Playing Fastball, page 4
Tina picked up the little guy. He wasn’t much bigger than a tiny kitten.
The puppy cried and whined, wiggling and licking, but crying just the same.
The poor little thing was afraid of her!
“Shh …, shh …,” Tina whispered, trying to calm him.
Holding him in the crook of her arm, Tina unlocked her door and took the puppy inside, leaving the dirty cage outside.
Tears sprinkled onto the puppy’s fur as she washed him in the sink. Another cage loomed in her memory, but she shoved it back, refusing to picture it—denying it had ever happened.
She would never crate train any dog. Never make them sleep in a cage. Never put them in a closet and shut the door. Never beat them for crying. Never hose them off through the cage bars. Never let them sit on top of their waste day after day. Night after night. Never. Never. Never.
SIX
“What am I going to do with you?” Tina cuddled the puppy as he squirmed and licked up a frenzy. He was definitely blind, but he had a heart bigger than Ohio.
Tina snapped her fingers and gave a high-pitched whistle. The dog responded, but when she waved her hand, there was no response, unless she was close enough for the dog to feel the breeze.
“You’re so cute, yes, you are.” Tina petted the wriggly puppy who couldn’t get enough of her touch. “But I don’t know if I can keep you.”
The puppy was skin and bones, and his ribs were clearly visible under his thin white coat and pink skin.
Tina had looked up his breed online. He was an unfortunate result of inbreeding, a double dapple Dachshund Chihuahua mix. By crossing two dogs with the same dapple gene, a breeder could achieve a pure white coat—at the cost of potential blindness, deafness, and malformed eyes and ears.
The animal rescue center Tina had worked at had a hard-enough time finding homes for healthy dogs, and there was no way Tina would take him there. Whoever left him must have known she had a heart for the disadvantaged dog.
“Whatever happens, you must be hungry.” She carried the puppy to the kitchen and set him in front of a bowl of water.
The little fellow still had his baby teeth, tiny little pegs and sharp canines with gaps between them.
She didn’t have puppy chow, but a few scrambled eggs should do in a pinch. While she cooked, the blind puppy hovered close to her ankles, remaining in contact with her.
Of course, he was afraid to explore, and she didn’t blame him. But what was she going to do when it was time to go to work? She’d just gotten the job at the bar, and she couldn’t ask for time off.
Tina blew on the eggs to cool them down and fed them to the hungry puppy by hand.
He wolfed everything down, wagging his thin, spindly tail.
“What should I name you? Do you want a badass name or a cute name?”
The puppy whined and slathered her with grateful licks.
“Iceman? Nah. You’re too sweet. Snowball? Milkbone?”
She stroked the puppy’s head and neck, loving the way he kept turning his head from side to side to rub up against her hand.
“You’re so sweet.” Tina kissed the soft, downy wisps of puppy fur. “Like a powdered donut.”
Speaking of donuts, Tina had a craving for sugar, so she reached into the cupboard and took out a box of miniature powdered sugar donuts.
“Woooo,” the puppy howled and shook his head side to side, like he wasn’t sure where to look. His nose bumped up against Tina’s hand, the one holding the donut.
Powdered sugar sprinkled on his pink nose, and he licked it with gusto, his head bobbing up and down.
“Donut it is,” Tina said. “Let’s take you out for a walk.”
She tied a leash onto Donut’s collar and opened the door.
Oh, right. She’d left Donut’s dirty cage sitting there.
“You don’t need that old cage anymore,” she said, leading him around it.
She helped him up the stairs, by partially picking him up, so he knew that he had to go up. But when they were finished with the walk, he wouldn’t go down the stairs.
Of course not. He was so small, he would have to commit his entire body to leaping off each step, not knowing how high it was. Tina picked him up and brought him back to her apartment.
Donut stuck to her heels like glue, following her everywhere, and she had to be careful not to step on him. When she went into the bathroom and shut him out, he cried, hugging the walls and bumping into things.
