Playing Fastball, page 2
She was a no good ex-con, a grifter who’d perfected the waif-like orphan look which made his father feel sorry for her. Her sandy-colored hair was flat and lifeless, and her face was covered with smudges. Tattoos raked the backs of her hands and traced up her arms, and she was a skinny, boyish creature in her ripped jeans and cowboy shirt. Well, almost boyish if he didn’t count the set of nice breasts and roundish ass cheeks she hid underneath her grunge-styled rags.
“You sure did. Five in a row.” Baba raised his hand and high-fived the wastrel.
“Five what in a row?” Timmy glared at his father. “I pitched a no-hitter today. Everyone’s celebrating at The Hot Corner. I came home to find you, and you’re missing. Why weren’t you at the game?”
“It’s only spring training,” his father said. “Tina and I had a wild idea to go monster trucking. They had an opening—a last-minute cancellation, so we grabbed it.”
“We had a great time, didn’t we?” Tina fist-bumped Baba and opened the refrigerator as if she belonged there. “I’m starving. What do you have?”
“Nothing, unless Timmy cooked,” Baba said. “Hey, let’s get cleaned up and go to The Hot Corner for dinner. We can celebrate your no-hitter.”
“I don’t feel like celebrating.” Timmy shot daggers at Tina, the interloper. “Not if she’s coming.”
Baba’s eyes narrowed, and he poked Timmy in the chest, hard, the way he always did when he had something bad to say but couldn’t say it because “outsiders” were around.
Timmy gritted his teeth and snarled, but he didn’t dare poke his father back. He was, after all, a dutiful Chinese son. His father had supported his baseball career one hundred percent—sending him off to training camps, hiring the best coaches money could buy, and after his mother passed away, moved to the United States to live with Timmy so he wouldn’t be lonely.
“I think I’ll hit the showers,” Tina said, after downing a can of soda in one long swallow.
She hefted her heavy backpack and wandered from the long kitchen followed by Blondie, the dog Baba had gotten from Tina when she swindled people at the pet rescue she got fired from.
Timmy tried to see red as he watched her go, but his seriously disturbed body perked up at the alluring sway of her hips.
Dammit. All those meals Baba fed her was filling her out—dangerously.
Timmy dragged his gaze from Tina and turned toward his father. “How much are you paying her to play with you?”
Poke.
This time, it hurt.
His father grunted and left the kitchen, leaving Timmy to stew in his own mixed up juices.
Tina was much too young for Baba, and she was using every trick in the book to become the next Mrs. Yan Li.
No way.
Not over, under, and around Timmy’s very alive body.
TWO
Tina skipped the “celebration” at The Hot Corner Bar and Grill the night before, but in the light of morning, she was standing in front of the frosted bar doors staring at the ‘Help Wanted’ sign posted on the window.
Her palms were sweaty, and she chewed on her lower lip while anxiety coursed in her bloodstream. She was once again jobless and teetering on homelessness after her boss at the pet rescue found out she’d been soliciting big “tips” on the side for placing rescue animals with their adopters.
It wasn’t illegal to do her job so well, was it? She could tell which dogs clicked with which people, and she went out of her way to walk the dogs in their new neighborhoods as well as get them acquainted inside their new homes.
It wasn’t her fault that one of the new adoptive homes was robbed shortly after her visit. She had nothing to do with it, at least she hadn’t purposely set them up. She couldn’t help it if her ex-boyfriend, Lennie the Leech, was out of jail and hanging around.
It could have been a coincidence. She hated it when people suspected her, an ex-con, of committing a crime. She should at least offer Lennie the same benefit of the doubt. Besides, he was one of her only friends, other than Yan.
What else could she do?
She was a defenseless woman. She’d never had a proper family, having been a foster child after being removed from her abusive mother. No father to mention.
Tina blinked at the unfairness of her life.
Once, briefly, a year ago, she’d been accepted to work as a bartender—the only skill she’d learned from her drunk-ass foster mother. She’d made a few acquaintances, and her older foster sister, Jeanine Jewell, had even let her stay in her apartment.
