Boys Of Summer: Sliding Home / Fever Pitch / The Sweet Spot. Leslie Kelly
Very tightly…and very impressive.
Gulping, she reminded herself to breathe. Not stare. And lap leering is out.
The man was laughing at something Edgar said, a low sound that warmed her from a few feet away. His amusement brought out two deep dimples in his cheeks. Recognizable dimples. Suddenly shaken out of her lap-induced dementia, Janie realized whom she was staring at. “Oh God.”
It was Riley Kelleher, aka Riley the Rocket, aka the sexy, studly star pitcher who played for the Louisville Slammers and owned the heart of the city. Not just the women’s hearts, either—all the fans adored him. The man was often called the soul of the team, with everyone taking pride in his prowess and his love of the game.
She’d seen his picture in the paper—especially a few years ago when he was going through a divorce that had shocked even the most jaded sports fan—but he was so much better-looking in person that she simply hadn’t recognized him. But there was no doubt that one of the most sought-after bachelors—and talked-about playboys—in baseball was chatting up her elderly grandma.
“Janie! Here you are,” Mr. Smith said as he spotted her.
Wishing she’d turned around and walked away, Janie trudged closer to the old man who said, “Isn’t this a nice surprise? My grandson’s come to visit. I’ve been wanting you two to meet.”
Grandson. Janie’s breath escaped her lungs in one giant gush. Good grief, no wonder Mr. Smith knew so much about baseball—his grandson was one of the stars of the sport.
Though Janie’s dislike of baseball—and playboy baseball players, no matter how gorgeous—was matched only by her dislike of going to the dentist, she managed a weak smile. “Hi.”
The pitcher, whose reputation as a stud off the field was as well known as his abilities on it, slowly tilted his head back and looked up at her. Janie shifted from foot to foot and clenched her hands together like a starstruck teenager in front of a member of some boy band. Which was so not her, considering she didn’t hold sports figures up as heroes.
But being honest, it wasn’t his status that had twisted her tongue into an incoherent knot in her mouth. It was his looks.
“So you’re little Janie.”
She stiffened. At five foot four, she’d heard her share of petite/little/diminutive comments. “I’m just Janie,” she snapped.
He rose slowly, his muscular body moving with innate grace. When standing, he was only a head taller than she, probably of average height. Not too tall for her. Perfect, in fact.
Forget about it, he’s perfectly out of the question!
He extended his hand. “Gramps has told me a lot about you, Just Janie.”
“Funny, he never mentioned your name at all.”
“Well, Riley likes to keep a low profile,” Mr. Smith said.
The low-profile sex god was still standing there with his hand out, so Janie lifted hers, forgetting the book.
If fate had been kind, the manual wouldn’t have fallen to the ground. If it had been at least decent, Sex For The Ages wouldn’t have landed faceup at Riley Kelleher’s feet. And if it had any heart at all, the man wouldn’t have been able to read.
But fate screwed her again. Because as Riley bent over to pick up the book she’d dropped, he began to chuckle.
Oh, God, just let me die now.
She didn’t know which was worse: him thinking she was the one reading the sex manual, or finding out her grandmother was.
“Uh, yours, I believe?” he said, his voice not disguising his laughter. He held the book out to her. “Interesting reading for a Sunday afternoon at the old folks’ home.”
Oh, great, now he’d done it. Before Janie could warn him of the fire he’d brought down on his head, Grandma Anne was on him. “Who’re you calling old folks?” she asked as she struggled to her feet and grabbed the book. She wobbled on her pale, skinny legs, revealed by a pair of pink shorts that hung to her knobby knees.
“You pushed one of her hot buttons,” Janie murmured, almost feeling sorry for the ballplayer, who suddenly looked sheepish.
“My apologies, ma’am. I mean, the retirement home.”
“Community for the enlightened years,” she snapped.
To give him credit, Riley didn’t laugh at Grandma’s haughty tone. Instead, he replied, “That’s a perfect description.”
Grandma Anne jerked her thumb toward her own frail chest and poked herself with it. “I came up with it myself.” The power of her own thrust almost knocked her off her feet. Fortunately, Mr. Smith had slowly followed her up and was there to support her.
Not that a strong breeze wouldn’t have blown him over, too.
Janie couldn’t help it. She started to giggle, lifting her hand to cover her mouth so Grandma Anne wouldn’t see.
“I think I’ll take Annie to her room now,” Mr. Smith said, frowning at his grandson. “She’s had enough of an upset.”
Saying goodbye to her grandmother and kissing her smooth, delicate cheek, Janie watched as Mr. Superstar suffered under his grandfather’s glare. When the older couple had gone, he said, “Has she got a problem with being old, or what?”
“Or what,” Janie said dryly. “She has no problem being old. She has a problem with anyone telling her she’s old.”
“Like it doesn’t exist if nobody says it aloud?”
“Kind of.”
“Sounds superstitious. Bet she’s a baseball fan.”
“Are they superstitious?”
“Not as much as the players,” he said with a lopsided grin.
His grandfather hadn’t introduced him as a famous baseball player, but Riley obviously expected her to recognize him. She didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Including you, Mr. Kelleher?”
He nodded. “I’ve been known to wear the same socks for ten games when I’m on a streak.”
Janie wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”
Laughing, he crossed his arms. “I have a washing machine.”
With a challenging lift of her brow, Janie retorted, “Even when you’re on the road?”
“There’s always somebody to wash the uniforms on the road.”
Her smile faded. Though she knew he almost certainly meant the Slammers had staff to care for the uniforms, she couldn’t help thinking of all the other people dying to help the players on the road. Help them into the nearest bed, most likely. That was supposedly what had caused his nasty divorce.
She fell silent, wondering why he was still standing here talking to her when she was so not his type. He said nothing, either, watching her watch him, so Janie took a moment to notice the little things. Like the tiny curls of gold-tipped hair at the nape of his neck. The small lines beside his mouth that said he smiled a lot. And, oh, the way he smelled.
She loved man smell. Not heavy cologne, but that strong, musky scent that seemed to emanate from a hard, masculine body. Especially when it was aroused. Wow, would she like to smell this man when he was aroused.
Keep your nose to yourself, girl. Swallowing hard, Janie took a step back. This guy was completely out of her league. He had groupies, actresses and beauties after him all the time and would most assuredly not appreciate a social worker who was not in the least seductive sniffing him up.
He suddenly chuckled, as if remembering something. “She took it with her…so the spunky old lady was reading the sex book?”
“To your grandfather,”