The Jock (24 page)

Gwenyth's
breath caught in her throat. She searched her husband's eyes and found nothing
but honesty and earnestness there. How could she not believe him? She'd been
certain of Sam's feelings for her since the day they'd spoken their vows in Las
Vegas. Maybe even before that. Her self-confidence might have wavered a time or
two, but deep down she'd always known that Sam cared her. And if her husband
was now able to admit to love, then she must be doing something right as his
wife. Apparently he had finally figured out that her love was unconditional.

Gwenyth
clutched Sam's chin in between both hands and smiled tremulously at him.
"I believe you. And I love you too, Sam Trevianni. From the age of five
until the day I die, I love you."

"Oh,
sweetheart."

"Yes,
Sam?" Gwenyth gazed into his eyes. She sensed that Sam had more to say and
found herself unwilling to wait to hear it. She wanted to know everything he
felt, to relish hearing the words, to—

"I've
got a big-time hard-on," he rasped.

Gwenyth
blinked, her smile faltering somewhat. "Y-You
what
?"

Sam
pressed his wife's hands against his erection and groaned. "All this love
talk is makin' me hot, Cupcake."

Gwenyth's
jaw went slack. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, she opted
for the former. Throwing her head back, Gwenyth laughed harder and more merrily
than she'd laughed in a long time.

"What
the hell is so funny?!"

"Nothing."
Gwenyth shook her head and giggled as she wiped tears of laughter from her
eyes. "Nothing at all." She kissed her husband on the jaw, a gigantic
smooching sound left in its wake. "Come down here on the sleeping bag,
Sam. All this love talk is getting me hot too."

Sam
didn't need to be asked twice when it came to making love with his wife—one of
his finer points as a husband, he was always telling Gwen. Within a minute, he
had them both naked and panting. Seconds later, he thrust forward, sheathing
himself fully into his wife's heat with one velvet plunge. "Mmm baby, I
love this pussy."

Sam
rode Gwenyth's body lovingly, each stroke and rotation of his hips designed to
make her wild. He succeeded admirably. When she arched her back and screamed
her exultation to the rafters of their new home, Sam followed quickly on her
heels; he threw his head back and depleted himself into her body.

With
a satisfied growl, Sam heaved his heavy body from off of his wife's and flopped
onto the sleeping bag beside her. Pulling her toward him, he burrowed Gwenyth
into the cradle of his arm and sighed happily.

Sam
smiled up at the ceiling. This love business was pretty damn cool.

Nothing
on earth could have made Gwenyth happier than hearing Sam say I love you. She
constantly reminded herself of that fact over the next few weeks, as his style
of loving made him more fiercely protective than normal. Normal, she thought
grimly, was pretty bad unto itself. More than normal, therefore, was downright
suffocating the life out of her.

Added
into the equation was the fact that she was pregnant. To hear Sam tell it, or
to see the way he treated her, one would mistakenly believe that Gwenyth Jones
Trevianni was the first woman in history to carry a baby. Every time she turned
around the man was shoving vitamins down her throat or taking her
temperature—she had no idea why he did that—or making her lie down so he could
read books about ancient Egypt to her womb. She could only hope the baby wasn't
as bored as she was.

It
was bad enough when Sam acted up at home, but when he started in with his
antics while they were on location for
Jones & Jones
, specifically
during the cataloguing of the "Touch Me" line in Aix-en-Provence,
Gwenyth was livid. How could she expect anyone to take her role as a
professional photographer seriously if her coddling husband was always trailing
behind her, treating her like a china doll? "Take your vitamins, Cupcake,"
he would nag at her in front of others. Or, "don't forget to guzzle down
that water. Clean urine is happy urine, I always say."

And
then there was the time that Sam had shown copies of her ultrasound pictures to
everybody on the set. Gwenyth still shuttered at the memory. Her husband had
actually discussed her placenta and amniotic fluid with virtual strangers.

