Throwing Heat dad-3 Page 20

  Maybe going on a date with him hadn’t been the best idea.

  “Leslie,” the ballplayer started, “I know that we went our separate ways when I got traded to Boston, and I get it. I don’t blame you for breaking it off.”

  Crap. She could tell where this was heading, and her stomach sank. “John—”

  He held up a hand and cut her off. “Let me finish.” She clamped her mouth shut and he continued, “It was a lot for me to ask you to uproot and move with me when there was no firm commitment between us—no future plans.”

  Oh no.

  Leslie’s heart began pounding and she looked over her shoulder, held the kitten to her and began petting her furiously. “It’s okay, John. Really. We just weren’t meant to be.” She flashed him a wide smile, hoping that he’d just shut up and stop talking. No, no, no. Don’t do this.

  He took a step toward her and she took one in retreat. “I can see that you’re nervous. And I think I know why.” He took another step toward her and she stepped back, coming flat up against the refrigerator. Damn it.

  Another step and he was directly in front of her, taking Missy out of her clenched, clinging fingers and setting her on the floor. Her breath went shallow and her brain scrambled for a way out of this. But she was so frazzled that she couldn’t think of anything.

  Large, hard hands cupped hers and brought them to his chest; his brown eyes went warm with invitation. “You’re nervous because of the chemistry. It’s still there, Les.”

  That wasn’t why she was practically shaking.

  “John,” she said a little helplessly. It had definitely been a bad decision to call him up for that date.

  A thick finger covered her lips and she gave a tiny squeak. “Shh, let me speak. I’ve been thinking on this ever since my trade and there’s something I need to ask you.”

  Please don’t!

  The ballplayer dropped to his knee. “You’re an incredible woman. Strong, feisty, intelligent.”

  “John—” she croaked weakly. God, don’t do this to me.

  Brown eyes filled with hopeful expectation looked up at her as he shifted both her hands to one of his and reached into the front pocket of his slacks. “I love you, Leslie Ann Cutter.”

  “Great!” she squeaked, not thinking.

  John opened the box in his hand and right there in the middle of it was a huge diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”

  Her mouth dropped open and she blanked, couldn’t say anything. Went numb with shock.

  The front door slapped against the wall, making a loud thump. Leslie jerked, and her eyes went round and panicked when Peter sauntered in.

  He took one look at the scene and stopped dead, scowling hotly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  PETER COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes.

  John Crispin on his knees proposing to Leslie. It was wrong. Just all around wrong. “What the hell do you think you two are doing?”

  The ballplayer looked from Leslie to Peter, clearly confused. “I was trying to ask her to marry me before you busted in without knocking.” He frowned. “Why didn’t you knock?”

  Peter clamped his mouth shut and stared at Leslie. She had a whole lot of explaining to do, and she’d better start quick. Because it looked a whole lot like she’d screwed him senseless last week and declared her love, only to turn right back around a minute later and give her heart to someone else. Christ. He’d known it—known it the moment he’d spotted Crispin at the club during the Series that it was only going to bring trouble.

  Damn her hot, fickle ass.

  A growl started to rumble low in his chest as she stared at him blankly while another man crouched on his knee before her with a giant goddamn ring.

  It looked like he wasn’t immune to the good ol’ Kowalskin family curse. He couldn’t keep his woman either. Terrific.

  “Now, Peter,” Crispin started, putting the ring back in the box. “If I’m in your territory, brother, I didn’t know it. But I’m not sorry. I care for Leslie.”

  “I can’t. John, I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Her voice was soft and resigned.

  So the mouse finally found her voice, did she? “You can’t what? Marry another man after you’ve been screwing me?” His anger had gained momentum and was currently churning in his gut like a storm. He didn’t know why it hit him so suddenly, so violently. All he knew was that the minute he’d spotted Leslie all dolled up in a slinky dress with another man, he’d wanted to hit something.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else.

  “It’s not like that.” Her eyes were round with sincerity.

  But he didn’t buy it. Why wouldn’t she want a guy like Crispin rather than him? The guy came from healthy stock, a solid upbringing. He wasn’t damaged goods like Peter.

  “Oh really? Then why don’t you tell me what it’s like, Leslie.” He spat. Under the anger was a whole lot of hurt, a lot of stinging betrayal. And he didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to understand it.

  She was supposed to love him.

  John hastened to his feet and held out his hands to Peter in a show of peace. “I can see that I made a mistake here, so I’m just going to leave.”

  Peter barely flicked him a glance. “Yeah, I think you better.” His attention was only on the heartache in the black dress in front of him.

  The big ballplayer left as the tension stretched almost to the breaking point. Then the two of them were left alone, staring at each other, chests heaving. Silence stretched and Peter’s nerves frayed.

  He couldn’t stand it. “What were you doing on a date with John? God, you didn’t even wait, did you? You just went right to him the minute my back was turned.” He knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn’t help it. He hurt. In a way like he’d never experienced before. It was tearing him up inside. And he didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know where to put it.

  “Now you hold on there,” said his unfaithful princess, fire lighting in the dark-forest depths of her eyes and her back snapping straight. “You don’t get to accuse me, Peter Kowalskin. Not after what you’ve done.”

