Captivated (3 page)

Steve came back and eyed
Dom
’s
full glass. “Something wrong with the brew? Do you want something else?”

“I’m good, man. Enjoying
the evening.” Dom smiled at her, and her stomach dipped.

Steve squinted and leaned
over the bar.
“Wait. You’re Dom Torres. Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t
recognize you without the Riptide cap on your head. Hell of a game yesterday.
You did what you had to do against Platt.” He thrust out his hand again.

Dom shook it and
shrugged.
“I’m not looking forward to playing them next time,
that’s for sure.”

“Well, good luck against
the Bolts tomorrow. Opening Day’s finally here. The start of a fresh new
season. I hope we go all the way.”

Irisa frowned, studying
Dom
’s
profile. The Riptide were the city’s baseball team, and that was the extent of
her knowledge. Zander rooted for them but she didn’t follow the sport at all.
Still, his name was familiar. “You play for the team?”

A single dip of his head
and a flicker of a smile accompanied his answer.
“Center fielder.”

Steve pointed at him.
“He’s
the best. Nothing gets by him. You know, you two share a connection. The
stadium plays “Cut Down” every time he comes up to bat.”

The Fury
’s
original number one hit. Finally, the fog over her memory lifted. “My brother
mentioned he’d heard the song at the ballpark. I didn’t realize until now what
he’d meant.” Zander had been really excited about it.

Dom nodded.
“Some
guys change their walk-up songs every so often, but I’ve had “Cut Down”
for
years. Awesome band.
”

Steve grinned, as excited
as a puppy, and pointed at her.
“I’m sure Irisa could
arrange for you to meet them.”

“Yeah?” Dom’s brows
lifted and he turned to her. “You know someone who works for the band?”

She inhaled a slow
breath. Resignation dulled the pull of attraction.
“My
brother—”

“Her brother’s Zander
Rostov, and she’s the band’s manager.” Steve beamed a smile at her, then at
Dom.

She tamped down her
frustration as Steve walked to the opposite end of the bar. The bartender was
excited, after all, and her job wasn
’t exactly a secret. Not
many fans of the band knew the band manager’s name, but once they learned of
her connection… Too often, people feigned friendship in an effort to meet the
band. Dom had seemed interested already, but she didn’t miss the way his smile
ratcheted up several notches.

“No way.” Dom’s gaze
remained locked on her face. “I love those guys. Haven’t had the chance to see
them live yet, though.”

Pride for her brother won
out over her discomfort. She gave him a genuine smile.
“If
you want to meet them, you’re in luck. They’re performing the national anthem
at the ballpark in two weeks. It’s the game on the seventeenth, against the
Rattlesnakes.”

He winked.
“I’ll
make sure I’m there.” His mischievous, almost wicked grin increased the warmth
flowing through her core.

Her phone
’s
display lit with Zander’s number. If he found out she was talking to Dom, he’d
probably hop in his car and drive over. He was as exhausted as she and needed
sleep. She ignored the call. “My brother’s a big Riptide fan.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. We’ll
have to meet up after the game.” He paused and his gaze dropped to her lips. It
lingered for a long moment before returning to her eyes. “You’ll be there too,
right?”

“Of course.” The event
officially kicked off their label’s spring concert series tour. She needed to
do all she could to make sure the tour was a success.

Dom shifted closer.
“So,
he’s a fan, but you aren’t? Or do you root for a different team?”

“I don’t really follow
sports.” Her phone’s display lit up a third time. Zander again. She sighed.
“Excuse me, I have to take this.” Turning away from Dom, she swiped her thumb
across the screen. “What’s up?”

“Luke’s been arrested for
boating under the influence.”

“
Boating
under the influence?
” Her stomach hardened into a knot. “What
happened? You weren’t with him, were you?”

“No way. I’m still pissed
at the shit he pulled earlier today. He called me from the police station. I
don’t know why he didn’t call you.”

Damn it. The private
number.
“Is
he okay? Was there an accident? Did he get hurt?”

“I didn’t think to ask.”
He swore under his breath, then sighed. “Anyhow, they won’t release him till
the morning.”

“All right. I’ll contact
them.” She grabbed a pen and wrote the number Zander rattled off on a cocktail
napkin. Could Luke’s timing be any worse? She didn’t know how the charges
differed from drunk driving. Fines, court dates, time served, press releases,
interviews, and rescheduled shows all swirled in her head.

She slammed her phone
onto the bar. So much for having everything under control. As soon as the news
leaked, she
’d have the label breathing down her neck and possibly
sponsorships canceled.

“Bad news?” Dom’s voice
brought her back to her surroundings.

Turning, she gripped the
edge of the bar.
“Just another fire to put out. All in a
day’s work. I’m sorry. I have to go.” There were calls to make. Damage control
to begin.

“We should exchange
numbers.” Dom’s big hand closed over hers, hard and warm. “I want to make sure
you receive the right passes, the right clearance, for after the game.”

Her pulse skittered and
nerve endings tingled at the touch.
“I have the team’s
contact person.”

“Still.”

Confusion reigned. Was
his interest in her or in meeting the band? She pulled out her business card
and handed it over.
“Here you go. My cell’s on the bottom.”

He entered the number
into his phone and then dialed. Hers vibrated on the bar and
unknown
number
lit up the screen. He picked up her phone, saved his number under her contacts,
and typed in his name.
“There. Now you have mine, too.”

“Thanks.” She was smart
enough to realize professional athletes wouldn’t hand out their personal
contact information to just anyone. They would be as cautious as she was with
the band’s information. She wished she were smart enough to uncover his
motivations. Realization now would mean less heartache later.

His thumb brushed over her
knuckles, scattering her thoughts and sending pulses of heat straight to her
core.
“I’ll
see you soon. Good luck with your fires.”

