BPOV

I stood frozen for a few moments, trying to get a grasp on what had happened. One minute we were fighting, we were at each other's throats. The next, we were -well - at each other's throats. I could not deny the attraction I felt when I first saw him in the clubhouse, but what had happened when we were alone was something entirely different.

I did not want it to end, and that scared me. Why was I so damned attracted to man that the minute he spoke, I was on edge? I had my doubts that we would ever be able to have a civil conversation.

But then what the hell was the kiss? Why did I kiss him? Right -to shut him up. And that kiss from him was . . . mind blowing. I didn't know where or when he would stop, and I didn't want him to.

When he did, I felt like the air left the room, never mind my body. When he grabbed my hand as he walked away, I was spent, confused, and filled with lust and rage. Why had he done any of it, and why did he stop?

It took a few moments to collect myself. As my limited composure returned, I made sure everything was positioned the way it should be; I smoothed my clothes, took stock of my badge and hair, and entered the locker room. I didn't make eye contact; I had been in locker rooms before and knew all too well what went on when the game was over. Players would strip down and hit the showers. No matter how much I told myself I didn't want to see him undressed, I knew deep down that I probably did.

I turned my head toward the wall and left the room. Sheltering my eyes as I turned the corner, I found the bench in the main area of the clubhouse where I had left my bag on, sat down, and pulled my notebook out. I wasn't sure what, if anything, I was going to write, but I had to appear busy.

I was using the first few games to become acquainted with the team; who they were, what position they played, and the like. I wasn't sure how long I sat there, staring at a blank page, when I heard my name called in a southern drawl-meet-twang that was fast becoming too familiar after only five hours.

"Hey darling, what are you doin' out here? The real stories in that other room." Jasper crossed to me and I could practically smell the self-confidence.

"Mm, well I was just getting my head straight. It's a lot to take in, this team." I started writing the first thought that popped into my head - interviews.

Jasper leaned over and stole a glance at my note. "Interview, huh? Well, why don't you start with me."

"Are you free?" I asked keeping my tone even. All I could think about was that damned kiss. I could still feel his body pressed against mine, the belt from his uniform pressing against me, and his leg between mine. Fuck!

"Baby girl, I am always free. Especially for a fine lady such as yourself." This was exactly what I was worried about - the jock-charm designed to make a girls panties drop, or explode. However, it was not going to work on me.

"Well I suppose we could set a time when we can meet and I can get some background information on you . . ."

He sized me up before he interrupted. "I couldn't agree more. How 'bout we have dinner together?" He pressed his thigh against mine and I blinked back my annoyance.

I stood up quickly and turned to look at him. "Mr. Whitlock-"

"Jasper, darlin'. For you, always Jasper." He stood up and stroked his hand ever so slightly over my upper arm.

I closed my eyes to collect my last remaining calm thought. I opened them only to find them trained on the locker room doorway where I saw Edward stand and watched the scene unfold.

He had showered and looked more unbelievable in his street clothes than he had in his uniform. His dark jeans pressed firmly against his hips and ass as they hugged his toned thighs. I felt my heart skip at the sight of him in the white, pressed, button down shirt. He had left the top three buttons undone and the sight of his strong neck reminded me again of what had happened not thirty minutes before.

Shit, Bella. Keep your shit together. You here for a story, not to get laid.

"Right, well, Jasper - I'm not sure-"

"Don't go turning me down. You simply can't say no to me, can you? It's just dinner." His hand dipped to my elbow and he gave a light tug toward him.

I looked back to where Edward was. His steel glare was enough to intimidate anyone, but it was fast becoming my kryptonite. One gaze in his eyes and I was undone. His eyes swirled with a mix of irritation and want; the same look I'd seen right after he kissed me. Instinctively, my hand reached up and I lightly touched where he had nipped my neck as he pressed me between the wall and his amazing body.

I stopped thinking.

His eyes bore into me, almost challenging me, taunting me, and pleading with me. Yet he stood stationary, never moving toward me; nor did he try to speak to me. It ticked me off. A girl can't possibly be kissed like that then left to wonder what was going on in a guy's head. Let alone have the guy just walk away. Hell no.

