The Sweet Spot (All About the Diamond #1) Read online

  “Are you going to wake up?” I hear this deep familiar voice whisper in my ear. “I've been rubbing my cock against you for the last hour. I have to be at the stadium in less than three hours and I want to visit your warm happy place again, now.” His rough hand skims down my side and over my hip.

  Now, could it be possible I wasn't dreaming? Is my current baseball playing heartthrob right here in my bed and... I was wondering what was poking me, trying to slip between my legs? Did I mention it was a great dream?

  Must investigate.

  I'm experiencing Phil Connor’s Groundhog Day euphoria, the day isn't repeating itself again. It's not a dream. His facial scruff on the back of my neck and his lips kissing below my ear bring memories of last night to mind. His hot breath on my neck intensifies my early morning, dream preheated mood. I rub my face on my pillow trying to get a glimpse of the man wrapping his arms around me from behind without being obvious, and discover I have some serious whisker burn, but that's not important. My favorite catcher has his hands on me with the same intensity he plays baseball and a dirty glint in his eyes that says he wants more.

  “I’m not a morning girl, but I guess I'll let you have your way with me,” I say glibly into my pillow.

  “After the way I had you screaming a few hours ago, I expected you to be more willing,” he says questioning.

  “I told you I'm not a morning…” The sensation of his tongue on my clit is all it takes, I no longer have the ability to speak and the orgasmic screaming is back. This man! Is the screaming me? He has control over me.

  Licking and sucking on my nub, he runs his finger over my folds and presses into me, stroking me and adding a second finger.

  Breathing heavy, I reach for him as I start to yell, “Oh, home run, Home Run, Home Run! Oh, Rick!” And buck wildly.

  He immediately stops, climbs up to kiss me and pushes his hard length into me. Pounding hard and causing me to orgasm again almost immediately. I wrap my arms and legs around him, meeting his every thrust. Kissing him is amazing, unthinking entanglement I wish would never end. His intensity pushes me forward and drives us to passionate hours of explosive sex I’ve never even imagined.

  My body is jello as he spoons me closely and nuzzles into my hair. Our legs are entwined. We’re naked. This is how it’s supposed to be, not like this was… I don’t know what this was. A date? Booty call? Whatever it is, it’s right.

  I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m suddenly startled by an alarm. A strong warm arm pulls away from me, a tender kiss is planted on my cheek and the bed moves as Rick gets up. I’m torn at the idea of a one-night stand being over and waiting for my brain to claim victory over my heart and body. I can’t decide if I should play ostrich, bury myself in blankets and hide under my pillow or get moving for the day.

  Since I’ve never been a passive person, I get up and make sure he remembers who I am. I find my jersey in a wrinkled heap on the floor and put it on anyway, leaving the top buttons undone. I go to brush my teeth and find him already dressed and hot as sin on a stick. How did he do that so fast? His clothes had been strewn across my apartment.

  “Good morning,” I say with a yawn, “How about some breakfast or coffee or me?”

  “Yes, I would like all three. But…” he starts and I cut him off.

  “…you need to get out of here as quick as possible, so you aren’t stuck in a weird moment with a one-night stand?” I finish for him.

  “I was going to say, I only have 45 minutes to get to the stadium. The game starts in less than three hours. Sorry I woke you.”

  “So, you’re a baseball player today and that makes me a crazy fan?” I ask only halfway joking.

  “You are wearing my jersey.” He states with a smile and adds, “I had no idea my jersey could look as good as it does on you.” He checks the time, “I need to go, as it is I’m walking into the clubhouse in the same clothes I left in.”

  “Walk of shame?” I ask with a laughing smile.

  “No shame here, but the rookie might get a kick out of it,” he plants a wanting, passionate kiss on my lips with no warning.

  He turns and walks out the door, leaving me in a lust-induced coma of wonder.