“What am I going to do with you, sweetie?” She picked him up to comfort him.
If she left him in the middle of the room, he’d cry.
If she left him in a corner, he would butt his head against the walls and follow the wall, reach the end and turn around and go back again, crying as he went.
Tina dug in her closet and found an old doggie bed with a hood that she’d used when she fostered a rescue dog.
“Come on, Donut,” she said. “This is your bed.”
She tucked the puppy in and tiptoed away from him, getting ready to go to work.
He crawled out from the doggie bed and cried, walking randomly around the room trying to find her.
Maybe it was better to put him in the cage—the only home he knew. She had to keep him safe when she wasn’t around.
Even though it made her shiver, Tina went outside and fetched the cage.
She cleaned it up and stuffed the doggie bed inside, and then put Donut near the open door. He entered it, sniffing the bars and touching it with his nose. He wagged his tail as he rubbed his face against the bars.
She would never close the door and lock him in. Ever.
Still, she could understand why he’d feel safer in a cage. The world outside was big and scary, especially for a dog who couldn’t see.
It was the same for Tina. When her mother had first stuffed her in the closet, she’d come running out. She would throw tantrums and make noise if her mother locked the door.
Then one day, her mother put her in a cage and covered it with a blanket. It was small and dark, but somehow safe. She could pretend she was a teeny, tiny bug, something so small no one would notice her. No one would see her to kick her or punch her. No one would yell at her if they didn’t know she existed. She wished it was soundproof, but no amount of darkness could mute the shouts and sounds of slapping and punching outside of her tiny hidey-hole.
So she’d learned to stay in the closet and hide in the dark, and it was no longer scary at all, but safe—very safe.
“Don’t be scared, okay?” she said to Donut, in case he could hear.
The puppy wagged his tail and nosed his way under the cover of the doggie bed. At least he was warm and snug, secure, and his belly was full.
“I’ll be back, Donut. Don’t worry, okay?” Tina patted him, then exited the tiny basement apartment.
Timmy groaned, and let out a stale breath as he lay on his belly on the trainer’s table.
“How’d that feel?” The female voice belonged to Roxanna, the Rattlers’ newest physical therapist.
She vigorously moved his shoulder around, at times painfully, stretched out the ligaments that needed realignment, and was at the moment, holding his arm bent behind his back.
“It’s okay, really,” he lied. “Now, can I get back to practice?”
She shoved his hand higher up his back, and Timmy couldn’t help moaning.
“If we don’t get your socket aligned, it’ll continue to hurt,” she said. “There are ligaments holding the ball joint in place, and if the muscles on one side are tighter than the other side, the ball goes off center.”
“I don’t want to know about it,” Timmy grunted. “Just fix it.”
“Which is going to hurt,” she warned.
He gritted his teeth. “Do I look like a weenie?”
“Then relax,” she warned right before she went back to work.
Okay, so his shoulder was sore, and he’d been sidelined following a lecture from Coach Hudson about abusing his arm. The old geezer, who couldn’t get his fastballs over eighty miles per hour, had had to rely on trick pitches: screwballs, knuckleballs, and his infamous bastard pitch. Of course, he had been the Rattlers’ most reliable closer and had saved many games in past seasons, including Timmy’s.
“You’re not relaxing,” Roxanna said, tapping Timmy’s back to get his attention. “I need you to let go.”
And be massaged by a beautiful broad? Sure. Anytime.
Timmy hadn’t been laid in ages, following his father’s “Cy Young regimen.” Besides, he’d struck out with Tina, more than once.
Unbelievable.
Those lines of his were gold, and he’d watched enough American movies to have memorized and perfected them all.
Worked for James Bond and his ilk.
Timmy reminded himself to watch a few more movies, now that he was benched. As he recalled, one way to get laid was to shoot bad guys, then run off to a hidden lair to hide from more bad guys.
Once the bullets stopped flying, the clothes started flying—off, and oh, baby, baby—cue in the seductive music.
