Stopping Short: A Hot Baseball Romance by Mindy Klasky Page A

small talk as he threaded his way through Coral Crest. It didn’t take him long to get to Banner’s; the seafood house was right on the beach. Despite the February chill, every table on the deck was filled. That was just as well; he wanted to hide inside. He didn’t feel like being on display. He certainly didn’t want to chat with anyone who stopped by, didn’t want to sign autographs, didn’t want to work on boosting his goddamn Charisma Index.
    He didn’t want to do anything but eat some dinner, drink some beer, and get back to the peace and quiet of his own hotel room.
    ~~~
    Dinner was the longest hour and a half of Jessica’s life.
    She tried to ask about Drew’s day while they studied the menus, but he answered with monosyllabic grunts. She tried to tell him about the spa, about how she’d really enjoyed being pampered and cared for, but she could have been talking to a wall. She tried to chat about the weather, about how she still wasn’t used to the chill at night, after the sun went down, after fog rose off the ocean, but he merely raised his hand and ordered another beer, barely remembering to ask if she wanted a second Ketel One martini. She took the alcohol, because she didn’t have anything else to do.
    By the time the waitress handed them the short dessert menu, Jessica was ready to cash in her chips. Enough small talk. Enough banter. She barely glanced at the choices, just asked for a cup of decaf. Drew ordered a slice of key lime pie with a defiance that made her think of a two-year-old trying to put off his own inevitable bedtime.
    “So,” she said, after she’d sipped from her coffee and he’s stabbed a mammoth bite of light yellow pie. “We should talk about the Competence Index.”
    He swallowed without chewing. “Screw your Competence Index.”
    She felt the blood drain from her face. “Excuse me?”
    “I’m not your goddamn circus pony. You can’t make me dance on command.”
    She consciously told herself to stop fiddling with the spoon their helpful waitress had brought so she could sample Drew’s dessert. “I never meant to imply—”
    “I should have pushed for Rule Five when I had a chance,” he said. “No lying. Better late than never.” He shoved another massive bite of pie into his mouth.
    She chose her next words very carefully. “Did I do something to offend you?”
    “This one’s all on me, sweetheart.”
    He must have seen her surprise at the endearment. “That’s right,” he said. “Rule Three blown to hell. You and your goddamn rules aren’t going to make anything happen if I don’t hold up my end of the bargain.”
    She asked, “What happened out there today?”
    “I was a one-man disaster zone. Three errors, no hits, pulled in the third.”
    “Anyone can have a bad day—”
    “Not me. Not this year. Isn’t that the whole reason you’re here? I can’t afford to have a bad day. I can’t afford to take a single misstep, or I blow my next contract negotiation. Mark Williamson’s out the big bucks, and you and your goddamn firm don’t see the big payday you’re obviously hoping for.”
    “That’s not fair,” she said. “Our strategy is designed to benefit you .”
    “Who’s your client, babycakes?”
    She shifted uncomfortably. “If you disagree with our strategy, we can always discuss some changes.”
    “That’s perfect. You’re always flexible, aren’t you? Come down from New York ready to play the big-time consultant, fine. Sartain sets you up as my fiancée, you make the shift, fine. Boss tells you to figure out how to dump me, and you tell him sure, fine.”
    Crap. He’d heard more of her phone conversation that morning than she thought he had. That was the consequence of living side by side, of not having a spare moment to talk to Chip, to get her work done.
    Drew’s words rankled. But the real problem was that she’d misjudged him. She’d thought that he was happy with their arrangement, that he was every bit a team player