“But they will, Stryke,” she told him straight out. “One more time. I’m Rally again tomorrow.”
His stomach clutched. “Not going to happen.”
“It will happen. Charlie’s out of town and the Rogues need a mascot. I’ve got Rally down now. I can control the roll. I’ll have better balance next time.”
“You’re not going back on the field.”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
It was an open challenge. During their time together, she’d issued so many. Challenges he’d won more often than lost, but he hadn’t been engaged to another woman then.
Stryke didn’t want Taylor parading as Rally. He was scheduled to start against the Raptors. A glimpse of her wobbling like a Weeble would prove too damn distracting from the mound.
He jammed his hands in his pockets, broadening his stance, and went for intimidating. “I’ll tell management that Charlie’s sick.”
She wasn’t afraid of him. “I’ll phone Guy Powers and offer to replace him.”
She had him by the balls—and knew how to squeeze. They were both aware that the team owner adored her. Powers admired bold, beautiful, free-spirited women—women like his first wife, Corbin, whom he’d divorced when the competition between them as rival team owners separated them as widely as the American and National Leagues.
Corbin refused to sell the Louisville Colonels. And Powers lived and breathed the Rogues. Ultimately, baseball meant more to them than their wedding vows.
Powers had sympathized with Stryke when Taylor had left him at the altar. But he also said he understood Taylor’s feelings.
Stryke didn’t share Powers’s empathy.
Taylor Hannah had ditched him before one thousand guests. Her departure had cut him sharp and deep, and he’d nearly bled out. He’d canceled the reception, then cashed in their honeymoon package to Parrot Cay for half its value.
His good buddies, center fielder Risk Kincaid and shortstop Zen Driscoll, along with their wives, Jacy and Stevie, had helped him pack up and post every gift. It had taken three weeks, six days, and two hours to clear the wedding presents from his living room and foyer.
Taylor had fractured his ego.
She’d made him look a fool in front of his friends.
Worst of all, she’d broken his heart.
He’d never let her near him again.
Nor would he put Guy Powers between them. He had too much respect for the man to involve him in their dispute.
Fixing Taylor with a stern look, he warned, “Go ahead and play Rally. However, if you so much as wobble within a foot of my peripheral vision, I’ll have security haul your ass—”
She flashed her palm. “I get the picture.”
He unclipped his cell phone from a side pocket on his cargo pants and tossed it to her. “Make your call.”
She dialed the cab company from memory. By the end of the conversation, she was frowning. “My taxi won’t arrive for thirty to forty minutes.”
“I don’t have time to wait.”
“I can wait by myself.”
Dusk cast shadows over the stadium and empty parking lot. No matter how anxious he was to send Taylor on her way, he couldn’t leave her alone. It wasn’t safe.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he finally decided.
“he “Harley or McLaren?”
“I now drive an SUV.”
“A family man’s car.”
He saw it in her eyes then; she knew he was engaged. e’d figured the news would reach her eventually. But he had no intention of discussing his present engagement with his ex-fiancée. “Let’s go. I’m late for my dinner date.”
“No reason to keep the lady waiting.”
“No reason at all.”
He followed Taylor through the double doors, separated from her by silence and their years apart. He cut a glance to the woman by his side. Dressed in his T-shirt and sweatpants, she appeared to belong to him—which rode his last nerve.
Once seated in his Cadillac Escalade, he asked, “Where to?”
“Thrill Seekers.”
“On John Adams Parkway?”
She shook her head. “The business moved last week. We’re in the same historical landmark building as Jacy’s Java.”
His jaw worked. The coffee shop was his first stop in the morning and oftentimes his last one at night. Years ago, he and Taylor had been Jacy’s best customers. He’d continued the coffee tradition long after she’d gone.
For two years and four months, he’d ordered an Americana, then sat and read the newspaper. Each new arrival had drawn his gaze. He’d continued to hope Taylor would breeze through the door, as in need of her caffeine fix as she would be of him.
He’d waited and waited.
She’d never shown.
Now, with Thrill Seekers in the same building, chances were good he’d run into her at least once during her stay. Taylor liked her coffee.
That did not please him. At all. He’d hardened his heart against this woman. She could buy her own iced lattes and raspberry scones. Game face on for the next seven days. Taylor would never hit another home run off him. The lady had struck out.
CHAPTER TWO
The sun baked the sidewalk outside Jacy’s Java. An unusually warm spring day had brought out tank tops, shorts, and sandals. Taylor Hannah knew she’d be perspiring freely in the mascot costume later that afternoon. She needed to figure out a way to stay cool.
She stopped short outside the coffee shop and debated going inside. Brek Stryker’s SUV was parked at the curb. She didn’t know whether he was alone or with his fiancée. She preferred not to face him before her first cup of coffee, especially as he’d given her no more than a curt nod when he’d dropped her off at Thrill Seekers the previous evening. His indifference cut deep.
With one hand on the elongated brass door handle, Taylor inhaled deeply. The strong scent of coffee and freshly baked goods drew customers like a beckoning finger. The enormous picture window revealed a crowd inside. Some customers sat while others stood. All were enjoying their favorite blend.
Inching the door open, she slid in behind the last person in line, a big, bald man in a business suit. He completely dwarfed her. If she stayed in his shadow, no one would notice she was there.
Ever so discreetly, she looked around the gourmet café, absorbing the ambience. In her absence, Jacy had gone retro—wildly so. The shop pulsed with her eclectic tastes. Geometric shapes, pop art, and psychedelic paintings, along with an enormous atomic sunburst wall clock, decorated bright orange walls—walls that awakened the coffee crowd as quickly as a double espresso.