Layover Rules

Chapter Fifteen



Alicia called late Saturday afternoon and said, “I really need your help. I’m short one person. This is the big retirement party I was telling you about. Don’t make me beg. I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t have to pay me.”

Working was the last thing I wanted to be doing on a Saturday night, but there was no way I could say no to Alicia. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to be working, it was also that I had bad memories of the last time I’d helped her on a job. That was the night I met Trevor at the art show.

“And,” I added, “you don’t have to beg. Actually, I’m begging you not to beg. I’ll do it.”

“It’ll be over by eleven at the latest, and afterwards, drinks are on me.”

Ugh. I didn’t want to even think about drinking again.



. . . . .



Her prediction was spot-on. By eleven we were walking into a club, having changed out of our black and white catering garb, and into clothes more suitable for going out.

There was no way I could drink again after last night, so I stuck with soda. I even managed to turn down a drink offer when two guys came up to us at the bar and started talking. Alicia made it very clear that we were here just to have drinks, but the two guys pressed on, until finally Alicia said, “Look, I don’t want to make a big scene here, but we’re on our first date.” She kissed my cheek and then gave them a big smile. They looked at me and I faked a smile. They left.

“You’re nuts,” I said.

“What? Those guys were douchebags. Plus, I’ve been meaning to tell you something…” She put her hand on my knee, leaned toward me with her mouth open and her tongue sticking out a little, a ridiculous sight if I ever saw one.

I laughed and she said, “I knew I’d get you to laugh tonight.”

We went to a table when one cleared out, and spent the next hour and a half or so people-watching and talking.

“You’re not going to tell Sam any of this?”

I shook my head. “I can’t. How do you bring that up? Should I say: ‘By the way, something I’ve been keeping from you is that I used to date a multi-millionaire alpha male who lost his sexual desire if I made the first move, and also he’s probably going to prison for a few decades after a trial that will include me as a major witness and all the news coverage will label me as his former lover, oh and also, he’s the one who ripped you off…so, hey, do you still want to date?’”

She shrugged. “You could give that a shot. Hey, wait a minute. You just said ‘date’.”

“So?”

“So, I thought you weren’t dating him. This was just a rebound friends with benefits thing.”

I sipped my Sprite and smirked. “Well, yeah, that’s all it is.”

“But you said ‘date’.”

“I know. Don’t make a big deal out of it. I just said the wrong word.”

Alicia leered at me, trying to read my face. Meanwhile, I was trying to read my own mind. Why had I said that? Was it really just a slip-up?

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

I shook my head slowly. “Believe what you want.”

“Oh, I will. Trust me. You’re feeling something for this guy.”

“Nope.”

I wasn’t lying, either. I really was telling her how I felt, which was: I felt nothing. Well, other than I liked the fun we had together and the sex was great. But developing feelings? Even minor ones? No way. This was the worst possible time to let something like that happen.

Alicia said, “I think you’re fooling yourself.”

When we were leaving, the two douchebags were still at the bar. We walked right past them and as we did, Alicia grabbed my hand and locked her fingers in mine.

“G’night, boys,” she said, blowing them a kiss.



. . . . .



Somehow, I had missed a call and two texts from Ross while Alicia and I were out, so I called him back on Sunday.

“I was calling to find out how the sexytime was going with Sam.”

I said, “Good. Actually, that part of it’s great. But I haven’t told him anything.”

“I still don’t think you need to.”

“Well, things have gotten more complicated,” I said, and filled him in on the FBI tracking me down, the meeting with the lawyer and the “interview” with the agent, and when I was finished it seemed so surreal it was almost like I’d just told him about somebody else’s life rather than my own.

“You should have called me,” he said. “Steven and I would have come as soon as we could to be with you.”

Just like Alicia had offered.

God, I loved my friends.

“I know you would have,” I said. “And I’ll take a rain check on that because there’s probably more to come.”

“Oh, no. I hope not. But you’ll let me know?”

My eyes got blurry. “Count on it.”

“Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Hi, Blair,” I heard Steven saying. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“So I wanted you to know that I’ve been reading that erotic romance novel you loaned Ross. I think someone should write one based on your experience, about what really happens when you chase the troubled rich-boy alphas. Or give in to their chase. It’s not like the books.”