  Chapter Two

  I'm 35 and single for a reason. I'm independent. I take care of myself and don't need or want someone to support me financially. I've always scared men off, for some reason they're intimidated by me. I've got my friends, my support system. But, I appreciate having time to myself to do what I want to do and not having to change plans to suit somebody else. I guess I'm selfish that way. Guys always want to tell you what to do and take control of your life, it doesn't fly with me. My way or the highway. If you want me, you want me the way I am. The problem is sometimes I want a man to take care of me—naked. Sometimes I want to be spoiled. Sometimes I want to be loved, not used.

  What was I doing getting involved with a ball player? Okay, admittedly my brain allowed my lust to take over like those things that make smart girls stupid. You know, the V shape at their hips? But I digress... Actually, I guess that's what it's all about. It's not like I love him or anything. It was one night. It was sex. Above average sex. Amazing sex. Okay, fine. It was mind blowing and his hands, lips, tongue lit me up like lava flowing down a volcano. It was one night. It's probably over now. I want him again.

  He’s not just any ball player, he’s Rick Seno. The man I’ve been crushing on hard in my private world for over five years. In my world, nobody compares to him. In my world, he’s perfect. In real life, he blows every previous conception of him I had to smithereens. In real life, he’s better than anything I’ve ever imagined.

  Damn it! I’m not going to be a needy girl! I’m not going to be one of those women that chase baseball players! Not even one ball player. Not even Rick Seno. Maybe. What am I thinking? This all depends on his next move. Crap! He doesn’t have my phone number. He’ll find me if he wants me and he can probably have the Seals Investigator Team get him whatever information about me he wants. I bet my seat number would be a no brainer.

  I'm going to the game today, so it's all fine. I can sit in my normal seat and drool over my guy behind the plate while replaying the last 18 hours in my mind in great detail. (Note to self: Set replay to start at about midnight last night.)

  The lineup for today’s game pops up on my social media and he isn't on it. Fuck! He’s going to be pissed. He can't stand sitting out and rarely misses a game. Worse yet, I can't watch him from my comfortable distance.

  Last night at the game I wandered down to the dugout in an attempt to get an autograph. The game was just finished and we won in walk-off style with a three run homer. The team was hyped up and Gatorade was flying everywhere. The current cute interview girl, Hannah, was on the field trying to get the attention of a few guys to do her post game field interviews, but the team was busy chasing each other around on the field. A win is always better than a loss. For an autograph collector like me, this big win gives me an opportunity to add to my collection because the players are happy, they were a success today and they are on the field longer which makes them more accessible. There were other fans around me calling out to different players, trying to get their attention. Some after the attention of whoever happens to be easiest and others, like myself, are on a specific mission.

  My collection is missing autographs from four of our current players. Mark Rock is one of my all time favorite outfielders, but he's out injured and not even in the building. Chase Cross, a rookie that gets played wherever they need him and is happy to get any playing time that he can. Joe "Bubbles" Bravo, a veteran outfielder that spends more time thinking about blowing bubbles with his bubblegum than actually paying attention to the game and therefore I don't give a shit about him. And of course, Rick Seno—catcher extraordinaire, Renaissance man, star in most of my dreams, and my baseball boyfriend, well, at least in my mind. That is until last night. My focus was on Rick Seno and Chase Cross, and I had two clean baseballs just waiting to be signed
in the sweet spot.

  Seno is a hard autograph to get, this is the sixth season I've been attempting it and that's a problem because the longer it takes, the less likely I get it before he gets traded. He's all business and impossible to get an autograph from pregame because he’s always warming up the pitcher.

  I’ve heard Chase is a sweetie, but he doesn't usually get to start the game and he’s rarely available at the autograph wall—which means he gets mobbed by the young gold diggers that want to be a baseball wife. The young gold diggers are at the stadium exits by now waiting for players to come out or already went home bored, this should be my opportunity.

  Hannah grabbed a couple guys for her interviews, first my Rick and then our first baseman, the hunky, lanky with legs that never stop and look good in those pants—Kris Martin, who provided the game winning hit. While I was gawking at my catcher as he talked with Hannah, I was able to get the attention of Chase Cross before he snuck off into the clubhouse and got one of the autographs I was after. Chase looked at me funny, I must have had starry eyes focused on Rick because he followed my sight line and smiled.

