Perfect Catch(11)

But in spite of a shared border, it seemed Georgia and Florida were very different places.

Besides which, it didn’t matter, did it?

Why should he care if some chick in Florida didn’t want to spend time with him? He’d be around another four weeks then he’d be back in San Francisco for the spring and summer. So what if she didn’t date ballplayers? He didn’t date…single moms from Florida.

New rule.

Effective immediately.

He wrestled himself free of Jasper’s hands and stood, wriggling his shoulders to regain some feeling. “I’ll be fine.” He left the room to change into his uniform, finding several other players already dressed and sorting through their equipment. He sat in front of his locker in a fancy swivel chair, regarding the #37—Ross sign.

This was where his mind should be, not on some chick he knew nothing about.

His grandfather had warned him once, way back in high school, about the cunning power of a woman. He’d said, They’ll bedevil you, boy, but once you hand over your soul, they don’t give you nothing but trouble in return.

Amen, Grandpa Pete, amen.

Stripping down to his boxer briefs, he tried not to think about Alice. About the way her shirt sometimes lifted up from the back of her pants when she leaned forward, showing him a sensational glance of her milky skin. Or the way her blonde hair was so light it might have given the sand on the beach a run for its money. And God help him if he got to thinking about how she’d looked crouched beside his car, covered in dirt while she helped him change his tire.

Jesus, if he was going to not think about her like this, he might need to go somewhere more private.

He adjusted himself and tried to get his half-erection under control before he put on his jock. Nothing quite like wedging a boner into a hard plastic cup.

He was grateful he wouldn’t have to worry about her at all once he got onto the field. With the game on his mind, nothing could distract him.





Perfect.

He hadn’t even gotten to home plate when a familiar shock of white-blonde hair greeted him. At first he assumed his mind was playing tricks on him. He had, after all, just been thinking about her. It stood to reason he might see a blonde umpire and jump to conclusions.

Except she was an umpire.

No, there was no way his luck could possibly be that bad.

He was looking at a very short, compact, slightly built male umpire, nothing more.

The not-a-dude turned around, erasing any hope Alex had of getting Alice off his mind today. She stood at least a full head shorter than most of the guys on the field, and gave him a warm smile.

“Hey, stranger.” Her smile faltered, and Alex worried he might have let his uneasiness show.

“Hey. I didn’t know you’d be on this game.”

“I call ’em as the rotation gives them to me.” One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug, but her smile was back in full force. He was glad he’d be positioned with her at his back because it lessened his chances of getting distracted.

Lessened. Didn’t do away with altogether, unfortunately.

There was no way he could park his ass within a hundred feet of her and not be hyperaware of her presence. As it was he’d practically be sitting on her shoes. It was a good thing he wasn’t playing a real game because he had a funny feeling he wouldn’t be doing his best work with Alice around.

He passed her, adjusted his kneepads and his black-and-orange custom Nike vest, then squatted in front of her. He smacked his fist into his glove a few times, hoping the sound of skin on leather would bring him back to his senses.

How was it she still managed to be hot with the massive shoulder pads and hideous clothes the umps were required to wear? Even without a lick of makeup she still had a radiant, beautiful glow about her. It wasn’t fair. She should have looked terrible, but instead he was imagining stripping the pads, helmet and polo off her. The curves he knew she had were hidden under the bulk of her uniform and the two big hip pouches she had to hold spare balls.

Miles Cartwright took the mound and lobbed a couple test pitches to Alex, warming his arm up for the game. Miles was a young guy, barely twenty-two, but he showed a lot of promise. It wasn’t a sure thing he’d make it into the starting rotation, but the odds were in his favor. Alex reminded himself Miles would be depending on his calls to look good for the coaching staff. If Alex didn’t have his head in the game, he would be screwing someone other than himself.

With that sobering thought in mind, he settled into the rhythm of tossing a ball back and forth with Miles. Had Tucker or one of the other more seasoned pitchers been on the mound, he might have been willing to let his thoughts trail off. After years of working with those guys it was second nature, and he could do it without as much focus. With Miles it was a different story, and Alex was grateful to be working with the younger pitcher.