“Alicia and I have had this talk a few times,” I said. “They’re just fantasy stories.”

Ross said, “I never thought they’d turn out as good as those books.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe I just picked the wrong guy.”

“From what I hear about Sam,” Steven said, “maybe now you have the right one. A real guy.”





. . . . .



I was leaving the office Monday around noon, planning to go down the street and pick up something for lunch, but was surprised when I got out on the sidewalk.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through my chest.

Sam was just standing there, actually leaning there, against a newspaper box. Hands in pockets, one foot crossed over the other, looking very casual but also very guilty.

“Sometimes I hang out here. Is this…” He pointed to the building. “Is this where you work? What a coincidence.” Sam grinned and walked toward me.

“You know damn well this is where I work.” I tried to keep the smile off my face but I couldn’t. “You’re stalking me.”

“Actually, I felt like I haven’t seen you in forever so I wanted to stop by and make sure you were still hot.” His gaze drifted down to my shoes, then back up, slowly, to my eyes. “And the answer is a resounding yes. Where are you headed? Want to grab a bite?”

I tilted my head a little and looked at him from the tops of my eyes. “Are you tempting me to break the rules?”

“I am.”

One lunch wouldn’t hurt.

We decided on a pizza place a few blocks down. I ordered a slice of white pizza and a Sprite Zero. Sam ordered a stromboli, loaded with everything except for anchovies, and a Heineken.

“I’m starving,” he said.

I looked at the size of order. “That thing’s huge. What is that, like, two meals? Three?”

He shook his head as he finished chewing, then said, “One.”

“I don’t know how you stay in such good shape with the way you eat. Wait. Don’t tell me. Baseball player. Must be steroids, right?”

He sipped his drink and said, “Yep. In fact, I called ahead and had them inject all this meat with growth hormone.”

“Gross.”

“Hey, you brought it up. And, by the way, most of us never touched banned substances, thank you very much. This is all natural.” He raised his arm and flexed it.

I grabbed his arm and said, “Put that down.”

“You should see me trying to get these guns past the TSA screeners.”

“At least you’re humble about your physique.”

“Speaking of TSA,” he said, “we’re going to St. Louis next.”

“We? The broadcast, you mean?”

“Yes.” He wiped his mouth, folded his napkin and put it on his lap. “And you.”

“How do you know I’ll go?”

He looked at me for a moment. “Oh, you’ll go.”



. . . . .



I arrived in St. Louis on Thursday morning. Sam had flown in the afternoon before so he could speak at a dinner for a group of St. Louis Cardinals All Stars.

He was waiting in the lobby of my hotel when I got there. I spotted him sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper.

“What’s that?” I said, walking up to him before he noticed me.

“What’s what?”

“That thing you’re holding. Big piece of paper that looks like it’s leaving ink smudge marks on your fingers.”

He stood. “Are you implying that I’m old-fashioned because I still read print newspapers?” He put it down on the table and I stepped close to him, looking almost straight up at his face.

“I guess I am.”

He kissed me, first a soft meeting of the lips, then a more aggressive one as he wrapped his arms around me and started to lift me off the ground.

I slapped his arm. “Not here. Let me get my stuff up to my room.”

He put me down. “I’ll help.” He reached for the handle on my luggage.

“No, let me drop it off.” I gave him a look, staring at his mouth, a look that said: I want you.

“Good idea,” he said. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think if we both go up, we might not come back down for the rest of the day.”

I kept my gaze trained on his eyes as I walked the first few steps away, then looked for the elevator. I stood there waiting for it to arrive, my back to the doors, watching Sam as he stood there staring back at me from across the lobby.

We were both right. It was better that he stayed far away from my room. The playfulness and the staring at each other reminded me that even though I did really like him, this was more about escapist lust than anything else.



. . . . .



Our first destination was the Delmar Loop, a collection of shops, restaurants, theaters, and music clubs. We started by checking out St. Louis’s very own Walk of Fame, featuring famous people from the city.

Sam got a map of all the names and the first star we went to was Yogi Berra’s.

“Tell me you know who this is,” he said.

“I’ve heard the name.”

Sam looked up at the sky, then back down at me. “Do you know anything about baseball?”

I smiled. “Nope.”