"I'm sorry, Jasper. I can't go out with you." I looked at Jasper as I said the words, then back to Edward. He seemed to relax if only a fraction and unless I'd been driven nuts by desire, I could swear I saw the corner of his mouth lift in to a small grin.

"Well how 'bout I take you to dinner with this crew then. You can watch us off the field. Get some meat for that story of yours," Jasper said and his voice dropped an octave. It was as if he knew he was being watched.

"Sure. Just let me know when-"

"Hell, darlin', we're going tonight. Guess it's your lucky day!" He practically beamed at me as his hand brushed my upper arm a second time.

"Oh."

"Now, Baby Girl, You know you have to eat and you have to interview the team so look at it like this - I just provided you with your first double."

While I should have been pissed at his comment, I could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. He had the look of the damned fairies in Midsummer Night's Dream; full of mischief and loving every minute of it.

He sensed my hesitation, let go of my arm, and said, "Sweetheart, it's gonna be me, and you, and about ten other guys. I promise to keep my hands to myself. My thoughts on the other hand...." He added wink at the end and looked at me with the biggest puppy dog look I had ever seen a grown man give.

I shot my eyes over to Edward, still standing like some sentry on duty, and I felt the urge to shake him up a bit. I wasn't sure what had happened between us. In addition, since he had made no effort to try to speak to me since the kiss, I could only think of one fast way to get him show what he really felt. Nothing says "I want you" like a case of jealousy.

"Yeah, um, that might be a good idea actually. If that's ok with the team," I offered. I took a step back to pick up my bag but Jasper stopped me. He leaned across me and picked it up for me. He return to eye level, passing by my body a little too close, and slow, for comfort. My eyes darted over to Edward and I saw his chest rise and fall just a bit faster.

Well if you aren't going to explain yourself or, at the least, save me from "Tex's" advances, you deserve to be...whatever you are! I silently chastised Edward and his lack of clarity and action.

"Of course it is. We talked about it in the dugout, top of the ninth; among other things that is." He chuckled a bit, almost as though he nearly let me in a secret conversation. "Well alright. I got my car outside, what do you say I just drive you over and you can start your interview on the way?" Jasper hooked his arm around my shoulders and I was practically helpless to stop him from towing me out of the room.

I didn't look back, knowing it probably wouldn't do much good if I did. It was clear that Edward was not wanting, or willing, to talk to me about what had happened. "Sure, but only if you are clear this isn't a date," I reminded him firmly.

"Hell yeah. This is just two professionals sharing a ride," he said as he started walking. It took a few extra steps, but I finally matched his gait and we cleared the clubhouse and were off to dinner. He shot a glance down to me, winked, and said, "The date comes later."

The table was bursting with post game victory excitement and loud voices, booming with laughter. Jasper and I were the first to arrive and the host escorted us to the back room of the restaurant, obviously reserved for the team after home games. It reminded me of a scene from a mob movie; a large table set in the middle of the room with the chairs that surrounded it. The only difference between the room and the movie – the table wasn't round and I was certain no one would get their head bashed in with a bat.

Jasper pulled the chair next to the head of the table out for me and gently glided the chair back to the table after I sat. I wondered if it was possible for him to be a gentleman, or if this was a part of his act. I had been around my fair share of players, and concluded I just did not like them. Add to that the fact that my recent promotion to the head of the Boston Sports Blog for ESPN and I was certain my professional life could not be worse. I had scoffed when my boss told me that not only was I going to head the new division, but I was also going to be the sole individual covering the Red Sox season. Not just the current on – but every fucking season that followed. And that meant spring training as well. Sometimes fate just spits on your face and laughs.

I heard Jasper speaking and realized that I had completely zoned out on him. For as much as I might hate this new job, it was mine and I would have to find away to just deal with my issues where the sport was concerned.

"Can you believe that? A flagship ballpark, the last of the original parks, and we have rats," Jasper said as he tipped his beer back and took a long pull.

"I'm sorry, what?" Jasper motioned to a glass of wine in front of me. His action said it was for me. He had obviously ordered drinks while I was mentally wishing I were anywhere but in Boston; not to mention having met, and made out with, one Edward Masen.

