The Hot Streak Page 11

  But she didn’t get any further than that in asking him what was really so distressed about Atlanta, as he pulled her into a passionate kiss. Her blood began to heat up immediately and she succumbed to it for a while before pushing him back. “You tease,” she said, voice hoarse. “I have to go straight from here to a plane back, you know.”

  “I know, but I just couldn’t help myself,” he said. Then he glanced at the clock and back at her. “Although… ”

  Vertigo swept through her. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That I could just hitch you right up onto the counter in the private bathroom here?” he asked as he walked her backwards into the room, “and fuck you right here?” He lifted her up, pushing her summery dress back, and pulling her hips against his own at the edge of the counter. “Bet I won’t even have to take your underwear off… ”

  She could feel his erection pressing against her and her own wetness welling up. “But you should,” she said, “or they’ll get all come-stained.”

  “All right.” He held her in place with his hands on her hips, but nuzzled at her stomach until he had caught the edge of her waistband with his teeth. He lowered her panties carefully until they were hooked around one of her ankles. “There we go.” He spread her legs gently, caressing up the insides of her thighs while she reached for the belt on his uniform.

  The uniform not only had a belt, it had multiple layers of pants, something kind of like long johns on under there, plus other things, but eventually with his help, she freed his cock. He slicked it with her juices, which were flowing freely, and slipped into her with a gasp. “God, Casey, this… ”

  “Yeah,” she said. She just seemed to want him more and more, which had a miraculous feel to her. She’d certainly never wanted someone so much she encouraged them to fuck her in a restroom. “God, you feel huge like this.”

  “Is it okay?”

  “Yes. More than okay,” she said. She squeezed him with her interior muscles. “Now, no dawdling. You’ve got a game to pitch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He started moving in her, keeping his hands wrapped around her ass. She slipped a hand between them to touch her own clit, and it wasn’t long before she was coming. She came a second time quickly thereafter, and Tyler pumped her full of his come a few seconds later. Yes, this no-condom business was certainly handy, she thought.

  He hurried out and she stayed in the restroom for a bit to clean herself up. When she emerged, her face was still quite flushed, but she was clean and her dress looked like she’d flown in it, but otherwise wasn’t discernibly mussed.

  At about twenty minutes before game time, a caterer came in and told her there wasn’t any food ordered for her box, but she was welcome to use the bar and restaurant on the luxury level if she wanted anything to eat. She ended up sitting at the bar where she could see the field perfectly well, and having dinner there during the game. Tyler pitched six innings and left with a six-run lead. She decided she should get back to the airport and beat the traffic. The driver Tyler had hired was waiting, just a cell phone call away, and she was on a plane back to Boston by ten, getting onto an even earlier flight than she’d originally been booked for. She was in bed by two, which meant she got a short but decent night’s sleep, and as it was, her boss sent them all home at two o’clock the next afternoon on Friday for “summer hours”— although it was actually that the computer network was down so they couldn’t get that much done anyway. She had an afternoon nap and then loaded ESPN.com while she was reading her personal e-mail at home and looking at flights to Chicago for the road trip there, knowing Kim would kill her if she missed that one. A tiny video window in the corner of her screen started to play a Sportcenter broadcast.

  She leaned closer as Tyler’s name was being mentioned, hitting the key to turn up the volume.

  “The Robins’ Tyler Hammond has pitched himself into consideration for a slot in the All-Star Game, and maybe even the Cy Young Award, with the win he picked up in Atlanta last night,” said a fresh-faced young anchorman. “It is his eighth straight win, and more importantly, he seems to be pitching better and better.”

  Tyler’s face appeared, standing in front of what looked like a closet with his uniforms hanging in it. “Yeah, well, it was good that I got lucky, you know? That first one when I got ejected, the bullpen really held on, and there were a couple of other squeakers, but now the offense is clicking, Campbell is fitting right in, and you know, that gives me more confidence. So I pitch better, and the team does better… it’s all coming together. You know?”

