Page 10 of The Billionaire's Catch

The sentiment was both unexpected and unexpectedly touching. Jason waved him off, grinning at the two beautiful blonds next to him. Of course, Chance entertained twice that many women.

Alan wagged a finger in Chance’s general direction. “You should share.”

“We’re just friends.” Chance laughed. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Lulu or something?”

“Lucy, and she isn’t my girlfriend,” Alan grumbled. “She’s been annoying me since fourth grade, but right now I’m interested in what you have.”

Jason shook his head. The kid reminded him of himself a decade ago, when the journey was just beginning. Full of more swagger than sense.

“We should go to the Frosted Glass. It’s where all the lovely ladies hang out.” Alan got up, stumbled and righted himself just before crashing into a dozen empty beer glasses. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his keys.

“No way are you driving.” With lightning fast reflexes that made him the league’s best catcher, Jason swiped the keys from the inebriated man. “I’ll call you a ride.” He took out his cell, but he had no service in the boisterous club. “Be right back.”

Jason walked through the throngs of sweaty revelers out the back door and into the fresh air. He ordered rides for Alan and Chance, paying in advance for the cars to stay with the men for the rest of the night. Purchase and payment complete, he returned to the table. Chance was now with half a dozen women… but no Alan.

Something dangerous tainted the air, tightening his chest and readying his muscles. A sense of foreboding gripped him, like when he knew a player was going to steal a base. “Where is Alan?”

Chance seemed surprised to see his drinking buddy had disappeared. “Wasn’t he going to the Frosted Glass?”

“Yeah, but I just ordered the ride. And I have his keys so…” He stopped, reached for the table, pushing aside a night’s worth of carnage from their revelry. The empty glasses clunked against each other as he thrust them around. “Where are my keys?”

“Your keys?” Chance shrugged. “Haven’t seen them.”

A sickening feeling stabbed him like a fastball to the gut. Without a word, he pivoted and ran to the front of the restaurant, for once ignoring the waves, the hellos, the people calling his name. He emerged just in time to see a custom cherry red Ferrari race by.

His cherry red Ferrari.

“Stop,” he roared, and miraculously it jerked to a halt. Only just as he reached it, it started again, narrowly missing a group of laughing coeds. The engine revved, ready to lunge forward, proving he’d never have time to reach the driver’s side. He reached for the passenger door, gasping relief when it opened. He dove in… just as it came to a sudden start.

Wind whipped at Jason’s legs as he dangled out of the car, and for a second it seemed he would slide out onto the racing pavement. Grabbing the seat, he used all his strength to heft himself into the speeding car. He pulled the door closed.

“That was awesome, man!” Alan shouted gleefully in alcohol-fueled animation. “You’re like a stunt guy from the movies!”

“Stop the car,” Jason ordered as the car jerked from side to side. “You’re going to hit something.”

Instead of stopping, Alan floored the gas. “Like this, buddy?” He laughed again as the car picked up speed.

That’s when Jason caught sight of the school bus.

“Watch out!” he roared.

“I knew I recognized her.”

Jason started, as reality clutched him back, shattering the daytime nightmare. Of course, true nightmares were borne of fiction, but this had a far more earthly origin. In the depths of his psyche, it would repeat a thousand times more.

But not now. Now he breathed deeply, turned to Chance. The third baseman was looking to where Dara had departed with undisguised interest. The athletes had been friends since their first day in the minor leagues, and there were few people he trusted more. So why did he feel like telling him to keep his eyes – and everything else – off Dara?

Chance remained oblivious to Jason’s annoyance. “I thought she looked familiar at The Sweet Spot. Pat has a picture of her on his desk. She’s very pretty.”

Jason frowned. “If you like emerald eyes.”

“Emerald eyes?” Chance laughed. “Are you a ballplayer or a poet?”

Jason scowled. Emerald eyes? He couldn’t deny she was attractive, beautiful even, but Chance was right to be skeptical. He did sound like a poet. “I barely noticed her looks.”

“Then you’re the only one.” Chance whistled lowly. “Besides her emerald eyes, she has a beautiful face and a killer body. Some of the guys already have crushes on her.”

The urge to hit something much larger than a ball surfaced. “The guys should worry about the upcoming game. Hopefully she won’t be here long enough to distract us.” The words were logical, yet they felt wrong. Like he wanted her to stay.

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