A bright flash of metal caught Gretchen's eye as she plunked down on the closest unforgiving airport terminal seat.
She did a double take as she realized the flash of metal was a Rolex watch, and trailed her eyes up the well-toned arm it cuffed, to the tight sleeves of a white Toronto Sixers baseball polo. Moving up from the shirt, she locked on to a very familiar face that was hidden behind signature Ray-Bans and a well-worn Sixers cap.
A face—hell, a whole man—she'd never met in person but had cheered for on TV and at home games as much as she could.
Gretchen's heart thumped audibly in her ears as she took him in. Joshua. Joshua Malvern, the left fielder for the Sixers, was walking toward her in the airport. A tall, fit, and dangerously handsome major league baseball player, at her gate, the last one on the concourse. Puzzled, she checked the date on her phone. He shouldn't be here; he should be at batting practice. He should not be getting on a plane to Las Vegas.
Then she noticed the slump in his shoulders as he sagged into an empty seat three down from her, his carry-on duffel dumped beside him. He took off his sunglasses, and she caught his faraway stare as he ran a tired hand over his face, the weight of the world etched across his features.
Oh. Oh no. Not again. He was being sent down. The club likely wouldn't bring him back—he was out of options. Her heart fell, heavy at the thought. It happened all the time to the best of players. But this time it sucked.
She had her team cap with her, and she rummaged through her laptop bag for her fine-tip Sharpie. It was red, but what the heck, it would show up on the white brim of the hat. She wanted to remember him as a player from her favorite baseball team. Her favorite player—period—since his rookie year in Boston.
She hesitated. Would he want to be bothered? He had a "fuck off" vibe she could sense even from where she was sitting. Crushing the cap in her hands, Gretchen bit her lip, debating on the merits of doing it anyway, and quickly stuffed it away. An autograph wasn't appropriate given his obvious mood—he needed a pick-me-up, not a crazed fangirl. She got up, grabbed her carry-on, and strode to the coffee bar in a fit of spontaneity.
She knew how he liked his coffee; she'd read about it in a fluff piece from the Toronto Star online sports news. She also knew his batting average and RBIs, his favorite meal and color—basically all the normal tidbits that a celebrity doled out about themselves on social media. Joshua wasn't on any of that publicly—he was a pretty private guy compared to some on the team—but his fans certainly were and loved to share. Celebutainment reporters would take any nugget of information and throw it to the fans like they were a hungry pack of dogs too.
A few minutes later, she presented him with the coffee silently, trying not to wimp out and back away, and he looked up, confused. She wiggled the cup slightly.
"Two cream, no sugar," she said, her voice wavering, ready for him to call security and tell her to get the hell away from him.
Instead, he gently lifted the coffee out of her hand, one eyebrow lifting in apparent amusement. Phew.
"Thanks," he replied quietly, peeling the tab back on the lid. "Have a seat."
"Are you sure? I don't want to be a—"
He patted the chair beside him as he took a sip, letting out a groan from his throat, closing his eyes.
"You looked like you needed it," she offered quietly, slowly dropping into the chair, gripping her own cup to keep from shaking like a leaf. This was by far the most daring thing she'd ever done. She was quite sure she was out of her element in the moment.
"I do. Today sucks," he replied and leaned back. "You know who I am, obviously."
"Yes, I do."
"Has it hit the sports news yet?"
"I don't know," Gretchen answered, relaxing slightly, understanding the implied news of his being sent down. "Is it temporary?"
Joshua shrugged and looked out the window, then swiveled back to her. He had serious eyes, but she knew that if he smiled, they would suddenly hold mischief. There was none of that now. Holding his gaze for a moment, her face heated and she looked away, self-conscious as she blushed.
"I don't know," he replied, taking another sip of his coffee, sighing. "You're right. I needed this."
"I'm—I'm sorry. You'll be missed while you're in Vegas," she stuttered, not really knowing what to say. "But you'll be back."
She wasn't sure what made her do it, but she reached out and touched his leg when she said it. Maybe it was her compulsion to comfort people, or maybe it was just something in the way he looked at her. He was defeated, and her heart went out to him.
The jolt of warmth and the feel of his muscle under her palm was not what she'd expected. Nor was his reaction. His eyes widened a moment, and he covered her hand with his before she could pull away.