“This guy’s a legend. A New York legend, I might add. And you don’t even have to know anything about baseball to know who he is.”

“I guess that’s not really the case now, is it?”

He let his hands drop to his sides. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

He told me about Yogi Berra and I have to admit that I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. I focused on his enthusiasm. He talked like a kid who knew everything about this baseball legend, and I guess that’s what it was like for him. Even as a professional in the sport, Sam’s childlike love of the game and all of its rich history is what drove him.

Not lost on me was the fact that he was showing a side of himself in such an unapologetic, honest way—something no man had ever done with me before, especially Trevor. As unpleasant as it was to have a thought about my ex at a time like this, it only served to heighten the contrast between the two of them.

I had to force those thoughts away, though, banish them to the Siberia of my consciousness. I couldn’t…no, make that I didn’t want to think about Trevor, especially the damage he’d done to Sam’s financial well-being.

We found some names I recognized—Tina Turner and Chuck Berry among them. Sam asked me if I liked older movies just as I liked older music, and I admitted that I did, though the movies I liked were older than the music I listened to. That led to us locating Betty Grable’s star, and I told Sam about my favorite movie she was in, My Blue Heaven.

“How did you get so into the older stuff?”

“My grandmother,” I said. “She loved music and movies. She lived down the street from our house when I was little and I used to go down there every day in the summer and we would listen to music or watch a movie together.”

It made me long for my childhood, when things were fun and there was nothing to worry about, and only then did I realize that Sam and I were sharing a genuine emotional moment.

I didn’t want it to get too serious, though, so I grabbed his hand and pulled him along to look at other stars.

There were lots of baseball players’ names on the walkway, none of which I recognized.

“You and baseball. I give up. Let’s go,” he said, taking my hand.



. . . . .



We ate lunch on the 40th floor of a building, giving us an incredible view of the St. Louis Arch.

“Why so quiet?” I asked after we finished eating.

He had hardly said anything during the meal. There was lots of looking out the window at the skyline before us, and when we did talk, it was mostly about the food. He didn’t seem his usual self.

“Just relaxing,” he said.

But his words were betrayed by his facial expression. What was supposed to be a smile came across way too forced.

“I don’t believe you.”

He leaned back in his chair, body language that told me something was up.

“It’s personal,” he said. “And I don’t want to break your rules.”

“Our rules,” I reminded him. “But something’s up. Does it have to do with me?”

“It sounds like you’re giving me permission to break the rules.”

“Only temporarily.”

“Good enough. Let’s go for a walk.”

We left the restaurant and made our way to a waterfront park along the Mississippi.

“Another great view of the Arch,” I said. “But I guess you can see it from almost anywhere around here.”

Sam acknowledged my comment with a simple sound, almost just a grunt.

I stopped walking and turned toward him. He had taken a few steps, turned around, and looked at me.

“Out with it,” I said, smiling and trying to let him know it was okay. Though I’m not sure why. Curiosity, I guess. In retrospect, I wish I’d stuck to the rule. It was there for good reason.

“I’ve dated since Sandra,” he began. “And I won’t lie to you. There haven’t been lots of women, but enough to—”

“Fill the void. Sorry. Go ahead.”

He didn’t seem upset by my interruption.

“Not filling the void,” he said. “Well, maybe once or twice. The thing is, those…flings, I guess you could call them…never meant anything. Nothing serious, anyway. To be honest, they were groupies.”

“Like rock stars have.”

He nodded. “Athletes have them, too.”

“Huh. I had no idea.” It reminded me of just how much I’d dismissed athletes as potential boyfriends going back as far as I could remember.

More and more people were starting to walk by. Tourists, like us, but they were there for the sightseeing while Sam and I were having what appeared to be the start of a heart-to-heart conversation.

He took my hand and led me to a concrete bench out of the way of passersby.

When we secured a more private spot, he said, “You’re not a groupie, Blair. And you’re not fling material.”

I laughed lightly. “That’s the best compliment anyone ever gave me.”

Sam didn’t laugh. He was in a serious zone.

“Why did you want to come up with the rules?” he asked.

Suddenly, all the humor vanished from me, too.

I clasped my hands and squeezed, trying not to show my nervousness. “I thought you were fine with having lines we wouldn’t cross.”

