell me you weren’t tracking down any more, uh, self-help books.”

A soft trill of laughter escaped her curved lips. When she laughed, dimples appeared in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled behind the glasses. Another sizzling flash of heat shot through him. It was accompanied by a further tightening of his jeans. Even the image of his grandfather’s frown wasn’t enough to relax the muscles in the southern half of his body.

“What if I were?” she asked, sounding flirtatious. “Are you looking for something like that to read?”

A sex manual? Uh, no. Considering the way he was feeling about this particular female, he probably could have written one himself. Stepping closer, he murmured, “Do you think I need one?”

He thought she’d step back, back down. She didn’t. Instead, her lips pursed, almost warning him that she was taking the challenge and upping the ante. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on whether you shined up that halo again today. Did you?”

He would have laughed if he could have forced the sound out of his tight throat. Halo? Man, the way he was reacting to her right now, he might as well have a pitchfork behind his back.

Cool it, a voice in his head said. She’s not your type. This time, he recognized the voice as his own, not Gramps’s.

Knowing he needed to stop this before he did something stupid like kiss the laughter right out of Janie’s pretty mouth, he glanced around for a distraction. The items he’d dropped when diving to cushion her fall were good enough. Bending over to pick them up, he gave himself a few seconds to get a grip.

“Thanks for, you know, trying to make sure I didn’t get hurt,” she said softly, obviously realizing he really had been trying to protect her a few minutes ago.

He shrugged, depositing the peanut container and other items on a table beside the bed. “No problem. So, you never answered my question. What were you looking for?”

“You’re probably not going to like hearing this,” she said, suddenly sounding amused, “but I’m looking for a pearl earring which might have been lost, uh…here.”

He stopped her, throwing one hand up, palm out. “That’s far enough. I don’t want to hear another word. What, do they serve raw oyster gruel in this place?”

One of her fine brows arched up over an eye. “Gruel? Reading Charles Dickens lately?”

“Sorry. I guess this is a bit upscale to be the workhouse.”

A wicked glint appeared in her eyes. “Nice to know you can read more than the sports page.”

He caught the insult and couldn’t help grinning. She did have a wicked streak. He liked it. A lot. “I think can even manage to count to a hundred.”

“Because that’s your batting average?”

Clutching his chest, he let out an exaggerated groan. “Now that hurt. My grandfather didn’t tell me that mouth of yours was a lethal weapon.”

“Locked and loaded.”

He’d like to see her mouth locked and loaded. Locked on his. Loaded with his tongue. Or other parts of his anatomy.

Her face grew pink, which was when Riley realized she’d had the same flash of mental imagery he’d had. She was blushing.

Damn it, that sweetly embarrassed look was such a turn-on when contrasted with the saucy, sexy comebacks this girl was capable of throwing around. It was also a double-edged sword. The color in her cheeks was attractive as hell, but also served as a reminder that this was no experienced groupie he was messing with. She was young and fresh, and Gramps’s second-favorite female. He needed to keep his horny thoughts—and hands—off her.

Which was why, as difficult as it was, he managed to say, “Well, it was nice to see you again. Thanks for everything.”

She opened her mouth, her lips quivering a bit, as if she had something to say. Something she wasn’t sure how to say.

Riley wasn’t ready to hear it. If she said one more even flirtatious thing, he was gonna be tempted to push her against the wall and taste that mouth, sample that sweet, sassy tongue.

“Bye, Just Janie,” he said, giving her the same friendly, flirtatious smile he gave every female fan from eight to eighty.

Then he strode out of the room. He only hoped she didn’t correctly interpret his quick footsteps down the corridor and realize he was practically running away.

3

Five weeks later, late May

“OKAY, MISSY, it was your idea to go after our fantasy men, so don’t you think it’s time to get down to business?”

Janie didn’t even turn around at the sound of Callie Andrews’s voice as her good friend invaded the stockroom of Round The Bases. Instead, she brushed the dust off a shoebox full of trading cards. An old woman had brought them in earlier, asking fifty dollars for the lot to get them out of her late husband’s closet. Judging by the dust, they’d been there a long time. Janie had no idea if she’d paid too much or too little, but she’d figured they had to be old and therefore worth something.

Besides, the woman had looked as if she needed the money, and, as her family always reminded her, Janie was a pushover. Hadn’t she been the one who’d taken every blanket in their house and given them to the needy during her junior year of high school? Her father had muttered under his breath all that winter about the cold he couldn’t shake, while also beaming over his daughter’s kindness.

And she’d never forget his expression the time she’d volunteered the whole family—and their turkey—to a homeless shelter the year before her parents had died. Somehow, the memory of their good-natured grumbles but secretly proud smiles made the memory of that last Thanksgiving even more special than all those that had preceded it.

“Did you hear me?” Callie asked, her smooth tone holding amusement, as if she knew Janie had been avoiding her.

“I heard you,” Janie said. She didn’t turn around, not wanting to see Callie’s disappointment that she hadn’t gone through with the plan to seduce someone connected with the Slammers.

