Sparks of Love Read online

  “Unbelievable.” She turned on her heel and stormed toward her group of friends.

  I slid off the stool and looked over at Jason. “She’s my best friend.”

  He smiled and nodded. “I get it.”

  “Blaze! Come on. We gotta go!”

  I sighed and gave him a small wave goodbye and swerved through the crowds to get to her. I followed her out the door and couldn’t help but look back. Jason was still staring at me. Damn it! Why hadn’t I gotten his number?!

  4

  Jason

  Watching Blaze leave the bar was painful.

  I definitely hadn’t been ready to let her go yet. It had been a long time since I’d had such a reaction to a woman. She was fucking gorgeous and had absolutely no idea. More than that, though, she was genuine. I could tell she liked baseball, not just baseball players. Though, she seemed to like me just fine. There was something about her, like I understood her and maybe she understood me too.

  Margot stopped by. “Need a refill?”

  “That’d be great, thanks. Can you tell me about Blaze?”

  The bartender’s eyes narrowed, assessing me. “She’s a great woman. She helped me after my car accident. She spends all this time volunteering to massage people who have cancer or AIDs in Omaha. I think she’s even traveled to some out-of-state events. She says she can’t even really massage them—it would be detrimental to them with their diseases—but she touches them. Says it’s healing, especially to some of these people who never get touched except by her. Can you imagine your life that way? She goes all over the state. She works with a lot of the high school sports team. I swear, all she does is work and help her friends.”

  The more Margot spoke, the more I realized Blaze was way, way out of my league. She was a good human being who cared about the world. She did all kinds of things for people, and me, I just shit all over my team because I thought I was better than everyone else and deserved a break more than anyone.

  “I hear the distinct tone you don’t think I’m good enough.” Or maybe that was just my own voice.

  “The Coyotes have a reputation, Calaveras. My bar has been a Coyote hang out for a while now,” Margot said. “Most women know what they’re was getting into, but Blaze, she’s too good of a person. I saw the way she was looking at you. She’s a fan, and you’re hot. I doubt many people give her the attention she gives other people. Don’t crush her, and don’t toy with her.”

  My chest tightened at the thought of her being ignored, passed over. I wasn’t particularly picky about women. Attraction had to be there, but there were all kinds of attractive women in this world. But no one turned me into a living cartoon with my jaw dropping to the ground and my tongue rolling out with big heart-shaped eyes—not like Blaze did tonight.

  I knocked back my drink, threw down money for my bill and a good tip for Margot, then headed out. There was no way I could stick around with my dick threatening to burst through my jeans and Blaze nowhere in sight to help me out with my problem. I was going to have to hire a private investigator to help me track her down because I didn’t want this to be our only interaction.

  I headed out to my car, thought better of it, and called a cab. Twenty minutes later, I was staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, thinking about Blaze. The hour of time with her wasn’t enough. But she was right, I wasn’t going to be in Jubilee forever. She deserved the type of guy who would settle down and devote his life to making sure she got touched and loved as much as she spent all her time touching and caring for others.

  The ache in my dick wouldn’t relent. Eventually, I took my horniness into my own hands, thinking about spilling over Blaze’s tits as I came. Then it was time for another cold shower.

  The crack of the bat hitting the fastball coming at me about ninety miles an hour was music to my ears. For a heartbeat, there was no sound as I finished my swing, sending the ball high into the air. The reverberations made my hands tingle as I dropped the baseball bat to the ground, and my cleated feet dug into the dirt. I pumped my arms, charging for first base. I had to rely on the coaches to tell me where the ball was. First base coach was waving me past first. I had time to get to second. It was then I could look around for where the ball was. I caught sight of the left fielder, throwing it to second base.

  It was going to be close.

  I had to slide, but not quite yet. I wasn’t there. The ball left the left fielder’s hand. It would be to the second baseman in a breath.

  But then the second baseman missed the ball. It seemingly went right through his glove. The heavy footsteps of the first baseman coming up behind me didn’t dissuade me from hitting second base and keep on moving.

  The coach at third was giving me the signal to hurry but stop at third. The look on my teammates faces flashed through my mind. I was going to listen to my coach. But then the shortstop had the ball and stepped right in front of me. I wasn’t ready for it. I hit him at full force, and we went down.

  Pain ripped through my shoulder and fireworks shot out from my eyes. The fall knocked the wind out of me. I laid on the dirt, gasping for air, trying to make my lungs work. My eyes got blurry, and I knew people were around me, but their presence was suffocating too. Finally, I managed to suck in a breath, then another.

  It seemed like both an eternity and a blink of an eye.

  The trainer was by my side, asking me questions. I answered them… I think. I did what he told me to do, then I was being carried off the field. I caught sight of all the players, kneeling in the dirt and grass.

  What about the shortstop I hit? Did he go down hard too?

  For a while, it was just a blur—people poking and prodding at me, people talking to me, asking me questions, people talking around me, about me, taking x-rays and full body scans, then more talking. I didn’t absorb anything, just sat there, waiting for someone to tell me it was all over—I’d lost my career and therefore, my life. It was all over.

