Chapter 3
THREE
“Hold still.”
The bartender’s frown was fucking adorable. Never thought I’d say that about a woman, but this night had been a lot of firsts for me.
When the guys suggested coming out tonight, I wasn’t in the mood.
I’d played like shit tonight—striking out in the fifth inning and missing several passes—and the night only got worse when Melanie, our team’s PR manager, forced me to give an interview afterward.
Speaking to the press sucked on the best of days, but going out there, knowing the city hated you because you couldn’t do your damn job?
That was worse than striking out at the end of an inning with all the bases loaded.
After the interview, Damien and the other guys had practically forced me out the door.
Maybe they were right, and I needed to let off some steam.
What I should have done was go to bed early and get my ass to the field at the crack of dawn.
At least, that was what my dad barked at me.
On his post-game phone call, he berated me, going over my strikeout and missed catches in excruciating detail.
When I told him I was heading to the bar, he scoffed, one last reminder of how he never drowned his sorrows.
But then again, he didn’t need to wash away the bitter sting of failure.
It hadn’t worked, at least not until the woman in front of me snapped at me, breaking me out of my head. It should have pissed me off, the way she so easily listed off my flaws, but when so many people let me get away with my comments, she called me on it, and I had to admit, I liked it.
At least I did, before she started poking around my hand with a pair of tweezers.
“Fuck.” A shark prick hit a nerve, and I jerked my hand back. Her dark eyes met mine, chastising me without a word. “It hurts.”
“Would hurt less if you stayed still,” she muttered, holding my cut up to the light. “No offense, but looking for slivers of glass in a drunk guy’s hand wasn’t on my nightly bingo card.”
“I’m not that drunk,” I mumbled under my breath. At least, not anymore. Nothing like bleeding all over the bar floor to sober me up.
She arched her brow at me again. “Right. Did you forget I’ve been behind the bar all night?”
Not even if I wanted to. From the moment I spotted the curvaceous brunette, she’d been the center of my focus.
But, despite what I said earlier, I did not like to shit where I ate.
Fucking the servers at our usual spot was a big no-no.
Besides, there were plenty of other options out in the club tonight, endless women who’d jump at the chance to warm my bed for the night.
But after the second—wait, third?—shot, it seemed like the brightest idea in the world to hit on her, to see if she’d fall at my feet. Instead, I got a snarky response and that little sly grin, which made my dick harder than it had any right to be.
When she wrapped my hand, I flinched again, and her stare lifted, those dark eyes assessing me. “Are all baseball players babies, or is it just you?”
“Keep going, new girl. Your attitude turns me on.”
She let out a long groan. “You’re drunk.”
“And you’re beautiful.”
Her dark eyes met mine, and a chill coursed down my spine.
It had been a long time since I felt this…
pull to someone else, too long since I wanted to get to know someone for more than an hour or two.
It was probably just a normal reaction, especially given how gently she cradled my hand, taking more care of me than I deserved.
But there was something intriguing about this mystery woman.
Her hands were steady, even though her cheeks paled when she took in all the blood on my palm.
The way she shook as she pulled on the gloves but continued to talk to me to keep me calm.
How her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth when she was in deep concentration.
When she dropped my hand and began cleaning up, I reached out, wanting a little more contact. “Have a drink with me.”
She scoffed. “I think you’ve had enough for the night. As for me, I’m working. There’s a couple more hours on my shift, and after that, the only thing I want is my bed.”
“Looking for company?”
“Not even a little, hotshot.” As she tossed the bandage wrappers and gloves into the trash, she turned and looked at me. “You’re good to go. Just try to keep it dry, and it should heal up nicely, but you should get it checked by an actual doctor.”
No doubt, I’d have the team guys take a peek tomorrow, but I wasn’t worried about that right now. Glancing at the bandage tucked around my palm, I nodded. “Thank you…”
My eyes darted down to her chest, and, fuck, was that the wrong move. I’d always loved my women with curves, and it was almost as if someone had plucked her out of my dreams. She opened her mouth to say something, but she paused. With a sigh, she whispered, “Kinsley.”
Kinsley. I let her name roll around in my head for a couple of seconds. I liked the way it sounded, almost too much. “Hey, Kinsley, I’m Jace.”
“Oh, I’m well aware, hotshot.” She leaned in a little. “You’re the superstar player, remember?”
Heat hit my cheeks, and it took everything not to drop her stare. Fuck, when had I become such a dick? It was bad enough that my mouth didn’t stop around the other guys, but had I honestly thought that line would work?
Over the past few months, getting someone to come home with me had been easy—almost too easy.
My name and profession led the way, and I never went past the surface level.
My head hung down, shame coating the back of my throat.
I might not be ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean I had to treat people poorly.
After watching my dad treat my mother that way before she left him, as if more a possession than a person, it made me sick to think I’d done the same thing tonight.
I ran my uninjured hand through my hair. “Sorry about that. I can be a bit of an asshole sometimes.”
“No kidding,” she laughed. Kinsley nodded at the door. “You should get back out there. Your adoring fans miss you, and I have to get back to work.”
Her words rang true, but I had no interest in going back out to the bar. The entire night had been the same old scene, one I’d lived a thousand times. As much as I should rejoin the team, something held me back, and it had everything to do with the woman in front of me.
When she tried to walk past me, I reached out and gently took her elbow.
She stared down at where we touched and then moved so I had no choice but to let her go.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “For touching you, and for being an ass earlier. Please, let me make it up to you.” I held out my bandaged hand.
“It’s the least I can do for all your help. ”
She studied me as prey assesses a predator. I didn’t like that fear in her eyes, not one bit. Even without words, it said too much, and I hated myself a little more for putting her in that position. She turned, shifting to face me before asking, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to make it up to me? I already told you, I’m not—”
“It’s not about that.” I shook my head. Words seemed to fail me as I took her in, trying to describe this odd pull I sensed between us.
Sure, there was an attraction. I’d have to be an even bigger idiot not to notice how perfect Kinsley seemed.
From her wavy dark brown hair to her hourglass figure, everything about her body called to me.
But it was more than that. Something about this woman pulled me in, and I was desperate to know more about what made her smile—what made her laugh. If I walked away now, my night would go on as usual, pasting on my fake smirk until it was time to go home and let the darkness consume me.
“Look, all those guys out there are my team, but they don’t know me,” I admitted. “And when I’m around them, I’m expected to act a certain way. Play a role. And tonight…” Kinsley sucked in a sharp breath, and it drew my eyes to hers. “I don’t want to be that guy.”
She nodded, wisps of her hair falling around her face. I braced for the inevitable rejection; instead, Kinsley took a small step closer. From only inches away, it was easy to get lost in her, to get too wrapped up in the subtle scent of her perfume and the hue of her eyes to worry about much else.
“I’m on duty until two,” she said, her words coming out too quickly, betraying her own nerves.
“If you want to stay and hang out—without drinking—then you can buy me a late dinner.” I arched my eyebrow, and she smirked.
“Nothing else. You’re not taking me home, and I sure as hell am not crawling into your bed.
One meal as a thank you, no other expectations. ”
I held out my hand and waited for her much smaller one to slide into mine. “You’ve got a deal.”