Jennifer Seasons - Throwing Heat

She gestured to the tea tray in front of her. “In honor of the pregnant lady we’re doing decaf tea. There’s a variety of flavors to choose from, so help yourself.”

Lorelei was already pouring a cup. “So, have you heard anything from Peter?”

She shook her head and pulled out her knitting basket from its cubby tucked under the end table. “I haven’t, actually. And it’s been a week since he left.” One very long, very worrisome week.

“No doubt he’s fine, sweetie. He’s probably just taking some time for himself.” Sonny added a slice of fresh lemon to her tea.

“I’m sure he’ll get a hold of Mark when he’s back.” Leslie said casually, like it didn’t matter to her at all that she’d had mind-shattering sex with the man and then he’d taken off before she’d even gotten fully dressed. Or that it didn’t matter that she’d wasted so much time and energy planning for an event that was never going to happen in any reality because she didn’t know how to keep her hands to herself. Peter had come along wanting up in her skirt and she’d tossed every functioning brain cell out her ears, only keeping the warped ones to make decisions for her.

And now she was back to square one. Back to being lonely, independent Leslie who worked at her brother’s nightclub and didn’t have anything of her own. Sounded terrific, didn’t it?

A slap on her knee jolted her. “Hey, so you need to fill us in on this bet that you had going with Peter. Give us the details.” Lorelei leaned back in her chair and sipped at her peach tea.

Her first instinct was to keep her mouth shut. It was probably the right one. So of course she chose the opposite. “Y’all know how I’ve been trying to get him to play at the club, right?” They nodded. “Well, he bet that he could get me in the sack by the end of the World Series, or he’d play at Hotbox and let me promote the hell out of it to help the business—which I’d be buying with the down payment he’d also give me.”

Sonny’s eyes went round and she stopped knitting. “So he’s playing at the club, and you’re buying it? That’s great! I’ll definitely come see him.”

Ugh. This was the awkward part. She should have kept her mouth shut. “Um, well, not exactly.”

Lorelei gasped and slapped her knee again. “Is that what you two were doing on Halloween when you both disappeared?”

Sonny dropped her knitting needles. “Wait. You slept with Peter?”

Damn it. Stupid mouth. Leslie cringed. “Sort of, yes.”

Both women just stared at her, their mouths open. Neither spoke for a good minute. It was making her self-conscious.

Finally Lorelei blurted, “Was it good?”

Leslie’s gaze flew to her. When she saw the mischievous glint in her eyes she relaxed, smiling playfully. “Everything you think it would be, plus some.”

Sonny murmured, “He does have big hands.”

It was Leslie’s turn to gasp. “Sonny!”

The woman shrugged delicately, her eyes sparkling. “Just sayin’.”

“Seriously,” said Lorelei. “How do you feel about him?”

Did she have to answer that? It was all so confusing.

Just then her sister-in-law shot out of her chair. “Be right back.” Then she bolted across the great room and down the hall to the bathroom.

“Poor thing.” Sonny’s voice was full of sympathy.

“Yeah. It’s a shame men can’t be the pregnant ones.”

She snorted. “Good thing. It’d be the end of our species if they were.”

Leslie laughed. So true. Women were the real warriors. Every single one who gave birth to another human being. “Yeah. Take Mark, for instance. He can’t even handle a hangnail.”

Lorelei came back into the room several minutes later looking pale and picked up the conversation thread. “Hey now. He can too. It’s paper cuts that make him whine like a sissy.”

Her brother, the hero.

Sonny spoke up then. “What are you holding, Lorelei?”

The brunette glanced down. “Oh. Here, Leslie. I found this behind the toilet.” She pulled a face. “Don’t ask what I was doing when I found it.”

Holding out a hand, Leslie took the piece of paper and frowned. It looked like a shipping confirmation tag. Quickly scanning it, she saw that it was indeed a receipt. For a plumbing fixture. From overseas.

Dated three weeks ago.

Her blood ran cold as all the possible ramifications hit her. Jerry had told her they were still waiting on the overseas part and she was positive it was the only one. She remembered him saying so. But if that was true then it could only mean one thing: She had been played by a pitcher. For weeks.

And that made her very, very angry.

“THANKS FOR THE wonderful night, John. It was great to catch up.” Leslie rummaged around in her clutch for her keys, eager to get inside and kick off her shoes. It had been a long evening.

Perfectly pleasant, John Crispin had been a fine date. Intelligent, well read, courteous. He was everything that she normally went for in a man. But for some reason her appreciation for Armani just wasn’t the same lately.

That reason was Peter.

She was still fuming over his little stunt. After Lorelei and Sonny had left she’d marched down to the superintendent’s office and pounded on the door until he’d opened up. Then she’d waved the incriminating evidence and rained all kinds of hellfire down on him until he’d come clean and admitted the truth.

Her apartment had been finished two weeks ago, but Peter had inspired him to hold her off until the first of November.

Ugh! It still galled her because she knew he’d set her up hard. By keeping her at his place it had given him the opportunity and time to seduce her into bed, to stack the deck against her.

It was signature Kowalskin. Dirty pool all the way. And because she was just so mad at him, she’d decided that she wasn’t in love with him anymore. Done. The end. Completely over it.

Over him.

