Pitch Perfect (3 page)

Trying her best not to bump the bearded guy, who was totally taking up more than his share of the allotted space, Mia leaned a little to the right as she scooted onto the stool. She was almost successful, but her hobo-style purse slid from her shoulder and whacked the elbow of the younger guy just as he lifted his arm to take a drink from a tall glass.

“What the . . . ,” he griped as he doused his burger. Water splashed down the front of his shirt and he hissed when ice cubes clinked against the counter and landed in a neat little heap between his legs.

“Sorry!” Mia squeaked and started snatching napkins from the little metal holder. She tried to dab at his sopping shirt, but he made some sort of rude growling noise and jumped up from the stool. Without looking at her, he scooped the remaining pile of ice from the stool and dumped it back into his glass. “Sorry,” Mia repeated in a lower voice, but all she got was his narrowed gaze. “It was an accident!” she repeated in a firmer tone and felt heat creep into her cheeks when she realized that they had become the center of attention.

“You could have been more careful.” He plucked at his T-shirt, which was clinging to him like a second skin.

Mia tried not to stare at his nicely defined chest but failed. “I’ll pay for your meal,” Mia assured him politely and nodded to the waitress who hurried over to the scene. “Please bring him a fresh burger and fries.”

“Not necessary,” he said in the same clipped tone and sopped up the water pooled on the counter.

“But you haven’t eaten your meal.”

“No, I mean it’s not necessary for you to pay for it.”

“I insist!”

“Okay.” He lifted one shoulder and sat back down just as Mia reached over to brush a remaining ice cube off the shiny red vinyl stool. His butt landed on her hand, making her yelp.

“Ouch!” Mia yanked hard just as he stood, making her give a hard elbow to the bearded guy to her left. He grunted and sent his grilled cheese sailing over his head and onto the floor just as a waitress hurried by. Her foot slipped on the soft sandwich, causing her tray to tilt. She yelped and jerked the tray upright but overcompensated, sending French fries flying and burgers flipping into the air.

Mia put a hand to her mouth as the rest of the scene unfolded as if in slow motion . . .

Two tall milk shakes wobbled back and forth as if swaying to the piped-in music and then tipped forward, sending cherries shooting into the air, followed by a waterfall of chocolate shake spilling to the floor. A busboy rushed forward but slid through the puddle of shake like he was on ice skates and crashed into a seated man, who went from squeezing ketchup onto his onion rings to spattering it into the face of his female companion. She screamed and leaned backward, allowing the red stream to squirt the face of the man directly behind her. He jerked sideways and knocked over all three beverages on his table and sent silverware clanking to the floor.

And then there was silence . . . well, except for the cheerful sound of the bluegrass music, which seemed to be mocking Mia. She swallowed hard while considering if she should make a mad dash for the front door. While calculating how fast she could actually dash in her chunky shoes she sneaked a peek at the waitress behind the counter, who was swiping at her eyes. Dear God, was she crying? When Mia swiveled her head, she noticed that the belly of the Santa look-alike was
shaking like a bowl full of jelly
, Mia thought with dark humor. Was he crying too?

Had she reduced an entire lunch crowd to tears?

“Well, if that just wasn’t the funniest damn thing I’ve witnessed in a long-ass time,” the bearded man said in a deep voice punctuated with bouts of low-pitched laughter. He slapped his thigh. “Don’t that just beat all?” he asked, but Mia avoided his gaze and kept her head down.

“Don’t I know it,” the waitress agreed and swiped at what Mia realized were tears of laughter. A titter began at the table next to the counter and rolled into full-blown amusement until everyone in the joint was doubled over except, notably, Mr. Tall and Brooding standing next to her. He sat down with an angry plop, folded his arms across his wet chest, and sighed.

“Just what are you moaning about?” Mia demanded hotly.

“Oh, let’s see. My ruined lunch.” He glanced down and plucked at his chest. “My sopping shirt and cold crotch.”

“Oh, stop,” Mia sputtered and pointed to the menu. “Wine . . . and Diner. Without the
h
, so quit your
whining
.”

He snorted at her sorry attempt at humor. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirmed close to his ear, since everyone was still laughing and reliving the incident while the busboys mopped up the many messes. “I said I was sorry and that I’d pay for your lunch. I’m at a loss as to what more I can do.”

“Well, Princess, you need to pay for everyone else’s that you ruined while you’re at it.”

“Don’t call me princess,” she pleaded. It was her father’s pet name for her, which had been cute when she was a child but had not been so sweet an endearment this past week.

