Curveball by Kate Angell Page B

fall.
    Dane ran his finger from her shoulder to her wrist. His voice was as smooth and practiced as his touch. “Take me home tonight.”
    “Tomorrow’s Opening Day. Shouldn’t you get some rest?”
    “I sleep three hours a night.”
    “I need six.”
    “I want you, Jen.”
    She wanted Chaser. Where was the man? How long did it take to sign four autographs? “I enjoyed our run, but I’m going to pass on the sleepover.”
    She began to step around him, only to find her path blocked. Displeasure scored Dane’s features. He turned ugly. She had no time to fight him. His strength trapped her between fiberglass and the force of his body. “No one passes on me.”
    His mouth clamped down on hers.
    She clenched her jaw, refusing his tongue.
    He jammed his thumb into her cheek, unrelenting in his determination to part her lips.
    She pushed at his chest, shifted her hips, drew up her knee—
    And was freed when Chaser’s fist missed her nose by a tenth of an inch and connected with Dane’s jaw. Dane’s head snapped back, and he staggered sideways.
    The heated scent of Dune and raw-edged anger struck her as Chaser grabbed Dane by the front of his sweatshirt. “Get the hell off her.”
    Dane’s head bobbed in a semblance of a nod. Tossing him aside, Chaser stepped back, allowing the younger man his escape. Jerking open his car door, Dane slid onto the bucket seat and pressed the locks. Cracking his window, he rubbed his jaw, got in the final word. “Jen’s a damn tease.She came onto me, then wouldn’t put out. I should have gone with the twins.”
    He keyed the ignition and the Vette rumbled to life. Floored, the car fishtailed across the parking lot, the taillights dots of disdain.
    In the ensuing silence, Jen slapped her palms against her thighs, stalling for time until she was forced to admit, “You were right. I was wrong. Dane Maxin’s a jerk.”
    “Did he hurt you? You’re bruised.” Chaser’s tone was one of concern as he smoothed Dane’s thumbprint from her cheek.
    “Mostly scared me.” She reached for his hand, ran her fingers over his skinned knuckles. “Major punch.” She’d never seen him so mad.
    “I’d always protect you.”
    “I’m glad you arrived when you did.”
    “Me too.” He flexed his ink-stained fingers. “I signed autographs for the group of women, then got cornered by a Little League Team near the water fountains. I broke someone’s pen in my hurry to find you.”
    “My choice of men is as poor as your choice in women.”
    “Dane wasn’t the right man for you.” He turned thoughtful. “From now on, if you want to go out, I’ll line you up. We can double-date. I know a few decent guys.”
    “As decent as you?”
    “I’m as horny as the next guy, Legs. I don’t, however, force sex. It’s always mutual.”
    Mutual. To be taken by a man who wanted heras badly as she wanted him. “I’ll leave the choice to you.”
    “My sports agent’s one hell of a nice guy.”
    She’d met Cal Winger. Balding, nervous eye twitch, winged eyebrows. His dealings with the Bat Pack had him working a sixty-hour week. Jen doubted he could fit her into his schedule. “A possibility,” she agreed.
    “Maybe Dan Carpenter from the sports clinic.”
    The physical therapist had worked on Chaser’s knee when he’d injured his meniscus, a minor cartilage tear between his femur and tibia. Dan was nice. Respectful. Close to her age. Yet there was no spark between them. “Someone to consider.”
    “You’ve choices, Jen. Don’t sell yourself short.”
    As they walked toward his GTO, she silently wondered if Chaser fell within her options. An outlandish thought, yet one that was oddly appealing. Their brief kiss had left her curious. Perhaps a second taste would satisfy her. Then she could move on to dating other men.
    One long, deep, moist kiss.
    With enough tongue to make a memory.

FOUR
    The reporter for Jocks magazine arrived fifteen minutes early for Psycho McMillan’s interview. An