  The coach’s furrowed brow did nothing to alleviate all my worry.

  Finally, the doctor came into the room, carrying a tablet. The days of paper charts seemed to be in the past.

  “Jason, how are you doing?”

  My leg bounced up and down. “I’m fine, doc. What’s the verdict?”

  “I have good news, and I have bad news.” The doctor pulled up x-rays of my shoulder. “It’s a rotator cuff tear. It’s not enough to need surgery, but you’re going to have to do some rehabilitation. Which means no baseball.”

  The coach cleared his throat. “We’ve got someone on retainer for that outside the club. I think that might be our best bet.”

  “You trying to get rid of me, Coach?”

  “I’ve got some prescriptions for you for the inflammation and the pain.” The doctor continued his instructions. “If it doesn’t start feeling better or it gets worse, please come back and see me.”

  I nodded at the doctor. He excused himself, ready to move onto the next thing. I glanced over at the coach, who looked like he was about to tell me I was dying. Fuck, this wasn’t going to be good.

  “Jason, I think you need a break from baseball. I’m not saying for very long. I just want you to get out and do something that isn’t baseball. You’ve got a great career ahead of you, but your playing has been off. You’re not seeing things as clearly. I want you ready for the Meadowlarks when they make the call. This injury… you need to go offsite and work on your shoulder and your spirit, son.”

  “My spirit?” I blinked at him. “When did you become some kind of guru for baseball religion, Coach?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve been playing this game a long time. You play like you have nothing else but the game. That isn’t healthy, son. You need something to tether you to the world. The game can be taken from you any day, and there’s more to life than baseball and million-dollar contracts.”

  “Not much more,” I grumbled.

  “I promise you, there is something better out there for you than baseball. I’m going to set up rehab s
essions for you. I want you to do your rehab, stay in shape, and I want you to explore Jubilee Falls. It’s a nice town. There’s always something going on. Summer is this town’s favorite season, aside from Christmas. They have festivals every other day, it seems like.”

  I sighed, and my arm moved to rake my hand through my hair. Instead, my shoulder protested, and I cringed. Fuck.

  “This isn’t a request, is it?”

  “Nope. The doc doesn’t think the injury is too bad. I want you to work with the rehab specialist. Do everything she says. And I want you to get a life. When the rehab therapist gives the okay, I’ll let you come back to the club.”

  “You’re going to hold my spot open?”

  “I am.”

  “Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?”

  “I’m afraid not. Get dressed. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  All the way home, I thought about what the coach had said. My life needed to be more than baseball? Wasn’t that for when my career ended? It wasn’t like I would get to play until I was fifty. I probably wouldn’t even get very far past forty. Though, I suppose I could be a coach, scout, or something. I knew plenty about the sport. I could probably handle my own on a sports show as an analyst. There was plenty I could do with baseball even if I wasn’t playing—though never playing baseball again made me sick to my stomach.

  Somehow, I doubted that was what the coach had in mind when he said do something else, not related baseball. Baseball had been the only thing I could count on in my life, and now, the coach was telling me not to count on it. To find something else to fill the void of never having a family or someone to count on.

  How the fuck was I supposed to find something else that could mean to me what baseball did? Baseball was all I had. It wasn’t like I had friends or family. All I had was baseball. It was the only constant in my life. The only thing I was good at. I had no skills other than baseball.

  I spent the next forty-eight hours feeling sorry for myself. I iced my shoulder and jogged five miles, then went home and watched ESPN, not sure what I was supposed to be spending my time doing. The pain sucked up any energy I had after working out. I didn’t have time to fall out of shape, to walk around a small, semi-crazy little town, trying to find myself.

  Now, I really was feeling sorry for myself.

  Whatever. This whole thing sucked, and I had no idea how I was going to get past it. I didn’t want to be a jealous, bitter guy. That was for someone else.

  On day three, I had my first physical therapy appointment. I showed up on time because I didn’t want to waste someone else’s time.

  “I have an appointment,” I told the receptionist.

  She smiled. “Are you Mr. Calaveras?”

  “Yes.” I was glad not to be recognized for once.

  “Ms. Whitfield will be right with you. You can have a seat if you want.”

  I glanced at the waiting room and took a seat at the end. I picked up a Sports Illustrated issue and flipped through it uninterestedly. I didn’t know what else to do with my hands. I’d been sitting idle for too long. I was used to invigorating workouts, hard runs, batting practice, throwing the ball, and I fucking missed it all. Coach’s words kept running through my head. Did he think there was something wrong with me because I didn’t have a family, a hobby, something other than baseball?

  “Mr. Calaveras.”

  The sultry voice sounded familiar. I tipped my head up to find Blaze staring down at me. She wore her sunshine hair up in a bun. Her uniform was a black, short sleeve shirt that clung to her a little but didn’t have a low neckline, and a pair of black pants that looked comfortable like she could move in them.

  Her telling me about her career choice and Margot telling me about all her volunteer work came flooding into my head. Shit.

