Читать книгу Triple Score - Regina Kyle - Страница 12

4

“GREAT JOB TODAY.” Sara took the barbell from Jace’s hand and replaced it with a towel. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel.”

He wiped his forehead and slung the towel around his neck. “What the hell. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Wasn’t that the truth. He’d thought things were looking up after his cookie swap with Noelle. Sure, the lady protested. But her body hadn’t thought their kiss was a mistake.

Instead, he’d barely seen Noelle since the infamous macaroon incident. No pouty lips. No perky breasts. No...

“Earth to Jace.” Sara snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Scram. My next appointment’s due any minute. You can do a half hour of cardio on the treadmill or the elliptical if you want, but no more than that and not too fast. The idea’s to get your heart rate into the target zone, not keep going until you drop.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood and wiped down the utility bench he’d been using with the clean end of his towel. “Who’s up next?”

If the week’s pattern held, it wouldn’t be Noelle. He didn’t have any proof, but he had a strong suspicion she’d been scheduling her training sessions to avoid running into him.

“New kid. High school pitching sensation. Lost his arm to a downed power line.”

“That sucks.” Inadequate, Jace knew, but accurate.

Sara eyed him. “On second thought, maybe you should stick around. He could use a little cheering up. A bona fide sports hero might be just the thing.”

Jace scrunched the towel up in his hand. He’d never been comfortable with the whole hero-worship-role-model thing. Who the hell would want to emulate him? He wasn’t fit to be anyone’s hero. He drank too much, partied too hard. He was just a kid from a broken home on the wrong side of the tracks who’d been lucky enough to make it in the majors. End of story. “Some other time. I’ve got to hit the shower and make some phone calls.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Sara called after his retreating back.

“You do that.” With a wave of his good arm, he pushed through the door and surveyed the hallway. Empty. On the plus side, that meant no sign of Sara’s pitching phenom. On the negative, it meant no sign of Noelle, either.

Oh, well, he thought as he veered left toward his room. You had to take the good with the bad. Such was life.

The second his door latched behind him, he reached for the hem of his shirt. He had it half way up his torso when a flashing light on the nightstand caught his eye.

A message. On the room phone. The only people who even knew he was there were team management, his agent, his dad, Cooper and Reid, not necessarily in that order. Why hadn’t they tried his cell?

Shit. He’d turned it off before his therapy session. Sara’s number one rule. No phones. No interruptions.

He reached into the pocket of his gym shorts.

Nothing.

Double shit.

It must have slipped out during his workout. Hopefully someone had picked it up. He’d have to go back and get it, but not until he found out what was so important someone had tracked him down and left a message on his room phone.

He let his shirt fall and caught a whiff of sweat, reminding him that he’d better shower, too, before rejoining civilization.

But first the phone.

Jace sat down on his bed and hit the flashing button.

“Hey, pal,” his father’s voice greeted him over the speaker. “I tried your cell but it went straight to voice mail.”

Duh.

“Anyway,” his dad continued. “I, uh, need to talk to you. Nothing urgent, really. Just, uh, when you get a chance. Hope the arm’s feeling better. Don’t forget to ice it, and wear your brace even when you’re sleeping.”

The message ended, and Jace hit Delete. He loved his dad. How could he not? The guy had raised him solo when his mom ran off with a better prospect, one sure to make it to the show, not like his journeyman infielder father. But that didn’t mean his dad wasn’t downright annoying sometimes. Especially when it came to his favorite subject: baseball.

He stared at the phone a minute before picking up the handset and dialing his father’s number, bracing himself for the questions to come, questions he didn’t have any definitive answers to.

“Hi, Dad,” Jace said when his father finally answered on the fourth ring. “Sorry I missed your call. I had my cell off during PT.”

“How’s it going?” His dad sounded out of breath, and not for the first time Jace wondered if he shouldn’t be the one getting medical treatment.

“Good. My therapist says I’m ahead of schedule.” Jace crossed the fingers of his good hand behind his back. “How about you? You sound tired.”

“I’m fine. I ran in from the garage when I heard the phone.”

“Working on something special?” Jace leaned back against his pillow, stretched his legs out on the bed and smiled, imagining his father tinkering with an old Crosley radio or vintage Pioneer television. It had been a hobby when his dad played ball, but when his career on the field had ended in Double-A he’d turned it into a viable business, repairing all kinds of small electronics, new and old. If it had wires, Patrick Monroe could fix it.

