“See those honeys over there?” Ace asked, wrapping an arm around my neck, strong-arming me into looking in their direction.
“Yeah.”
Where in the hell was he going with this?
“You can have any one of them. Ya know why?” He went on without giving me a chance to answer. “I’ll tell ya why. Cause you’re a starting pitcher for the best damn team in the league.” He mussed my hair and finally released me from his grip.
Trying not to act like a loser, I told him, “I have the only girl I need.”
Oh shit! Whitney!
The bottle of Jack was half empty, that was more than just one drink. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my phone – four missed calls and several texts. “I have to make a phone call,” I said, excusing myself from the table. Marty and Frank were arguing over who the better player was, Babe Ruth or Willie Mays.
No brainer, Babe Ruth for sure!
Ace had moved on from the blonde waitress to a tall brunette with legs that you could climb for days. “You’re not leaving?” Ace asked, gripping my arm as I walked by.
“No,” I assured him, jerking away. “I’ll be right back.”
I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, and with the loud music in the club, I didn’t hear my ringer. Dread clawed at my stomach as I dialed Whitney’s number. “Hey, babe!” I said, overly cheerful as she answered.
“Where are you?” she asked. God, it felt good to hear her voice. Even her pissed off worried voice.
“Some of the guys wanted me to have a drink with them here at Home Plate,” I explained, hoping my enthusiasm would be contagious, and she’d lighten up a little. “Ace Newman is on my team, babe, Ace motherfucking Newman!” My enthusiasm was met with silence from the other end. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m at your apartment,” she snapped. She wasn’t pleased.
“Our temporary apartment,” I corrected her. “So you found the key okay then?”
“Yes. But Calvin, I thought you’d be here.” Her voice was full of disappointment.
“Sorry, babe. Time just got away from me. It’s loud in the club and the excitement of my first practice just… I fucked up, babe.” I looked around, making sure no one witnessed me sounding like a pussy. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded for her forgiveness.
She exhaled loudly, and her voice shifted. I smiled into the phone, knowing I’d been forgiven.
“I’ve just missed you, Cal. I want to see you. Are you coming home soon?” Her tone was purring through the phone like a little kitten. Yes, I was coming home. I couldn’t wait to hold her in my arms, smell her perfume, and taste the sweetness of her nectar.
“I’ll tell them I’m leaving now. I love you,” I said, dropping my voice, arranging my jeans and the instant hard on she always gave me.
“I love you too.”
“Everything good?” Ace asked with a wink.
“Yeah, but I gotta take off,” I explained. “Whitney’s been waiting on me for a while.”
The brunette was on his lap, her arm around him, her head leaning on his shoulder. I glanced at his hand; it was just above knee level. I wondered if he had already given her a hand job or if he was just working up to it.
“No way, we were just getting ready for shots,” Ace argued and boosted the girl from his lap. “Baby, go get us five shots of Patrón.” He handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “One shot, then you can go.”
His smirk told me there was no getting out of this. Practice proved he could be a real hard ass, and the last thing I needed was to be on Ace Newman’s bad side. Besides, I’d just had my first ever practice as a professional major league baseball player. Didn’t I deserve a little celebration?
“One shot,” I agreed.
Two blondes, both wearing skirts so short and tight you could almost see their pussies, pushed their way through the crowd and towards our table. I had refused to sit down, knowing that Ace would convince me to stay longer if I did, so one grabbed me around the waist, sidling close behind me. Her hands slid across my abs and up to my chest.
“You’re the new pitcher. Calvin Malone, right?” she whispered against my shoulder. Her friend giggled and stared at Ace with batting eyelashes and pouty red lips.
“Yes,” I said, pulling her hands away from my body and turning to face her. She was beautiful. Young and tan with a pair of lips that looked capable of sucking the peel right off a banana.
“You’re much cuter than your picture,” she said, flirting in the same way her friend was with Ace.
Ace pulled the blonde onto his lap and began whispering something in her ear that made her giggle and blush. He was smooth, that was for sure. Women seemed to flock to him like bees to honey. The brunette returned with a tray of shots, setting them on the table. She glared at the blonde. If looks could kill, that girl would’ve been a goner for sure.
“There’s plenty of room,” Ace said smugly and patted his left knee. I was waiting for the brunette to sling a drink in his face, or at the very least tell him to fuck off, but no. She sat right down on his knee, smiled, and seemed happy enough to share his attention.
“To a fucking kickass season!” Ace shouted and held up one of the shot glasses. We each grabbed ours, repeated his chant, and downed the liquor. It was hot, my throat instantly swelling from the burn. My nostrils widened as I shuddered to push away the pain. Ace laughed. “I’ll turn you into a man yet, hot shot,” he boasted.
“Are you married?” the blonde asked, looking up at me through her mascaraed lashes. She was beside me now, her hands still roaming my chest and stomach.
“No, but I have a girlfriend,” I replied and took a step back.
She followed, moving so close her breasts pushed into my chest, her hands moving up to my shoulders. She lifted onto her toes. “No ring, then it’s not cheating,” she whispered in my ear.
I pried her off of me once again. “I’m not interested.”
I shot a look at Ace, who was now staring daggers through me. “You need to lighten up, hot shot,” he said, his lip curled in disgust. “These are your fans.”
“I just need to get home.” I set my glass down on the table and turned to leave. I almost bumped chests with a tall man with slicked back black hair. He wore an expensive designer suit, one that looked custom made, and smiled with a sincerity mixed with mischievousness that left me slightly intimidated.
“You mean you can’t stay and have a drink with the man who gave you this incredible opportunity?” He spoke with authority.
Shit, shit. Fucking shit.
Immediately, my palms began to sweat. I’d seen pictures of our owner, but never actually met him. “Rhett Hamilton,” he said, extending his hand to mine. His handshake was firm and as confident as his presence.
“Calvin Malone,” I said and felt immediately stupid. Of course he knew my damn name. “Glad to meet you, sir.”