But she’d blown it with Jeanine—a girl who’d shielded her from sexual abuse by sleeping with their foster father. She’d sold information and ended up in prison for aiding a break-and-enter and filing a fake police report.
The door of the bar opened, and music and laughter whooshed out along with a group of glamorous-looking young people.
Tina stepped aside and let them pass, then screwing up what little courage she had, she patted down the static making her hair fly away and sidled into the bar.
She was always good at sneaking around, and usually, no one noticed her. Today wasn’t her lucky day, because a pair of dark, beady eyes zeroed in on her as soon as she skirted her way toward the office.
“You have a lot of nerve coming around here.” The muscle-bound Tyson Jewell, Jeanine’s brother, stepped out from the shadows behind the greeter’s podium. “Unless you want a table for one, you’re out of here. Even then, we reserve the right to refuse service.”
“I’m here about the help wanted ad,” Tina said, her voice barely squeaking by her tight throat.
Tyson was your typical dark, handsome, part-Latino stud with dark-brown hair and bronze skin. Cat-like green eyes glared at her with pure disdain, and his white teeth looked sharp as fangs behind his snarl.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “After you betrayed my sister, letting George Simpson ransack her apartment? You’re one sick puppy.”
“No, I’m not.” Tina forced herself to stand up straight and tall. “I’m rehabilitated, and I would never commit another crime. All I want is a second chance.”
“Not going to happen here.” Tyson leaned forward belligerently and positioned himself in her face, close enough for her to get a whiff of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his powerful body. “Leave.”
“No.” Tina’s knees were shaking, but she refused to take a step back. “Jeanine’s like a sister to me. She’ll help me.”
“News flash. She’s my sister and not yours. We’re family. You’re not.”
Tina couldn’t help her lips from wobbling, but she wasn’t going to cry. No, no. She willed her tears to dry and her eyes to stop blinking. She needed a job, even if it was scrubbing floors or cleaning toilets, but no one out there was willing to hire an ex-con like her.
“Ty, what seems to be the problem here?” An authoritative female voice sailed toward them. “Oh, Tina.”
Jeanine’s heels clip-clopped on the tile floor, and she appeared around the corner in all of her blond glory. A huge diamond engagement ring, this time very big and very real, sparkled on her ring finger.
Tyson withdrew back to the greeter’s desk to welcome another customer, leading them around Tina with a wide berth.
“What do you want?” Jeanine asked, her voice neither hostile nor friendly.
Tina lamely pointed toward the ‘Help Wanted’ sign on the window.
“So, you failed out of your puppy job, too,” Jeanine stated, rather than asked. “And you think I’m going to give you another chance to rob me blind.”
Again, there was no question mark at the end of her statement.
“I would never rob you, Jeanine. I’d do anything you need.”
“But you wouldn’t hesitate to sell me out.” Jeanine stepped toward the door and opened it. “Sorry.”
“I’ve changed. I really have. Please, give me a chance.” Tears welled in Tina’s eyes as she woodenly stepped out the door.
“She says she’s rehabilitated,” Tyson said, snickering. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“No need,” Jeanine said as the heavy door shut the rest of her sentence from Tina’s hearing.
Going to practice while feeling like shit was not something Timmy recommended. And today’s effing practice was sucking balls.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place the pitch inside the strike zone.
“What’s the matter?” Josh Johnson, the second-string catcher, tossed off his face mask. “Got your balls fucked out of your face last night?”
“None of your business.” Timmy slapped the baseball into his mitt. He rotated his shoulder joint and spat on the mound, kicking it.
“Your arm bothering you?” The catcher came closer and knocked back the L-frame used during practice to protect the pitcher from comebackers—line drives hit directly back toward the pitcher.
“No, arm’s fine. Shoulder’s fine. Can’t a guy have an off day without everyone nagging?”
