Center Stage: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 8) (6 page)

“Throw it back, Killer!” Ryan’s voice was soft in the darkness, pitched just loud enough for her to hear. She picked up the roll and bit her lips, reminding herself of everything Zach had ever taught her about throwing a ball. The toilet paper arced over the tree in a perfect parabola.

After that, it was easy. They covered the first tree and moved on to the second. They made a few quick passes around the bushes by the front porch. In a moment of inspiration, she wrapped the mailbox, securing the ends with shaving cream.

Ryan took one of the cans and sprayed a white carpet in front of the door, long enough and wide enough that Will could never step outside without getting his feet dirty. She added to the handiwork, painting the garage door with the word “Loser!” in giant foamy letters.

“That’ll hurt,” Ryan said, closer to her than she expected.

“The truth always does.”

There was one roll of toilet paper left. Ryan took her hand and guided her to a spot in front of the house. “There you go, Killer. Over the roof.”

“I can’t make that!”

“Sure you can.”

Her first try missed completely. The second hit the roof with a thud that sounded like a small bomb exploding. She waited for a lifetime, watching the roll snag on the shingles, waiting for it to roll down, to bounce over the gutter. She picked it up and tried one more time, clearing the roof, watching the paper sail into the backyard.

A light snapped on upstairs, in the master bedroom. She pictured Will tumbling out of his striped sheets, tugging at his pajamas as he staggered toward the window.

“Hotshot!” she cried, not bothering to whisper any longer. “Run!”

Ryan grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the car. Their feet pounded the sidewalk together, like they were running the bases in some crazy suburban game. She realized he’d left the car doors open. All she had to do was roll into the front seat, and he was slamming her door closed, rolling over the low hood as he got to his own side.

A dog started barking—not Will’s, because Will didn’t have a dog. He was allergic. Ryan’s door slammed, and the Ferrari’s engine roared to life. They took the corner hard, before she’d even had a chance to scramble for her seatbelt, but Ryan’s arm shot out toward her. His forearm was rock hard against her chest, stable, steadying, just until she was safe, and then his hand was back on the gear-shift, jumping them up to escape velocity.

She didn’t realize her sides ached from laughing until they had sped onto the highway, heading back to the safety and anonymity of the farmhouse.

Because she was Lindsey, she worried.

She worried that Will had seen the red Ferrari, that he’d caught a license plate number before they disappeared around the corner. She worried that she’d left crumbs in the car’s rich upholstery. She worried that Ryan had expected her to invite him into the farmhouse, had expected more than her quick clutch of his biceps and the cheery “Good night!” she’d given him as she ducked out of the car. She worried that he’d tell Zach what they’d done, that she’d have to face her brother’s shock and disapproval.

She worried that she didn’t feel one bit guilty about actually TPing Will’s house.

In fact, she slept like the proverbial baby, nestled deep beneath the cotton blankets on her childhood bed. She awakened to sunshine streaming through the crisp white curtains. She took a long shower, making sure that she rinsed away the last of her hairspray, the smudged remnants of the mascara she’d piled on the day before.

She took her time making a gigantic pot of coffee, and then she fried up half a pig’s worth of the apple-smoked bacon Zach kept wrapped tight in the freezer. Wrestling a skillet and hot grease didn’t count as cooking, not in any real sense of the word.

After her improvised breakfast—or lunch, if the clock had anything to say about it—she raided Zach’s closet for sweatpants and a T-shirt. Cinching tight the oversize clothes, she set off across the fields, determined to walk the fence-line of the property, to get some fresh air on the gorgeous summer day, and to think.

She hadn’t been lying to Ryan last night. She really
had
followed every single rule she’d ever been told to follow. It was easier that way. No one got angry. Nothing ever went wrong.

Her mother always said Lindsey had been the world’s easiest baby. And Beth had been the most difficult. Except, maybe, for Beth’s own baby, the one she gave birth to over spring break her junior year in high school. Even now, Lindsey could remember listening to Aidan scream with colic while Beth tried to finish her trigonometry homework, tried to master a page full of irregular French verbs.