“Really?” He took his baseball cap off and let his gaze travel down her pale blond hair, over her classy Ralph Lauren white linen shirt and black cuffed capri pants to her Jimmy Choo crushed patent leather clogs, finally coming to rest on her diamond tennis bracelet. She wasn’t quite sure from his hooded expression if he liked what he saw or not.

“Really!” she repeated firmly and shot him a glare that she hoped would intimidate him, but he gave her a sardonic arch of one eyebrow. “I am very . . . um . . .
down-to-earth
,” she said, even though she wasn’t quite sure that she truly was all that . . . earthy.

“Gross,” he growled, and for a horrifying second Mia thought he was referring to her appearance, but he picked up his sopping-wet bun and grimaced.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Mia grumbled and then motioned for the laughing waitress, who flipped a long braid over her shoulder and headed over to the counter. “Um, this little . . . situation might have inadvertently been my fault,” she began but paused when the guy next to her had the nerve to sigh. Mia swiveled on her stool to face him. “Excuse me?”

“
Might
have been your fault?”

Mia fisted her hands on her hips. “You were the one who spilled your water everywhere!”

“Only because you knocked it out of my hand, Princess.” He drew out the nickname and arched that exasperating eyebrow again.

Mia narrowed her gaze and refused to acknowledge how hazel his eyes were or his straight white teeth or the sexy dark stubble covering a strong, square jawline. And his leg, suddenly pressed against hers, did not cause the hot shiver that slid down her spine. It was . . . anger! “I was merely trying not to bump into the gentleman next to me.”

“And smacked me with your suitcase instead.”

“It was my purse!”

“Could have fooled me. What do you have in there anyway?” He rubbed his bumped arm while he glanced down at the shiny leather bag and his other eyebrow joined the arched one. “Bricks?”

Mia rolled her eyes at him. “Nothing much.” Not much money anyway.

“Really . . .”

“Stop saying that!”

“What?”

“Really . . .” She mocked his deep voice. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that the waitress was watching the exchange with amused interest. Mia was normally self-conscious about what people thought of her, but right now she was too steamed to care.

“Whatever, Princess. Oh wait, I can’t say that either. Any other orders you want to give me while you’re at it?”

“Yes, stop being so . . .
rude
!” Mia shot back and tried to add a glare, but her voice shook and her bottom lip had the audacity to tremble. She was used to people fawning over her instead of finding fault, and she suddenly feared that her father was right. Perhaps she didn’t have the strength to make it on her own after all! When her eyes welled up, she turned away and hoped he didn’t notice. “Would you please replace anyone’s lunch that got ruined and put it on my tab?” she requested with a smile at the waitress.

“That won’t be necessary, sugar.” The waitress returned the smile and added a wink. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t want you to do that!” Mia was horrified that a waitress would have to pay for her screwup.

“It was an accident,” she said soothingly and flashed the guy next to her a look of warning. “Now, Cam, I know that you’re still fairly new around these parts, but we don’t cry over spilled milk shakes around here.” She turned back to Mia. “Now, what would you like for lunch? May I suggest the special, chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans? It’s a house specialty.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” Mia tried not to wince at the amount of calories in the special and raised one shoulder. “I was thinking of a nice salad with dressing on the side,” Mia replied, but then Cam, as the waitress had called him, sighed as if he was reading her I-know-your-type mind. Mia raised her chin. “But the chicken-fried-steak special sounds too scrumptious to pass up.”

“Gravy?”

“Yes . . . extra!” she said but had to suppress a shudder. “And water with a very thin slice of lemon.”

“Coming right up.”

“You won’t regret it,” the Santa look-alike promised.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Mia answered loud enough for Cam to hear. “And I’m so sorry I caused your sandwich to sail across the room.”

He shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry about the ruined lunches or the mess. People are pretty good-natured around here, and the woman who waited on you is Myra Robinson, one of the owners.”

“Oh, thank you for letting me know.”

“No problem.” He extended his hand. “I’m Pete Sully. I own Sully’s Tavern just down the road. If you’re staying here in Cricket Creek, stop in and I’ll make you a perfect martini on the house.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Sully,” she said, even though she doubted he could make a perfect martini. “I’m just passing through or I’d take you up on it.”

“Call me Pete,” he insisted in a gruff voice laced with southern charm that made Mia smile in spite of her embarrassing mishap. “And if you change your mind, little lady, let me know.”

“About the martini?”

Pete grinned. “Naw . . . about just passing through.”

“Oh, there’s no chance of me staying,” she said, but when the guy next to her chuckled she added, “This is a lovely town, but I’m a city girl.”

