Page 1 of Midnight Player

1

Fuck me.

Well, that game could have gone better.

Cunningham acted like he’d done lines of cocaine before taking the mound he’d been so wound up. No matter what Jake did, he hadn’t been able to calm the poor bastard down. The rookie lobbed balls right through the dead center of the strike zone. Even the Houston Howlers’ worst hitters had scored base hits.

By the top of the third inning, his team, the Philadelphia Flashes, were down by five. Hard to come back from a deficit like that on enemy turf. And the team never recovered the lost ground, even when Coach Davis yanked Cunningham out in the fourth inning. The damage was already done.

Jake nursed his beer. The championship series was tied three-three. Tomorrow night’s game would determine whether he and his team were world champions or just another team that didn’t have what it took to go all the way.

Their star pitcher Ishii was set to take the mound in the do-or-die game.

Nocturne, the Vivaldi Hotel’s hidden art déco bar, was a head trip. It made him feel like a gangster from the 1920s who was drinking at a prohibition bar. The maroon and gold theme added a classy, decadent touch. But his favorite aspect was that he didn’t have to pretend he was fine with the way shit went down tonight. Because he wasn’t okay with it. He wanted that fucking ring. Ambitious to a fault, it wasn’t good enough that he’d made the big leagues. His competitive spirit yearned to earn the title of world champion.

Jake liked his teammates, which wasn’t always the case. He was one of the old timers at thirty-three. And while an injury could take him down, he wasn’t ready to hang his catcher’s glove up yet. But this was a good team. He admired the hell out of his coaches. They’d played their hearts out tonight, but the other team had been better.

After a loss, he didn’t want to get blitzed as if nothing had happened. The media dubbed him professional baseball’s bad boy, the player who always had a new woman on his arm. Except it was just an image, one he earned and couldn’t deny. He was rather cavalier when it came to dating and one-night stands. Yet after a loss, he preferred solitude. And he tended to nurse a beer or two alone while reviewing the game in his mind. Then he determined if he’d have done anything differently and whether it could have altered the outcome.

The only thing which might have made a difference tonight was if Cunningham had been yanked sooner. But even that might not have been enough to save the game.

Nocturne was packed tonight. He spied a world-famous comedian and his massive, ebony-skinned, bald-headed bodyguard near the opposite end of the fancy wall bar. The rest of the seats were occupied by people with more money than sense, but who was he to judge?

At least the seat on his left was still empty. The couple to the right of him wasn’t paying him any heed. She was quite the looker with her fake tits and even faker smile. But then, she was with a man whose massive belly protruded over his belt, straining the confines of his dress shirt, and had to be two decades older than his date.

The situation screamed gold digger with a married guy if the pale stripe around his third finger was anything to go by.

Jake took a long swallow of beer. The media would give itself a hernia if they realized he wasn’t out scoring pussy as much as the tabloids reported that he did. Now that didn’t mean he wouldn’t walk out into the main bar and find a woman to hook up with. Except there was some romance writers’ conference with oodles of women out there that he wanted to avoid at all costs. Because to his mind, romance books were unrealistic.

Besides, he wasn’t in the mood for a casual hookup. Jake hadn’t gone the hookup route for quite a while. At his age, he’d already traveled the Dionysus path, gorging on alcohol and women. When he first started in the big leagues, for the first time in his life, he had money and celebrity status. And women had thrown themselves at him. And not simply the run-of-the-mill fans either. He was talking supermodels, actresses, and the hottest women alive.

But at thirty-three, with a few more years left before retirement, he’d started thinking about what he’d do after. Jake wanted a wife and kids, but it had to be therightwoman. He wouldn’t settle for a woman who simply hit the gene pool lottery. Surprisingly enough, he yearned for a woman he could be intimate with, talk to about her hopes and dreams, and commit to body and soul. At the end of the day, he wanted to be the family guy.

Surprised the fuck out of him too, but there you have it.

And it was why he sat alone, contemplating the game and what he would do in the offseason.

Staring at a droplet of condensation on his beer bottle, he felt her slide onto the seat beside him before he saw her. The woman’s subtle amber fragrance teased his nostrils. Jake shifted, needing to catch a glimpse of the mystery woman. If there was one thing he excelled at, even more than throwing out a runner stealing second, it was charming the panties off women. And if she looked as good as she smelled, it was game on. He wouldn’t sit this one out. A night tearing up the sheets would clear his head and get him prepared for the game.

Fuck me.

Lightning struck his spine and shot through his torso. His cock twitched, scenting the woman like a caveman. Everything inside him bellowed:There! Finally! It’s her! The one he’d waited for all his life.

Fate had left the seat open for her. He was convinced.

A tumble of thick, chestnut hair fell over her soft shoulders. He rubbed his thumb and finger together, imagining how her silky strands would feel in his hands. But her face . . . Her face was a thing of beauty. Poets should write sonnets in her name. Milky porcelain skin with a dusting of tan freckles crossed the bridge of her nose. Gently arched brows, the same color as her hair, framed eyes that reminded him of smoke. Lushly formed lips were painted a sinful red, and he immediately imagined how they would look around his dick.

His gaze trailed down her elegant neck, and he damn near swallowed his tongue. He shifted in his seat to alleviate the pressure of his erection straining the confines of his jeans. A single glance at her killer body in a form-fitting pink dress that displayed her tits to perfection turned him into a randy teen incapable of controlling his hormones.

She looked like his every fantasy brought to life and had the body of a fifties pinup model. Lush and curvy in all the right places with her waist nipped in tight. This was a woman who enjoyed life. Her plump tits left him aching for a taste.

She glanced his way briefly before dropping her gaze. A rosy flush spread into her cheeks. And Christ, but she was sweet when a mere glance left her blushing.

A dirty, depraved vision of the two of them tearing up his sheets flash-fried his brain.

He vowed he wasn’t leaving this bar without her. God, he couldn’t wait to touch her, feel all those lush curves wrapped around him as he pounded inside her. Was she a screamer or silent when she came? He’d bet she was a screamer. Either way, he couldn’t wait to find out.

And here he thought tonight would be dull with a heaping side of mental castigation.

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