"Fenway. There are rats out in the scoreboard. Seriously, if Charlie offers you a tour of that, just say no."

I reached for the long stem of the glass and took a small sip. I was hell bent on staying as far from buzzed a possible. Especially if Edward showed up. "Rats?"

"Yup, they're pretty much everywhere at the park." Jasper repeated the bull on his beer.

"Yeah, even on the field," I muttered, the rim of the glass pressed against my lower lip. I hoped the comment would go unnoticed by Mr. Try-To-Say-No-To-My-Junk, but it didn't.

He placed his beer back on the table and shifted in his seat to face me more directly. "Yeah, what is the deal with you and Masen anyway? The last time I saw that much hate, we played the Rays last year with all those damn cowbells. I thought the 'Faithful' were gonna commit mass murder."

"Yeah, I'm sure that was tough," I replied briskly.

Jasper leaned back in his chair, his arm rested on the chair back, and he studied me until the unmistakable dimple of his amused state showed next to his mouth. "So that's how it is, is it? Even I can't win them all. I guess every once in a while, I gotta let the geek get the girl."

I huffed and fired off my best 'I'm a professional and I mean business' glare. "That is most certainly not how it is."

"Really?" he asked as he leaned forward in his chair, closer to the edge and in turn, to me. "Well maybe I can win this one." He collected my hand from table and rested it gently in his. "I could have sworn there was something goin' on between the two of you, but I'm happy than I can mention at the fact that I'm wrong."

I felt the uneasiness settle in my shoulders, but I shook it off. I just had to get him back on track. "Mr. Whit- sorry, Jasper- what is it about this sport that called to you as a child?"

"Time for that later. So there is nothing between you two then?" he asked as he leaned in further, our faces were inches away, and I knew what he was going to try to do.

"I'm a professional," I said forcefully.

"I bet you are," he said as he lowered his voice and tilted his head, his hand moved from his thigh and rested on mine.

Fuck.

I saw his eyes shift between my lips and eyes as he leaned in closer. I was seconds away from Jasper kissing me when the door flew open, and the rest of the team walked in the room. I turned my head to watch the players enter and saw Edward in the doorway; nostrils flared and that fuckhot death glare was back in his eyes.

I was screwed.

There was no way I was going to be able to work with this team and do what I was assigned to do if every time I saw Edward I wanted to either fight him or fuck him.

I pulled back as far from Jasper as I could. Jasper spotted where I was looking, let go of my hand, and slowly eased back in his seat; his hand still on my thigh. I saw Edward's jaw flex and his chest rise and fall with the deep breath he was taking. Ball players were all about the visual psyche out, and I was stuck in the middle of one between Edward and Jasper; I was sure of it.

Jasper squeezed my thigh slightly and removed his hand, reached for his beer, and never took his eyes off Edward. Seth entered the room, clapped Edward solidly on his back and brought him out of his unyielding stare.

"Always the last to arrive, man. Why is that?" Seth asked as he tightened his grip on Edward's shoulder and walked him to the opposite end of the table. "You know, you're starting to take longer than my woman does."

"Shut it, Seth. I'm not in the mood." Edward claimed the chair at the head of the table, pulled the chair back, and sat down slowly, never taking his eyes off mine.

"So, Bella. What do you want to know about me that we didn't cover in the car?" Jasper asked as he tilted his chair back to rest on only two legs.

My eyes darted to the ground then back to Edward, sure that once I broke the connection, he would not still be looking at me. So not the case. I blinked hard and turned my attention back to Jasper. "Well, um, how about you tell me about you're first year with the Sox. That might be good."

I heard him prattle on about his stats and successes, but my head could not shake whatever the hell was happening between Edward and me. The urge to get into another verbal brawl with him was too tempting, if only to be kissed again.

Damn it, Bella. Just stop! This is not helping.

"Then in 2007, I earned the ALCS MVP award. Pissed a few people off, but what can I say. It was tough won - I'll tell you that. What the hell else? Let's see… last May I recorded my 1,000th career strikeout. That was pretty freakin' monumental, let me tell ya."

"Yeah, I remember that," I answered absentmindedly. It didn't register that I had said it until I heard his reply.

