* * *
Suzanna Trent stood outside the new Pittsburgh Pirates’ stadium, not ten feet from the players’ entrance, wondering when it was she’d lost her mind.
It was bad enough that she’d bought tickets to the entire weekend series, then sat in right field, her binoculars trained on Tim Trehan as he squatted behind home plate, and each time he came up to bat.
But this was worse, much worse. What in hell had possessed her to bribe the guard with a twenty so that she could get inside the gate, be there when the team members headed for the bus that had to be taking them to the airport and the trip back to Philadelphia?
She didn’t even have a pennant for him to sign, or an autograph book.
Not that she’d ask him for his autograph. Why should she do that? She still had every note he’d ever passed to her in Mrs. Butterworth’s world history class:
“Suze—you coming to practice? Bring my cleats, okay? They’re in my locker.”
“Suze—think fast, when was the war of 1812? Hahaha!”
“Suze—you think Mindy Frett will go to the dance with me Friday night? Ask her, Suze, okay?”
Oh, yeah. She still had every note. Had cried over most of them. She didn’t need no steenking autograph. So why was she here?
Hey, she was in town, that was why. She was on a job, straightening out the Harrison Manufacturing Company’s screwed up computer system, a job she’d just wrapped up Friday morning.
It was Sunday. So why hadn’t she gone home to Allentown? Why had she stayed, gone to all three weekend games?
“Because you’re certifiable, that’s why,” Suzanna grumbled to herself, hitching her large bag back up on her shoulder, preparing to leave before Tim came out, saw her, and walked right past her without recognizing his old classmate, pal, and general gofer.
Yes, that was it. She wanted to see if he recognized her. Why not? She looked good. She looked damn good.
Then again, anything would be an improvement over frizzy, carrot-orange hair, the teeth braces that had nearly become a permanent part of her, and the baby fat she’d carried all the way into her early twenties.
God, the crush she’d had on the man. Ever since kindergarten, and straight through their senior year.
From the beginning, they had been together, thrown in close proximity through simple alphabetics. Every classroom, every year, it was Trehan, Trehan, Trent. Jack, then Tim, then Suzanna. Every blessed year.
Jack, Tim, and “good old Suze.”
That was what Tim called her: good old Suze.
She didn’t call herself that. Inside her notebooks, where nobody could see, she’d scribbled, year after year: Mrs. Timothy Trehan.
Not that he’d ever had a clue. She’d have died if he’d known. If he’d laughed, told his brother, told his friends. She would have just died.
But, damn him, he should have known.
After all, it had been Suzanna who could always tell the twins apart, when no one else could. It was Suzanna who had done Tim’s homework for him when he’d forgotten, Suzanna who had always made sure she had bubble gum for him because he swore he couldn’t play ball for spit without it.
It was Suzanna who had volunteered to be statistician for every team Tim had ever played on, just so she could be near him. It was Suzanna who Tim had thought of as his great pal, his buddy, his friend, his “good old Suze.”
The jerk.
Thank God she’d wised up and not followed Jack and Tim to college. Instead, she’d deliberately headed to UCLA, as far away from Tim as she could get without leaving the continental United States.
She’d graduated near the top of her class, built herself a career, a damn good career, acting as a troubleshooter for a major software firm headquartered back in Allentown. She traveled the country now, remained heart-free, and believed she had a pretty good head on her shoulders.
A head with short, tamed, now carefully colored dark mahogany hair with touches of soft blond highlights, atop slim shoulders that belonged to a size-eight body.
Oh, yes. She wasn’t good old Suze anymore. She was woman, watch her soar.
So what in hell was she doing here?
“Nothing good,” she told herself, hitching up her purse once more as she stepped away from the shadows, intent on getting herself out of here and back to sanity. She should have left long ago, when the game had gone into extra innings, instead of sticking around until the bitter end.
Thing was, the door had just opened, and Suzanna found herself trying to fight the tide of yelling autograph seekers, from six-year-old boys to seventy-year-old grandfathers, that converged on the area as if they had been tossed there by a tidal wave.
Fighting that wave was hopeless, so Suzanna turned around, allowed herself to go with the flow.
What the hell. She was here. Why not at least look?
“Dusty! Dusty! Over here, over here! Sign my book, sign my book!”
Suzanna looked down to see a young boy standing in front of her, a pair of crutches propped under his arms and a cast to his midthigh. Poor kid, he’d never make it through the crowd. She looked around, hoping to see a parent, but the kid seemed to be alone.
“Here, let me help you,” Suzanna said, proving yet again that, yup, here she was, good old Suze.