“Sorry, can’t rest. You know how it is. Spring training. Got to get on the roster,” Josh said. “Lots of guys trying for pitcher this year, and we have a new coach.”
“They’d be crazy not to put me on the roster,” Timmy said. “I’m winning the Cy Young Award this year. Mark my words.”
Coach Hudson blew the whistle and marched toward Timmy. “Stop your jaw breaking and get back to basics. Li, back to the bullpen if you can’t keep your head in the game.”
Last year, Ryan Hudson was the team’s most reliable relief pitcher, but after winning the World Series and getting married, he retired and took over coaching the pitching department.
Timmy didn’t answer as Josh ambled back to home plate, but Hudson wasn’t letting him go.
“If you can’t keep your head in the game, it doesn’t matter what your arm can do.” Hudson stuck to Timmy like a glued spit wad.
“This is batting practice,” Timmy retorted. “Trying to get them to swing at bad pitches.”
“Then stop wasting your arm on it,” Hudson grunted. “Save the speed for the games.”
Timmy didn’t answer. While he should save his arm for the games, he hated the thought of batters bragging on hitting any of his pitches.
Hudson left the mound, and on the next pitch, Timmy dug deep and threw a fast and hard four-seamer.
Crack.
The ball sailed straight over his head, and the batter, one Brock Carter, jogged around the bases, high-fiving his teammates all the way around.
Damn.
Timmy glanced at the stands, and red rose over his eyes.
Tina Lee was sitting cozily next to his father, and they were laughing their heads off.
Laughing at the home run he’d just served up.
Slamming his mitt on the mound, Timmy stalked off the field.
He was going to have to fix Tina’s wagon. Make his day, like Clint Eastwood would have said.
“Where are you off to?” Josh followed Timmy off the field after batting practice ended.
“You see that chick up there?” Timmy pointed in Tina’s direction.
Josh narrowed his eyes. “She’s kind of hot, if you like skinny girls. Nice boobs.”
“She’s after my dad and all his money.”
Josh whistled nice and long. “Your dad looks like he’s enjoying it.”
“She’s a thief and a cheat. You know she charged a tip for the dog she found for my dad? That’s how they met, and now she’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”
“Hey, if his cock’s happy, don’t you be blocking it.” Josh laughed, blowing on his hands.
“I’m not sure they’re doing it yet,” Timmy said. “Dad says he thinks of her like a daughter.”
“She’s practically sitting on his lap.”
“He gives her money and buys her stuff. Clothes, shoes, whatever she wants, and then when I asked him if he’s paying her to play, he got totally pissed off.”
“I’d say, it’s none of your business.” Josh clapped a hand on Timmy’s sore shoulder, causing him to wince. “I’d go to the trainer and get that shoulder looked at if I were you.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.” Timmy grabbed his duffel bag. “There’s got to be something I can do to stop Tina from getting her hooks into my dad.”
“What if I hooked up with her?” Josh asked. “Think your dad will clue in that he’s too old?”
Somehow the thought of Josh plowing into Tina had Timmy’s stomach turning. Why should he care? Josh was a free agent, unmarried, and they’d gone out together scoring chicks all last season.
“What happened to Rebecca?” Timmy asked, reminding Josh of the girlfriend he claimed to be getting closer to. “Isn’t she the jealous kind?”
“Yeah, but sometimes, I need to put her in her place.” Josh looked up at the bleachers and shook his head. “You’re right. Rebecca’s got bigger tits, and that up there isn’t worth getting locked out of Becky’s box.”
A plume of indignation rose up Timmy’s throat. “Tina might not look like much with those grungy clothes, but you can bet she’d get my dad riled up. He’s a widower. He’s lonely, and the only other women he’s dating are over fifty.”
“Then I can see why your father’s trying to get some young blood,” Josh said, pointing out the obvious.
Another peal of laughter traveled down with the breeze and curled deep in Timmy’s gut. “If you’re not going to help, then I have no choice but to take Tina out myself.”
“And piss off your old man?” Josh’s eyes widened.
