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“Shut up, he’ll hear you. There was no groping. No bedroom eyes. And he’s too young.”
“Not for what I had in mind.” Lasha looked at Andie’s face and laughed. “Not for what you had in mind, either.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Why don’t I go watch your offspring kick some tween butt until you’re strong enough to stand on that horribly injured foot.” Lasha moved off as the baseball hottie dropped to his knees. “Make sure you get his number, Andie, in case you need him to reimburse you for crutches or something.”
Later, she would kill Lasha for embarrassing her this way. Right this minute she had better things to do. Like soak in every detail of the specimen kneeling in front of her.
Nice, round muscles filled out his shirt. Great shoulders and pecs did it for her in a big way. This man had both going on. He lifted the injured leg to his lap again, seating her foot on the fly of his uniform pants. She stared at her toes, willing them still, when all they wanted to do was jump free of their strappy sandals and wiggle against his crotch. Good god, she needed to end this before she did something stupid.
“That’s cold.” Reflexively, she tried to draw her foot away. He held it and the ice pack in place while looking up at her. With his level of hotness, the ice would be water in minutes. Boiling, even.
“Your friend is right, we should exchange numbers.”
“I’m not going to sue you for the price of ibuprofen tablets, don’t worry.” The motion from his chuckle shifted his shirt. A hint of ink on his finely shaped chest peeked out at her. Tattooed men ranked highly in her personal fantasy time. Bad, meet worse. She was so toast.
“I like these shoes. Sexy.”
And things just got toastier. “Not your size, sorry.”
“I prefer them on you.” He winked and swiped one finger across the high-gloss, hooker-red polish on her big toe. “You have very pretty feet. Nice toes.”
“Thank you, I grew them myself.” She hadn’t flexed her flirt muscle in years, but it sprang into action. Pheromones and adrenaline rushed her system, sending heat to her unmentionables and a chill to her nipples. Strange how the body worked. And utterly fantastic.
After inspecting her toes and the injury a couple minutes more, he met her eyes again. “Keep the ice on for ten minutes. I’ve gotta go, I’m playing on the other diamond and my game is about to start. But you should call me later. For ibuprofen, cold packs, a foot rub, whatever you need. I deliver, 24/7.”
“A foot rub—are you a registered massage therapist or something?”
“Strictly amateur. But I do more than feet, and I guarantee satisfaction.”
Well that about sealed it. The toys were coming out tonight. The big ones. “Thanks, but I think I’ll survive.”
“I’m going to worry about this beautiful foot unless I see for myself that it’s improving.”
Andie couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth as it stretched into a glorious, open grin. He had nice, straight teeth. Really white too. Probably a non-smoker, one of the criteria on her wish list. She had no business sizing this guy up. He couldn’t be more than thirty-two. Thirty-three at most. Way too young for her.
He pressed a scrap of paper into her hand, letting his fingers linger a little longer than necessary. “My number.” Another sizzling smile later, he was walking away, backward.
She set the ice pack aside and stood, taking a tentative step toward the chain link fence beside the diamond. Pain shot up her leg and she winced. He stopped and she waved him to keep going. “I’m okay.” She was so not okay.
He shook his head. “Call me, I’ll come over and ice it for you.”
“What if it’s the middle of the night?” Wow, she did not say that in front of all these respectable family types.
“I’ll be lying awake thinking about those pretty painted toes anyway.”
Andie glanced around. No one had heard the exchange, everyone was intent on the game. Her son’s game. Where her attention should be, instead of flirting with a strange man, regardless of how hot he was. Much as she wanted one more gawk, one more sexually laced comment, she kept her eyes on the juvenile baseball players wearing Jell-O green. But she wouldn’t soon forget the major player in gray and black.
* * *
MASON
Getting bumped to this shitty, small ballpark wasn’t pissing Mason off anymore. And for the first time in his life, he wished he played catcher. Playing deep centerfield meant he couldn’t see the neighboring diamond. If this inning dragged on much longer, he might not get another look at the woman he’d sort of purposely hit with a ball. Andie. The name suited her—uncommon in a totally good way.
He’d noticed her as soon as she got up and started cheering. Sure, lots of people yelled, whistled and clapped. Especially at kids’ games. But Andie’s actions seemed different. More enthusiastic, for one, and genuine.
Of course it helped that she was hot. Not in any overdone or obvious ways. A long, brown ponytail poked out the back of her ball cap. Very cute. She wore a formfitting white t-shirt and rolled-to-the calf, skin-tight jeans that accented a trim waist and very fine ass. Even in those basic things she oozed sex appeal.