"Really? Now how is that? You seem to hate all things baseball, and yet you would remember something that was a real specific moment for this team; not to mention to me."

Oh crap. Think fast.

I felt the gears move at one-hundred miles-per-hour, reaching for anything to change the subject. It was obvious Jasper was smart, despite his "Hollahback Boy" tendencies. I could only think of one thing to say, to try, to do. I knew it was wrong the minute I thought it, but I couldn't think of anything else that would work.

"So, tell me about this date you mentioned. You seem quite sure that I would go out with you," I questioned, leaning slightly into the table. The look in his eyes changed immediately and all thoughts of any previous conversation were absorbed and lost to his womanizing ways.

"Aw, now see, I knew you would come around." He leaned closer to me and smiled; the corner of his mouth shot up.

"Hmm, we'll see, won't we?" I asked, laying it on thick. In that moment, I didn't care about the fact that I was misleading Jasper, or the fact that Edward was without a doubt glaring at me from the opposite end of the table. I had averted his question, and that was precisely what I needed to have done.

In the time between placing our dinner order and it actually arriving at the table, I had managed to break free of Jasper's constant attention long enough to start my interview of Emmett McCarty, the teams Designated Hitter.

I was so worried about what the hell had Edward glaring at me and Jasper's constant touches, that my notes were starting to read like a page from Wikipedia; the most basic details that any fan worth their weight would know. It was clear that the interview just was not going to happen, and I was pissed. I was not there to be wined and dined in front of the entire team by the one guy I didn't want it from.

What? What the hell?

I shook my head at the absurd comment that had entered my mind. There was no way I wanted a single thing from Edward save for being as far from him and his nasty attitude as possible. There was not a solitary redeeming quality to the man off the field.

Right, except how he kissed you and how his hands felt on you.

I was become more irritated with myself; I had to pull my shit together. There was no way I was going to let one person unravel me, or my professional life.

Except he already unraveled you when his hands were on you and he was biting your neck.

I felt my rage build and I snapped my focus back to Jasper, who moved a lot closer to me than he was before I started the failed Emmett interview.

He reached a hand out and cupped my shoulder. He gently stroked my shoulder then down to my elbow as he spoke. "You okay there, darlin'?"

I felt the urge to fling his hand off me, not wanting any man beside Edward to touch me - a thought that further fueled my building anger. Instead, I choked back the action, smiled weakly and said, "Yes. I am, just a really long day."

Jasper collected my hand from where it rested on my lap, and placed it between both of his. I was keenly aware of the calluses and rough, dry skin of his palms and fingers. How completely different from Edward's hand, which had been unrealistically soft for a ball player.

"Listen, we can get out of here right now and I can just take you home and maybe-"

"No! I just – I'm sorry, Jasper," I started as I placed my other hand on top of his in a weak attempt to politely avoid his potential manwhore offer. "It's like I said, it's a been a really long day."

He leaned in closer still, and moved his top hand from mine and placed it on the back of my chair; the action brought him even closer to my face, my lips, and me. I gulped and tried to maintain a professional exterior while my heart and mind raced. And not in a good way.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Masen's been staring you down since he got here, now would it?" Jasper asked as he brought his lips along the side of my face; his breath skimmed over my cheek and heated my ear.

"What?" I asked as I pulled my head ever so slightly away from his.

"Honey, that boy either wants to kill you or marry you. He's been throwing me the nastiest looks I've ever seen since he sat down, and I think we all saw how he talked to you in the clubhouse earlier today. However, what I can't figure out is what happened after he got back to the clubhouse and before the game ended. Care to enlighten me?"

I felt my heart pound and my palms started to sweat. "Nothing happened –well, short of round two of his 'I hate reporters' tirade."

"If that's what you want me to believe, I won't pry. My momma didn't raise a fool." Jasper pat my knee and moved back to relax in his chair.

As he did, I stole a glance down the table to see Edward, completely seething. Our eyes locked and his death glare reduced, if only the smallest bit. Concern slowly started to register in his eyes, and I refused to deal with his hot and cold response to me a moment longer.

"Excuse me, Jasper," I said softly. I hadn't meant for the exchange to be anything more than polite, but given how breathless I was from the look I had just seen, I could not control my heart from slamming against my chest.

