Dan Alexander, Pitcher Page 9

  The young girl entered and gasped when she saw the dress. “That’s the most beautiful dress in the world! Can I wear it to the dance?”

  “You have a perfectly good one. This is not for someone your age. Could you please help with the zipper?”

  “It was worth a try,” she said, walking around behind Holly. “Thanks for taking Sarah and me today.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  She nodded. “It was great. You’re really nice. Not like my mom.”

  “Don’t say that. Your mom is nice too.”

  “She’s bossy. Always telling me what to do. I know what to do.”

  “That’s what moms do.”

  “Bet your mom doesn’t do that.” Lisa drew the zip up slowly.

  Tears stung her eyes. Yes, Holly’s mother had done that. All the time—“don’t do this,” “don’t do that,” “do this,” “do that.” It had driven her nuts. Was her mom right? Not all the time, but maybe some of it. And to this day, Holly knew in her heart what her mother approved of and didn’t approve of. But Nancy was different, not so harsh. “My mother did it to me all the time. And worse. You’re lucky to have the mother you have. Nancy loves you so much. She only wants you to be safe and make good choices.”

  “Didn’t your mother want that too?”

  Emotion choked Holly. Did her mother want that? Maybe not. Maybe she only wanted what would look good to the world, would make her look like a proper mother, the best mother there was. Holly got confused, but she sure wasn’t going to admit to Lisa what Mrs. Ransom Merrill’s shortcomings were. “Maybe. Maybe she did. If you compare them, you’ve got the better deal.”

  Lisa closed the back and did the little hook at the top. Holly turned around.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Holly gave the teen a hug, wishing the girl was really her little sister.

  “I’ll never be as pretty as you.”

  “Yes, you will. Even prettier. And smarter too. Thank you for helping me.”

  Lisa bit her lip then blurted out, “I hope you fall in love with Dan and marry him!”

  Holly laughed. “That’s a lovely thought, but I doubt it will happen.”

  Arm in arm, the two females headed for the living room.

  * * * *

  Never nervous on dates, Dan was surprised to find his palms sweaty as he sat on the Magee’s couch. After the most amazing day that had included a couple of giggling, teenage girls, Dan was more confused than ever about Holly. She seemed strong, but vulnerable, responsible yet not opposed to being silly—so many opposites, his head was spinning.

  Her fondness for Lisa and a childlike sense of wonder being at Playland for the first time had charmed him. He couldn’t imagine Valerie even agreeing to that type of date, where she wasn’t the center of attention. The afternoon had been all about the girls, with a few stolen moments with Holly thrown in. Sweet one minute, scared shitless the next, laughing, burying her face in his shoulder—all touched his heart.

  But she was the Hot Dog Girl, and he didn’t even know where she came from. Did she grow up in a tenement on the Lower East Side or a Fifth Avenue penthouse? What was a classy chick like her doing hawking dogs at the stadium? He had no idea, and she wasn’t talking.

  Primed for some one-on-one time, he planned to get answers to his questions before he got any more involved. He swallowed. His well-protected heart already figured into this equation. Damn! Could he take her at face value, or were there deep, dark, hideous secrets that would send him running in the opposite direction? Maybe she was a tabloid journalist, getting close to him for a story, an exposé, one night with Dan Alexander? The idea made him swallow hard and rethink his plans for the evening.

  Before he could paint her to be the most devious woman on Earth in his mind, she appeared. All his negative thoughts shattered into a million pieces, like windshield glass. She was stunning, dark hair, silver dress, and cleavage tempting him. A slight tightening in his groin warned him to make a quick exit before he embarrassed himself.

  “You look beautiful, gorgeous,” he squeaked out.

  “Thank you. Ready?”

  He nodded, rising from the sofa. Nancy and Bud went on and on about how great she looked.

  After hugs for all the Magee’s, Holly stepped over to him. “I’m not too steady in these heels. Do you mind?”

