Out of His League. Cathryn Parry

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СКАЧАТЬ thing about Martinez is that he’s developed his technique, his windup, such that the batter can’t see his grip position on the baseball. He has no clue whether to expect a curveball, a fastball, a changeup...until the ball is right in front of him and it’s too late. Very few pitchers have the skill to do this, and it’s what makes Martinez great. Barring any unforeseen scandal, he’s a future Hall of Famer.”

      “A legend,” the first announcer agreed.

      “What will it be?”

      She found herself holding her breath. The noise from the crowd was a buzzing hum. In the stadium, it would be deafening. She wondered which side the fans were on, the pitcher’s or the batter’s?

      Elizabeth sat forward in her seat. She was concentrating so hard her focus had narrowed to a place where all that existed was the pitcher on the screen. His slow, careful windup. His arm stretched back, his leg in the air.

      He fired the pitch like a rocket, with a skill that seemed superhuman. In a blur, the slugger swung hard and missed. The ball smacked inside the catcher’s mitt.

      “Game over!” the announcer cried.

      Elizabeth jumped up from her chair and squealed. She’d had no idea baseball was this exciting.

      “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Lizzy,” Jon’s quiet voice said from behind her.

      She gasped. She’d been so absorbed in the game, she’d completely forgotten about Jon.

      Now he was awake. He had a faint smile and a twinkle in his eye. He wasn’t even watching the television screen, the commotion of celebration and the jostling of reporters crowding onto the field.

      He grinned at her. “You were rooting for the pitcher.”

      “I was not!”

      He grinned harder. “Sure you were.”

      She glanced to her grocery bag on the kitchen counter. She needed to get Jon out of here and on his way. “I brought you a pizza from the ovens at Whole Foods. You can take it home with you and eat it there.”

      He cocked his head at her. “Why can’t you admit that you were enjoying watching the baseball game?”

      “I wasn’t enjoying anything. It was strictly intellectual curiosity.”

      “So you admit that you find baseball intelligent,” he said quietly. “Good. Because it is.”

      “Whatever you say,” she snapped.

      That seemed to deflate him. Touched a sore spot with him, maybe.

      She felt angry at herself. Confused...and she was a woman who was rarely confused. But her actions made no sense. She should not be interested in Jon, or his sport—she had her own, critical business to attend to.

      Stalking to the kitchen, she headed for the counter. “Here’s your pizza.” She pulled the warm, delicious-smelling box out of the bag.

      Jon followed her. “Thanks.” But his face looked pale, and he seemed to be...wincing.

      He put his hand on the tabletop to steady himself. “I’m...sorry I didn’t help you carry the bag upstairs,” he murmured.

      She stared at his bandaged finger and saw the red stain. “Are your sutures bleeding?” she demanded.

      His ice-blue eyes considered her. “I’m okay, Liz.”

      “You are not okay. You’ve been through surgery and you need to take care of yourself.”

      He winced again, and she remembered that he’d said he hadn’t taken painkillers. She opened a cabinet and grabbed some over-the-counter acetaminophen and wound-dressing supplies.

      She hadn’t bandaged a patient since her rotation in emergency medicine, but she owed him that, at least. “Let me change your bandage as a thank-you. Then you should go home and rest. Surgery is difficult on the body.” She handed him a glass of water and shook out two tablets. “Take these. You’ll still be able to drive.”

      He took them from her outstretched palm. His hands were...overly large for his frame. Long fingers, the nails groomed short.

      “Do you ever watch baseball, Liz?” His voice was so low and warm it made her shiver.

      But she shook the thoughts of him out of her head. Those pheromones were wreaking havoc again. “Never,” she said firmly, turning to the sink to soap up her hands, then she smeared them with Purell almost to her elbows, by force of habit. “I already told you that.”

      He said nothing. Sat still, at her kitchen table. She bent over his splinted finger, and squinted into the light.

      She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, she was so close to him, their heads almost touching. She was horrified to find that she was matching her inhales and exhales to his.

      Stop it, she told herself. Switching into professional mode, she removed the bandages the surgical nurse had placed around Jon’s finger. The stitches beneath were small and even: expert. Typically, the residents stitched up the incision after the surgeon cut, but in Jon’s case, he had wanted to do everything himself, carefully and by the book; he’d even forbidden the team from playing music in the operating room.

      “Do you have any idea how much money this guy’s hands are worth?” Dr. Morgan had remarked to Elizabeth. At the time, she’d had no clue. Now, after watching that clip on television, she had a better idea.

      She kept her gaze on Jon’s finger, and on the sterile gauze and tube of antibiotic ointment she was opening. Jon said nothing, and that was worse than his teasing earlier in the night had been.

      He wasn’t throwing roadblocks in her way now. So why was she delaying sending him home?

      She drew in her breath. “Thank you for watching Brandon for me,” she said crisply, “but I see no reason for our continued acquaintance beyond tonight.” Her heart rate was elevated again, but she forced herself to continue. “I understand that Brandon and you may have formed an attachment, and I think that’s wonderful, but tomorrow Brandon goes home, and tomorrow you can take up the matter with my sister if you wish.”

      “I’m not interested in your sister,” he said quietly.

      “Don’t say that until you’ve met her,” she said beneath her breath.

      His ice-blue eyes seemed to bore into her. Seeing too much beneath the surface, more so than she was comfortable sharing with anybody.

      She made as much noise as possible, tearing at the packaging for the sterile gauze. Anything to distract herself from his presence.

      “Does she suck up all the attention, Liz?” Jon asked quietly.

      “What? No!” She jerked her gaze to him. “Stop questioning me. You have the wrong opinion of us.”

      “What’s wrong about it?”

      “You would like my sister. Everybody does.”

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