Seduction—wild sex, heat and eroticism—had been filling her mind since the March day when Janie had first met Riley Kelleher. The man had filled her nighttime dreams and her daytime fantasies. She’d never been as instantly affected by a man, never. And his being a baseball star had absolutely nothing to do with it, Janie had no doubt of that. His smile, his laugh, his incredible eyes and amazing body—well, Riley could have worked selling peanuts at the stadium and she’d still have wanted him every bit as much.

“It’s been over two months since we sat in your stockroom and you came up with the idea to seduce our fantasy guys. To have one wild fling, even if we had to act like groupies to get it. You’ve done nothing about it,” Callie said, not giving up.

Janie hadn’t expected her to. Callie was nothing if not determined, probably one reason all their businesses—Callie’s four-star restaurant, this store and Babe Bannister’s ice-cream shop—were thriving. Callie was a great businesswoman and kept a steady stream of customers coming to this sports-themed complex, despite the lingering fears that the Slammers might leave town.

The team had been winning throughout the month of May, and the fans were standing by the Ross family, especially since opening day when team owner Donovan Ross had revealed the reason he’d used the Slammers as collateral on a risky loan. Still, there was that uncertainty, especially since the team had lost their last few games.

“Stop pretending you’re fascinated by that dusty old box of cards when I know you have no idea who any of the players on them are. Let’s make a plan for you to seduce your fantasy guy.”

Janie sighed. Seducing her fantasy guy had sounded all well and good back in March after that first time she’d met Riley Kelleher. When he’d flirted with her, admitted he was attracted to her. That he liked her eyes. Not to mention her backside.

She’d ridden that high—even while being annoyed that he’d pegged her as a college-age kid—for days. She’d thought about him almost nonstop, wondering what might have happened if she’d told him she wasn’t some coed, but a fully adult twenty-five-year-old. One who really enjoyed very adult activities.

She’d also been wishing she’d been wearing something sexier or even some makeup. On the day she’d met Riley, she probably hadn’t touched so much as a tube of lipstick in ages. So if he’d been interested when she was looking her worst, what might happen if she made a real effort to attract him?

That was what she’d been thinking the night her two best friends, Callie and Babe, had barreled in to talk about the possibility of the team leaving Louisville. That rumor had really gotten her emotions in a tangle. Between fretting over Tom losing his store, and her guilt over the flash of happiness she’d felt at maybe being free—plus the Riley incident—she’d been a mess.

The wine hadn’t helped. Instead, it had made her open her big dumb mouth to her two closest friends to admit what she’d been thinking: What would it be like to seduce a fantasy man from the team before the team left? To be, just once, the flavor of the month for a dreamy stud who probably wouldn’t even remember their affair, but who might give her a lifetime of hot memories?

She’d said the words without truly planning to, but she certainly hadn’t shocked them. She, Callie and Babe had shared many late-night bitching sessions about men, and had poured their hearts out to each other about all the anxieties in their lives. Callie’s long-buried, troubled past. Babe’s uncertainty of her place in the world given her father’s passion for baseball…and desperation for a son. And Janie’s worries about Tom and her never-far-away sadness over the loss of her parents. So admitting she’d been having lusty thoughts about an unnamed member of the Slammers organization hadn’t exactly been breaking news.

Her friends—obviously as romantically unlucky as Janie—had thought it was a great idea. Unlike Janie, however, they’d actually had the guts to do it. And look where it had gotten them. Both of them were blissfully happy, Callie back with Ross Donovan, her ex-husband, who owned the team. And Babe cozying up to the manager.

But Janie…well, Janie had chickened out.

Because while part of her suspected Riley had been interested, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn her down. Even going into it with eyes wide-open, knowing it would be about nothing more than a wild, never-to-be-forgotten one-night stand, her pride could still be savaged by a casual rejection.

The second time she’d run into Riley Kelleher—a month later in Mr. Smith’s room—had convinced her to forget the whole thing. Because, that day, she’d flirted, dropped some sexy hints and laid down some serious innuendo. And the man had practically run away in terror. How totally depressing.

She was a flavor all right. Vanilla. Strictly plain, boring and unseductive. Just Janie. Just vanilla.

“I should’ve gone for a bat boy,” she muttered as she put the lid on the box, resecured it with a crusty rubber band and shoved it on a crowded shelf.

“What?” Callie asked from behind.

Janie swept a strand of her brown hair back into its ponytail. Then, knowing she couldn’t explain her reluctance to someone as strong as Callie, turned around. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I want to know why you backed down.”

She backpedaled. “Attendance is great, the team will bounce back again. It may have been a big scare for nothing. If Donovan pays back the loan to that Vegas slimeball in time, the Slammers won’t go.”

“Which means you’ll still be here painting fantasies in your head five years from now when you should have leapt on them.”

She couldn’t deny it. Because Callie was absolutely right.

“Who is he, anyway, your dream guy? Tell me that much, and I’ll help you figure out how to get him.”

Ha. Callie, with her perfect face, great figure and sexy red hair wouldn’t have to do more than wave. Janie, on the other hand…well, it would take some real effort, if not a complete makeover. “I don’t really want to say.”