Moonshot(14)

26



Dallas

Chase Stern stepped off the bus, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. Moving forward, he ignored the shouts from fans, their line of bodies packed in on either side, hands reached out over the barricade fence, balls and notepads thrust out, an undulating wave of obligations. A pair of tits caught his eye, and he slowed, stretching and taking a Sharpie from the perky blonde. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kristin,” she beamed, and when she leaned forward and adjusted the hem of her shorts, he could see everything.

He scribbled her name on the jersey she held out, glancing backward, his eyes connecting for a brief moment with Ty, her step off the bus quick and no-nonsense, her eyes moving off his, her face unchanging.

“My number.” The blonde tried to hand him a piece of hot pink paper.

“I’m good.” He waved it off, capping the marker and handing it back.

“Just take it,” she insisted, still holding it out.

He took the next pen and scribbled out another signature, ignoring the paper, which seemed to make the blonde more insistent. Giving another two autographs, he stepped back, waving a hand to the crowd and avoiding the eyes of the blonde.

He didn’t analyze his actions. Didn’t wonder why his overactive sex drive seemed to have suddenly gone on hiatus. It was probably about time he stopped screwing around—especially with the Yankees, a team that frowned on scandal of any sort.

He stepped toward the building, following the line of players who had passed, his eyes finding and resting on a figure, shorter than all the others, one blonde ponytail bobbing among the men.





27



Tampa

11:14 PM. The Marriott. At an alcove at the end of the twenty-seventh floor, I stood and stared at the vending machine choices, chewing the edge of my cheek. I had my strengths. A killer curveball. Mad karaoke skills. The ability to finish off a Slurpee in five minutes flat with no brain freeze. Decision-making was not my strong point. Especially when faced with a well-stocked vending machine.

“Big thought process you got going on there.”

I didn’t look over. There was only one person who owned that voice. I held up the dollar. “Limited funds. I have to choose wisely.”

“Go with the Milky Way.”

That line of idiocy earned him a grimace; the gesture aimed in his general direction before my eyes were held hostage by the beauty that was a shirtless Chase Stern.

Navy pajama pants hung low on his hips, and I’d bet my dollar right then that he had nothing on underneath. No shoes. Bare torso, cut and lean, with enough muscle to rip homers and make any teenage girl come apart at the seams.

My seams twitched, along with my eyes, which pulled from his abs and to his face. I was still frowning, and his eyebrows rose in response. “Not a chocolate fan?”

He leaned a hand on the Coke machine, and the new pose popped unique muscles and pushed at the limits of my control. I fought to maintain eye contact. “Not a Milky Way fan.”

“Then what’s the big debate?”

“Starburst or Twix.” I shouldn’t be talking to him. Three conversations were three too many. On the other hand, it wasn’t physically possible for my feet to walk away. They refused, rooted deep in the hotel carpet.

He straightened, reaching a hand into the pocket of his pajamas. The dig slid the waistband lower, and I looked away, hearing the low scrapes of a chuckle. “Here.” He spoke, and I looked over, seeing his hand outstretched, cupped around a stack of change. “Get both.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Shut up and take the money. Otherwise I’ll be here all night waiting on you to make up your mind.”

I twisted my mouth at him and held out a hand under his, the exchange of coins managed without any physical contact.

He said nothing as I inserted my dollar and the change, my fingers quick as they jabbed at the buttons. The moment grew uncomfortable, and I bent over, pushing the drawer open and reaching in for my candy.

When I straightened, I caught his eyes on my ass, and they darted, guilty as sin, back to my face. I ignored it, nodding politely to him as I lifted the candy in parting. “Thanks.” I stepped around him and walked toward my room, trying for a slow and leisurely stroll, when all I wanted to do was sprint.

“What are you doing now?”

I stopped, glancing back at him. “Going to my room.”

“You share a room with your dad?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Does it matter?”

He shrugged, pushing his hands in his pockets, his shoulders cupping forward. “I can’t sleep. Thought I’d walk down to the marina. You been?”

“Yeah.”

He chuckled, as if that was funny. “Want to go again?”

“You want me to go down to the marina with you?” I turned fully around to face him, my mind too slow to comprehend.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Jesus, Ty. To talk. To get to know each other. It’s not an orgy invitation.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“You know.” I waved my hand in his general direction. “Your reputation.”

“It’s a walk.” He glanced to the machine, dropping in some change and punching at a button. “But whatever. Enjoy your night.” The machine rumbled, and he crouched, pulling out a Gatorade.