Free Rules of the Game by Nora Roberts Page B

“Enthusiasm comes in all forms,” Claire observed. With a smile for Lee, she settled back against his arm to watch the top of the next inning.
    Definitely an odd couple, Brooke mused; then she assumed her habitual position of elbows on rail. Parks didn’t glance her way. He had only once—at the beginning of the game when he took the field. The look had been long and direct before he had turned away, and since then it was as though he wasn’t even aware of her. She hated to admit it irked her, hated to admit that she would have liked to engage in that silent battle of eye to eye. He was the first man she
wanted
to spar with, though she had sparred with many since her first naive encounter ten years before. There was something exciting in the mind game, particularly since Parks had a mind she both envied and admired.
    Lee was on target, as the Kings went to the bullpen when the starting pitcher walked two with one man out. Brooke shifted closer to the edge of her seat to watch Parks during the transition. What does he think about out there? she wondered.
    God, what I wouldn’t give for a cold shower and a gallon of beer, Parks thought as the sun beat down on the back of his neck. He’d been expecting the change of pitchers and was pleased with the choice. Ripley did well what a reliever was there to do—throw hard and fast. He gave a seemingly idle glance toward the runner at second. That could be trouble, he reflected, doing a quick mental recall of his opponent’s statistics. The ability to retain and call out facts had always come naturally to Parks. And not just batting averages and stolen bases. Basically, he only forgot what he wanted to forget. The rest was stockpiled, waiting until he needed it. The trick had alternately fascinated and infuriated his family and friends, so that he generally kept it to himself. At the moment, he could remember Ripley’s earned-run average, his win-loss ratio, the batting average of the man waiting to step into the batter’s box and the scent of Brooke’s perfume.
    He hadn’t forgotten that she was sitting a few yards away. The awareness of her kindled inside of him—a not quite pleasant sensation. It was more of an insistent pressure, like the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. It was another reason he longed for a cool shower. Watching Ripley throw his warm-up pitches to the catcher, Parks allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to undress her—slowly—in the daylight, just before her body went from limp surrender to throbbing excitement. Soon, he promised himself; then he forced Brooke to the back of his mind as the batter stepped up to the plate.
    Ripley blew the first one by the batter—hard and straight. Parks knew that Ripley didn’t throw any fancy pitches, just the fast ball and the curve. He was either going to overpower the hitters, or with the lineup of right-handers coming up, Parks was going to be very busy. He positioned himself another step back on the grass, going by instinct. He noted the base runner had a fat lead as the batter chipped the next pitch off. The runner was nearly at third before the foul was called. Ripley looked back over his shoulder at second, slid his eyes to first, then fired the next pitch.
    It was hit hard, smashing into the dirt in front of third then bouncing high. There was never any opportunity to think, only to act. Parks leaped, just managing to snag the ball. The runner was coming into third in a headfirst slide. Parks didn’t have the time to admire his guts before he tagged the base seconds before the runner’s hand grabbed it. He heard the third base ump bellow, “Out!” as he vaulted over the runner and fired the ball at the first baseman.
    While the crowd went into a frenzy, Brooke remained seated and watched. She didn’t even notice that Lee had given Claire a resounding, exuberant kiss. The double play had taken only