“Sure. She won’t listen when I tell her to stay away from him, but if she’s sleeping with me, my dad will be so disgusted, he’ll throw her out of his life. He always says I’m sleeping with whores and loose women. Tells me they’re beneath me, and that I’m ruining my reputation.”
“That’s the answer. Make your dad think Tina’s one of those Heidi hoes, here she comes.”
“Totally, like gag me with a spoon and put a paper bag over my head.”
THREE
Tina made herself laugh while keeping one eye on Timmy as he charged off the playing field. He wasn’t having a good day, and she could guess it had to be tension with his dad who was busily trying out a farting sound machine on his smartphone.
Last night, Timmy had made it clear he was jealous of his father spending time with her. She wasn’t born yesterday, and she could guess the reason.
He thought she was trying to rip off his father, and he’d hated her from the first time they’d met. His narrow-eyed look of disdain, etched on his handsome Asian face, let Tina know she was a rat beneath his notice. Story of her life. George Simpson hadn’t noticed her either.
But then, Yan Li came along asking for a rescue dog, and he’d treated her like an equal. Back then, Yan was new to America, and Timmy had controlled his every movement. He told Yan to wear cheap clothes from a discount store so people would think he was poor. He also told Yan to take the bus and use a plastic shopping bag to carry his things.
It was amazing that Yan listened to his son when he was an international businessman. Then again, Yan had always indulged and spoiled his precious Timmy.
All of Timmy’s plans to make Yan look poor backfired when he met Tina giving away a rescue dog from the shelter.
Because now, Yan and Tina were best buddies. He treated her like a princess, taking her out for fun and food, and dressing her up to flaunt her among his friends.
“Hey, where’s Timmy going?” Yan asked, craning his neck toward the dugout.
“He was holding his shoulder,” Tina said. She’d grown up on the streets, and she noticed everything. She also analyzed everything and picked up stuff between the lines. And she’d survived George and Karen Simpson, as well as her own mother who she barely remembered—or tried not to.
“He’s hurt?” Yan slapped his knees and stood. “He needs to see the doctor, the specialist I recommended.”
“A specialist? You mean it’s serious?” Tina affected a tone of concern.
Yan didn’t trust the team doctors and trainers—not with his son’s million-dollar arm.
“Let’s catch him,” Yan said, taking Tina by the hand.
He just assumed she cared as much about his son as he did.
Not that Tina ever disabused him from that notion.
She knew which side the bread was buttered on.
Timmy was his flesh and blood.
She was just the daughter he wished he had.
Replaceable.
Despite his fondness for her, she couldn’t ask Yan for a loan because Timmy would shoot her down. If Yan ever thought she was in it for his money, he’d cut her to her knees.
He was, after all, an astute international businessman.
Even if he pretended he was a clueless foreigner driving on the wrong side of the road. It was all an act to lower people’s guard—especially those three women he dated.
And Timmy, who thought his father needed protection from the likes of her.
Tina raced alongside Yan to the clubhouse, where Yan had a keycard. Usually, family wasn’t allowed in the clubhouse, but Yan had donated big money to the Rattlers’ franchise and the owner put Yan on the board.
Money greased the wheels for everything.
Too bad Tina had so little of it.
“Timmy,” Yan said, letting go of her hand when his son shot him a glare. “You have shoulder pain? I told you to see Dr. Gong. Why you not listening?”
Poke.
He shoved his combined index and middle finger into the beefcake of Timmy’s chest.
“What’s she doing here?” Timmy zeroed in on Tina.
“Look, I know you’re still pissed I missed your game, but you should go monster trucking with us. All work and no play’s not good.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, the baseball season is all work and no play,” Timmy said. “This year’s my last chance to win the Cy Young Award.”
“Why is that?” Yan asked.
Well, duh. Tina could have told him. The million-dollar arm was connected to a not-so-million-dollar shoulder which was failing him. No one could throw hundred-mile-per-hour fastballs season after season. Not even Superman Timmy.
