He lowered his boxers. His sex was impressive. She stared openly. He climbed on to the bed. The mattress dipped, as he stretched out beside her. Her hands itched to touch him. But he caught her wrists, stopped her. “Let me get a look at you first.”
She wanted to close her eyes while he undressed her, yet remained brave. She watched his features for reaction, waiting for a narrowing of his eyes, a scrunch of his nose, his frown. Instead his eyes heated, his nostrils flared, and an appreciative smile curved his lips as he moved his hand beneath the hem of her cotton T-shirt and lazily dragged it up her chest. She lifted her shoulders, and he slipped it over her head. Next came her lacy bra. It was on; it was off. Her head again found the pillow, and her hair fanned her flushed face.
He moved his hand over her breast. Firm, round, and perfectly plump. Smooth and soft, and more than a handful. He liked the feel of her. She had freckles on her chest. And her skin was pale.
He wanted her out of her jeans, and took them off. Followed by her thong. Her waist was narrow. Her hips, perfectly shaped. The shaved, smooth skin between her legs made his heart slam; his dick throb. Misbehave. No other woman had ever stolen every thought from his head and made him forget to breathe. Eden was doing that to him now.
He wanted inside her. Bad. He managed to hold back, but just barely. He was twice her weight in muscle, and was easily twice as strong. Rising on his knees, he settled over her with a gentleness that made her stomach go soft. He hugged her to him, and buried his face in her hair. Then bit her earlobe, dragging his teeth along the plump flesh. She tensed under him, and her thighs pressed against his hips. He kissed her neck, felt the beat of her heart on his lips. Then lowered his mouth to hers.
“Are you on birth control?” he asked. “Or do I need a condom?”
“We're safe.”
Landon tasted her further. He kissed her longer, deeper. Satisfying his craving for her. They explored each other with thoroughness. Each learned what the other person liked. Her heat wrapped around him. She absorbed his own warmth.
She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back. She lifted her legs, offering herself, shifting until she was right where he needed her to be. Their bodies merged, molding together without any awkward motions or hesitations. They fit together as if they were created for each other.
Sensation hit him, which he hadn't expected. A sense of oneness settled in his soul. Eden was the woman he'd searched for all his life. The thought was clear. Powerful. He was overwhelmed by feelings for her that would never leave him. He needed to know if she felt the same.
He broke their kiss, and she blinked, her gaze heavy-lidded and lost in him. He saw her longing reflected in her dark blue eyes. The depth of her desire. Her commitment. She cared for him. Possibly even loved him. He was suddenly grateful. He silently counted his blessings.
“Land?” she questioned him. Her lips were swollen, well-kissed. Her chest rose and fell. Her nipples were fully puckered. Her pubic muscles clenched around him. “Is everything okay?”
His answer came in the slow rock of his hips. Followed by a rhythmic pace that heightened their pleasure. He whispered, coaxed her, driving her higher.
They were both suddenly there.
Both stiffening.
Both shattering.
Both boneless. Mindless. Replete.
He collapsed on her. Managed not to crush her.
Their breathing was heavy in the stillness.
Exhaustion had them moving slowly as they cleaned up. They could've lingered in the shower while Land gave Eden good loofa, but she wanted to ease back into bed, and sleep for an hour. He allowed her the luxury. Before he took her again.
He slipped back into his clothes, took the dogs outside, and was surprised that Obie stayed close to him. The beagle walked tentatively back into the house, while Ruby ran for the stairs. The dachsie already knew her way around. She was here to stay.
Land was glad that Eden had taken his idea of adoption and run with it. They both loved dogs. Another bond between them. He made sure Obie and Ruby were situated before returning to bed. Ruby lay with her chin on Obie's front paws.
Stripping down, he slid in beside Eden. She turned to face him, full on. He nuzzled his jaw against the top of her head. Kissed her brow. The warmth of her breath blew against his neck.
He felt comfortable with this woman. Compatible. He was at a crossroads in his life. At the end of the day, he'd chosen to come home to her. He had only to convince her to be there for him.