Forcing herself to get
off the barstool and away from his heat was harder than she
’d
expected. “Good night. And good luck in your game tomorrow.” She extracted her
hand and stood. Familiar layers of tension built as she walked away. As always,
the band had to come first.

The
Opening Day crowd packed the stadium in a sea of blue and green. Dom sat next
to Adam in the dugout. So far, he
’d gone two for three in
his at-bats. The Riptide held a three-run lead. He’d helped with a run but
would’ve felt better if he hadn’t gone down swinging on his third time at the
plate.

“Let it go.” Adam’s elbow
nudged his arm.

“What?”

“I know you. You’re
stewing over that last at-bat.”

“So?” He shrugged and
adjusted his cap. He’d never had trouble keeping his mind in a game, but with
the billboard announcing The Fury’s tour hanging above the outfield, keeping
Irisa out of his thoughts was impossible. Maybe she was watching the game… She
wasn’t a fan, but maybe she was as curious about him as he was about her. And
striking out with her watching ticked him off.

“Get it out of your head.
You’re up next.” Adam nodded toward the plate.

Bottom of the ninth. One
last chance.

He stood and Adam tapped
him on the back.
“Go get ‘em.”

A few fans called out to
him when he reached the on-deck circle. He gave them a tip of his cap, then
swung the bat and watched Mario in action at the plate. To his left, Liam, in
his Fin the Shark costume, stood on the roof of the dugout and revved the
crowd. Mario got a single. With him safe at first base, Dom headed toward the
batter
’s
box. His walk-up music blared. Along with the familiar jolt of adrenaline,
Irisa’s face flashed into his mind. Her scent, the soft, silky feel of her
skin, her voice. Extra energy spiked his blood.

When he reached the
plate, Dom performed his ritual. He kicked some dirt around, tapped his cleats
with his bat, and then took a few practice swings. He studied Fitzwater on the
mound. Last time, the Bolts pitcher had struck him out with a sinker. Would he
throw another?

Wind-up
…pitch…
Fastball.

He eyed the ball and
swung.

Crack
.

The ball sailed into
left, the fielder running hard to track it down. But it dropped in front of
him. Dom sprinted to first.

Safe.

A single wasn
’t
good enough for him, but it allowed Mario to advance to third.

He focused on Cole
warming up at the plate and willed him to have some of Slade
’s
hitting power. The team wouldn’t be getting Slade back for a few more weeks,
and they all needed to pick up the slack until he returned. Muscles readied to
run, Dom stepped off the base and took a few strides toward second. Cole’s bat
slammed into the ball and it flew over the outfield. Dom ran, watching the
ball, watching it arc into the stands. Game winner. He rounded third, then
headed for home.

He didn
’t
always have to be the hero. Playing a part in the win was enough.

Two hours later, after
the press conferences had ended and the players had left the stadium, Dom
declined Liam
’s suggestion of celebration drinks. He’d need to be
clearheaded to deal with his own after-game ritual. He sat on his couch with
Champ lying at his side and stared at his phone. As usual, it rang.

Dad Cell.

“Hey, Dad.”

“I watched the game.” No
greeting. As usual, Dad launched straight into his coach’s role. “You were
wiggling the bat too much before your swing. It threw your timing off. Stop
moving it around so much while you’re in the box.”

His dad had been his
first coach and his first critic. No praise, just pointers. It didn
’t
matter that he had hitting coaches and a manager ready to set him straight.
Dad’s opinion was always expressed, as blunt and harsh as any faceless fan.

“What about Cruz and Rio?
Did you catch their games today?” His younger brothers played for minor league
teams on the East Coast.

“You would’ve been proud.
Cruz went two for four and Rio had a double play.” Pride shone though his Dad’s
voice. Pride for his brothers, but never for him.

He pinched the bridge of
his nose in an effort to stave off the forming headache.
“I’ll
give them a call later.”

“Make sure you work on
your swing. How long do they have you taking batting practice? You’re not
skimping on it, are you?”

“You know I’m not a
slacker.” He’d been groomed too well by the old man for that. Baseball came
first, before everything. Impatience bloomed fast. Pushing off the cushion, he
stood. He wanted the call to be over.

“You weren’t a fighter
either, until the other night.”

Okay, they really didn
’t
need to get into this again. Getting chewed out once was enough. Anger mixed
with frustration, simmering to a slow boil. “We’ve been over that. Look, I’m
sorry, I have to go. The dog’s whining. He needs to go out for a walk.” He
glanced at Champ and willed him to make some noise. The dog raised his head and
let out a single, loud bark.
Good boy.

His father huffed a sigh.
“Pay
attention to your swing tomorrow. I’ll talk to you after the game.”

“Can’t wait,” Dom
muttered. “Good night.”

Champ jumped off the
couch and stared at him.

“You heard the W-word,
didn’t you?” Dom grabbed the leash from the hook by the door then knelt beside
Champ and rubbed his belly. “You earned it.”

Within minutes, they were
walking through the empty lobby. He peered into the pub as they passed. No sign
of Irisa, with her colorful clothes and captivating presence. Just as well; he
wasn
’t
in the best mood for company anyway.

Out on the street, warm
evening air whipped over his skin. He couldn
’t help glancing up the
side of the building, wondering which windows were hers, if she were home, if
she were tucked in bed…

Champ barked and tugged
on his leash.

“All right, buddy, we’re
going.” Laughing, Dom shook his head. Maybe the bark had been a warning:
take
a step back.
Maybe that was smart. He headed to the
small dog park he
’d recently discovered, then spent the
next hour tossing a tennis ball to the dog. He shouldn’t care that his on-field
play was never good enough for his old man. He had a dog who gave him unconditional
love no matter how well he did on the field.