Catcher, Chase "Chaser" Tallan, brought up the rear with the tightest ass known to man. Chaser's advertising contract with Wrangler flashed his butt on billboards and in magazines around the world. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes. Indoors or out. A single diamond stud pierced his left ear.
Stevie had followed their careers. She could rattle off their statistics like an auctioneer. Even if they did play for Richmond. Craning her neck, she peered around the men, awaiting Aaron Grayson's arrival. There was no sign of him.
"Stevie, sweetheart, two lattes grande and a bottled water," Romeo called from the back of the line, not wanting to wait his turn. He patted his stomach. "And two turkey and cranberry wraps. I'm starving. Psycho refused to stop for lunch."
Psycho was the leanest of the group with only three percent body fat. He worked out four hours a day and fasted twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays.
Spotting Zen Driscoll, the men joined him at his table. Handshakes and slaps on the back were followed by deep chuckles and boisterous conversation. The Bat Pack was still high from winning the World Series.
Stevie whipped up the lattes, grabbed a Perrier, then piled a tray with the turkey wraps and several plum-date bars. The bars were Jacy's latest dip into healthy decadence. Once delivered, Romeo and Chaser gobbled the sandwiches and bars right down to the crumbs.
On the far side of the table, Psycho caught her about the waist and tugged her close. Her breast flattened against his cheek. Her nipples neither tingled nor tightened as he spoke to her cleavage. "A little trivia, Stevie. A kiss for every question you miss. Who was the first professional baseball team? Name and year."
She touched her finger to her chin as if in deep thought. After thirty seconds, she bent, her mouth within an inch of his own. "Cincinnati Red Legs in 1869."
"Do-over," Psycho quickly called. "What was the first athlete's number ever retired?"
"Lou Gehrig's Yankee number four."
Psycho pulled back, groaned. "So close, yet so far from those lips. I've been waiting two years for that kiss. Anytime you want to fool around…" He lifted and lowered his brows suggestively and let the sentence trail off.
Stevie smiled. If she wasn't so intent on marrying Aaron Grayson, she just might stray and play with…
her gaze flitted from Psycho to Zen Driscoll. That man. The one called Einstein.
Her heart slammed at the thought. Relaxed on his stool, arms folded over his chest, Zen watched her interact with his teammates. Beneath his steady gaze, her nipples once again did the unthinkable. They pointed straight at him.
His eyes widened.
And she wanted to die. Pulling free of Psycho, she covered her chest with the serving tray.
Moments later, Romeo pointed toward the window. "Check out the ride."
Chaser squinted. "Bomber insignia on the door. Looks like Walt Llewellyn's limo."
Stevie recognized the name. Big Walt owned the Tampa Bay Bombers. As wide as he was tall, he was known for his love of community, his players, and his daughter, Natalie. Walt had a big heart and lived lavishly. The limo was one in a fleet of ten.
She stared along with the men as the stretch blocked traffic. A uniformed driver exited the black vehicle, circled the hood, and opened the passenger door. They caught sight of a dark blond head, a dipped shoulder, and then Aaron Grayson stepped onto the sidewalk.
Stevie's breath caught and her knees went weak.
"Looks like Grayson is one of the family now," Chaser grunted. "Anyone with him?"
Psycho craned his neck. "Appears he's alone."
Romeo scratched his chin. "No truth behind the rumor then."
Stevie turned on Romeo. "What rumor?"
The Bat Pack closed up like clams. It was Zen who finally answered. "Locker room talk. Nothing more."
Locker room talk cut her out of the loop. Whatever the rumor, it had yet to reach Frostproof.
"Over here, Shutout," Psycho called to Aaron as he pushed through the door. After greeting and shaking hands with several local residents, Aaron crossed to their table.
His gaze immediately lit on Zen and held. An undercurrent of tension ran between the men; this had some deeper origin than the outcome of the World Series. It was personal. Stevie wasn't aware they shared a history outside of baseball, yet the conflict was unmistakable. Strong and private. A core dislike.
Either immune or purposely ignoring the opposing forces, Romeo whistled. "Nice set of wheels."
Aaron glanced toward the limousine, now sliding into traffic. "Loaner for the weekend."
Chaser noted his suit. "Dressing up?"
"Kenneth Cole," Aaron informed him.
He took a round of ribbing for buying designer. As he caught up with the players, Stevie took in everything about him. Five foot ten, lake blue eyes, square jaw. He looked familiar… yet different. Gone was the Aaron Grayson of the worn T-shirts, torn jeans, and year-old Nikes. In his place stood a man whose hair was gelled, his male scent masked by Gucci, his clothing torn from the pages of GQ.
When he turned the full force of his smile on her, she saw his twice-broken nose had been straight-ened, his chipped tooth capped. Deep within his gaze, shadows banked his greeting. "Glad to see me, Stevie?"
So very glad. She closed the distance between them and accepted his hug. In his arms, her life rolled back ten years to a time when holding each other held their worlds together. She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek to his chest, heard the steady rhythm of his heart. A heart that had once beat wildly with her nearness. So wildly, he'd struggled for control.
He released her slowly. Yet, too quickly for her liking. In that instant, she wanted to shrink, become so small she could live in his shirt pocket, right over his heart. Forever.
"I'm glad you've come home," she finally managed.
"Yeah, me too." His tone held a hint of reserve.
"Care for coffee?"
He nodded. "If you'll join me. We need to go over the weekend events."
"Take our table," Chaser suggested. "We want to check out the town."
"Have you driven Wall Street?" Aaron asked.
Chaser nodded. "End to end."
"Then you've seen Frostproof."
Stevie heard the derision in Aaron's voice. Apparently the town was too small for the big city boy. "There's a new strip mall off Orange Grove Way," she quickly pointed out. "Bookstore, sports memorabilia, pizza and wings, and the Silver Dollar Saloon."