Pete shook his head. “City dwellers staying in Cricket Creek seems to be a trend here lately,” he warned her. “So what’s your name, if I might ask?”

“Mia Mon . . . ,” she began but then swallowed hard and thought fast, “. . . ee.” While she wasn’t exactly a full-blown celebrity, her name was often in the tabloids, and besides that, she really didn’t want her father hot on her trail.

“Mia
Money
?”

“Yes,” she answered firmly and ignored the quick intake of breath from the guy next to her. He pressed his leg against hers as if saying
Yeah, right.
“Mia Money,” she repeated.

“Any relation to Eddie?” Pete asked with a grin.

“Eddie?”

“Eddie Money,” Pete said and then sang, “‘Two tickets to paradise . . .’”

“Oh, the singer . . . I don’t think so,” she added with a shake of her head and then gratefully turned her attention to the plate of food that suddenly arrived. She wasn’t a very good liar and hated being lied to but felt the need to protect her identity. “Oh . . . my.” She looked down at the huge helping of . . . everything. A scoop of mashed potatoes was squished between the golden breaded steak and green beans seasoned with some serious chunks of ham. Thick white gravy flecked with pepper covered the golden-fried meat and formed a puddle in the center of the big helping of fluffy potatoes.

Dear God.

“Everything okay?” Myra asked with a hint of uncertainty and then placed a small blue plate of two big connected yeast rolls and two pats of butter down next to her tall glass of water. She noticed that the slice of lemon was paper-thin, as requested.

“Yes, everything looks . . . amazing,” Mia replied as she slowly unrolled her silverware from the paper napkin.

“Well, good. Enjoy your lunch,” Myra added with a smile. “Holler if you need anything, okay, sweetie?”

“Thank you.” After inhaling a deep breath, Mia picked up her knife and fork, wondering just where to begin.

2

Delicious Surprise

“T
HANKS,” CAMERON SAID WHEN HIS FRESH BURGER
and fries were placed in front of him. He flicked a discreet glance at Mia and when he witnessed her stunned expression as she stared at her food he had to hide his grin by popping a hot, crispy fry into his mouth. He would be willing to bet that Ms. Money had never eaten something as decadent as chicken-fried steak smothered with white peppered gravy, and mashed potatoes probably never got past those pouty pink lips. She had low calorie/high maintenance written all over her gorgeous face.

Wait . . . that
face
. Didn’t he know her from somewhere? “Would you please pass the ketchup?” Cam asked and took the opportunity to get a closer look at Mia Money when she handed the bottle to him. “Thanks,” Cam said but got only a polite, distant nod before Mia turned her attention back to her heaping plate of food. For some reason he didn’t like her curt dismissal but didn’t really understand why it bothered him so much. After all, he had been sort of a jerk to her, so he couldn’t really blame her. But hey, he just couldn’t resist putting snooty chicks in their place. Cam had been a pool boy while working his way through school and had been treated like a second-class citizen too often not to have a chip on his shoulder where rich chicks were concerned. So why
was
she getting to him?

Maybe it was because attention from women was something he took for granted and Mia was clearly snubbing him. Cam took a bite of his juicy burger and wondered again why he cared, especially since she was merely passing through town. And yet, after swallowing his food he felt the need to slide another glance her way. He watched with amusement as she gingerly put a small bite of chicken-fried steak slathered with gravy into her mouth. Her eyes widened while she chewed, making Cam wonder if she was going to spit the steak right out.

Oh dear God, but then she closed her eyes and
moaned
with what sounded like sheer pleasure. Cam squeezed his burger so hard that mustard dripped onto his plate. He tried but couldn’t keep from turning his head and looking at her. She was so engrossed in her meal that she didn’t notice his stare, and she dipped her fork into her mashed potatoes. She seemed to savor the potatoes before eagerly tackling the green beans, making sure to spear a hunk of ham in the process. After swallowing, she smiled as she sliced her knife through the steak and then popped a more generous bite into her mouth. “Mmm . . .”

When Mia moaned again, Cam had to look away, and it ticked him off that the prissy little chick could get to him so easily. He really did not care for snooty women, and she had
snoot
written all over her. “Would you please just stop?”

Mia stopped in midchew and swiveled his way. After swallowing she asked, “Stop eating? We are in a restaurant, in case you didn’t notice.”

“No, just stop . . . moaning!”