  Casey chuckled. He didn’t sound any different talking to a TV camera than he had to her dad the other night. She couldn’t wait to talk to him on the phone that night and tell him she’d seen his interview. Even better, she couldn’t wait for him to get home. His next start was on Tuesday, and Monday was an off day, so they’d get to have dinner and an evening together with no ballgame. And the team was in town for two weeks until the All-Star Break, so she’d get to see plenty of him for the next little while.

  * * * *

  It was a lovely two weeks, and the good thing about three straight starts at home was that Casey got to meet a lot of the other wives— and they were all wives, no girlfriends, which she thought odd— and get recipes from nearly all of them. With Missy’s help, soon she was getting a few e-mails per day with pieces for the cookbook, even one from Nakamura’s wife with some traditional Japanese dishes. Mitsuko had sent a whole story with it about her husband being superstitious about what he ate before a big game, and the next thing she knew, Casey was e-mailing back to a bunch of the other wives asking for similar personal stories, and it just kept growing and growing. She ended up coming to the ballpark on some days when Tyler didn’t even pitch.

  She found herself working on the cookbook a lot while at work, which was fine, since it looked like she was working on a legitimate project. All of a sudden, going to work was more fun than it had been in a while. The finished cook book went off to the printer just before the home stand was over.

  “So are you going to St. Pete for the All-Star Game?” Missy asked Casey one night at the ballpark as they headed up to the press dining room for some popcorn during a rain delay.

  “Not as far as I know,” Casey answered. “Tyler said he was picked, but because of the wonky ankle, he might not play. So he doesn’t need me there.”

  Missy made a face, wrinkling her nose and eyebrows. “The point wouldn’t be for you to watch him pitch the one measly inning he might do if they let him, but to go for all the hoopla and fun.”

  Casey shrugged. “I think we’ve got enough hoopla as it is. But I really can’t take the time off work since I’m supposed to go on that trip to Chicago right afterwards. My best friend from college is there now and she’s been after me to come visit.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll try to come on that trip, too. Unless John’s sick of me by then, since we’ll have just spent three straight days together during the All-Star Break.” Missy led the way to the door. “Travis!” She hugged him like she hadn’t seen him in a long time.

  “Missus Missy Madison,” he said back. “And Casey Hammond.”

  “Er, Branigan,” Casey said. “Don’t get ahead of me now, Trav.”

  “Oh, my. Well, I’m sorry, my mistake,” he stammered with a smile. “You know, we all just know you as Tyler’s girl now. You ladies go on in.”

  Casey felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled back. When they had settled down with some popcorn, she wondered if she should ask Missy more about Tyler. Neither of them had used the word “love” again since the trip to Philly, and Casey was content with that, though she couldn’t help but feel like maybe she ought to say something.

  Instead she turned the question to Missy. “Is it my imagination, or are all the other ‘wives and girlfriends’ actually all wives?”

  “Not your imagination,” Missy said. “Not only do most ballplayers marry young, but most of the women chasing them are chasing that r
ing. Well, and even if they aren’t, you know, each wants to be married to prove she isn’t just a fling. Plus, you know, if you’re away from your girlfriend half the year traveling… it’s just different if you’re married. Guys need to feel like what they’ve got waiting for them at home is really solid. And yeah, sure there are divorces and there’s cheating and all that, but… that doesn’t stop everyone from trying.”

  Casey nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “Ooh, here comes Ken. I want to pump him for information about this kid they’re supposedly calling up from the minors to take Polanco’s place.”

  “Which one’s Polanco?”

  “The backup catcher. The guy who catches on the days Doggy doesn’t. There’s rumors he’s on the skids and this kid could come up. The kid could end up taking the starting job if he’s good enough, though, so, you can see why I want to know.” Missy stood and made a beeline for the writer fixing himself a cup of coffee.

