Free Curveball by Kate Angell

“I’d have cried too.”
    “It was a philodendron,” he said to set Keely straight. “She left the plant on the porch in the sun and forgot to water it.”
    “Wife and kids in your future?” Janelle asked.
    “The Psycho gene dies with me.”
    “Pity.”
    “Not everyone feels that way.”
    Janelle pursed her lips and looked at Keely. “I wonder what it would be like to date this man.”
    Keely cocked her head contemplatively. “Dangerous,” she decided. “Like the first pulsepounding climb to the high diving board. The stomach-shifting ride of the Tilt-A-Whirl.”
    Janelle nodded. “I see him as a shot of whiskey. The burn that goes straight to your stomach, then to your head. The buzz strips off your clothes and lands you in his bed.”
    The women were talking about him as if he wasn’t in the room. Psycho didn’t like being invisible. “Next question,” he prodded.
    “Your favorite nightcap after a game?” from Janelle.
    “Body shots.”
    “You feel sexiest when?”
    “I’m hard.” Psycho caught Keely roll her eyes.
    Janelle glanced at his towel. “Feeling sexy now?”
    “Semisexy.”
    Janelle’s recorder clicked off, and she quickly replaced the tape. “If you didn’t play baseball, you’d…?”
    “Find a way to play baseball.”
    “You’re intense and competitive.”
    “I like to win.”
    “You’re very restless,” Janelle noted. “Ever try yoga?”
    “My life is a sport. Can’t score points in yoga.”
    “A quote you live by?”
    “Some days it doesn’t pay to gnaw through the leather restraints.”
    “Favorite food?”
    He looked at Keely. “Peanut butter, cream cheese, and sliced banana sandwiches.”
    Keely blushed. A slow rise of color that was sexy as hell. He decided to tease her often.
    “Favorite dessert?”
    “I try to avoid sugar, but on occasion crave Rice Krispies treats. I make them myself.”
    “What else do you crave, Psycho?”
    That my suspension was over.
    That the Rogues would win the World Series.
    That the restoration of the Colonial will get the Daughters off my back for good.
    That this interview would end.
    Before he could answer, the grizzled old man he’d seen in the entry hall entered the living room, tape measure in hand. He crossed to Keely. “Ready to work?”
    The perfect opportunity to end the interview. Psycho motioned to Janelle. “We’re done here.”
    “Not quite,” Janelle pressed. “I have a few more questions. A reliable source hinted you’re the silent partner behind Street Sweepers. You’ve invested millions to clean up your old neighborhood, providing affordable housing, free clinics, food banks—”
    He set his jaw. Silent partners remained silent. “No truth to the rumor,” he stated. The interview was over. He pushed himself off the lawn chair and escorted the reporter to the door. There she snapped six quick pictures of him leaning against the frame in nothing but his towel.
    The door closed and he returned to the living room. He found Keely bent over, bottom in the air, as she hooked the metal tip of the tape measure to a floor board, then slowly backed up. Barefoot, he crossed to block her path. She didn’t notice him. Not until her sweet ass bumped his groin.
    “Move, Mr. McMillan.” Her voice held a breathless catch that drew his smile.
    “In this position you can call me Psycho.” He curved his hands over her hips, his long fingers meeting over her belly. “I’m not moving until you explain the mystery man.”
    Keely straightened. Her slender shoulders pressed against his broad chest, her round little bottom snug against his thighs. Her body was soft even though she was so thin.
    Blushing, she elbowed him in the gut. He released her. Looking toward the older gentleman, she said, “This is Franklin Langston, an architectI’ve drawn out of retirement to restore your Colonial.”
    The restoration would take a decade at the speed Langston shuffled across the room. Up close, Psycho noticed the smell of