“I wasn’t moaning,” she hotly denied and then looked around as if to see if anyone was watching, but the diners seemed to have returned their attention to their meals now that all of the earlier commotion was over. She leaned close and said in his ear, “But then again, perhaps you’ve never heard a woman moan before.” Up came the snooty little nose, and with another lift of her chin she popped a green bean into her mouth.

Cam gave her a heavy-lidded look that he reserved for women he was trying to get into bed . . . not that he was trying to get
her
into bed or anything. He merely wanted to get the point across that he had no trouble in that particular area, and so he leaned in and whispered, “On the contrary.”

“I meant in
pleasure
.” She drew the word out and added a roll of her eyes but then blushed before she turned her attention back to her food.

“Oh, baby, me too.” His low, sultry tone was rewarded when she swallowed hard and coughed. Was he actually getting to Miss Priss? He sure hoped so. “And an occasional scream.”

She shook her fork at him and snorted. “As they’re running out the door?”

“Not hardly,” Cam boasted and then felt kind of silly, wondering why in the hell he was going this route.

“Are you always so full of yourself?”

“Are
you
always so full of food?” he asked and was rewarded with a slight grimace. She frowned down at her plate and he could see the calorie counter clicking away in her brain. She licked her bottom lip and then put her fork down before taking a drink of her water, as if trying to dilute the gravy swimming in her stomach. When she failed to start eating again, Cam suddenly felt like a horse’s ass. “Hey, I was only kidding,” he said more gently and nodded toward her plate. “Keep enjoying your lunch and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Do you promise?” she asked with such conviction that he wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or should reassure her.

“Yes,” Cam said, but she looked at him with uncertainty. Although it was obvious that she came from wealth, there was vulnerability in the set of her mouth and the depths of her eyes that brought out some protective emotion that Cam didn’t even understand. He wasn’t a dragon-slayer kind of guy. “Hey, I keep my promises,” he told her with a slight shrug, but it was true. Admittedly, he could be a real jerk, but he always kept his word. Cam took another bite of his burger and wondered again why he felt the need to tell her that. Mia Money was just passing through his life, and it didn’t matter squat what she thought of him. But while he tried to turn his focus back to his meal, Cam remained keenly aware of the woman sitting beside him.

He absently took a bite of his pickle spear and shifted his mind to baseball, the reason he had moved from Florida to this little Kentucky town in the first place. Noah Falcon, one of the owners of the Cricket Creek Cougars, was giving him a shot to get back into baseball after getting booted out of the Chicago Cubs farm system. Cam had proven his talent, but Noah Falcon had given him fair warning that he had to keep out of trouble or his days as a Cricket Creek Cougar were numbered. Ty McKenna, manager of the team, wanted no part of Cam’s wild ways, but Noah insisted on giving him a chance with the stipulation that Cam keep his nose clean.

Granted, he had always been somewhat of a head case, but because of his talent Cam was used to getting away with it. But the major leagues weren’t high school, where his wild ways had been brushed under the rug for the sake of a state championship. Nope, he found out the hard way that screwups wouldn’t be tolerated. He chalked it up to the recent rash of publicity involving pro athletes getting into trouble, which had forced franchise owners to clamp down on bad behavior.

Cam dipped a fry into ketchup while he thought back to the series of events that had ended his minor-league career. During a closely contested game, his hotheaded reaction to a blatant intentional pitch at his head had him storming the mound and taking a swing at the pitcher. Both benches immediately emptied and there was a nasty brawl that was played endlessly on YouTube and reported on ESPN. Cam shifted in his seat at the memory. Hey, the damned pitcher had gone further than just a brushback. He had given him some serious chin music! What was he supposed to do? Stand there and take it? Most players would have done the same thing.

Cam sighed before taking a long swallow of his water. Okay . . . there was a bar fight that resulted in fifteen stitches in his hard head and landed him a night in jail. Oh, and a reckless-driving ticket. Cam ground his teeth at the thought. He hadn’t been driving recklessly. He could damned well handle a car at over one hundred miles an hour. He was merely speeding and didn’t need to have his license suspended!

Cam sighed once more. He was going to have to tread softly and keep a low profile. There was only one problem: No matter how hard he tried, trouble had a way of tracking him down. He popped another fry into his mouth and attempted to ignore the intoxicating scent of expensive perfume wafting his way, but when Mia’s thigh brushed against his, he sighed again, drawing her unwanted attention. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the distinct feeling that trouble was sitting right next to him, and so he tried to ignore her stare. It was a damned good thing she was just passing through town, because uppity or not, he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands off of her.

“What’s wrong?”

Cam was about to give her a flippant response, but the sincerity in her eyes stopped him cold. Since he couldn’t tell her that her body brushing against his was driving him nuts, he simply shrugged. “Nothin’.”