  “No, no. Not at all. Let me help you.” He took her arm and led her to the door. “I’m parked right out front.”

  She smelled like a fresh day in the country. No heavy, cheap perfume, simply soap and water and her own unique scent—an intoxicating aroma for his nose. He leaned closer to sniff her neck, bared to his gaze. He planted a quick kiss there in the privacy of the elevator.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I was going to take you to Freddie’s, but you look much too good. Let’s go to Chez Maxim.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  He opened the car door for her then got in and pulled away from the curb. “Chez Maxim’s not far from the club.”

  “The club?”

  “The Hide-Out. It’s where I usually go on a Saturday night.”

  “It’s not Saturday.”

  “No game tomorrow. Makes it Saturday for us,” he said, steering the car onto Broadway.

  He put the car in a garage and escorted Holly to the posh, French restaurant. Inside, Dan was greeted warmly by the maître d’ named Paul, and, although the restaurant had people waiting, they were shown to a table right away.

  “He knows you?”

  “I come here a couple of times a year and tip well.”

  “With different women?”

  The maître d’ pulled out her chair for her.

  Dan sensed color creeping up his neck. “A few.”

  Paul placed menus in their hands. Holly looked around. The floor was a light wood, spotless and gleaming. The walls were painted a muted, grayish-blue with cream colored trim. The table cloths had damask prints in cream over small round, tables. The chairs were painted cream. A single candle in a cloisonné candlestick burned. The china had a pink fleur de lis pattern on the border, with sterling silver flatware to complete the image.

  They opened their menus. All the dishes were listed in both English and French. Dan selected a bottle of wine that Paul had recommended. The sommelier uncorked and poured. Holly’s eyes widened as the golden liquid reached her tongue.

  The vintage beverage cost a hundred and fifty dollars, but he wanted the best for his Hot Dog Girl. He figured she may never have tasted anything so superb or eaten in a place so fine. He wanted to be the one to treat her to this elegant experience.

  “Know what you want?” he asked, trying to hide his smug attitude.

  She nodded. “What are you having?”

  “The filet mignon.”

  Paul arrived to take their order. Holly smiled up at him and then at Dan, before she placed both their orders in perfect French. Dan’s mouth fell open. Paul smiled broadly, responded to her order, also in French, gave a little bow, and was off.

  “You speak French?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “You never asked.”

  “Where did you learn it?”

  “In high school, then I perfected it during my year at La Sorbonne,” she said, coolly taking a sip of her wine.

  “The Sorbonne? In Paris?”

  “I see you’ve heard of it.”

  He laughed. “I sure had you pegged wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re more of an uptown girl than a downtown girl.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  He raised his glass. “Here’s to Fifth Avenue.”

  She joined him. “Park Avenue, to be more specific.”

  He choked on his beverage.

  * * * *

  Holly was on to him. She had to wipe that superior look off his face. When he’d ordered the wine, she knew he was trying to impres
s her. Hell, her father had ordered similar bottles every time they went out to dinner. When she saw the French menu, she couldn’t help herself.

  She’d been hiding her fancy background long enough. Dan had been such a sweetheart, she figured he was entitled to some truth as to who she was, and this was the perfect opportunity. She chuckled at the shock on his face when she ordered.

  He’d been so nice, she had to make sure he wasn’t simply being condescending to the Hot Dog Girl, a waif with no family. She didn’t want to be a girl he took out to a fancy meal to do her a favor, show her how the other half lives. She wanted more from him. Wanted him to know she was used to the finer things in life, even if she didn’t have them now. And that she knew her way around elegant, expensive restaurants.

  The food was superb, cooked perfectly. She complimented the chef to Paul, in French, of course.

  Dan took her hand between courses. The wine relaxed her, lowered her guard.

  “Park Avenue, eh? Sure puts my family to shame,” he said, between bites.

  “Don’t be so sure. Money isn’t everything. From the way you talk, seems like you had a nice, normal childhood. You did a lot better than I.”