The day Beth flunked out of high school, she moved out of the Ormonds’ house. That hadn’t made things better, though. The midnight phone calls didn’t stop, the pleas to bail her out of yet another drunk tank, to pick her up from the street corner near some new abusive boyfriend.

Their parents insisted that Aidan stay in the house with them, that he not be exposed to the disaster that was Beth’s life, and that led to even more screaming matches. Beth wasn’t allowed inside the house if she was drunk, if she was high. And every time she stood on the front porch, screaming that she hated everyone and everything, Lindsey had vowed that she would never be like her sister. Never. Ever.

And she hadn’t been. Not until last night, until she and Ryan had TPed Will’s house.

Okay. That little night-time jaunt was nothing like the melodramatic disasters of Beth’s life. And Lindsey had to admit there was a thrill in doing the unexpected. It
could
be exciting to break the rules. Even now, she could remember how her sides had ached with laughter, how her cheeks had ached as she grinned all the way back to the farmhouse. She’d felt light, almost like she was flying.

And if a touch of petty vandalism—no lasting harm done—could feel that great, what else could she do to kick her life back in gear?

She started with a day of complete relaxation—re-reading some of her favorite childhood books that still lined the shelves in the family room. She followed up by taking a long afternoon walk, walking the entire border of the property Zach had inherited from their parents, of the land that still felt like “home” after all these years. She luxuriated in a long shower before she raided the pantry for dinner.

One of the advantages of her failure as a cook was that she’d long ago grown used to cobbling together meals from packages. A can of tuna, drained and seasoned with pepper and a dash of Worcestershire sauce was great on crackers. Zach had a stack of those little cups of applesauce, the type that belonged in a kid’s lunch but kept forever in a cabinet. And she still had the leftover Oreos she’d carried in from Ryan’s car.

And that brought her thoughts full-circle to the night before, back to her partner in crime. She rinsed her dishes and headed into the cozy living room. When she snapped on TV, it was already tuned to the Rockets game in progress. Of course. What else did she expect, in her brother’s house?

She settled on the couch and watched the game, relaxing into the familiar rhythms of baseball. But she didn’t lie to herself. She admitted that she scanned every shot of the Rockets dugout. Ryan wouldn’t be playing yet; he still had two days on the disabled list—not that his leg seemed to have given him any trouble the night before, as they sprinted away from Will’s house. She thought she might catch him watching the game, studying the Rockets’ rival, plotting for later match-ups in the season.

No such luck. But both pitchers worked at a fast pace, not letting many runners get on base. The Rockets won by an easy three runs. After the final out, the cameras picked up shots of the owner, Marty Benson, sitting in his suite. The old man looked terribly frail, far more wasted than when Lindsey had worked for the club, just a few years before. But he pumped his fist at the winning pitch, and he leaned forward in his wheelchair. Lindsey grinned at the enthusiasm. She knew Zach wanted to deliver a championship ring this year. It would probably be the last chance for Mr. Benson to enjoy the celebration.

As the post-game show started, Lindsey picked up her phone. Somehow, she’d known she was going to make this call—all day, the thought had been there. All evening, too. It was easy enough to tap the number on the screen, the last call that had come in.

It rang once before he answered. “Killer?”

“You got your phone back,” she said. “I take it no policeman showed up on your doorstep today?”

“I think we made a clean getaway.” His voice sounded warm and lazy, and she could picture him stretched out on a couch, relaxed in blue jeans and a ratty old T-shirt. The thought was nearly as appealing as him in the suit he’d worn the night before. He chuckled, and the sound melted something inside her. “I thought I’d forgotten
everything
I learned in high school. What’s up next? Ditching class to go eat Big Macs?”

She didn’t say a word.

“Let me guess,” he said, filling the silence as her cheeks warmed. “You never ditched class.”

“Nope.”

“Not even on Senior Skip Day?”

“I had that whole perfect attendance thing going. I couldn’t give it up for… What? Watching the sun rise on the beach?”

“Watching the sun rise. And eating French fries for breakfast. And getting sunburned playing beach volleyball. And missing a full day of school, without anyone ever really getting in trouble.”

