“So, how you like being a Beast?” Jake asked.
He was goofy, maybe just because he was so nice. I wasn’t sure what to make of him yet, but he wasn’t my usual cup of tea. “It’s not too bad.”
“At least you got to stay in your hometown,” Kane said, kicking back his chair onto two legs.
“True.”
“I miss California so fuckin’ bad,” he said, his lips rolling down into a frown as he spoke.
“What’s so great about California?” Jake asked.
Everyone at the table looked at him with surprise. I knew some of them were thinking women in bikinis or that it was so warm and pretty all year round, but not me. I was thinking about rock climbing, cliff diving, sky diving, scuba excursions with the sharks, and all the other excitement the state offered.
“Surfing,” Kane said with a smile.
I didn’t see a surfer when I looked at Kane Steele. His body was ripped, so he could probably handle a wave. His dark, thick hair was perfectly groomed, his demeanor more uptight—and without being too judgmental—his vocabulary more rounded than what I’d assumed a surfer’s to be. I hadn’t heard him say dude or gnarly once. He didn’t look like the typical surfer from California.
The bartender finally made her way to our table, taking orders as fast as we could spit them out. “Just bring us four pitchers,” Luke spoke up, easing the stress on the bartender’s leathered face.
“She’s kinda hot,” Luke said, licking his lips as she walked away.
I tried not to make a face, but it was hard not to. Her saggy ass was squeezing out of the top of her jeans, and she would have been pretty without so much makeup, or if she’d washed her hair.
“Seriously?” Kane asked and laughed so loud it echoed through the bar.
Ace was sipping on a soda. Not a beer, not tequila, but a soda. I admired him for that. I wished my brother could battle his demons the way Ace had done. My younger brother was always trouble. I was eight when Marcus was born, so by the time he started getting into real trouble, like getting drunk at thirteen, smoking pot, and experimenting with heavier drugs, I was already in the minors, fighting my way to where I was now. Well, where I had been with the Mets. Here, this is just where I'd landed until I'd proved I could follow the rules. Or didn’t get caught not following them.
Everyone was having a great time, listening to the jukebox, talking about nothing, and pretending they weren’t here to work their asses off for a moment. It was nice. I was glad Ace had convinced me to come. Otherwise I would have missed out on finding out that Jake once got beat up by a girl, or that Kane was once a child model. I loved hearing all the stories about Ace, and even some of them with Calvin involved. I could see where Calvin had gotten caught up with him and even felt somewhat empathetic about how he’d almost lost Whitney because of it. Somewhat.
The band was setting up on the tiny stage in the corner of the bar when Katrina walked in. I followed her with my eyes as she found a seat at the bar, organized her electronics and folders in front of her, and put in an order with the bartender. I was curious if she’d ordered a real drink, or if she was keeping it professional by drinking water, coffee, or some other drink no one should ever order in a bar.
She was trying to be discreet, but I noticed her checking me out over her shoulder. Those eyes of hers were dangerous, seductive, and so very elusive.
I slid out of my seat, moved toward her, and worked hard at keeping my dick under control as she turned to look at me with those amazing green eyes. “You come here often?” I asked with my cheesiest tone.
She laughed. Damn, I loved that smile.
“I try not to.”
“So, what are you doing here?” I asked as the bartender handed her a glass of water with a lemon wedge floating in it.
“Babysitting,” she smirked.
“Of course. Well, you should know, I’ve been a real bad boy.”
Her eyes narrowed, her lips curled. I could see a hint of excitement rushing through her. “Have you now?”
I nodded.
“And what have you done?” she asked.
“Drink a beer with me, and I’ll tell ya.”
“No, thanks,” she declined but still smiled.
My dick twitched as she brushed the loose curl that fell from her bun and dangled at her cheek. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. As long as you’re here to watch me now.”
I took the seat beside her, ordered two beers, and then slid one to her. She pushed it back toward me, her pink fingernails clinking against the glass. “If you don’t drink it, then I have to.”
“Uh huh. Guess so.”
“But, what if I get drunk?” I teased.
“I’m sure it wouldn’t be your first time.”
The jukebox started to play a country song, one I didn’t recognize. The beat was fast and fun. My eyes watched Katrina’s foot start to tap on the rung of her bar stool.
“You want to dance?” I asked.
She shook her head. Her cheeks brightened to a beautiful pink color. She looked over her shoulder at the other players. I knew she was concerned about what they were thinking. I didn’t care. They were drinking, laughing, and having a good time. Hell, they were probably relieved that I was keeping the babysitter occupied.
“No one’s watching us,” I insisted.
Her demeanor and anxiousness made me wonder if she’d ever even been inside a bar before. “You don’t like it here?” I asked.
“It’s just highly unorthodox. I’m a little out of my element,” she admitted.
A little? Hell, it was obvious she was way out of her element.
“You’re a very beautiful but complicated woman, Katrina Delaney,” I said while watching for her reaction. A faint smile formed on her face, and her cheeks turned a warm pink.
“I’m here to work,” she murmured, not overly convincing to me or herself, I presumed.
“You can still have fun. What’s the point of work if you don’t enjoy it?” She seemed to loosen up a bit. “I won’t tell,” I insisted.
Her eyes narrowed as she turned to look at me, and her lips lifted into a crooked smile. Wow, was she calling me out?
I held out my hands. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“I’ve learned most baseball players are liars,” she said calmly.
“Not all. What about your dad?” I asked with a smile.
Sadness washed over her face for a second. She quickly smiled, removing any trace of dismay from her expression, but I saw it. It was there. What was that about?
“You’re right. Dad is amazing,” she declared.
“Well?” I asked, extending my hand to hers.
She shook her head. Damn, this girl was tough. I loved it.
“You’re no angel,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Nope. I’m a Beast. What does that have to do with a dance?” I laughed.
She made me nervous. Something about her made me want to try harder to be good. I wanted her to see I was a good man, not a cocky baseball player, the daredevil that the tabloids portrayed, but a good man.
“I know about you and Whitney.”