  “Wasn’t all that normal. My older brother had a lot of problems.”

  “I wish I had a sibling.”

  “Only child?”

  She nodded, taking a piece of scallop into her mouth.

  “Spoiled rotten?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  She chuckled. “Not exactly. Boarding school, sleep away camp, nannies, maids, housekeepers. If you want to call that spoiled.”

  He closed his fingers over hers. “Sounds lonely.”

  “Got that right.” A burn of tears at the back of her eyes made her stop.

  He lifted her hand to his lips, sending a tingle all the way down her arm and below. “You sure don’t act spoiled,” he said.

  “And you don’t act like you came from a home with problems.”

  “Doesn’t everybody’s family have problems? I mean, to some extent? Nobody’s perfect.”

  “Nope, but the Magee’s seem pretty close,” she said.

  “You like it there?”

  She nodded again.

  Paul brought a plate of small, assorted French pastries for dessert.

  Holly rubbed her belly. “I don’t think I can eat another thing.”

  “You’ve got to try one. They’re known for their desserts.”

  “Well, maybe one little éclair,” she said, finishing her drink and taking one with the small tongs provided.

  “What the hell are you doing there anyway? I mean, if you come from a wealthy family, why aren’t you living on your own, or with them?”

  “Long story. I can’t tell you. Wish I could, but I can’t.”

  “Did you do something horrible? Rob a bank?” His eyes were laughing.

  Holly dropped her fork on her plate. Does he know? Her head snapped up, and their gazes met.

  “Holy shit, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re on the run from the law?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Did you commit a crime?”

  “No. No, I didn’t. I can’t tell you more. Please don’t ask me.” She lowered her gaze and finished her second éclair.

  A few beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “I hate to ask this, but am I in danger?”

  “No. Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be here with you if it put you in jeopardy.”

  He grinned. “Didn’t think so. But I had to ask. Can I help?” He closed his hand around hers again.

  The soft tone of his voice melted her heart. Tears long held back slipped down her cheeks. She dabbed at them with her napkin. “No one can help. I know what I have to do, but I’m not ready.”

  He nodded, as if he knew what she was talking about. The sympathy in his eyes warmed her heart. He paid the bill, and they left. He steered them in the direction of the club.

  “It’s nice out. Do you mind walking?” he asked.

  “Not at all.”

  He took her hand, pulled her close, and draped his arm around her shoulders. Holly snaked hers around his middle and snuggled into him as they strolled down the street. Her palm rested on muscle. Touching him gave her goosebumps. As her Cinderella night continued, she looked up, found the first star, and made a wish.

  “Are you wishing on a star?”

  She nodded. “You?”

  “Didn’t know they did that on Park Avenue. Guys don’t do that stuff.”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “Okay, okay. Guilty.”

  “So, what did you wish for?”

  He blushed. “Can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

  “I have a feeling it’s going to come true, whether you tell me or not.”

  He laughed and drew her to him for a passionate kiss. He pressed her up against a lamp post. His hard chest crushed hers, hardening her nipples. She thrust her hips into his, feeling him harden beneath the fabric of his suit. Body to body, tongue to tongue, lips to lips, need grew up between them. Desire flowed through her veins, settling between her legs.

  “Hey, buddy, come on. Get a room. Move along,” said a policeman.

  Panting, the would-be lovers parted.

  “Sorry, officer, but this beautiful girl… Well, you can see—”

  “Dan? Dan Alexander? Is it really you?” The wonder in the man’s voice made Holly chuckle.

  “Yep,” he said, nodding.

  “Would you give me an autograph for my kid? Make it out to Joey?” The policeman searched his pockets until he found a piece of paper then shoved it in the pitcher’s face.

  “Sure.” Dan reached into his jacket for a pen.

  “Gonna win the pennant this year too?”

  “Gonna try, officer. Joey, eh?”

  “Yeah. Joey Santoro.”