Good old Suze used polite “pardon me’s” and a couple of well–placed elbows as she helped the boy to the front of the crowd just as Dusty Johnson—his shock of bright red hair easily recognizable—headed out of the door and toward the bus.
“Yo, Dusty,” Suzanna called out, waving her hand high in the air. “Over here. There’s a kid wants your autograph.”
The rookie shortstop smiled, nodded, and headed for the crowd. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, then bent down, lifted the boy’s Phillies cap, and ruffled his hair. He ignored the other books and programs and hats being aimed at him and instead took the autograph book from the boy as he knelt down in front of him, getting on eye level with the kid. That was nice.
“See that triple I hit tonight, son? Did that just for you. Bet you didn’t know that.”
“Ah, man,” the boy said, shifting on his crutches. “You’re so cool. Sign it to Joe, okay? Not Joey. Joe.”
“Got ya,” Dusty said, scribbling on an empty page. Then he stood up, looked back at the door and the few stragglers still heading for the bus. “Hey, Tim. Hey, roomie. C’mere. Sign this kid’s book why don’t ya.”
“Sure,” Tim Trehan said, tossing a light Jacket over his shoulder as he headed their way.
Time stopped. Reversed. Older yes, but he was still Tim. Her Tim. Long, lean, a ballplayer to his toes. Thick, unruly dark blond hair, with that lighter streak on the left, just above his temple. That same wide smile, those same whiter-than-white teeth against his constant tan. Those same bright colbalt blue eyes. That same lazy walk that some might call a swagger.
She’d know him in the dark, on the moon... and in her dreams. Always in her dreams.
Suzanna could have done a quick melt into the crowd, except that it wouldn’t be easy. Especially since she didn’t want to move.
“Oh, man oh man. Tim Trehan. Tim the Tiger.” The young boy nearly fell off his crutches as he leaned forward to get a better look at Tim.
“Hi, son, what’s the other guy look like?” Tim asked, taking the autograph book and scribbling his name.
“Naw, it was just me. Fell off my bike.”
“Bummer. I did that, a couple of times. You wearing your helmet?”
“Yes, sir,” Joe said, nodding. “My mom’d kill me if I didn’t. You okay, Tim? Sanchez hit you pretty hard, huh?”
Suzanna, holding her breath, trying to pretend she was invisible, listened as Tim told the boy that he was fine, that he’d been slid into plenty of times, blocking the plate.
“Yeah, but you were down for a while. My dad said it’s the Trehan curse. Did you see him in the clubhouse? I’m waiting for him out here. He writes sports for our paper, you know? He said all the writers know.??
?
Suzanna watched as Tim stiffened, a slight tic working in his right cheek. “Oh, yeah? Well, you tell your dad to—” He shut his mouth, shook his head. “Never mind.
This your mom?” he asked, jerking a thumb in Suzanna’s direction.
“No, sir. She’s just some lady helped me up here.” Suzanna winced. The story of her life. Just some lady.
Well, the hell with that!
“Hi, Tim, remember me?”
Tim looked at her, glanced in her direction actually, and shook his head. Then he tipped his head to one side, narrowed his eyelids. “No. No way. Suze?”
“Yup,” she said, knowing full well that her cheeks were turning bright red. And her neck, and her forehead. She was the most thorough blusher she knew. “It’s me, Tim. Good old Suze.”
The next thing she knew, she was enveloped in a bear hug that all but squeezed the breath from her body.
“Suze, I don’t believe it. God, it’s been years.” Tim took hold of her shoulders, pushed her slightly away from him, ran his gaze from her head to her toes, then back again.
She looked good. She knew she looked good. Anyone who took three hours bathing, dressing, and putting on her makeup had damn well better look good. She’d even worn a dress, and heels. For the love of God, she was hopeless—she’d worn heels to a ball game. Who did that?
“You’ve changed,” he said, and she didn’t know if she should give him points for his observant comment, or punch him in the nose.
“I’ve lost weight, the braces, and about two feet of hair, yes,” she answered, trying to keep it light. Gotta keep it light with Tim Trehan, always keep it light. Otherwise, all she’d see of him would be his back, as he ran away. “You look good, especially for a guy who had his bell rung today.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t anything,” Tim said quickly. “Just a part of the game.”
“I was listening to the post-game wrap-up on my car radio while waiting around for a while,” Suzanna said. “They said Sanchez might get brought up in front of the League president. Fined, even suspended.”
“Could be,” Tim said, shrugging. “I don’t get into that stuff.”
“I know. It was Jack who threw at a few guys’ heads as payback when he was pitching, as I remember it.”