Eleven
“W
ho you trying to impress?” Left fielder Joe “Zoo” Zooker looked from Halo to Landon. Top of the fourth inning, and both men had returned to the home dugout. Halo after a triple; followed by Land airmailing a fastball over the center field fence. “What the fuck? We're playing a Saturday night exhibition game against local high school state champions. We agreed not to jack the score.”
Halo side-eyed him. “One out. We're ahead by two, which we just scored. Barefoot William Hurricanes are playing hard. The guys are damn good.”
“Underdogs do win,” Land reminded Zoo.
“Not against us.” Zoo was always cocky. “So who you doing in the stands?” He went back to his original question.
“The stadium's packed.” With both major league baseball and high school fans. Families and local supporters of the Hurricanes sat on the edge of their seats, hoping their boys fared well. Rogues fans anticipated a night out with their team, as they eyed the season ahead. “Our contest winners are here, watching. We want to make a decent showing,” said Halo.
“Bull-fuckin'-shit.” Zoo wasn't satisfied. “Who are the babes?”
Zoo would dog them for the next five innings. He could be damn annoying. Word had spread beyond Media Day that Halo had a fiancée. He'd received countless congratulations. Most were sincere; others, merely lip service.
Those who actually knew Alyn's identity kept it low-key. Anonymity worked for them, for now. People recognized his engagement. Accepted it. He didn't want her fully exposed to public scrutiny. He felt protective of her.
He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. His life had improved for the better. He'd gotten the desired results from his engagement. Women sighed when they saw him, but no longer sought him out for sex. He and Alyn had yet to make love. They kissed, held hands, touched a little, but nothing more. He was a long way from a sleepover.
“You misinterpreted my look,” Halo said to Zoo. “I nodded to Danny Jayne.”
Zoo snorted. “The boy or his sister?”
“My contest winner,” brooked no argument.
“Land's gaze keeps straying to the Cates section, along the first base line. Shaye and Jillian are off limits, but the chick with the crazy hair has it going on. Nice boobs.”
Landon stiffened, and Halo knew why. The two men had spent an hour talking in the locker room before the rest of the team arrived. Halo hadn't fully disclosed his relationship with Alyn; he'd skimmed over the business details. Land, however, had openly and honestly discussed Eden Cates. It appeared his best friend was taking their relationship seriously. They'd adopted dogs together. He was moving into her wedding chapel for the remainder of spring training. Which made Halo smile. He wanted his buddy happy. Eden damn sure put Landon on his game. He'd hit a home run for her.
Halo shifted the conversation. “Check out Rally Ball. Fans love him.”
Rally Ball was the team mascot. Inside the big white baseball costume with the red stitching was Charlie Bradley. Leg and armholes showcased long red-and-blue-striped sleeves and matching tights. Blue high-top Converses supported his movements. Rally had roll. He bobbed and bounced in the stands, meeting and greeting the crowd. Most mascots didn't come to spring training. Charlie was the exception. At sixty-five, he'd aged with the franchise. A widower, he considered the Rogues family. The team paid his way to Florida.
“Rally's talking to Danny. He's getting his picture taken with the boy.” Land chuckled. “Danny's trying to hug him, but can't get his arms around the fuzz ball.”
Top of the fourth played out. Zoo's solo shot over the second baseman's head landed him on first. The Hurricanes' pitcher had a gifted arm. His skills walked the next three batters back to the dugout without a hit. Zoo was left hanging.
The Rogues took the field. The leadoff batter for the Hurricanes popped the ball up. It arched toward third base, and landed in Landon's glove. Next, a fly ball to centerâcaptured, out two. The right fielder for the Hurricanes took his bat. Eric Madison pounded a curveball to left field. Zoo charged, dove, slid on his belly. Missed the catch. Eric ran like a roadrunner, rounding the bases, scoring their first home run.
The crowd went crazy. Halo couldn't help himself. He stood in right and applauded Eric's ability. The hometown boy had placed the ball perfectly, just beyond Zoo's reach. Rylan in center joined the applause. Talent was talent, and needed to be acknowledged. Win or lose, the game wouldn't affect their preseason standing or stats.
