In a nanosecond, millions of goosebumps spread over my body, and I winced like I’d been scalded with hot honey.
My fist clenched around the bright pink paper, crumpling it into a ball as my teeth gritted and I shoved away all thoughts of his tongue and his face. Annoyingly it was becoming harder to do, especially now I’d been given fresh memories of this new, larger, more masculine Jupiter. Not that he’d never been masculine, but this one was…
Ugh.
The pink Post-it was dropped in the trashcan by my feet.
He wasn’t getting to me that easily.
Selecting a roll from the box, I pushed it between my fingers, turning it over and over, and resumed my position in the chair. Jupiter used to insist I bring them to every game, because he claimed they helped him win, something I always made fun of him for.
But he maintainedI’ve never lost with them, Star.
Not for one second did I believe LifeSavers helped him win. It was nothing more than superstition, and as a scientist, I didn’t believe in superstitions.
As a scientist I liked data, facts, reasons, proof.
LifeSavers did not help you win.
But Jupiter’s box of his favorite candy had reinforced an idea I’d been having. Searching through the books I’d spread over my desk, I found the one I was looking for and snatched it up, then took a quick snap of the wall. Security pass round my neck, I ran out the door and up to the owner’s suite.
Penn Shepherd and I needed a little talk.
“Doctor Matthews, Marnie, how are you? Come in. Are you settling in okay?” He opened the door almost before I had a chance to knock, and something told me he already knew I was on the way… or maybe he could hear my huffing from all the stairs and the speed I’d run up them.
Penn stood there grinning, his wide, boyish smile and short blonde hair making him look far too young to be running a major league team.
This was not like walking into the N.A.S.A. Administrator’s office, not that I everhadwalked into the Administrator’s office.
Or was even invited onto his floor.
“I’m good, thank you. It’s my second week now.” I nodded with a bashful smile, unsure of why I suddenly felt so intimidated.
Maybe it was because he was so tall.
Or maybe it was because I’d found out the real reason I was at his club.
Or maybe it was what I was about to say, and he’d think I was being dumb – though my PhD could prove him otherwise.
“Do you have a minute? Can I talk to you about a couple of things… ideas I’ve had?”
“Sure, come in. You want some coffee?”
“Yes, that would be good. Thanks.” I took a seat in the chair opposite his desk, behind the plate glass window.
The view of the field I had in my office was at ground level, and I really couldn’t see a whole lot beyond a stretch of green surrounded by arena seating. The view Penn had, however, was the owner’s view. The entire field was below us; the rich terracotta fan of sand around three bright white bases, and the plate.
The New York Lions’ diamond.
Even as someone who didn’t really care that much about baseball, I could appreciate how lovely it was.
“Good, right?” Penn turned around from the window and sat down at his desk, hands clasped in front of him. “So what’s up?”
When Penn Shepherd had first come to find me in Houston, he’d said he wanted me to use science to make his players better; to throw better and to hit better.
Science, he kept saying.
If you can put a rocket in space, you can get a ball to fly better – or a player to throw faster and hit harder, he said.