“You know Jack. He lived by Don Drysdale’s motto. Remember it? ‘My own rule was two-for-one. If one of my teammates got knocked down, then—’“
“‘I knocked down two on the other team,’“ Suzanna ended, laughing. “I remember.”
Tim smiled with her. “God. It’s great seeing you, Suze. You live in Pittsburgh now?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m just here on business. I’m still in town, Allentown actually. After Mom and Dad died, I sold that big house in Whitehall, took an apartment. You’re still there in Whitehall, right?”
As if she didn’t know. One-thirty-seven Hill Avenue and Thirteen-thirteen Mockingbird Lane; two addresses she’d never forget, Tim Trehan and Herman Munster. She really ought to think about having her head examined one of these days.
“Yeah, still there. When I’m home, which isn’t often during the season.”
“Yo—Trehan! Today, okay?”
Tim turned to wave at Rich Craig, who was standing on the bottom step of the bus. “In a minute.” Then he turned back to Suzanna. “Look, I know it’s kind of late, but God, Suze, it’s been forever since I saw you. Do you want to go for something to eat? I have to go back on the bus, team rules, but you could follow, meet me in the hotel, and we could grab something to eat, catch up on old times? Our plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning because we went into extra innings.”
“Something to—well, sure. Sure. My... My car’s parked right outside this gate.” She half turned, pointed toward the gate, as though she was giving directions. Smooth, Suze, real smooth. Why not drool, too. “Where, um, where are you staying? Just in case I lose the bus on the road.”
He told her what she already knew—because she was booked at the same large hotel—then turned, walked partway to the bus before turning again, giving her a grin that melted her insides. “Good old Suze. Is this something, or what?”
Suzanna nodded, smiled, then stepped back, half tripped over Joe’s crutch, and nearly fell. Good old klutzy Suze, suddenly thirteen again.
Yeah, it was something all right.
But what?
* * *
To learn more about Kasey or how to purchase
BE MY BABY TONIGHT or any of her books,
please visit her online at
www.KaseyMichaels.com.
Connect with Kasey on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/AuthorKaseyMichaels.
Titles by Kasey Michaels
Now Available as Digital Editions:
Kasey’s “Alphabet” Regency Romance Classics
Alphabet Regency Romance Complete Box Set
The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane
The Playful Lady Penelope
The Haunted Miss Hampshire
The Belligerent Miss Boynton
The Lurid Lady Lockport
The Rambunctious Lady Royston
The Mischievous Miss Murphy
Moonlight Masquerade
A Difficult Disguise
The Savage Miss Saxon
Nine Brides and One Witch: A Regency Novella Duo
The Somerville Farce
The Wagered Miss Winslow
Kasey’s Historical Regencies
Indiscreet (Enterprising Ladies)
Escapade (Enterprising Ladies)
A Masquerade in the Moonlight (Enterprising Ladies)
The Legacy of the Rose
Come Near Me
Out of the Blue (A Time Travel)
Waiting for You (Love in the Regency, Book 1)
Someone to Love (Love in the Regency, Book 2)
Then Comes Marriage (Love in the Regency, Book 3)
Kasey’s Contemporary Romances
Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You (D&S Security Series)
Too Good To Be True (D&S Security Series)
Love To Love You Baby (The Brothers Trehan Series)
Be My Baby Tonight (The Brothers Trehan Series)
Stuck In Shangri-La (The Trouble With Men Series)
Everything’s Coming Up Rosie (The Trouble With Men Series)
This Must Be Love (Summer Lovin’ Series)
This Can’t Be Love (Summer Lovin’ Series)
About the Author
Kasey Michaels began her career scribbling her stories on yellow legal pads while the family slept. She totally denies she chiseled them into flat rocks, but yes, she began her career a long time ago. Now Kasey is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than 110 books (she doesn't count them). Kasey has received four coveted Starred Reviews from Publishers Weekly, three for historical romance, The Secrets of the Heart, The Butler Did it, and The Taming of a Rake, and for the contemporary romance Love To Love You Baby (that shows diversity, you see). She is a recipient of the RITA, a Waldenbooks and Bookrak Bestseller award, and many awards from Romantic Times magazine, including a Career Achievement award for her Regency era historical romances. She is an Honor Roll author in Romance Writers of America, Inc., and is a past president of Novelists, Inc. (NINC), the only international writers organization devoted solely to the needs of multi-published authors.
Please visit Kasey on her website at
www.KaseyMichaels.com
or connect with Kasey on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/AuthorKaseyMichaels
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