“Sounds like I really missed out.” And it did. She couldn’t keep the note of longing from her voice.

“So skip tomorrow.”

“I actually graduated seven years ago,” she said, her voice a little tart. He didn’t have to rub it in. She knew she was a dork.

“Skip work. Call EKG. Or EMT. Whatever that place is called.”

“CRT. Children’s—”

 
“Repertory Theater. Yeah, I know. Leave them a message. Say you won’t be in tomorrow.”

“I can’t do that!” Just the thought made her throat tighten. She’d never missed a scheduled day in the box office.

“Why not?”

“It’s a co-op. We all have to pull our weight. That’s the way it works. That’s what keeps it fair.”

“Fair? Like their not casting you in a show for the past nine months?”

Ouch
. When he said it like that, it sounded like she’d be stupid for going in to work. But the more she thought about it, the more Ryan made sense. Other people missed their shifts all the time, and they didn’t agonize over finding a replacement. Everyone else was trading labor for getting cast in the theater’s plays—for getting roles like the ones she hadn’t seen for a couple of productions. Three, if she counted
Itsy Bitsy Mouse
.

A good girl might keep her head down, might keep slaving away in the box office, hoping her luck would change. But what would a bad girl do? What would Lindsey do?

“So what? I leave a voicemail message saying ‘I quit,’ and then I hop on I-64? Drive east till I hit the ocean?”

He laughed. “If you want to end up in the middle of the Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge.”

“You say that like a man who’s tried it.”

“Yeah. Once or twice.”

He laughed as he said it, but she heard something deeper beneath the words. What in the world could ever have made Ryan Green feel sorry enough for himself that he wanted to drive away from it all? She thought about asking, point blank. But that would just be rude. Instead, she asked, “So where should I go instead?”

“Chester Beach.”

“You had that one ready to go. That’s where the Satellites play, right?”

“There’s a little stadium there, double A. But there’s a boardwalk, too. Late-night bars. Lots of tattoo parlors. Plenty of options for a bad girl like you.”

“You don’t think I’m serious!”

“Oh, I
know
you’re serious. I also know that I grew up in Chester Beach, and this time of year you won’t find a hotel room within fifty miles of the beach.”

She was surprised by the lance of disappointment that nicked her heart. She’d really been ready to do it, too. Ready to call CRT, to resign her membership in the coop. Let them figure out how to cover the box office on short notice. Let her figure out the next step in her acting career. And let her walk along the beach at dawn, the waves breaking over her toes as the sun broke over the horizon.

“Oh well,” she said. “It was a good idea.”

“It still is. If you don’t mind having a chaperone.”

“A what?” She’d heard him, though. She’d heard him, and the very word
chaperone
had her thinking thoughts that made her realize she needed one.

“We can crash at my father’s house. But he’ll be there, so it won’t quite be like breaking all the rules.”

“Close enough,” she said, surprising herself. “Let’s do it.”

“I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

She should tell him to forget about it. She should remind him that he only had one day left on the DL before he had to report back to the team, before he needed to be at Rockets Field. She should say it was too late, the idea was too crazy, he didn’t need to drive her to Chester Beach for the Senior Skip Day she should have attended seven years before.

“I’ll be waiting on the front porch,” she said.

And she was. Her palms were only sweating a little when she thought about the message she’d left for CRT. “I won’t be in tomorrow. In fact, I won’t be back at all. Good luck, and thanks for everything.”

She’d proven her acting chops, keeping her voice light and breezy. No one would ever know she was walking away from the only professional job she’d ever had. No one would ever know she was waiting for a strange man to pick her up and drive her away to an adventure where she could break every rule in the book.

~~~

Jesus
. Zach would kill him if he knew where Ryan was right now. Forget about killing him; he’d break every bone in Ryan’s body and wait for him to heal, just to kick his ass again.

But it was worth it.

It had been worth it to see Lindsey sitting on the front porch, her knees pulled up to her chest like she was some teenager. It had been worth it to watch her jump up when the car glided to a stop, to see the easy way she opened the door and climbed on in. It had been worth it to breathe in the scent of her—like fresh-cut grass and sunshine—as she announced, “I did it.”