  Casey wasn’t much interested in that conversation; she knew Missy would fill her in on anything important later, anyway. She picked up the sports section that was lying there from that day just to see if there was anything interesting about the Robins in it. There was a lot about the All-Star Game, and yes, here was a little story, just a few column inches, about Tyler and Campbell being the only two Robins going to the game.

  Robins’ management has asked All-Star team manager Tony LaRussa to keep Hammond out of the game because of his recently tweaked ankle. Said LaRussa to reporters yesterday, “I wouldn’t want to mess with a guy’s eleven-game win streak or his health. I’m honored to have Tyler Hammond on my staff, but no, we won’t pitch him if the trainers want him to rest that ankle.”

  According to the Elias Sports Bureau, Hammond’s eleven-game win streak is more impressive even than it looks, and it looks pretty impressive. Normally a pitcher being credited with an eleven-game win streak would include some no-decisions. For Hammond to have actually earned eleven consecutive wins without any no-decisions is rare. The fact that he has been pitching deep into games, as well as the fact that the Robins bullpen has been strong, has helped his cause tremendously.

  Casey noticed the byline on the story: Ken’s. She got up and went to where Ken and Missy were standing by the coffee, waiting for a break in their conversation.

  They both looked up at her.

  “What’s a no-decision?” she asked.

  “Oh, well,” Ken said, “There are multiple pitchers in a game, right? For both teams. Only one of them can be said to be the ‘winner’ and one the ‘loser.’ So even if your team wins, only one pitcher is the winning pitcher and the rest of the guys on the team are given ‘no-decision.’”

  “Okay, that makes sense. I was just reading what you wrote about Tyler.”

  “Pretty neat, isn’t it? I hope the guys at Elias can figure out who holds the record for most consecutive winning decisions. If he keeps this up, it seems likely Tyler’s got a shot at it, though. The record for most wins without a loss within one season is nineteen, and that was with no-decisions mixed in. So without those? He has to be close.”

  “That’s… pretty neat.” Casey found herself grinning. “I’ll have to e-mail my dad and brother about that. Ever since we had dinner in Philly, they are huge Tyler Hammond fans”

  “I’ll e-mail you, too, if I find out anything more,” Ken said. “In case you don’t see the paper. ‘The Streak’ could become quite a story.”

  Chapter Eight

  The All-Star Game was always played on a Tuesday, Casey learned, and the All-Star Break was three full days, Monday through Wednesday, when no games in the Major League were played at all. Three days didn’t seem like much of a vacation to her, but the way people in baseball talked about it, after playing almost every day since the first of April, three days off in a row in mid-Julywas a huge relief.

  She took Friday off from work and flew to Chicago Thursday night, where Kim picked her up at the airport and took her out for a late night dinner and drinks.

  “So, you’re still seeing this ballplayer… ” Kim said, as they got their cocktails and looked out over the skyline of the city.

  “Yes. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the game? I can probably still get you a ticket.”

  “No, no, I’ll be bored. I’ll meet up with you after, though, so I can meet him. What time?”

  “Well, that’s the thing about baseball, you never know when the games are going to end.” Casey shrugged. You never knew how long a football game was going to last either, what with time outs and overtimes and such, but baseball in particular seemed like it could go on all night. “It’s a day game, though, so at least we won’t be dragging back to the hotel at midnight. Why don’t I call you when the game ends? Then give us an hour, hour and a half.”

  Kim sipped her cosmopolitan. “That must be hell on making dinner reservations.”

  Casey laughed. “Not really. When you’re on ESPN every night for some reason restaurants always find room for you. It’s… maybe the best perk about dating a ballplayer. I know that sounds really shallow, but… there you go. My parents were more impressed with his ability to get us a table than with his fastball.”

  “And what do they think of you going out with a celebrity?”