  “Thanks for the autograph! You’re looking good out there and I hope you get more starts.” I said to the rookie.

  With a goofy look on his face, Chase asked, “Are you okay, ma'am? I'm afraid you’re going to fall the way you’re leaning over the rail.” I realized my drool was showing and tried to recover quickly.

  “Oh, yes... Seno is the only autograph I'm missing from the current team and I’ve been trying to get it for years.”

  The antics had moved to the dugout and Kris got doused with blue and red Gatorade. Now starting to look like the Grape Ape, he took off to the clubhouse skipping his interview. Luckily, this saved me because she pulled in the rookie to cover her interview spot. I stood and watched the rest of the interviews. There was a quick exchange of words between Rick and Chase between their discussions with Hannah, and they glanced my direction. I thought this could be good! Maybe the rookie put in a good word for me and I would finally get the elusive Rick Seno autograph! Or, maybe he warned him about the crazy look in my eyes and the drool running down my chin.

  Rick smiled at me when he walked right by me and didn't give me his autograph. A batboy hands Chase a note while he’s being interviewed and continues on with his duties.

  The interviews were over and I turned to check out the remaining crowd before I started my journey home from the game. I hate being in the middle of the rush of people. When I hear someone yell out “Hey blonde in the Seno jersey!”

  Chase was calling me and had something to hand to me. I met his reach and before I even had the chance to recognize what I had in my hand, he was gone. Chase had handed me a folded piece of San Diego Seals Stationary that had “only for the blonde” scribbled on the outside and immediately disappeared.

  I am blonde. He did smile at me. Me? I unfolded the note quickly and read:

  I'm not interested in meeting crazy fans. It always turns out bad. Rook thinks I need to get away from the team this evening and vouched for you. Meet me at the Locale on Midway at midnight.

  Rick

  Does he really think I will just jump at his command and meet him? At midnight, no less? I'm not into booty calls, but this is Rick Seno. Will I regret not going and not knowing? What if he's a jerk and ruins my completely made up view of him? What will he think of me if I do go? I wonder what he wants? Crap! I have less than two hours to get home, get the public trolley system smell off of me and get to the Locale. If nothing else, I'm going to get his autograph!

  I got home as quick as I could and scouted the Locale on my way, luckily it's only a couple blocks from my place. I've heard of the place before, but never visited the establishment. I know it's a local hangout that has a bar and upscale bar food.

  So, do you wear your Rick Seno jersey to meet Rick Seno? Is that overkill? Is that expected? Does that make me a crazy fan? Does it draw more attention to him than is necessary? I'm so excited and nervous that I'm thinking at over a hundred miles per hour, can't even keep up with myself! Too many questions, no jersey. I'm going with my basic night out ensemble: tight dark wash jeans, black fringed boots and a low cut black V-neck that fits perfectly snug around my chest. I toss a baseball and pen in my purse, and do what I can to eliminate the hat head I’m sporting from the game. I notice I'm going to be late and head out the door.

  I pull into the parking lot at the Locale and easily find a spot. It doesn't appear to be a very busy place tonight. Makes sense, everyone would stay downtown after the game, except Rick who wants out of the limelight. I step through the front door and take a look around the dimly lit room. I make my way to the back booths and find Rick sitting alone with a dark beer. It was the beginning of an unexpected and memorable night.

  There’s no better place to be than at the game, but this one has been tame and I’m preoccupied. It’s the top of the 4th and we’ve been tied at 3 since the hour long 1st inning. Certain scenes from the replay reel in my head seem to be stuck on repeat. Not the best combination on a warm Sunday afternoon when I’m sitting in the sun. The game is going slow. I’m antsy and hot. I wander up to the concourse to hang out in the shade, but go for a walk to find the gelato vendor instead. Not because the gelato guy is on the other side of the stadium which would provide a great view of the dugout and possibly a glimpse of Seno. Fine. Maybe so, but they do have yummy milk chocolate and peanut butter swirl gelato, and on a hot day a girl deserves a splurge.