He stood up as I left the table. As I started to leave the room, he reached for my arm. "You alright, baby girl?"

I offered a tight smile of feigned reassurance, he released my arm, and l left the room.

I found myself standing in the small, darkened hallway that led to the restrooms; a small payphone separated the two doors. I leaned against the facing wall, my head crashed back harder than I expected, but I welcomed the ache. Hell, I would welcome anything that challenged the other things I was feeling.

My head was stuck in a maelstrom of thoughts, every one of them centered on the same thing: Edward.

I couldn't figure out what the hell hold he had over me when he clearly hated me, and yet kissed me the way he had. It didn't make sense, none of it did. One second he was in my face, arguing with me. Then he kissed me in return after I'd realized the gravity of the mistaken action I'd taken to shut his ass up. When his lips pressed against mine, I was lost and willing to give him anything he would have asked of me. Never mind the confusion of him reaching for my hand as he walked past me. That alone stole my breath away, for both good and bad reasons.

I took several deep breaths, trying to clear my head of Edward, Jasper, and the wine before I made my way back to the table. I was nearly composed when I felt the weight of a hand rest on my shoulder. I was certain it was Jasper, but as it wasn't groping me, I quickly realized it wasn't. There was an element to the touch that stole my breath and my common sense along with it.

"Um, are you ok?" I heard Edward ask softly and with an unusual amount of compassion to his voice.

I pinched my eyes tightly before opening them. As much as I did not want to, I turned to see him standing along my right side. Shit! He blocked the exit.

"Like it matters to you? I've seen the looks you've been firing off all night." I hadn't meant to come off so abrasive, but it was always fire and ice with him; for reasons that had never been explored, but I knew if one of us caved, they would be.

"Well – I, I know we haven't been - shit. Look, if it's Jasper that you want, fine. But you really should be warned -there really isn't much lower than him in baseball." His eyes were full of concern, but edged with a darker quality I had never seen in a man's eyes before. While his eyes pulled me in, his words repelled me.

"Really?" I felt the anger finally boil over. I was done with this round robin and it was going to end. "He's been a perfect gentleman this entire evening, but that isn't what you want to hear, is it?"

"Bella listen – I just meant, aw hell. I just don't want to see Whitlock get his hooks into you. I've seen him do it before and he'll just use you."

"Intresting. You seem like the last person who should be dispensing advice on using people." I knew venom laced my words, but I didn't give a shit.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He spoke harshly, and the rough edge to his voice ignited something that was becoming increasingly familiar when he was near me.

"You would have fucked me up against the wall if the team hadn't walked in and here you are trying to convince me that Jasper is the manwhore?"

"I am not a manwhore!" His words carried with them a menacing edge, and I could feel the heat begin to pool just as it had in the clubhouse.

"No, of course not. You're the good boy who can't finish what he starts and then gets pissed off when someone else tries," I spat the words out as loudly as I could in the cramped hall without drawing attention to us.

"That is not what happened," Edward hushed his voice, and brought his hand down to hold my elbow. I felt the heat from the connection ignite my traitorous body. "Listen, I am just as confused as you are about what went down in the clubhouse, truthfully I am, but I didn't come find you to start fighting about it."

"Well you sure as hell didn't come over here for anything else," I said as I wrenched my elbow from his grasp. I stood inches from him, wanting so desperately to kiss him once again.

He breathed harshly, his eyes once again shot between mine, then my lips. I leaned in closer, completely unsure of what it was that kept pulling me into his orbit. I could feel his sweet breath wash over my cheek; so inviting and so oddly needed. I closed my eyes, knowing what his kiss felt like and wanting to welcome it once again. I felt my gut drop, my heart started to slam, and I braced myself.

His breath was upon me, so close I could feel the heat from him penetrate my defenses. I parted my lips slightly and waited.

"Shit, this is all wrong," he muttered.

Startled, my eyes flew open to see him raking his hand across the back of his neck. He tried to avoid me but knew he couldn't.

"Bella, listen-" he started and his voice sounded softer than it ever had, but I refused to let him finish.