“A jukebox.” His father’s voice radiated excitement for his new project, even over the phone. “Wurlitzer, mid-1940s.”

“That’s gotta be rare.” To Jace’s knowledge, his father hadn’t worked on one that old before. They’d restored a 1970s Seeburg together when Jace was in high school. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Well, you’ll have to. I don’t want you rushing home on my account. Listen to your doctors and take your rehab one day at a time. Baseball’s not going anywhere. It’ll still be there when you’re ready to play. And the team needs you at full strength.”

Oh, goodie. Lecture time.

“I know, Dad. I’ll be a model patient and follow doctor’s orders to the letter. Promise.” Good thing his fingers were still crossed. “Now what was it you needed to talk to me about? You said in your message it wasn’t urgent, but it must be pretty important if it couldn’t wait until our Sunday call.”

It was a ritual, the Sunday call, one they’d never missed in the ten years since Jace was drafted into the minors straight out of high school. 6:00 p.m. on the button unless Jace was on the field or in the air, and then he’d call as soon as the game was over or he touched down.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“C’mon, Dad. Whatever it is, it’s not nothing or you wouldn’t have called.” Jace sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed. “Are you hurt? Sick? Do you need me to come home?”

“No, no and no,” his father insisted. “I told you, I don’t want you cutting your rehab short for me. I’m just a little low on cash is all.”

Again? Jace wanted to scream. But this was his father, the man who’d made sure he was fed and clothed and got to school on time, who’d scrimped and saved so his son could attend baseball camp every summer. And Jace had more than enough disposable income. Who was he to deny his own flesh and blood?

“How low?” he asked.

“Well, the basement’s leaking and the refrigerator is on its last legs...”

Already? He’d bought a practically brand-new house for his dad eight years ago when he was called up to the majors.

“How low?” Jace repeated.

There was a long pause before his father answered, and when he did his voice was barely a whisper. “Ten grand.”

“For a leak and a fridge?” Jace spat out before he could stop himself.

“The leak’s pretty bad. The whole basement’s underwater when it rains. They want to install a drainage system and a sump pump.”

“They?”

“The waterproofing company.”

Jace sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “How soon do you need the cash?”

“As soon as you can get it to me. The contractors want to start before the next big rain.”

Jace glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:00 p.m. Still plenty of time to call the bank before it closed. “Okay. I’ll have the money transferred into your account this afternoon.”

“Thanks, son. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Love you, Dad. Talk to you Sunday.”

Jace ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed next to him. He’d get to the bank in a few minutes.

But first he was taking that damn shower.

* * *

NOELLE CRACKED THE door of the physical therapy room open and peeked inside.

All clear. No Jace. It was crazy to hide from him like a scared rabbit. Her luck was bound to run out sooner or later. But she’d rather it be later. Much later.

With a sigh of relief, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and limped inside.

“Noelle.” Sara waved her over almost before she’d crossed the threshold. “Come meet our newest patient.”

A boy who looked to be in his late teens sat on an exercise mat next to the kneeling Sara. One of his arms was missing below the elbow, the stump wrapped in a compression bandage.

“This is Dylan,” Sara continued, sitting cross-legged in front of him and connecting a resistance band to a strap around his bicep. “We’re getting him ready for his prosthetic.”

Dylan looked up at Noelle through long, sandy bangs. “I’d shake your hand, but I’ve only got one and it’s occupied at the moment.”

“What have I told you about the amputee jokes?” Sara handed him the other end of the resistance band.

“The more the merrier?” Dylan suggested with a sarcastic grin.

“More like one is one too many,” Sara countered.

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Hey, I might have lost my arm, but I haven’t lost my sense of humor.”

“Good thing.” Noelle smiled in spite of herself. She liked this cocky kid. “You’re gonna need it in this place.”

“Everyone’s a comedian.” Sara shook her head. “Dylan, this is Noelle. She’s an athlete, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” He brushed his bangs out of his eyes to study her. “What’s your sport?”

“Ballet.” She watched for some sign of disdain, but instead, he nodded and continued to stare at her, his expression serious. “What’s yours?”

“Baseball.” His gaze shifted to his injured arm. “At least it was.”

“Baseball?” Noelle caught Sara’s eye, at once acutely aware of who Dylan reminded her of. “Has he met...?”

“Not yet,” Sara said, cutting her off with a warning glare. “But soon. I hope.”

“Met who?” Dylan asked.