Roxanna’s hands moved deeper and more rhythmically, and Timmy felt his joints and muscles loosen. Heat spread over the pain, and the massage felt deliciously good.
Dang. It was dangerously arousing. Thank goodness he was on his belly. What would the other guys say if they saw him in this state?
And whose brilliant idea was it to hire a female trainer?
A gorgeous one at that.
No wonder the guys were all lining up, feigning injury, to get under Roxanna’s magical hands.
Timmy turned his head to the side facing her and watched her lower body leaning up against the massage table. He didn’t need a measuring tape to know those hips were lush. And the thighs? Pure thunder.
Despite the American standards favoring skinny, he was a man who loved a bit more flesh, especially when wrapped around his waist. Oh, yeah. Roxanna was jiggly and hot.
His mouth watered, and he took a deep breath, trying to cool his ardor. He was, after all, in the training room under the stadium. At work.
Footsteps approached, and someone knocked on the open door.
“Hey, hey, Timmy. Wipe that lovesick smile off your face,” Josh’s voice rose in a sing-song cadence. “Yo, Roxanna, I’ve got a strained thigh you ought to take a look at.”
Timmy shot his buddy a dirty look. “Coach says my shoulder’s more important, and I wasn’t smiling. I was frowning.”
Josh took a seat on the trainer’s stool and crossed his arms. “Looked like drooling from where I’m sitting.”
All the while, Roxanna said nothing.
She was probably used to getting heckled, but Timmy wasn’t going to add to it.
“Have some respect, Josh,” he said. “She’s doing her job, and a damn good one. Getting my ball joint aligned with my socket.”
“Hmm … she can align my balls with her socket anytime,” Josh said, chuckling darkly and raising his eyebrows at the trainer.
“Stuff it,” Timmy said.
“Oh, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Now, Josh was pissing Timmy off.
“She’s working on my joint, can you leave off the commentary? It’s inappropriate.”
“Let’s get Human Resources here right now,” Josh teased in a high-pitched voice. “It’s inappropriate.”
No one responded, so he dropped off the stool and swaggered slowly from the training room as if Roxanna would be watching him go.
Timmy couldn’t see if her eyes followed him or not. Not that it mattered to him. He just knew if Josh had stayed longer, he would have started ragging on him for striking out with Tina.
Roxanna finished the massage and grabbed a towel, wiping off the massage oil.
“I’ve loosened your shoulder,” she said. “Please don’t hit the weights right away. Let everything rest for a day, and then I want you to do the exercises I outlined to strengthen the back muscles.”
Timmy pushed off the table, glad that the altercation with Josh had destroyed any lingering arousal. “Sure, thanks. That felt good.”
“Part of the job,” Roxanna said, snapping around and walking toward the door. When she got to the doorway, she looked over her shoulder and patted the doorframe. “Thanks for what you said to Josh.”
“Sure, no prob.” Timmy pulled on his T-shirt and slid off the table. “Can I ask you some advice?”
“If it’s about your shoulder, sure.” Roxanna returned halfway into the training room. “You’ve got one of the top arms in the league, but sometimes, it isn’t about throwing harder, but throwing smarter.”
Wasn’t quite what Timmy wanted to ask, but it’ll do.
He needed to throw smarter lines at Tina if he was going to have a chance of getting into her panties.
“Thanks.” Timmy nodded and put on his baseball cap.
SEVEN
The next time Timmy went to The Hot Corner, he took a seat in the back near the restrooms. It was a long bar, so he could safely watch Tina without being directly under her purview.
He’d spy on her and learn what types of lines worked on her. Watch and see if she went home with any of the men hitting on her. Do research on what worked on her or not.
Obviously, his James Bond movie lines didn’t work—not that the Bond man needed to use any actual lines. The script simply called for Bond girls to fall into his arms. How fake.
Timmy ordered a beer from the male bartender whose shift was ending and sat back to watch the show. For good measure, he tucked his face under the brim of a green John Deere baseball cap, not a Rattlers one lest Tina spot him and be onto his tactics.