  “Ms. Whitfield,” I said and stood up, dropping the magazine back on the table.

  She turned away from me before our gazes could meet. “Right this way.”

  Following her down the hallway, I couldn’t help watching her lush ass sway back and forth. She led me into a room with a table, a small space with a large yoga mat, and some equipment. There were a couple of bottles of water, hand towels, and a basket sitting on the table.

  Blaze seemed completely unfazed by my showing up in her office, but my guess was she probably knew about it for a couple of days. She did sports physical therapy and wanted to work with athletes; it wasn’t surprising she worked for the Coyotes now and again.

  She closed the door.

  “Mr. Calaveras, Coach called me a couple of days ago to let me know what was going on. I discussed the treatment with your doctor, and I feel like I’ve put together a good plan. I would like to go over it and make sure you’re comfortable with—”

  “Hang on, time out.” I held up my hands in a T shape. I didn’t like that she was acting as if we didn’t know each other, that I hadn’t had my tongue in her mouth already. When everything regarding baseball felt horrible, she was the one thing I could think about and not feel like all was lost. Women never felt like more than a good time, but Blaze, she was real.

  Blaze moved around the table, so there was something dividing us.

  “Yes?”

  “Is this how it’s going to be?” I gestured between us.

  She took a step back and tugged at her shirt.

  “Is there something about your treatment you’d like to discuss?”

  “Could we discuss how we met at a bar…”

  She put her hand up. “Mr. Calaveras…”

  “If you call me that one more time, I’m walking out.”

  She adjusted a holster holding a couple of bottles of lotion around her hips, her eyes fixed on the floor.

  “Jason, then?”

  “Please.”

  She dragged her eyes from the floor and met my gaze directly.

  “I don’t want to be a joke to you. The fact that we’ve shared some moments outside of this office, ones in a more sexual connotation, make this already difficult for you to see me as a professional. There are enough happy ending jokes to last me a lifetime. This is my livelihood, and I’ve worked really hard to cultivate a professional atmosphere. I don’t want to be diminished to a bar joke.”

  “Blaze, you’re not a joke to me. I’ll treat this time together with respect, I swear, but don’t pretend like you don’t know me at all.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I got defensive before you even showed up. Things got out of hand between us pretty quickly, and I didn’t want it to devolve into something that could hurt my reputation. I really do want to help get your shoulder back up and running. The Coyotes need you.”

  The earnestness in her voice made me feel good, like I had worth to a team that didn’t think I did. I relaxed a little. That made sense, but I still found her completely and utterly distracting. Maybe she had a point. I didn’t want to ruin her reputation. She was beautiful and putting her career before sex was also incredibly hot. I in no way wanted to disrespect her.

  “I swear, nothing but my shoulder will be discussed here. But outside of here…”

  “Jason, I don’t date clients.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if cutting off any arguments. Of course, it only made my eyes drop to her chest. Even without cleavage, it took me a second to blink away.

  Not dating clients, I understood. Not dating me? That was unacceptable. She’d been the only silver lining in being benched. I wanted to see her again, and now she was here, right in front of me.

  “I met you before I was a client. I wanted to go out with you before…”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to date you. You’re my client.”

  “What about when my shoulder’s fixed?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it.

  “Jason, you don’t really want to go out with me.”

  “The hell I don’t. I’ve been thinking about you for days. I hated that you got away without giving me
your number. What happened with your friend and her fiancé, anyway?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “They broke up and the wedding didn’t happen. As much as I’d love to catch up, I have a schedule to keep. Could we get started?”

  “Yeah, of course.” It was odd. Blaze was super-hot, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, but I didn’t want to sexualize her at that moment. I needed my shoulder to get better, and I needed her help to do it.

  Outside of this place, though, I doubted I would feel that way. But if it was truly what she wanted, I would back off.

  Blaze went on to our treatment plan, walking me through stretches and exercises to help keep my arm in shape while it healed. She gave me a full body massage, stretching my limbs, core, and deep muscles.

  At the bar, she was anything but immune to me, but here, her expression didn’t falter. Everything about her touch was healing, gentle, and strong when it needed to be. She kept the communication open, so we could discuss pressure and how the pain was, but never did she make me feel like I was broken or a wimp. She was damn fucking good at her job—the utmost professional who just wanted her patient to get better.

  Once the session was over, she left to give me privacy to get dressed and cycle down from our session. She came back in after a few minutes and handed me a bottle of water.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore.” Everything ached. I think the fall took a bigger impact on me than I realized. It wasn’t just in my shoulder.

  “Keep icing it, drink lots of water, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Now that the session was over, I grabbed her hand.

  “Blaze, can we please discuss this no dating rule?”

  “No. Especially not here.”

  “Okay, so meet me somewhere.”

  “Jason…” She whined like I was making her life difficult.

  “Please. Meet me somewhere to talk about this, and I promise, if you tell me no after that, I will never bring it up again.”

  Blaze met my eyes. “All right, fine.”

  “Wanna give me your number, and I’ll text you where and when to meet me?”