Free Fastball by V. K. Sykes Page B

Maybe the
fact that she had admitted her attraction was enough to satisfy him
for now. Sure, she had given him a verbal “this can’t happen” line,
and sounded like she meant it, but all evening he swore she had
been sending an entirely different message. In any case, all
through the afternoon game his shoes had felt light, his mind was
clear, and he knew it was one of those precious days when the
monumentally difficult task of hitting a 90-mile-per-hour-plus
baseball suddenly became temporarily simple.
    You had to appreciate those magical days,
because they were damn near rare as alligators in Minnesota. And if
it had something to do with Maddie, he sure as hell had no
intention of giving up so easily. The situation was tricky, but he
was confident he could resolve it somehow to their mutual
satisfaction. And the thought of satisfying Maddie—in every way—was
enough to put a big smile on his face as he headed down from his
room to the team’s airport bus.
    He had hoped to get lucky and bump into her
in the hotel, or maybe even at the park, but he hadn’t caught a
glimpse of her all day. Just knowing she was there, though,
watching his spectacular night at the plate, made him feel better
despite missing her. At the very least, he figured, he’d see her on
the post-game flight to Phoenix. That was a lock.
    On the bus to the airport, the players were
dog-tired but happy, joking and kidding around more than they’d
done since the season started. The pressure to win the pennant this
year weighed heavily on everyone in the organization, from the
general manager down through the coaches and the players. The
Patriots had forked out megabucks in the off-season to sign two
top-of-the-line free agents, and everyone now expected them to
contend for and probably win the pennant.
    They remained in first place but the players
knew the pressure would only intensify as the season wore on.
Almost every sportswriter in the country had picked the Patriots to
win their division, and many had tabbed them to go all the way to
the World Series. So, splitting the Padres series, while okay,
wasn’t all they’d hoped for. But it sure was a hell of a lot better
than leaving San Diego one-and-three if they’d lost tonight. The
papers and the fans back home would have been all over them. No
wonder the players felt relieved and ready to relax as they headed
to pick up their chartered flight to Arizona.
    As Jake boarded the plane, his eyes searched
for Maddie in what he had learned was her usual spot, a window seat
on the left side near the back. He spotted her there, looking down
at something—probably her laptop, possibly a book. While his eyes
were still fixed on her, she looked up and caught sight of him.
Jake immediately broke into a broad smile, and raised a hand in
greeting.
    Maddie gave him a brief, tight nod, then cast
her eyes back down toward her lap. Jake’s smile and his good mood
evaporated instantly. Her unspoken message was crystal clear—she
was going to make sure nothing she did would give others a hint
that anything had happened between them, and he should do the
same.
    Feeling annoyed—and knowing he had no right
to be, which made it worse—Jake grabbed the seat next to his friend
Nate Carter, the left-hander who was the Patriots’ ace. Just
reaching his prime at twenty-six, Nate had become the heart of the
strong Patriots’ pitching staff—a true “stopper,” the guy who could
be relied on to shut the opposition down and give his team a chance
to win almost every game he pitched. He was already three times an
All-Star, and Jake expected Nate to soon add a Cy Young Award as
the league’s best pitcher to his growing list of
accomplishments.
    Jake had gotten to know him even before Nate
was rocketed up to the bigs, and the two had forged a strong
friendship. It certainly wasn’t because they were very much alike.
Though both were tall and fit from rigorous workout regimens,
Nate’s hair and complexion were dark