“Never you mind. It’s a surprise for when you’re on your best behavior.” Sara stood and motioned for him to do the same. “Enough chit-chat. You’ve got your resistance bands, and you know how to use them. Get to work.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” He marched off toward the far corner of the room, where the cable and pulley machines were located.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Sara turned her attention to Noelle. “Let’s get you started on the stationary bike. Same speed as yesterday, but you can up the distance an extra half mile. Then we’ll do some range-of-motion exercises.”

“Sure.” Noelle pressed her lips together, trying to hide her disappointment. She’d been on the damn bike for a week. She was hoping to graduate to something a little more challenging, like maybe the elliptical or even the treadmill. Oh, well. Like Little Orphan Annie said—or sang—there was always tomorrow.

She started for the row of bikes but stopped when she saw a flash of silver under one of the benches. She bent and picked up a cell phone.

“I think someone dropped this,” she said, holding it up.

“Where did you find it?” Sara asked.

“Under that bench,” Noelle answered, pointing.

“Jace was there last. It must be his.” Sara looked around the busy room and frowned. “I hate to ask, but could you bring it to him?”

Noelle flipped the phone over. Any hope she had that Sara was wrong was dashed by the sticker on the back of the case. Thor, complete with lightning bolt and baseball bat.

The Storm logo.

Of all the patients in this joint, why did it have to be his?

“Now?” she asked.

“If I know Jace, he’s already hunting for it. He said he had some calls to make.”

Noelle swallowed hard, searching for an excuse—any excuse—to say no. She didn’t even care how ungracious she sounded. “What about my PT session?”

Sara consulted a chart on the wall. “Come back in an hour. I’ll squeeze you in then.”

“Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?” Christ, she sounded like a whiny five-year-old.

Sara waved an arm, gesturing around the room. “Everyone else is otherwise occupied. Besides, you know where his room is.”

“I...I do?” Noelle stammered. “I mean, I do, but how do you...?”

“He told me you took my advice and apologized for listening in on us and thinking the worst.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Sara squinted at her. “You’re holding out on me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Noelle wiped her suddenly clammy palms on her shorts.

“Yes, you do.” Sara put her hands on her hips. “Something’s going on with you and Jace.”

“What... ?” Noelle lowered her voice. “What would make you think that?”

“First, you all but refuse to bring him his phone. Then you get squirrelly about being in his room. Seems pretty suspicious to me.”

“Well, it’s not.” Noelle stamped her good foot for emphasis. “There’s absolutely nothing going on between us. I barely know the man.”

“Good. Then it won’t be a problem for you to give him his phone.”

Trapped.

“Of course not,” Noelle said with forced lightness. “I’ll see you in sixty.”

Woman up, she told herself as she limped out the door and down the hall. You got this. Just knock on his door, hand him his phone and go. No smiles. No small talk. And definitely no steamy kisses.

The first part of her plan was no problem. She made her way to his room and knocked. And knocked. And knocked. She even tried calling out his name.

No answer. Too bad the darned phone wasn’t thin enough to slip under the door.

In a last-ditch move, she tried the knob. If she was lucky, she could leave the phone just inside the door and slip away unnoticed.

She was lucky.

The knob turned and she inched the door open. The sound of running water greeted her, explaining why Jace hadn’t answered the door.

He was in the shower.

Which, of course, conjured all sorts of X-rated images in her head. Like Jace naked. And wet. And best—or worst—of all, hard. Every naked, wet inch of him.

Noelle shook her head to clear her thoughts—fat lot of good that did—and stepped gingerly into the room. She was all set to drop off the phone and hightail it out of there as fast as she could with one good leg when she heard a thud, then a moan, from the bathroom.

“Jace?” She froze, the phone still in her hand. “Are you okay?”

Another moan, this one longer, more guttural, almost a growl.

She put the phone down on the nightstand and pressed her ear to the bathroom door. “Jace?”

Still no response.

Damn.

How did she get herself into these predicaments?

He was probably fine. Doing what guys did in the shower when they were horny or bored or whatever. She’d done what she promised, brought him his stupid phone. And now she could—should—leave.

But what if he wasn’t okay?

Double damn.

She eased the door open, telling herself her motives were noble, not naughty. She’d only look long enough to make sure he wasn’t crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the bathtub. And if she happened to get a glimpse of a bulging bicep or slick pec or—heaven forbid—stiff cock, she’d just look down and back away quickly.

Very quickly.