"No. You just proved my point," I said, humiliation fueling my actions. I pushed toward him, my shoulder clipped his, and I quickly returned to the dining room; emotionally spent and sexually frustrated.

EPOV

Well, fuck.

When I'd pictured me going over to Bella and calmly, rationally, logically explaining to her that Whitlock's flirtations were a dime a dozen and not, I repeat, not to be taken seriously, I hadn't imagined it going quite that way.

I certainly hadn't anticipated her yelling at me again. It seemed, as far as Bella Dwyer went, I was doomed to do the wrong thing. I reminded myself for the millionth time in the last six hours that I had zero interest in doing things right—and that I also had absolutely nothing against Jasper snuggling up to her.

Liar.

That little voice taunted me just a little louder as I sulked back to the table, and slumped into the chair next to Seth, who was methodically demolishing a steak the size of a hubcap. Most of the team had already left, leaving Seth, who could eat for hours, and me, and of course, the happy couple at the end of the table.

The issue was that my two brains were telling me something completely different regarding Bella. One brain was smart enough not to want anything to do with her insufferable attitude or nasty, cutting remarks. The other brain, unfortunately, wasn't all that bright, and wanted things that it had no business wanting. Like Bella pressed up against me, squirming and moaning the way she had been just this afternoon.

After all, she had kissed me first--and once she'd done that, I'd just been done. There was no fucking way I could hold myself back once the inevitable happened. The world, I was beginning to realize, was conspiring for me to become involved with Bella, whether I liked it or not, and Jasper's ridiculous flirtations were only adding fuel to my fire.

"You going to tell me why you still look like you want to kill someone?" Seth asked, shoveling mashed potatoes down his throat at an alarming speed.

I didn't want to talk about the reason for my bad mood. Let everyone think I was still pissed about the game. "How do you eat all that?" I asked, for maybe the millionth time since I'd known him. Seth was small, maybe only 5'7", with a small wiry frame, but the way he could put food away was a continual amazement to all of us.

"Need my energy," he said, between bites. "Now tell me why you're pissed--I know it's not the ejection, so fess up. Is it you and that reporter?"

"Her name is Bella," I repeated, grinding my teeth. I didn't want to examine my own reasons for why it was suddenly so imperative that Bella be more than just that reporter.

Seth turned away from his plate, and looked me straight in the eye. "So it's like that, huh?" He sounded only vaguely surprised, and while I tried to pretend like I had no idea what he was talking about, it was clear Seth was already convinced.

"Well. Yes and no." I pushed a few spears of broccoli around on my plate, and tried desperately not to look up as I saw Bella return to the table out of the corner of my eye. She sat back down next to Jasper and within five seconds, was laughing at some joke the douchebag had just made.

"Either it's yes or it's a no," Seth said, so calmly I felt like wringing his neck. I was usually the calm one. I was usually the one that others turned to for advice. "So which is it?"

I lost the battle I was having with myself, and glanced down the table at where Bella and Whitlock-the-asshole were looking way too cozy. "No," I said in a hard, resolute voice.

"Looks like a lot like yes from this angle," Seth argued.

"It's not," I snapped; my temper, which was already frayed, was unraveling by the second.

Seth shrugged and returned to his mashed potatoes. "You're wound tighter than a top. Maybe you just need to get laid."

I choked on the water I'd been drinking. Seth continued, blithely unaware that I was beginning to see red, "You seem to have a thing for that. . .I mean, Bella; maybe she could help you out with that."

"She isn't a fucking groupie, Seth," I hissed. "She's a reporter."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "And? You two seem to have something going on."

I couldn't deny that he had a point. Regardless of whether I liked it or her, we did seem to have "something" going on. And I knew I sure as hell hated the thought of her and Whitlock together. Silently, I considered the possibility. Maybe I could even see it as a civil duty; keep her away from Jasper while doing everything I could to stay loose for the rest of the season.

"All I'm saying, dude," Seth said, "is that it's not healthy to be celibate."

I choked again, vaguely embarrassed I was even having this conversation. "I'm not celibate. I'm fucking discerning, unlike Jasper the whore." I tried to ignore that Jasper had a lock of Bella's hair wound around his hand. I wanted to fucking dismember him for even daring to touch her--to treat her like she was just there for the taking.