“I was. But why did you feel the need to have the rules in the first place?”

I looked away from him, focusing my eyes on the ground. I was trying to figure out how much I wanted to tell him at this point.

He reached out and put his hand on mine. “There’s more to that long story, isn’t there? Something you didn’t tell me.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It just makes sense,” he said. “You don’t want anything serious, anything personal. Something happened, and it bothers me.”

“You shouldn’t be bothered by it.”

“Did he hurt you?” Sam asked.

When I told Sam it was okay to share something he was thinking—breaking the rules—I hadn’t planned on it turning into him digging into my past.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.”

“Not physically, anyway,” he said.

I pulled away from his hand. “Sam, please don’t ruin this.”

“This?”

“What we have going. It’s great. I look forward to seeing you because you’re great to be with, but also because there’s no pressure. You understand that, right?”

He nodded.

“Then why mess up a good thing?”

There was reservation in his eyes. I knew it wasn’t a good enough answer. But he managed a smile and said, “You’re right.”

When we were getting ready to leave, Sam told me there was an elevator that went all the way to the top of the Arch.

“I’ll wait for you at the bottom,” I said. “The Golden Gate Bridge was enough for a while.”



. . . . .



He rented a car, but wouldn’t tell me where we were going, though he couldn’t keep it a secret for very long. After all, a baseball stadium isn’t all that small.

Pulling into the parking area, he said, “This is Busch Stadium, home of the Cardinals.”

He had a press pass, so we got through security and took an elevator up to the broadcast booth. Opening the door, he said, “Step into my office.”

The huge glass windows framed a view that was nothing less than spectacular, even for someone like me who had absolutely zero interest in sports, let alone stadiums. It was a clear afternoon and half the field was in the shade, the other half awash in sunlight, making the brilliant green and perfectly manicured grass that much more impressive a sight.

We didn’t stay in the booth very long because Sam had something else planned. The elevator let us off on the ground floor and we walked through a tunnel that led to the field, where the team was practicing.

Sam walked me over to the area where guys were throwing ground balls to each other. The players knew who he was immediately, and they seemed a little awestruck. While Sam didn’t have the kind of fame that prevented him from walking down the street or taking the subway, given the attention he was getting from the team he sure was a superstar among the current players, all of whom undoubtedly aspired to have the kind of career he’d had. Barring the horrific injury, of course.

“Put this on,” Sam said, and I turned to look at what he was holding.

A Yankees baseball cap.

I took it when he handed it to me.

“I know you’re going to say it will mess up your hair, but—”

“I wasn’t going to say that. You think I’m too girly to put this hat on?”

He crossed his arms and turned to stand squarely in front of me. “I do.” I started to put it on my head, but he stopped me and said, “Pull your hair up in a ponytail.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

I gathered my hair together, got a hair-tie out of my pocket, and fixed the ponytail. “Better?”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Much. Now, this isn’t an official hat. The real ones don’t have this hole and strap in the back.”

“Oh, so I’m not good enough for the official hat. What do I have to do to get one? Some kind of secret handshake?”

He put on his own hat. An official one. “No, you can buy them anywhere. I got you that one because I think you’d look hot if you wore it with your ponytail coming out through the back. I mean, you’d look hot anyway, but I like this look.”

I put the hat on, pulling my hair through the hole in the back.

“Smokin’ hot,” he said. “You’re ready.”

“For…?”

He took my hand and led me over to the batting cage, where two players were practicing. The batter connected with every ball thrown his way, a few of them sailing over the pitcher, deep into the outfield.

“Hey, guys,” Sam called out to them.

They stopped what they were doing and came over to meet him. Sam introduced me by saying, “This is Blair, and I’m going to show her how it feels to strike out.”

They laughed.

I looked at Sam. “You don’t think I can hit your balls?”

The two players laughed even louder. One of them said, “Oh, shit!”

Sam looked at me as he rubbed a baseball with both hands. “It’s on.”

As we took our places, the entire team gathered around the perimeter of the batting cage. I was suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

One player yelled out, “She needs a helmet.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not going to throw fast, and I’ve got good aim. So she’d only need a helmet if she makes contact and it goes toward her head. All of these are going right past her. Watch.”

Another player said, “This is some of the best trash talking I’ve ever heard.”