  What he’d done? “I’ve done nothing, you pretty little liar.”

  She reared back, her hand flying to her barely contained tits in her low cut dress. “Excuse me?” she gasped incredulously. “You’re the lair.”

  He raked both hands through his hair. “What the hell are you talking about? You lied to me.” Pain lashed him and he couldn’t quite hide it when he looked at her and said, “You told me you loved me.”

  Leslie crossed her arms. “I changed my mind.” Her voice dripped with challenge as she stared him down, practically begging him to call her out.

  “You did, did you?” His voice was deadly soft.

  “Absolutely.” She snapped her fingers. “Just that easy.”

  Peter opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Like you should really give a shit anyway, you lying jerk.”

  His chest burned in response to her words. Wasn’t love supposed to be more loyal than that? How could she just up and change her mind? “Fine. What did I lie to you about?”

  Her cheeks were flushed, her voice glacial. “My apartment.”

  That stopped him. “What?”

  “I know about my apartment. I know you lied to me and you made Jerry lie too. Lorelei found a package tracking receipt.”

  He snorted. “Is that what you’re all bent about?”

  “Yes.” She ground out.

  “Fine. You got me. I’m guilty.” He threw up his hands. But he didn’t feel bad. His lie didn’t even come close to comparing to the whopper she’d told him. And here he’d been starting to think that Leslie being in love with him might not be such a bad thing. In fact, he was sort of starting to depend on it.

  Her lips pressed into a tight line. Seeing the strain on her face took some of the fury out of him. He couldn’t stand to see her cry.

  “How could you do that to me?” Her ey
es were bright with unshed tears.

  “You know why, Leslie.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t. I don’t know why.”

  He could tell she was being sincere. His hands dropped from his hair and fell to his sides, his heart squeezing painfully. What was the use in evading?

  He didn’t. “Because I was desperate to have you.”

  A smile he’d never seen before twisted her beautiful lips. It was more like a snarl and filled with self-loathing. “It wasn’t that hard. You got me. Congratulations.”

  It broke his heart.

  LESLIE PUSHED AWAY from the refrigerator, her heart pounding and bitterness making her eyes tear. She was so mad at Peter for manipulating her. And she was so fucking mad at herself for sleeping with him, for throwing away her convictions so easily.

  She rounded on him, shouting, “You set me up to fail!” There was so much anger, so much bitterness. All she wanted was someone to blame.

  “How’s that?” He crossed his arms and leaned back into the counter, looking at her with one brow arched.

  “You knew I couldn’t resist you.” There, she’d admitted the truth.

  “How is that my fault?” He replied flatly.

  It was a knife in the heart. She sucked in air, stunned. “How could you say that to me?”

  “How can you take back loving me?” He crossed his ankles, too, looking oh-so-cool-and-casual. It was so misleading.

  The question fell, raw and unfiltered—just like the man who’d spoken it. And it took her knees out from under her. Her shoulders slumped from the weight of her lie. “Because.”

  He uncrossed his ankles. “That’s it? Just because?” His lips twitched.

  “Yes.”

  Slowly he untangled himself and walked toward her. The expression is his eyes began to change, began to heat. “Then how about you fall back in love with me—just because?”

  About halfway across the kitchen he stopped and muttered, “What the hell?” looking down, confused.

  Leslie leaned around him to see Missy attached to the back of his pant leg, chewing at the frayed strings. “Your fan girl missed you.”

  Peter reached down and scooped the kitten up with one hand. She was so small and his hand was so large that he cradled her like a baseball. His eyes softened. “Hey, furball.” She was on her back purring like her life depended on it, boneless in complete bliss. Her guy was back.

  It was adorable. Without thinking Leslie said, smiling. “She loves you, too.”

  Like she’d thrown a bucket of ice on him, Peter went rigid and cold in one breath. He stared at her, his gaze suddenly watchful as he stroked Missy. “That seems to be a theme lately. Is she going to change her mind about it, too?”

  The way he said it had irritation welling up in her. “Is that such a terrible thing? I thought you didn’t want to be loved?”

  He smiled slightly, cradling the kitten to his chest. She wondered if he even realized what he was doing. “It can be damn inconvenient,” he agreed. The way he looked at her through his lashes made it clear he was baiting her.

  It worked, because she didn’t like the thought of her love being an inconvenience to him, regardless of whether she actually did or not.

  Her irritation grew teeth. Leslie smacked her forehead, suddenly fuming. “Oh that’s right!” Her voice dripped molasses and sarcasm. “I forgot about Mr. Commitment-Phobe. Can’t handle anything that might require something of you in return.”

  Feelings she didn’t even know she had started spewing from somewhere deep inside. “But that’s the funny thing about love. It doesn’t require anything in return. So what’s the deal?”

  “Why do you care?” The look he gave her was chilling.

  She snapped. “I don’t!”

  He didn’t want her love. The truth of it made her a little crazy. She yelled, “I’m not in love with you!”