The next Hurricane went down on strikes. Three outs. Halo and Rylan jogged toward the dugout together. “Tell me about Madison,” Halo requested. “Dude's got instincts.”
“He's one hell of a player,” said Ry. “He was offered a scholarship to Florida State, but turned it down. Family obligations. His dad got busted for drugs. Jail time. Eric has twin younger brothers and a baby sister. His mom works three jobs to keep food on the table. Eric's taken over parental responsibilities. He's pretty much raising the kids.”
Eric's situation unsettled Halo. He kept an eye on the high schooler the remainder of the game. The Rogues worked through their batting order. There was one out in the count when Halo stepped to the plate. He knocked a fastball thrown down in the zone over the shortstop's head. He made it easily to first. Landon's short drive to third forced him to slide into second. A heartbeat before the throw. He dusted himself off. Zoo wasn't to be bested. He'd yet to make an impression. The time was now.
He went full count, three balls, two strikes, before launching a curveball toward center-right. No-man's land. It was a toss-up which outfielder would make the catch.
If
one of them even could. The ball was close to clearing the wall. Close to landing in the outfield stands.
Halo watched as two young athletes tried to save the home run. Damn if Eric Madison didn't make the play. He jet-packed at the wall, made the catch. Then had the reserve to fire the ball to the first baseman, who threw it to the catcher. Focusing on Eric, Halo and Landon were slow in crossing home plate. Landon hustled at the end. They earned two runs, with two outs.
Rylan Cates's fluid swing slammed a cutter down the right field line. The catch elicited Eric's skills once more. He scooped, powered the ball to first, and Ry was out, an inch off the base. Three down. Rogues went on defense. Halo grabbed Rylan's glove off the bench, took it to him. They connected in the outfield.
“Kid can field,” said Halo.
“He's also a clutch hitter.”
He had the knack for coming up with big hits in tight situations. “I'm impressed.”
“You should be,” said Rylan. “Given the opportunity, Eric could take your position someday.”
“Just like I inherited right from Psycho.” Psycho McMillan was legendary. No doubt the best right fielder of all time. He was front office now, vice president/general manager. Psycho kept his finger on the pulse of every player. He shook the skeletons in closets. No secrets were kept from the man.
Halo made a run at Psycho's stats every year. Had not yet succeeded. He still had time to accomplish his goals. He wasn't ready to hang up his jock. Not for a few years, anyway.
The game played out. The score was five to one in the middle of the ninth, when the Rogues went on final defense. Rylan had slam-dunked a homer over the left field fence moments earlier. He got a standing ovation.
A half-inning to play, and southpaw Andy Davidson was brought in to close, replacing Will Ridgeway. He played Triple-A, and was in town for daily scrimmages. The pitching coach had his eye on him. A possible candidate for the majors.
Davidson was all nerves. Halo could see him sweat from right field. Three consecutive outs should've wrapped up the game. Fifteen quick minutes. Instead three batters loaded the bases. Forty minutes later. No outs. What the fuck?
Eric Madison next took his bat. He made the walk from on-deck circle to home plate. Swinging his bat, then knocking dirt from his cleats, as he dug in, getting into position.
The kid had the balls to point to Halo. He was looking for a grand slam to tie the score. The crowd was on its feet. Cheering, clapping, stomping. The kid was a favorite. The noise would carry miles.
Crap, Halo thought. Should the kid launch one his way, he'd be forced to make the out. Most situations needed heroes. For some strange reason he didn't want to be the one to steal the guy's thunder. He kicked himself for going soft.
Eric's previous at-bats had earned him a homer and a double. Rylan had warned him that Eric came through in the toughest times. Halo got into position. Ready, and waiting.
Intelligent and intuitive, Eric went two balls and two strikes, before he swung on a change-up, finding the sweet spot. Long, and possibly gone raced through Halo's mind. The wind could carry the ball that extra inch, over the wall.