"Thank you."
It was a heady sensation. Two strangers, touching in a crowded airport, drinking coffee, and the heat from his hand was zapping her composure to ashes. Shyly, she pulled her hand away as he released it, her heart beating hard in her chest.
"Where are you headed?" he asked suddenly, breaking the awkward silence.
"Same place you are, apparently." Gretchen tried to regain her composure. "I'm attending a wine competition."
"A wine competition?"
"I'm a sommelier. I'm headed to Vegas to observe the competition and take back the results for my clients, update their wine lists, and advise buys. That sort of thing."
"That sounds really relaxing compared to my weekend to come," he replied.
"I doubt that," she said, hoping to deflect his train of thought. "I'm hoping to see my best friend and spend some time with her too. Maybe we'll road trip down to the California coast and I can help her do some bulk vintage buying. She's a sommelier too; we went to college together."
The steam from her cup wafted up into her eyes while they drank, and she took that moment to mentally deep-breathe. Being bold had now netted her a chance to talk to her favorite baseball player, and here she was, babbling on about things he likely didn't care much about. She bit her lip to gain some control over her pulse, which was hammering away with excitement, and peeked at him. Was he humoring her? She sounded ridiculous.
"Wine buying. Sounds decadent," Joshua said. His voice rumbled enticingly, the way he uttered the word decadent both sexy and tempting.
The announcement for their gate startled them, and Gretchen gathered up her bag, tipping the remains of her coffee into the garbage, her stomach too keyed up to actually drink it.
"I didn't get your name," Joshua said as he stood as well.
"Gretchen," she replied, holding out her hand. "Gretchen Harper."
"You are a very sweet woman, Gretchen," he said, grabbing her hand. Instead of shaking it, he lifted it and ran his lips over her knuckles. She stifled a gasp, and when he looked up, he finally smiled, stopping her heart. Dear God, he was stunning.
Her knees went weak and her toes tingled. She ducked her head, her cheeks so hot she was sure she was crimson. She heard him chuckle almost to himself and caught her reflection in the polished chrome on the edge of the seats. Yup. She was blushing like an idiot.
They walked toward the gate together. Gretchen stopped off to one side and rummaged for her boarding pass as Joshua queued up with the other first-class passengers. He looked around at her when she didn't follow him into line, and he beckoned her over.
She joined him in line, her nerves jumping.
"Sit with me. The plane's not full." He gestured to the line in front of them.
"Oh, I—"
She looked down at her boarding pass. Despite being financially stable, she had to be practical—which she was, all the time. Practical, boring, solid, dependable Gretchen. The Gretchen who never took risks like buying coffee for gorgeous professional athletes in airports.
But at that moment, she wanted to be that alter ego she had momentarily discovered because the look in his eye was enough to make her abandon all restraint.
"Don't argue. Let me repay you for your kindness, at least," he said, interrupting her thoughts as they reached the gate. Joshua charmed the attendants, and they very happily added her to the first-class list. With a hasty "thank you" over her shoulder, Gretchen was swept past the attendants and into the breezeway toward the plane.
As she looked over at him, taking in his profile, a hand came and rested on the small of her back. Dear God, she thought, what was I thinking, bringing him a coffee? Because now I can't breathe.
. . .
Josh had walked into the airport feeling sorry for himself,
carrying a mood he was having a hard time classifying as anything other than shitty.
The dark cloud hanging over his head at another boot back to the minors was maddening. His batting average was still hovering at a respectable .210, and he fit well with the team. The fans loved him, and he was a veteran player. An all-star. Why was he now the sacrificial lamb when some younger phenom needed to stretch his legs?
But he knew his batting average was slipping, his spring knee strain and shoulder issue were a factor, and his two errors in the last game didn't help. It was high time that he had some stability to just get his shit worked out. He was tired. At this rate, he'd take anything as long as it was in the majors, even a year-to-year contract. Even if it meant leaving the club to go elsewhere.
Which would suck. He had solidified his career playing with the Sixers since he'd arrived six years ago. He liked Toronto too. The city had been welcoming, he had every amenity a block from his condo without much hassle, and he enjoyed living by the lake. The view from his living-room window was spectacular; he enjoyed watching the planes take off from Toronto Island airport and the multicolored sailboats zipping in and out of the marinas on sunny days.