  Looking out the window instead of at her friend, Casey shrugged. “Who knows, really? My mom thought it was nice that I found someone I like better than my job, though. But she was like, ‘do you think you’ll still be going out at Christmas time? We want to go to Aruba. Should we plan for both of you?’”

  Kim laughed. “Well? Are you still going to be going out at Christmas time? You realize this guy is already past his expiration date.”

  Casey blinked. “What?”

  “Don’t you remember after you broke up with that guy Brad? Brent? Whatever the hell his name was, we were talking and you said they never last more than two months. That right at two months, your interest in a guy seems to just evaporate, like they go past their expiration date. Well, it’s been longer than that for you and Tyler Hammond, hasn’t it?”

  “Well… ” Casey had forgotten about that. With Tyler, the time just seemed to be flying by. “You’re right. Two months would have been like two weeks ago… ” And Tyler hadn’t expired. Not in the least. “He just seems really, really into me. And I’m really into him. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  “Do you have low expectations?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, a lot of these other guys, you were measuring them on a lot of points, like did they have a good job? Would they make a good husband? A good father? That kind of stuff,” Kim said. “You don’t really seem to be thinking about that with Tyler, so maybe you’re letting him be himself?”

  “Hmm, maybe.” Casey set her empty glass down, feeling the alcohol go to her head a little. “I mean, I went into it not even thinking we were having a date that first time, and things just kind of took off from there… are you saying maybe I let things grow because I didn’t weigh it down with expectations? And so it could thrive instead of die?”

  Kim set her own glass down. “I think that’s what you’re saying, and that’s what counts.”

  “Huh. Yeah, I guess so.” Casey smiled. “So I guess… I guess I should start admitting I’m in love with him.”

  “To him, you mean?” Kim asked.

  “To myself,” Casey said, leaning back in her chair and letting the booze swirl around in her brain. “Have to admit it to myself first. Seems pretty obvious, though, doesn’t it?”

  Kim laughed. “I’ll let you know what it looks like after dinner tomorrow, how’s that? But right now I’d say yeah, you are in it, and you are in deep, girl.”

  * * * *

  Casey spent the night at Kim’s, then checked into the hotel in the late morning, missing Tyler, who was already on his way to the ballpark with the team. She followed, taking the El train to the ballpark. Like in Boston, it was easy to tell where to get off, as the tra
in car became more and more crowded with people wearing baseball jerseys and hats, and they all got off the train en masse. Casey followed them to the park, found the window for her ticket and made her way into the park.

  Wrigley Field was old and very different from the gleaming new ballparks she was used to, like the ultra-modern Robins’ field and the luxury boxes in Atlanta. Everyone told her Wrigley was historic, and she felt a bit like she was visiting the Liberty Bell or some other landmark.

  Missy hadn’t come on this trip, and Shayna had but wasn’t at the ballpark today because, she had said, she wanted to do some shopping on the Magnificent Mile. So Casey found herself sitting with a couple of the wives she didn’t know as well, though they were friendly enough.

  It was still a thrill to see Tyler go out to the mound and do what he did best. She knew athletes didn’t consider themselves at all similar to performing artists, but she couldn’t help the comparison. Watching him pitch felt to her like watching a musician or a dancer perform. If she’d been dating Mikhail Baryshnikov, or the lead singer of some rock band, wouldn’t she feel like this? She was still uncomfortable with the idea of groupies, but the fact remained that it took a special figure to inspire that kind of devotion.

  And he’s mine, all mine, she thought, laughing to herself. And he knows just how very special that is. He struck out a batter and she found herself clapping— quietly, since most of the hometown crowd was booing.

  In the third inning, a man slipped into the empty chair to her left. He was slightly balding, wearing a yellow polo shirt, and carrying a clipboard, which seemed odd. Every now and then he would make a notation on it, but mostly his eyes were on the field.

  Tyler struck out two more in the third and the man whistled. “Ham is dealing,” he said, more or less to himself, but partly in Casey’s direction.