  Dan finished writing and handed it back to the cop.

  “Thanks. Thanks a million. Hey, if you wanna make out, I won’t say nothin’.”

  “That’s okay. We got the message. Come, Dan.” Holly took his hand and urged him forward. The officer tipped his hat and moved on. “That happens to you a lot, doesn’t it?”

  “You mean having a cop break up a make-out session? Uh, no.”

  She gave his shoulder a playful slap. “You know what I mean.”

  “The autographs? Yeah. I love fans.”

  When they had reached the entrance to The Hide-Out, Dan opened the door for Holly. The bouncer stopped her until he recognized the pitcher. He shook his hand. Dan slipped him some cash, and they were ushered in. The place was dark. On a tiny stage, a band played ear-shattering music. The purple lights gave people weird-looking skin. Dan high-fived a couple of his teammates at the bar and tried to introduce Holly, but the song was too loud. He took her hand and nodded toward the dance floor. She grinned as he led her through the crowd.

  Dan impressed Holly with his dancing. His body moved rhythmically to the beat of the drum. The music seemed to flow through him as he edged closer. Gyrating with the tune turned her on. Each movement made her aware of her hips, legs, feet, and shoulders as she rubbed up against him. Sexual energy drove her to grind into his hips and thighs. She raised her arms high and bumped her ass up against his groin. He leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on her neck as he slipped his arm around her waist, gluing her to him. Her pelvis swayed with his. This wasn’t dancing. It was foreplay.

  His hands moved to her hips, holding gently, guiding her to his pace. At his touch, heat rocketed through her body. She wanted more. The song finished, and the band took a break. Dan and Holly joined his friends at the bar. He ordered champagne.

  “Guys, this is Holly,” he said, handing her a flute.

  “Not the Hot Dog Girl?” Matt asked.

  The pitcher nodded. “Her name is Holly.”

  She offered her hand and each one took it. Their appreciative looks skimming her body jump started her nerves. Each player made eye contact with Dan and gave him some sign of approval, from a gr
in to raised eyebrows. She shifted her weight.

  The band played a slow dance. Dan turned to the bar to put their drinks down, when a woman sidled up to him.

  “How ya doin’, Dan?”

  Holly watched the blonde as she put her arm around him.

  He moved back. “Hi, Val. Fine. Excuse me,” he said, reaching for Holly’s hand.

  She watched the woman eye her up and down, frowning. “Not bad. But you can do better.”

  “Watch it,” he said, leading Holly to the dance floor. He pulled her close, closing his long arms around her, resting his palms on her hips.

  “Who was that?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Old girlfriend.”

  “Been broken up long?”

  “Obviously, not long enough,” he said, bending down to kiss her neck.

  Holly chuckled and wound her arms around him. When she tilted her chin up, she received a kiss. She melted her body to his. Closing her eyes, she wished all the other people away, but when she opened, they were still there.

  “Wanna get out of here?” he asked.

  “You read my mind.”

  When the song was over, he took her hand, raised a palm in farewell to his friends, and headed for the door. Holly laced her fingers with his, ignoring the nasty look she got from the blonde. She’d be damned if she’d let an ugly stepsister ruin her Cinderella evening.

  The couple strolled to his car. A church clock struck ten.

  “It’s early. Want to go back to my place?”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” she said, beaming at him.

  He navigated them through traffic to northern Manhattan, pulling up in front of a luxury building about fourteen stories tall. The doorman opened her door.

  “He parks for me.” Dan slipped some cash, along with the keys, into the man’s hand.

  The valet tipped his hat to Holly and got behind the wheel.

  “I bought two apartments and had them combined,” Dan said, unlocking his front door.

  They walked into the living room where two walls were floor-to-ceiling windows. The others were white. The sofa and chairs were black with chrome. There was a glass coffee table and square, glass dining table. The sectional sofa had turquoise and gold pillows for color. It faced a giant, flat-screen television and fabulous windows.