Sam’s teasing made me more determined to hit at least one of his pitches. That’s all it would take to live up to the challenge he was laying down.

And it happened on the first pitch. Was it luck? Of course. But it was good enough for me.

I watched it sailing toward me, swung at just the right time, and the ball went right back to Sam, but just enough to his left to make it out of reach, and he missed.

The players were whooping and clapping. They loved it.

I put the bat down and walked away from home plate.

“What’s this? You’re done?” Sam asked.

I kept walking toward the edge of the batting cage, but turned to look over my shoulder. “We’re done. I don’t want to embarrass you any more.”

That got an even louder round of laughing and cheering.

I kept looking over my shoulder, eyes on Sam as I walked, and he laughed and shook his head.



. . . . .



It was almost six by the time we left the stadium, and we decided to get cleaned up before going to dinner.

We were staying in the same hotel this time, a first for us. When we got there I said, “Instead of taking two showers and meeting in a little while, maybe we should—”

“Conserve water,” he interrupted.

“Exactly. I mean, just for the environment.”

When the elevator reached my floor, Sam started to follow me into the hallway. I said, “Your room this time.”

He looked surprised.

We had always spent our time in my hotel rooms, but it wasn’t by design; it just happened that way. I wanted something different this time. Even though it was just a hotel room, going to his room would add a new excitement to our usual routine, something we probably needed.

I went to my room, picked out what I wanted to wear that night, and met Sam in his room. When I got there, the door latch was propping his door open slightly. I pushed it open and heard the shower.

“That’s not safe,” I said.

“You don’t like finding me in the shower?” he said, his voice seemingly floating along with the steam out from the bathroom door.

“I’m definitely surprised.” I walked to the other side of the room, so I could hide a surprise I’d brought along.

“Then it was worth the risk,” he called out from the shower. “Of course, if a hot hotel maid happened to walk in…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, stripping down and making my way back to the bathroom to join him.

The door to the shower was fogged up, and little droplets of water slid down the glass. I opened it to find Sam standing there, facing me. Sometimes I almost forgot how thrilling it was to have him naked.

I noticed a condom package on the soap dish attached to the wall.

“The hotel is providing these now?” I said.

He touched me for the first time, pulling our bodies closer together, one hand sliding down my stomach, and finally the tip of his finger slipping just barely inside me. “Nice of them, huh?”

“Very. Too bad we’re not doing that in here.”

He had lowered his head, going toward my neck, but when I said that it shot back up. “We’re not?”

I shook my head, hooked my arm around his neck, pulled him to my face and kissed him. “I have something else in mind.”

We finished washing each other, teasingly, a lot of kissing, and a lot of my hands exploring his body, and his hands all over—and occasionally his finger inside—me.

I turned off the water, and we toweled each other dry, then went out into the room. I walked just ahead of him, my hand reaching back, holding onto his erection, and I led the way over to the loveseat on the other side of the bed.

I guided him around me and he sat. I climbed up on his lap. “Close your eyes.”

He closed them, and I reached behind one of the pillows, retrieved the surprise I’d stashed away, and put it in place.

“Okay,” I said. “You can look now.”

He opened his eyes, then they shot open wider.

I turned my head to the side, so he could see the ponytail coming out the back of the hat. “You like?”

He reached up and stroked my hair. “I love it.”

It was a last minute idea as I was leaving my room to come up to his. He had mentioned earlier that he thought it was a hot look for a girl, so I thought I’d found out just how hot it was when that was all I was wearing.

I leaned my head down to kiss his ear. “One more thing. No bases. We’re going straight for a home run.”

I rolled the condom down his length, noticing that it seemed like a tighter fit this time. Must be the hat, I thought.

And with that, I shifted my hips until I felt him slip just inside me, then more movement as I held my breath and Sam’s hips started to move in rhythm with mine.

I didn’t want to waste time going slow, but I had to as we started. He felt…different. Sam wasn’t kidding about being turned on by girls in hats. The effect on his body of his heightened arousal proved it.

He had his hand flat on my back, holding me close to him, and I could feel him stroking my ponytail.

“The ponytail. The hat. So sexy,” he breathed. “Even though I’ve never been one for props in bed.”

“Oh, thank God!” I shouted, and rode faster….