  I get my gelato in the miniature plastic baseball helmet and happily walk over to get a peek at what’s happening in the dugout. Rick is sitting there with his cap pulled down over his eyes and his legs stretched out, he’s damn sexy in his Sunday uniform. The team gets the third out and heads to the dugout. Rookie Chase Cross beelines for Rick and razzes him about something, grabbing the cap off his head and flipping the collar of his jersey back revealing a huge hickey on his collarbone. I did that! Hickey plus trying to nap in the dugout plus same clothes as when he left the clubhouse last night equals Seno got lucky. The grin on his face in response to his teammates ribbing makes me smile. I did that. I make my way back to my seat because I’m satisfied with myself for now.

  Top of the 7th inning, 1 out, runners at 1st and 3rd, 2-1 count and the score is tied at 3. Our number two catcher has been calling a good game and keeping the visiting team off the base paths. The fourth pitch of the at bat is a 94 mile per hour fast ball, the hitter goes for it full on ready to take it out of the park and smacks our catcher with his bat. There's an audible gasp throughout the stadium. Catchers are tough guys. He stands up out of his crouch to walk it off, but it isn't going to happen. I’m suddenly warm all over because Seno will be out in all of his gear at any second.

  “Now replacing the injured Antonio Saben, Catcher Rick Seno!” The public address announcer blares through the stadium speaker system.

  And there he is, a warrior walking out to the plate in his full armor with that intense expression I assumed was only for baseball until hours ago. He gets to his position and warms up with a few tosses to the pitcher followed by throws to each of the bases. I swear he glances toward my section and Kris Martin must have caught him, too. Instead of throwing the ball back to the plate, he walks it back to Rick and has a quick chat. There’s no way it’s about me—it must be my imagination. Time runs out on the injured player replacement warm up and the game gets going. With Seno behind the plate, the pace picks up. Rick throws the runner out trying to steal 2nd, we strike out the hitter and it’s time for the Seals to bat. Three up and three down, no hits and we’re back on the field for the top of the 8th inning.

  “Miss,” an usher is trying to get my attention. ”What’s your name?”

  I gawk at the young usher and give him my name.

  “I wanted to make sure because I have something for you.” He hands me a bag and walks away.

  I find this odd, but the more I examine it I get excited and anxious like a child on Chr
istmas morning. It’s a small duffle bag, big enough for a trip to the gym and it’s used, a bit worn round the edges. I unzip the bag to find a warm baseball glove embroidered with Seno holding a baseball that’s autographed by every player on the team, featuring Rick’s autograph in the sweet spot followed by a heart. My heart beats in my chest like it’s trying to escape. After closer inspection of the bag, it’s embroidered with a big rounded RS monogram on the end. I hear cheers and find they’re showing me all giddy up on the big screen. I focus on the field and see Rick lift his catcher’s mask. He smiles at the sight of me on the big screen and gets right back to business.

  My seat section buddies swarm me to find out details, not the guys, the girls and mostly Dina, Samantha and Meli. I had greeted them when I got to the game, but kept to myself today, other than my incessant yelling and jumping out of my seat like a jack in the box. The looks I get are priceless. What is the girl who goes to the games by herself up to? What is a stadium employee, not a ticket representative, bringing to her? The eyes were on me. My eyes were on the game and trying to ignore them. To be clear, I’m ready to spill my guts like a teenage snitch. I’m not sure what to make of the gesture. Is he trying to make up for the fact he wouldn’t sign a ball for me last night? Is this his “Take this, go away, and leave me alone because we both got what we wanted?” Something to remember me by and peace out. I want to retreat into the game and forget about all of it, but I can’t because it’s all right there in front of me. After all, he’s catching the game and everything hinges on him. I focus on the heart he drew on the ball after his name and it gives me hope.

  After all this commotion, the Seals are coming up to bat in the 8th. No score change. We need to hold the other team and we need to score. The rookie, Chase Cross, is stepping up to the plate and Seno is scheduled to bat second.