As he settled into his seat on the plane, he looked across at the reason his terrible mood had evaporated into thin air. Wild, blond, shoulder-length hair framed thirst-quenching blue eyes that just about killed him when he looked past the coffee she'd offered him only a few minutes before. Her curvy body with just the right amount of oomph had added to the nearly-killing-him feeling when she had sat down beside him.
She looked like a tiny rock-and-roll firecracker.
Then she had put her hand on his leg, and it was all he could do not to yank her onto his lap. The emotions and endorphins he had rolled through after being pulled into the office that morning might be partly to blame for his seeming overreaction to this woman, but . . . she was mesmerizing.
Normally he wouldn't offer a fan the chance to get close enough to go superfan crazy, but somehow she didn't seem like the type of woman who would do that. She hadn't propositioned him, wanting something he wasn't interested in. He wasn't a prude, and like anyone, there had been times when he'd scratched the itch, of course. But, in the long run, he was careful not to let a woman get too close, and it was easily done because he'd never found anyone that he'd connected with. The consequences were really not so great for his career, and his agent had reminded him of that on occasion, steering him back to the focus. Ball.
She hadn't asked for an autograph or a selfie either. Unless he was doing meet and greets with fans or a kid ran up to him and asked him to sign a ball, it grated on his nerves when fans would slap him on the back as if he were a long-lost friend. They'd muscle in to take a photo, no matter what kind of mood he was in or not even ask for permission before blinding him with their phone's flash.
She'd treated him like a human being, not a commodity. He'd been surprised, that was for certain, and in a good way.
Gretchen buckled her seat belt, looked out the window, then turned and grinned impishly, lifting her shoulders in excitement. "I've never flown first class."
That smile. Holy hell. He wondered how her lips would taste stained by a deep, rich, red wine, and he shifted in his seat. Don't say anything stupid, Malvern.
"It's my lucky day to share it with you."
She relaxed back into the seat and turned her head to him. "This is so nice, seriously, thank you. I'm sorry about you being sent down."
He tried not to let his bad mood fight through the distraction of her. The fans and sports commentators weren't happy with the decision last time either. Fighting the urge to punch the seat in front of him, he took a careful, cleansing breath before he spoke.
"It's the way the game is played. It sucks, but I'll be okay. Vegas is a good club, and it's not forever, just a few weeks."
Gretchen pursed her lips and Josh realized she didn't believe his weak attempt at avoiding the subject, likely seeing the tension he'd hoped he had hidden. Obviously not.
When she reached out and put a hand on his leg again, the jolt of energy that coursed from her touch up through his nerve endings made him blink. The firecracker has a fuse, he thought as their eyes met. A blush crept back over her cheeks. She pulled her hand away and nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He wanted to lean in and nibble on that ear. What in fresh hell was wrong with him?
"I'm sorry I brought it up. Let's distract ourselves with ridiculously expensive things in SkyMall," she laughed and reached for the magazine in front of her.
For the next few moments, they leafed through the catalogue, pointing out things like gold-anodized poodle doorstops and ten-thousand-dollar toothbrushes. Anything to get away from the topic of baseball or the reason he was sitting in his seat. It was a sweet gesture, just like the coffee, and he let a little more tension go, chuckling over ridiculous tchotchkes and dust-gatherers.
"My teammate Freddie? He has that cell phone cover in bright bubblegum pink. His daughter picked it out for him for his birthday," he murmured when she pointed out a ridiculously expensive Swarovski-crystal-encrusted phone case and shook her head in disbelief.
"Oh," she replied and stared at the page. "I forgot that you and your teammates can afford this kind of stuff."
Of course he could afford that kind of thing; he was lucky to be where he was. She was perceptive and the reality of that twisted his gut because the rehearsed media line he'd fed her wasn't the truth. He wanted to tell her how pissed off he was. Like he hadn't been able to tell his teammates or coaches. He'd just thrown his batting helmet across the club room and stormed out, kicking a trash can for good measure as he did, the entire locker room silent at his outburst. He'd hear about that later.