Tina rarely made eye contact as she took the drink orders, poured, mixed, and served. Her appearance was that of a plain, all-American girl, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with “The Hot Corner” emblazoned over her chest in a “baseball-swoosh” font.
She was a little too wooden, unlike the other female bartender who smiled and seemed to pull in bigger tips. She’d also toned down her clothing and covered up her tattoos with concealer cream.
Didn’t matter.
Guys hit on her all the time.
The pigs.
Of course, he’d been an asshole a few nights ago with his stupid Screaming Orgasm and Pink Pussy line.
No one would catch him making the same rookie mistake.
He snickered to himself as a businessman with a loose tie leered at Tina and asked for a Screaming Orgasm.
Timmy sipped his longneck with a smirk on his face and watched Tina serve it up without a word.
The man persisted, “You’re new here, aren’t you? Tell me, are you a screamer?”
“Only when you’re stepping on my toes,” Tina said, collecting the empties from the abandoned spot next to the businessman.
“How about letting me suck on those pretty little toes of yours?” the idiot asked, no doubt thinking his lines were original.
“How about sucking on the gun I carry in my back pocket?” Tina dispatched him, to the guffaws of his buddies.
Timmy couldn’t help chuckling, but apparently, the other female at the bar shot Tina a glare and a few minutes later, Jeanine motioned Tina to the office.
A chill seized Timmy’s gut as he slid off the barstool and sidled toward the restroom doors, adjacent to the office.
Was Tina going to get fired for shooting back snarky remarks to the clientele?
Timmy wasn’t above eavesdropping, because his entire mission was to be smarter, and that required intelligence.
He pulled the brim of his cap lower and tucked his long, shoulder-length hair into the collar of his plaid farmer’s shirt. All he needed was a piece of straw between his teeth to complete the disguise.
“I’ve had several complaints that you’re rude to the customers,” Jeanine said, her voice so low Timmy could barely hear her. “Are you sure you’re up for tending bar?”
“I can handle it,” Tina said. “Thanks for giving me the chance.”
“I’m watching you carefully,” Jeanine said. “One slip up and you’re out. What did you say to that gentleman in the business suit? He accused you of threatening him.”
Timmy could picture Tina shrugging and rolling her eyes before flicking her fly-away hair over her shoulder and huffing. “He wanted to suck on my toes, so I told him to suck my gun.”
Jeanine chuckled. “So, the weenie complains to me. I told him I’d talk to you, and I did. Are there any other customers who’ve been bothering you?”
“Not really. They all think they’re so cute with their Screaming Orgasm orders, so I keep the amaretto and vodka handy. Some jerk ordered a Pink Pussy and said he’d spank me until I turned pink.”
“Let me know if anyone bothers you and makes you feel threatened. I’ll ask the bouncer to throw them out.”
What?
Timmy’s mouth went dry. Jeanine was willing to throw out a paying customer to protect Tina?
He thought Jeanine hated Tina.
“Words don’t bother me,” Tina said with a slight chuckle. “As you know, I can dish it right back at them.”
“If anyone crosses the line and touches you inappropriately, you just have to text Tyson, and he’ll take care of it,” Jeanine said. “Any other concerns?”
“No, thank you, it means a lot,” Tina said. Her voice was small and meek, like a child.
“Part of my job.” Jeanine’s tone was dismissive. “I watch out for all my employees.”
Timmy stepped back quickly to avoid Tina seeing him, and he tripped over a bucket and mop. He went down fast. His ass landed inside the janitorial-sized bucket with a big splash.
Dang. The water was cold and soapy, crawling up his boxers.
“What are you doing here?” Tina gaped into the men’s restroom through the door Timmy propped open. “Do you need any help?”
“I’m fine. Just fine,” Timmy said.
“Your pants are soaked.” Tina reached down and took Timmy’s hand, dragging him up. “Let me call your father to come get you. You aren’t hurt, are you?”