“That was a something-is-wrong sigh,” she persisted, and although she didn’t say it, she had I-know-the-feeling written all over her pretty face.

Cam nodded toward her mostly full plate. “Stop worrying about me and eat your lunch.” He meant his tone to be dismissive, but he really did want her to go back to enjoying her meal. Then again maybe he just wanted to hear her moan once more.

Not good,
Cam thought with an internal groan. Spoiled, rich women suckered him in and then spit him right back out. They always had a thing about his bad-boy image, and yet he was never good enough for mama and daddy. Of course, if he made it to the major leagues, they’d have no problem hanging his arm.

“Wait . . .” Her delicate blond eyebrows shot up. “You’re upset because I’m not eating enough?” She angled her head. “That’s so sweet,” she added and gave him a maybe-I-was-wrong-about-you look.

“Sweet?” Cam chuckled. “Believe me, there’s nothing sweet about me, Princess.” He nodded toward her plate. “Eat your lunch,” he added gruffly. The fact that she seemed genuinely concerned hit him in the gut. When was the last time anyone had cared? His deadbeat dad and his overworked mother never had. They both resented his very existence, but he sure bet that if he ever made it they would come running with their hands out. Lack of support and compassion from his parents was one of the things that had always driven Cam toward success. He wanted to show them he was worth something, dammit! Unfortunately, the huge chip on his shoulder also held him back. That was why he had to steer clear of anything that remotely resembled trouble, and it irritated him that Mia was getting to him. “It’s really none of my concern if you eat or not.”

Mia gave him a look beneath her lashes that suggested that she didn’t quite believe him and then sliced through her steak. She raised her fork into the air, showing him an almost normal bite. “Happy now?” She popped it into her mouth and smiled while she chewed.

Cam tried not to be drawn in by her smile. He wasn’t very successful but pretended otherwise. “Add a big bite of potatoes and I’ll go back to leaving you alone.”

“Good,” she responded firmly, but her smile faltered, and damned if it didn’t bother him! He needed to finish his burger and get the hell out of Wine and Diner. With that in mind Cam polished off his lunch in quick order and then motioned for Myra.

“Anything else I can get for you today?” Myra asked, and he swore she made a slight motion toward Mia. “Dessert maybe? I have some chocolate cake baked fresh this morning.”

“Sounds amazing, but no, thanks,” Cam replied. When Myra placed his bill in front of him, Mia reached over and snatched it up.

“Remember? I’ve got this,” she said in the firm tone that suggested that she was used to getting her way.

Well, not today,
Cam thought and shook his head.

“No, I insist,” Mia said and would not release the small slip of paper to him.

“Okay, Princess, whatever you say.” Cam finally relented when he realized that people were starting to watch the exchange with interest. He really did need to keep a low profile, and it sure wouldn’t hurt her pocketbook to pay for his lunch, so he folded his arms over his chest, which was still a bit damp. “I won’t argue.”

When Mia leaned down for her massive purse, he noticed just how petite she was and reminded himself that he went for tall, leggy women, but when her pale blond hair slipped over her shoulder and onto his leg, he suddenly wished he was wearing shorts instead of jeans so he could feel the silky texture on his bare skin. When his pants suddenly became tighter, Cam shifted on the stool and got a little irritated at her for causing a sexual reaction. Women were another thing he needed to keep away from if he wanted to stay focused on baseball.

Cam was eager to leave and head on over to the stadium for some batting practice. Even though it wasn’t mandatory, he wanted to show Coach McKenna that he was serious. Ty McKenna was known as Mr. Triple Threat during his pro baseball career because he could hurt a team with his bat, his arm, and his impossible diving catches. He appreciated hustle, and Cam was going to show it to him. With opening day right around the corner, he wanted to secure a starting position.

“Um . . . ,” Mia said, drawing his attention.

“Yeah?” Cam looked over and noticed her fumbling through her purse.

“I seemed to have left my money in my car. I’ll be right back,” she promised and slipped from the stool.

“Okay,” Cam replied but then glanced down at his watch and grimaced. He swiveled around to stop her, but she was already near the door and he didn’t want to shout. Cam took off his cap and shoved his fingers through his hair. He really did need to get going. He had to change clothes before batting practice started, and time was running out. The little fiasco created by Miss Money had made lunch last longer than he had anticipated. With that in mind, he motioned for Myra. “I need to pay for my lunch.”

“Thought that cute little minx was taking care of ya,” Myra said with a wink.