Worse
yet, Sam had pointed out a tiny little protrusion on the baby's photographic
image that he had insisted was a sign his son would be as well-endowed as his
father. Red-faced, Gwenyth had reminded him that Dr. DuBois wouldn't be able to
determine the baby's gender for another couple of weeks. Sam had waved away her
comment insisting that a father knows more than a mere doctor. Luckily, a few
men on the set had agreed with him, including Gwenyth's employer, an arrogant
French entrepreneur who was known in the world of fashion as Martel. Whether
that was his first name or last, no one was certain.

Verlene
had found the situation with Sam genuinely amusing, to which Gwenyth had
gritted her teeth. She had done so much teeth grinding as of late that she once
swore to Grandmama that her incisors would soon be dwindled down to nubs.
Verlene had simply patted her on the back and assured her that all expectant fathers
who cared for their wives behaved as Sam did.

Expectant
mother or not, Gwenyth was overcome with relief when the "Touch Me"
shoot was over and they were free to go back home. She couldn't recall another
moment in recent history when she had experienced such a feeling of gratitude
as when the plane finally landed and they were safely ensconced back on
American soil—where her overbearing husband could only humiliate her to a
certain degree. Even the fact that Sam had insisted the flight attendants listen
to the baby's heartbeat with the stethoscope he carried around everywhere they
went dimmed in its magnitude at the joy of being back in

Florida.

Gwenyth
could deal with Sam on her own turf. Besides, the citizens of Hyde Park were
already quite used to her husband's shenanigans. None of her neighbors so much
as batted an eyelash when he preached about happy urine or discussed amniotic
fluid with them. Talk about being jaded.

The
following day, Gwenyth perused the non-perishable food items on the shelves as
she pushed the shopping cart down the grocery store aisle. Sam was accompanying
her—as usual—and he was at it again, wearing on her already raw nerves—as
usual. She rolled her eyes mentally. And to think she actually had another five
months of this to look forward to.

Gwenyth
was counting the days until spring training began so Sam would ease up on her a
bit. Not having anything to do with the daylight hours besides tag along behind
her was turning her husband into a damned nuisance.

"Look
at this honey," Sam enthused as he raced to catch up with her, "these
jars of baby food are on sale, eight for four dollars."

Gwenyth
quirked an eyebrow. She was only four months pregnant. What in the world did
they need jars of baby food for? She was about to tell Sam as much when she
paid closer attention to his expression and realized how excited he truly was.
It would only be cruel of her to say anything that would rain on his
daddy-to-be parade. "Good work, sweetheart. I'm sure the baby will love
it." Gwenyth smiled at the look of delight on Sam's face. Inwardly, she
sighed. It was simply impossible to stay angry with the man.

"So,"
Gwenyth asked in what she hoped was a mildly curious tone, "when does
spring training begin?"

"What,
honey?" Sam threw a rubber ducky into the cart. "Oh spring
trainin'?" He shrugged. "A couple of weeks."

Gwenyth's
muscles relaxed. There was an end in sight.

"I
sure am gonna miss bein' with you all day long, Gwenyth Marie." Sam bent
down and kissed his wife on the lips. "I love you so much, Cupcake."

Guilty
feelings immediately ensued. Here her husband was telling her how much he was
going to miss her and she was mentally checking off the days until he'd leave
her in peace.

"Tomorrow,
I want us to go enroll Junior into that fancy-shmanzy preschool that teaches
kids how to speak Japanese before they're three. It's never to soon to think
about our baby's education, Gwen."

On
the other hand, what was there to feel guilty about? Grinding her teeth,
Gwenyth regarded her husband. "Sam, don't you think it's a bit early to
start worrying over things like that?"

"Nope."

"Well,
perhaps I don't want our child to speak Japanese!"

"What's
wrong with speakin' Japanese?"

Gwenyth's
face colored when an old acquaintance pushed his shopping cart by during the pique
of their argument. Terry Yokomoto raised his brows but said nothing. Gwenyth
inclined her head. "Hi Terry."

"Hi
Gwen."