"You mean," Seth said, looking up from his plate and gesturing expansively with a potato-covered fork in Jasper and Bella's direction, "that kind of 'discerning'?"

My fists clenched and I couldn't help glowering at the conscience sitting next to me. Seth looked back, completely unconcerned that I wanted to pretty much murder him. The good thing about Seth was that after making it in the majors when you were completely the wrong physical type, nothing seemed hard--even dealing with a major Masen snit. I took a deep breath, attempting to calm down.

"She's not going to want to talk to me," I said hesitantly. "And I don't know what I . . .what I want. I don't even really like her, Seth."

He shrugged. "Who says you have to like her? You think I like Rachel all the time? Bella seems like a fairly level-headed girl. I'm sure she'd be okay with whatever you give her."

Somehow I doubted this, but then I remembered how when I'd kissed her, she'd nearly attacked me, every muscle of her slim form tense with longing. Seth was right. She wanted me; I wanted her--what was really stopping me from taking her?

"I can't treat her like a groupie. Not like the patented Whitlock use and discard maneuver."

"Then don't," Seth said simply. "You're a good guy. You'll do the right thing by her. Whatever it is."

I was running out of excuses. "She doesn't. . ." I said lamely. "She's uh. . .kind of pissed at me right now, I think."

Seth looked at me like I was a four year old child. "We all get pissed at you, Masen. We all manage to get over it. Now, get your ass over there and apologize to the pretty lady before Jasper shoves his tongue down her throat."

I threw some twenties on the table and got up just as Bella did. Our eyes met across the long expanse of wood, and I gave her what I hoped was a conciliatory smile. Clearly, it didn't work because she just glared at me like I was the last person on earth she'd want to speak to, and flounced off towards the front door.

I caught up with her on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, profoundly grateful that she was alone and not waiting for Jasper to escort her back to his place for a little groupie fun.

And that's when it hit me. That's why she was so fucking pissed. I'd accused her of basically hanging around the clubhouse to get guys, then I'd turned around and used her to prove it. My skin crawled at the thought of apologizing, but I knew it was necessary. Somehow, I needed her, though I didn't understand at all the reason why.

"Bella," I said, and she turned around, her face an implacable mask.

"What do you want?" she sighed. "I'm tired and kind of sick of fighting with you."

"Me too," I said eagerly, thinking that this was a great opening. She didn't want to fight with me anymore--what could be better than me agreeing with her? After all, I could think of a lot better use of our energy. But you can't say that, Masen, I reminded myself, be smooth, but not like slimy Whitlock smooth. "I wanted to catch you before you left, and, well, apologize for my behavior today. It was really inexcusable."

A tiny furrow creased her forehead, as if she were confused. "You're apologizing for . . .getting thrown out of the game? You know," she continued, "I wasn't going to write about it. If you want to apologize for that, apologize to your teammates. Or to the city of Boston."

"No, no, no," I laughed. "Not about getting ejected. I'm sorry, Bella, that I treated you so poorly."

A suspicious look began to dawn over her fragile features. "What treatment was so poor, exactly?"

I continued on, totally unaware that I was currently digging myself into a hole the size of Yawkey Way. "I shouldn't have . . .mauled you like that, Bella. I'm really, truly sorry. It was totally unacceptable behavior." I smiled then, sure that she would smile back and all would be forgiven.

Wrong-o.

Her eyes narrowed and suddenly, they were blazing hot with temper and yet, the precise temperature of Antarctica. "Let me get this straight, Mr. Masen. You're apologizing for kissing me?"

I froze, vaguely aware that something was not quite going right here. "Well uh. . .yes?"

"I kissed you first," she snapped, looking at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash under her shoe, and then she turned towards the street.

"Bella," I began again, knowing that in my apology I had somehow managed to muck things up worse than before, and knowing, with a deep certainty, that I had to make this right.