As proof of her new liberating decision she’d called John up and asked him for that date after she’d found out he was still in town visiting friends. Seemed appropriate and like a fine way to forget about her brief foray into emotional stupidity. “Well, thanks again.” She put her key in the lock and felt the tumblers click.

“Do you mind if I come inside for a minute? There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” the big, masculine ballplayer said softly from right behind her. She could feel his broad chest brushing her back slightly as he reached around her and pushed the door open.

Actually she did mind—she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to change into her pajamas and flop onto the couch for an hour with Missy and a book. But that wasn’t the polite thing to do. Her Southern manners chose the oddest times to kick in and start dictating.

Leslie stepped through the door and forced a smile. “Not at all. Come on inside.”

Dropping the keys on her kitchen counter, she spotted her kitten waddling toward her, meowing with her tiny voice, and Leslie set her purse down and scooped her up. “Hi, sweetheart. Did you miss me?”

A deep male voice said behind her quietly, “I did, Leslie.”

Uh-oh.

Turning with the kitten in her arms, she took in John’s serious expression and heard warning bells go off in her head, spiking her anxiety. She played it cool. “That’s a sweet thing to say.” Hopefully if she didn’t encourage him he’d ask his question and leave.

Maybe going on a date with him hadn’t been the best idea.

“Leslie,” the ballplayer started, “I know that we went our separate ways when I got traded to Boston, and I get it. I don’t blame you for breaking it off.”

Crap. She could tell where this was heading, and her stomach sank. “John—”

He held up a hand and cut her off. “Let me finish.” She clamped her mouth shut and he continued, “It was a lot for me to ask you to uproot and move with me when there was no firm commitment between us—no future plans.”

Oh no.

Leslie’s heart began pounding and she looked over her shoulder, held the kitten to her and began petting her furiously. “It’s okay, John. Really. We just weren’t meant to be.” She flashed him a wide smile, hoping that he’d just shut up and stop talking. No, no, no. Don’t do this.

He took a step toward her and she took one in retreat. “I can see that you’re nervous. And I think I know why.” He took another step toward her and she stepped back, coming flat up against the refrigerator. Damn it.

Another step and he was directly in front of her, taking Missy out of her clenched, clinging fingers and setting her on the floor. Her breath went shallow and her brain scrambled for a way out of this. But she was so frazzled that she couldn’t think of anything.

Large, hard hands cupped hers and brought them to his chest; his brown eyes went warm with invitation. “You’re nervous because of the chemistry. It’s still there, Les.”

That wasn’t why she was practically shaking.

“John,” she said a little helplessly. It had definitely been a bad decision to call him up for that date.

A thick finger covered her lips and she gave a tiny squeak. “Shh, let me speak. I’ve been thinking on this ever since my trade and there’s something I need to ask you.”

Please don’t!

The ballplayer dropped to his knee. “You’re an incredible woman. Strong, feisty, intelligent.”

“John—” she croaked weakly. God, don’t do this to me.

Brown eyes filled with hopeful expectation looked up at her as he shifted both her hands to one of his and reached into the front pocket of his slacks. “I love you, Leslie Ann Cutter.”

“Great!” she squeaked, not thinking.

John opened the box in his hand and right there in the middle of it was a huge diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”

Her mouth dropped open and she blanked, couldn’t say anything. Went numb with shock.

The front door slapped against the wall, making a loud thump. Leslie jerked, and her eyes went round and panicked when Peter sauntered in.

He took one look at the scene and stopped dead, scowling hotly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

PETER COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes.

John Crispin on his knees proposing to Leslie. It was wrong. Just all around wrong. “What the hell do you think you two are doing?”

The ballplayer looked from Leslie to Peter, clearly confused. “I was trying to ask her to marry me before you busted in without knocking.” He frowned. “Why didn’t you knock?”

Peter clamped his mouth shut and stared at Leslie. She had a whole lot of explaining to do, and she’d better start quick. Because it looked a whole lot like she’d screwed him senseless last week and declared her love, only to turn right back around a minute later and give her heart to someone else. Christ. He’d known it—known it the moment he’d spotted Crispin at the club during the Series that it was only going to bring trouble.

Damn her hot, fickle ass.

A growl started to rumble low in his chest as she stared at him blankly while another man crouched on his knee before her with a giant goddamn ring.

It looked like he wasn’t immune to the good ol’ Kowalskin family curse. He couldn’t keep his woman either. Terrific.

“Now, Peter,” Crispin started, putting the ring back in the box. “If I’m in your territory, brother, I didn’t know it. But I’m not sorry. I care for Leslie.”

“I can’t. John, I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Her voice was soft and resigned.

So the mouse finally found her voice, did she? “You can’t what? Marry another man after you’ve been screwing me?” His anger had gained momentum and was currently churning in his gut like a storm. He didn’t know why it hit him so suddenly, so violently. All he knew was that the minute he’d spotted Leslie all dolled up in a slinky dress with another man, he’d wanted to hit something.

He couldn’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else.

“It’s not like that.” Her eyes were round with sincerity.

But he didn’t buy it. Why wouldn’t she want a guy like Crispin rather than him? The guy came from healthy stock, a solid upbringing. He wasn’t damaged goods like Peter.

“Oh really? Then why don’t you tell me what it’s like, Leslie.” He spat. Under the anger was a whole lot of hurt, a lot of stinging betrayal. And he didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to understand it.

She was supposed to love him.