  Pain flashed briefly in Peter’s eyes before he could hide it. But she still saw it and her heart squeezed. “Good. Because I’m not in love with you either.”

  The words fell heavy on her ears and she pushed past him hard on her way out of the kitchen. “Get away from me.” Her voice was flat. Whether he’d just said it in retribution or not, it didn’t matter. The words hurt bad.

  He let her go. As she walked away he said, “So it’s okay for you to say it, but not me? Why is that, Leslie?”

  She spun around, heart weeping, and shouted, “Just leave!” She didn’t wait to see if he listened.

  But he damn well better leave Missy.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  PETER HAD A pre-op appointment the next day for his eye surgery. Though he didn’t want to see or speak to anybody and was in a foul disposition, he crawled out of bed and took himself to the early morning meeting. The whole time he was there, while he was supposed to be listening to them go over the steps of the procedure, all he could think about was Leslie. The way she’d looked at him when she’d screamed at him to leave. Never before had he seen such emotion come from one single person.

  Because of her, he hadn’t slept a wink.

  All night he’d tossed and turned, replaying their fight in his mind, wondering if or where he’d gone wrong. And he couldn’t figure it out. She was the one who’d decided to end things.

  Christ, love was messy.

  It grabbed a hold of a person. Maybe it was better that they’d split. He and Leslie were too independent, too autonomous to let love happen to them. It would kill their sparks. What would the two of them do with something like love?

  Parking his FJ Cruiser, he climbed out and went through the garage door into the house. Peter kicked the door closed forcefully behind him. Who the hell was he trying to kid?

  The whole ugly frigging truth was that he didn’t want Leslie to be in love with him because he wasn’t worth it. If she loved him he wouldn’t be able to hide his bad side forever and eventually the truth of who he was would eat away at their relationship until nothing remained of something that used to be good.

  Until one day she woke up and realized she’d picked the wrong guy.

  The house was quiet as a tomb when he entered the kitchen. Leslie wasn’t there anymore. But he could feel her. The woman was everywhere. Wherever he looked, he saw her. She was curled up on the sofa, her tiny furball nestled in her lap. She was standing in his kitchen in a tank top and skimpy panties eating cold leftovers. She was even in his bedroom, staring him down with miserable, wet eyes demanding to know why he hadn’t been able to make love to her.

  Leslie had gone from haunting his dreams to haunting his reality. If given a choice, he’d rather it be his dreams. Because in his reality everything in his house smelled like a damn piña colada. Even his stupid towels smelled like coconut.

  And it all made him think of her. Made him miss her.

  He didn’t want to miss her.

  If he missed her then it meant that he cared about her. And caring brought entanglements. Commitments. It meant sticking around somebody for a long, long time—somebody who was going to have expectations, who was going to require things of him. Somebody who was going to see the worst in him.

  He didn’t want that somebody to be Leslie.

  No, he wanted her to always see the best of him. Peter scrubbed a hand over his scruffy face, suddenly bone tired. What did it matter if she saw his bad side? The life he’d lived had shaped and molded him in a lot of ways. Some good, some not. He damn sure wasn’t perfect. Someday somebody was going to get close enough to see that. Why was he always struggling against the inevitable?

  “Probably because you’ve been fighting your whole life and you just don’t fucking know when to stop, idiot.” Sounded about right.

  With a sigh, Peter glanced out the French doors to the back patio. It was a gorgeous November day. The sky was clear and the sun was out. Deciding to take in some fresh air, he grabbed a clean gray Rush hoodie from the dryer, put it on, and poured a glass of orange juice.

  Peter pick
ed up the glass and as he crossed the kitchen he had a memory flash of Leslie in her flannel pants and sloppy ponytail sitting on the floor while she dangled a string for her kitten, a smile of absolute delight on her gorgeous face. His chest went tight like it was caught in a vice grip. Damn it.

  The woman was going to give him a heart attack.

  Muttering to himself, Peter pushed through the French doors and stepped out onto the patio. Taking a minute, he surveyed his property—his home. And it struck him that for a guy who claimed to be scared of commitment and responsibility, he sure hadn’t had a problem with either when he’d bought his house.

  In fact, it was one of the very few things he relied on as a constant in his life.

  A gaggle of geese flew overhead squawking and Peter squinted against the sun, following them across the sky. When they were gone he lowered his gaze and scanned his huge backyard. Clarity started to settle over him.

  His house was built for a family. It wasn’t meant for someone alone. That’s probably why he threw so many frigging parties. Because his home was meant to be full.

  And he’d bought the large five-bedroom house with its private one-acre lot without hesitation. So what did that tell him about his fear of commitment?

  It told him that it was bullshit.

  His real fear was letting someone in. Letting someone truly get close to him. For so many years he’d hidden behind his smile—the cocky ballplayer with the fast arm. He’d laughed and joked and pulled one outrageous stunt after another. And the whole time no one saw the real Peter—even himself.

  He’d made being a professional pitcher his whole identity. He’d let it become his life, while only his music spoke the truth of who he really was. It had worked. It had contented him. But now that the pillar of his self-identity had been stripped away, he didn’t know what to do.

  Maybe it was time to find something new to throw his all into.