His competitive instincts raged deep. Winning meant everything to him. He charged the warning track. As did Rylan Cates. Halo called him off. Yet Ry kept coming. His expression was hard, intent. A collision was imminent. Unless Halo backed off the ball.
Not the World Series
, he muttered to himself. His sense of sportsmanship won out. There were different kinds of heroes. This time he gave up the run to let someone else shine.
“Gone,” he hissed, when Ry was close enough to hear him.
Rylan staggered a step, and Halo jumped. High. He could've caught the ball. Would've had it, too, had he not tipped it over the wall with his glove. It landed in the stands. At the feet of a grandfather and his grandson. They were so surprised it took them a moment to scramble for the souvenir.
Halo and Rylan both bent over, caught their breath.
“Damn, Ry-man, you nearly took me out,” Halo grunted.
Rylan straightened. “A bump to your arm, no more.”
“No love tap, dude.”
“I'm loyal to the team, but I also live here. It's all about community.”
“Five-five. Let's hold them to a tie.”
Eric's grand slam drew a fifteen minute celebration. The Hurricane players lifted him on their shoulders. Jostled him into the dugout. Gatorade was shaken; their uniforms splashed orange. Hurricane fans screamed themselves hoarse. The noise level went stratospheric. It took all four umpires to bring calm to the chaos. Security escorted people off the field.
The pitching coach, Zoo, and shortstop Brody Jones stood on the mound with the Triple-A pitcher. The coach would keep his cool. Jones would offer encouragement. Zoo would growl like a hellhound. He had the tattoo to prove it. He could be an ass.
Andy was shell-shocked. His expression grim. He allowed three further hits. Defense won the game. Landon caught a pop-up. Jake Packer, a lineout. Brody saved a bunt. Game over. Tied. No overtime.
Afterward, both teams formed two lines. They signed autographs and took photos with their fans. Up until the stadium lights flickered overhead, and the scoreboard shut down, thinning the crowd instantaneously.
Halo glanced toward the seats along the first base line, and noticed Alyn sat alone. It was late. Martha, Danny, and the contest winners had taken the commuter bus and returned to Barefoot Inn. She was waiting for him. A pleasant surprise.
He realized in that moment he wanted her with him at the end of every game. Meeting him in the parking lot for their own private celebration, win or lose. The thought of having one woman for the rest of his life didn't strangle him. Didn't give him heartburn. Didn't set his feet to running. It left him calm. Anchored. Alyn Jayne was the one.
He was the last man on the field, or so he thought. He called to her, “Hummer in twenty.” A quick shower, and he'd join her.
She waved. Stood, and moved toward the nearest exit. It was then Halo saw Eric Madison, sitting by himself in the shadows of the visitor dugout. His head was bent. His hands wrapped around his grand slam bat. Halo approached him.
“Dude,” was all he said. He didn't want to interrupt Eric if he was in prayer or doing some serious thinking.
Eric glanced up. His eyes were bright and he blinked several times. Halo understood the emotion that came with a major play. He'd been choked up himself on occasion.
The young man cleared his throat said, “Hey, Halo. You're late leaving the field.”
“No later than you.”
“I saw the woman in the stands waiting for you.”
“Alyn Jayne, my fiancée.”
“She's pretty.”
Halo nodded. “And the nicest person I know.”
“You're lucky, man.”
“Sometimes life comes together when you least expect it.” Halo paused, continued with, “I'm going to get personal. Tell me to back off if you'd rather not talk about your family, your scholarship, and your plans for the future.”
Eric sat quietly, slow in responding, as if he was embarrassed. He squeezed the bat so tightly, his knuckles whitened. His words were choppy, his voice flat, when he told Halo about his college prospects, and how his life changed overnight with his old man's drug bust.
Halo wasn't good at giving comfort, but he could correct an unfortunate situation. He could remove obstacles. Project an opportunity. He made his offer of paying for the boy's education, along with supporting Eric's family until he signed a major league contract.
Eric was so stunned, he sputtered, “You think I'm good enough to play professional ball?”
“I know you are.”
The boy's throat worked. “My dad didn't think so.”
“I'm not your dad.”
“Why me, Halo?”