"My bullshit 'it's the way the game is played' isn't okay," he blurted. "I am angry. Being in the Show is the goal, right? This back-and-forth is killing my confidence. I've been a major league player for ten years now, and I am not ready to give up even though folks say I'm past my prime. But it's a reality, and I'm lumping it. Don't want to."
Her hand was back, this time on his shoulder. Her calm demeanor said it all. With the simple admission of him being angry, plus her touch, his shoulders dropped and the tension left. Regrettably, she moved her hand away again, twisting her fingers together in her lap.
"You'll be back," she stated. "You have to be."
"You seem pretty confident in my abilities."
"You should be too," she replied, then covered her mouth. "Sorry, that was way too forward."
"And bringing a stranger coffee in an airport wasn't?" He laughed, which made her giggle, a sound so pleasing he wondered how he could make her laugh again.
As the plane backed away from the gate, he impulsively twined his fingers with hers, going with this dangerously spontaneous feeling he had. This woman, a complete stranger, had defused one of the worst days of his career with a small act of kindness. He didn't want to take out his aggression on unsuspecting objects. He wasn't so tense his back was cracking. The most surprising thing was how he didn't have to run through the anger-management tricks from the course he'd taken in rookie year. All his agent's players took it. He said it was "good life stuff to know." He'd been right.
It didn't hurt that Gretchen was sexy as hell and had him thinking about things other than baseball. He shook their joined hands and grinned. "Now, let's leave my bad day in the dust. Tell me about this wine thing you're going to."
. . .
Josh had Gretchen in stitches the entire flight—telling her funny stories, asking her somewhat serious questions about wine, charming the attendants for an extra blanket. He hadn't let go of her hand except to grab their wineglasses when the drinks cart came around.
She was pleased they were serving a lovely value-for-bottle red up here, not the normally terrible budget wine on the service cart behind her, and savored it. Being a sommelier meant sometimes you just wanted a good glass of wine without having to analyze or compare it. She'd gotten into wine because she loved it, not because she liked dissecting it. As her career grew, the opportunity to kick her shoes off by the fire and just let a bottle of wine be what it was had become elusive. Her business depended on her being on the ball, so her notebook was always close by, and she tasted every bottle, even the ones she opened by herself on a Friday night alone in her condo.
The reminder of what was important to her, right now, was nice.
She needed the wine for other reasons. Her pulse had been racing faster than during one of her boot camp fitness classes, and she was sure her nerves were frayed beyond what they could handle. She was comfortable with Josh, but it wasn't lost on her that she was sitting beside a walking, talking dream man.
As the plane banked, she peeked out the window. Off in the distance were the glittering hotels along the strip. Every time she traveled to Vegas, the city gave her a thrill when arriving later in the day. The lights, the excitement, the people. She wondered if that was why she had bought that coffee for Josh, the energy from Vegas seeping into her even before she had left home, making her spontaneous.
"Where are you staying?" Josh whispered in her ear, his breath on her neck, close as he leaned in to look out the window as well.
"Mandalay Bay. The competition is there, it seemed practical."
She didn't dare turn around and leaned back into him instead. A hand came around her waist and he put his chin on her shoulder. It was such a familiar motion, and they barely knew each other, but she surprised herself at how okay she was with it. And aroused.
She'd never had this kind of connection with a man right after meeting him. Normally she'd have waited until the third date to get this close. The heady rush of attraction was strong and intoxicating. Josh was her fantasy man, good-looking and masculine, always charming when he was interviewed. Today? It took on a whole new dimension.
"It's gorgeous, isn't it? An oasis in the middle of the desert," he said quietly. "All man-made, all for man's pleasure."
Gretchen savored the way he said the word pleasure just as much as she had the wine. Which had apparently gone to her head. She was behaving completely contrary to her normal self. Uninhibited and impulsive—her sexy doppelganger.
She hummed and heated when he splayed his hand across her stomach, tiny caresses feathering out the warmth even further. She wiggled, curving into him, and realized he felt it too. His breath hitched, and he cleared his throat several times, tightening his hold on her waist.
He pointed with his other hand out toward the lights. "The fountains are my favorite to visit on hot nights. And the Luxor, there? It has a beam of light that points straight up. It can be seen from space. The elevators go sideways too."