Furious,
Gwenyth swung around and turned on Sam faster than a rabid dog. "Can you
please keep your voice down!" she whispered vehemently, making certain
Terry was well out of hearing range. "I am so embarrassed! I'll never be
able to face Terry again! He probably thinks I'm prejudiced!"

Sam
crossed his arms over his chest and eyed his wife contentiously. "Perhaps
you are."

"What?!"

"Perhaps
you are prejudiced." Sam splayed his hands at his sides. "I can't see
any other reason why you'd be so dead set against Junior speakin' Japanese.
It's a fine language. A little twangy, but as a southern woman, that shouldn't
be too difficult to get used to."

Gwenyth's
nostrils flared to wicked proportions.
"I. Have. Nothing. Against.
Speaking. Japanese."

"Baby,
why is your face all red?" Sam clapped the back of his hand to his wife's
forehead to check for fever. "And you're bitin' your tongue. Good lord,
there's a tic in your cheek. What's wrong, Cupcake?"

What's
wrong? What's wrong? Where do I begin?!

Simply
overwhelmed, Gwenyth drew in a ragged breath and exhaled it slowly. She could
tell her husband that he was getting on her nerves. She could tell him to go
away and leave her alone. But when she gazed into those true blue eyes and saw
the love for her and their unborn baby burning so intensely there, she knew she
had to continue to bite her tongue and say nothing. Gwenyth could only pray
that her tongue wasn't half gnawed off by the time spring training began.
"I, uh, forgot to take my vitamins this morning."

Sam
clucked his tongue. He shook his head back and forth disapprovingly.
"Gwenyth Marie, how will you get along when I'm out practicin' on the
field all day and can't be here to make sure you do what's right by our
child?"

Gwenyth
ground her teeth together. She could almost hear enamel grating against enamel.
"I'm not certain."

Sam
placed eight more jars of baby food into the grocery cart. "Luckily for
you, Gwen honey, I'll be here to keep you in the habit of takin' your vitamins
and whatnot for the next two weeks."

"Oh
joy."

"What
was that?"

"I
said oh joy, as in, what a relief."

Sam
scratched his chin as he considered that. "You're lucky as I don't know
what to have a husband like me, Gwen."

"I
thank my lucky stars every night."

* * * * *

Though
she had begun to fear the time would never arrive, spring training eventually
came to Tampa Bay. The Yankees practiced at Legends Field in Tampa and the
Crusaders did their thing just across the bridge in St. Petersburg. The only
team Gwenyth cared about, however, was the Crusaders, because it meant that her
husband was out of her hair several hours every day. Oh she loved Sam, couldn't
live without him and wouldn't want to try, but now she understood why spouses
never worked together. They'd all be divorced within the year.

Spring
training also meant the return of Brian Goodman to Florida. A fact that didn't
go unnoticed by Candy. Gwenyth's best friend always made certain they were
never alone together in the same room. And poor Brian was as flustered as he
could be over it. He knew Candy was attracted to him, but try as he might,
Brian simply couldn't penetrate her prickly defenses.

But
then he got smart. It didn't take Brian long at all to figure out that, with
Candy, jealousy would work where reason would not. His first major move came
about one night when the four of them plus Marc went out to eat at a local bar
and grille that specialized in seafood entrees.

"Will
you just look at the way those bimbos are hanging all over him?" Candy
hissed.

Gwenyth
pretended she hadn't noticed. Smiling to herself, she looked up at the bar
where Brian was standing with two drop-dead gorgeous blondes attached to either
hip. Sam and Marc were standing not too far away from him, embroiled in
conversation with the grille's owner. No doubt they were getting some tips for
their future restaurant endeavor.

Gwenyth
winked at Brian. He smiled back slyly. "He is a very attractive man, Can.
What do you expect?"

"You
find him attractive?" Candy squeaked out. She pretended to brush a speck
of lint off of her sweater. "I suppose he is—for a macho jock, but to be
perfectly honest, I hadn't really noticed."