Gretchen decided not to spoil Josh's pre-landing tour—she knew Las Vegas well enough—and let him dole out trivia about the strip as it slowly came into view, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. As the captain announced their arrival and turned on the seat-belt sign, she reluctantly sat up and shifted into her seat. The cold was immediate and she wanted him back.
They disembarked first, and he took her hand as they walked up the breezeway, as simple as that. The sound of slot machines could be heard even before they hit the arrivals deck, and a rush of adrenaline kicked her squarely in the solar plexus. She picked up her stride, the words carpe diem echoing in her head.
Boring Gretchen could take a hike right now because this felt amazing.
When she pushed through the airport doors, she breathed in the aroma of cheap perfume, cigarettes, and people, and shimmied in excitement. She turned back to him as they stopped just inside the carpeted area.
"I know this is likely old hat to you—"
He shook his head, an amused look on his face she wasn't quite sure what to make of. "Lead on, ma'am," he drawled and winked.
They wound their way through the terminal slowly in the crush of people, Gretchen's eyes following the familiar jumbled-up
carpet patterns. More than once, Josh bumped into her back and put a hand on her waist. A couple of times, he held her to him while a crowd of people would push past. They stood at the baggage claim the same way, waiting for the turnstile to shudder to life and belch out the luggage from the plane.
"Where are you headed?" she asked. She didn't want this to be over, this heady space of time that seemed like a Twilight Zone moment. Where everything that would never normally happen to a girl like her happened. Joshua Malvern. Big and solid and sexy behind her. In Vegas. She felt reckless, wanting things she wasn't sure were possible.
"I've got until tomorrow morning to report to the office. Likely a driver is waiting outside right now to take me out to the club apartments beside the field where I'll be staying for the next few weeks," Josh said, his breath once again feathering across her neck, sending goosebumps up her arms.
The carousel squealed, and people rushed to the edge, anxious to be on their way. Gretchen held back, not wanting to break the connection she had with Josh, not wanting the warmth to go away. She knew their interlude was likely over. She twisted around to look at him as a gray-haired woman pushed past them with an overloaded baggage cart.
"Hectic," she murmured.
"Yeah." He swallowed a couple of times.
Their lips were an inch away from touching when a finger tapped Josh on his shoulder, followed by an excited voice. "Excuse me? You're Joshua Malvern, aren't you?"
Josh turned with an irritated sigh. "Last time I checked, yes."
The young man nattered excitedly on to Josh about how awesome he was, and Josh signed his shirt with the Sharpie that Gretchen had in her bag. Soon another, then another fan approached, so she moved off to get her bags.
She was trying to decide what to do when they parted ways. Should she give him her contact info? Should she just chalk it up to a moment in time she could cherish forever?
Spotting her bag, she hefted the large pink paisley-patterned suitcase over to the lip of the carousel, and as she struggled, a hand came out and lifted it for her. She looked back and Josh was right there, a baggage cart behind him. He lifted her suitcase with ease and placed it on top of two large duffel bags full of equipment, branded with the MLB logo.
"Oh thanks! All done over there?"
The reality of why he was here hit her again. Right. He doesn't want to be here, not really. She hefted her carry-on farther up on her shoulder and watched as he bent over to retrieve a large suitcase with a garment bag attached to the side.
"You travel with a lot of gear, sir," she said, smiling, hoping to break back into the ease between them from a few minutes earlier.
"Yeah. I could have shipped it with the rest of my stuff, but what the hey, the club pays my ticket here," he replied, adjusting the pile. "Follow me."
He zoomed through the crowd, pushing the cart ahead of him like a pro, reminding Gretchen that he was a seasoned traveler. He'd likely seen the inside of every major airport in the States. She chewed on her lip. Maybe he had a "friend" in every city too.
Her doubts flashed, watching him manhandle the cart between two rows of slot machines, his arm muscles bunching, pulling his shirt tight across his shoulders. He was in a different category than her in life, that was for sure. Jet-setter, well-off. Seasoned. Her confidence faltered.
But dear God, he is magnificent, she countered to herself. Walking sex. And despite her doubts, despite her knowing they were two totally different people, she wanted him, even if it was just for the night.