She turned back towards me, her long ponytail nearly whipping me in the face. "Listen, you've made it perfectly clear that you want nothing to do with me, despite your little act earlier. So I'll leave you alone, and you leave me alone. No apology necessary." Her voice grew hard and cracked a little at the end, and slowly I realized that I'd hurt her feelings. She wasn't just angry--she was hurt--and it was all my fault. Typical. This was why I never got involved with women--I tended to say the wrong things and not understand that until I'd dug myself into a hole that was impossible to climb out of. I was beginning to feel the feel the walls close in on me as Bella turned back to the street, obviously wanting nothing more than her ride to arrive.

"I. . .I. . .I think you misunderstood," I stammered out.

"No, I get it." She didn't even turn around--just raised her voice, the hard edge developing a crystalline brittleness. "You wanted to prove I was a groupie, just like you said. And well . . ." She shrugged, trailing off because she clearly didn't know how to describe the kiss we'd shared.

"You're not," I insisted loudly, annoyed that she purposefully misunderstood everything I said so she could get her panties in a twist. "I was wrong, okay?"

A taxi pulled to the curb, and Bella was at the door in a second, wrenching it open, every tense, angry line in her slim form communicating just how much she couldn't wait to get away from me. But in that second, that one brief moment of vulnerability, I'd seen a flash of something in Bella that I liked--and this was new. I couldn't, I decided, let her get away while we were both so angry still. I had to make her understand.

I grabbed the edge of the taxi's door before she could slam it shut behind herself, and as she gaped at me, I slid in next to her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she spluttered, looking as angry as I'd ever seen her--which considering the two fights we'd already had today, was saying something.

"I have to explain," I insisted to Bella, thrusting a wad of bills at the cab driver. "Now, tell him where you want to go."

Bella glared. "No. Get the fuck out of my cab."

I noticed the driver looking in his rearview mirror as if we were his favorite soap opera. Typically, I hated being recognized, but I figured this was probably the one situation where it could help me out. And like clockwork, I saw the realization light up his face.

"Dude, you're Edward Masen!" he exclaimed, getting excited. "Can I have your autograph?"

"Of course," I said, unable to prevent myself from giving Bella a semi-smug smile. She had retreated to the far side of the seat, hugging the edge, and had crossed her arms over her chest.

"Typical, a media whore," she scoffed bitterly. "If he gives you his autograph, will you get him out of my cab?" she asked the driver.

But the driver ignored her in favor of morphing into Red Sox fan mode. I signed a few receipts while Bella rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle.

"No, wait," I screeched, panic streaking through me. I couldn't let her get away.

"You won't leave me alone, so I'm just going to have to leave you alone."

"You don't want to be left alone," I said, trying for a reasonable tone. "You kissed me, remember?"

"A form of Tourett's," Bella snapped. "I go around kissing random people. You, Jasper. . ."

Anger coalesced into a hard ball inside my chest. That fucker had kissed her. Ace pitcher or not, when I was done with Bella, I was going to go to his condo and demolish him.

"Enough," I growled. "Give the god damn driver your fucking address."

Bella said nothing, and I knew from the stubborn glint in her dark eyes that we would be sitting here all night waiting before she gave up the tactical advantage.

"Fine." I grabbed the purse sitting on the seat, and before she could react, I had it open, wrenching her wallet from the depths of the bag. I pulled out her driver's license and read off the address.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and as I returned the purse to the seat between us, I thought I saw a flash of pity in the driver's eyes. Sure, it had been an effective way of getting the information, but I had to admit, eying her warily, that perhaps it had been a bit. . .high-handed. If she'd been pissed before, she was going to be livid now.

And sure enough, when I looked over at her, Bella's mouth was open in wordless fury. Shooting me a glare that would have melted the face off most weaker men, she turned towards the window, clearly deciding that the silent treatment was the best way of expressing her rage.

Ten minutes of uncomfortable, strained silence later, the cab pulled up to a row of quaint brownstones. The second the car stopped, Bella had the door open and seconds later, was on the sidewalk, heading up the stairs to her front door. However, I wasn't considered one of the fastest players in the league for nothing, and I was only a moment behind her.

Bella was fumbling in her purse for her keys, obviously trying to get inside before I could catch her, but I was too fast. She glared over her shoulder at me, as I stood behind her, patiently waiting as she dug in her bag for the keys.

"You live here?" I asked in surprise. I had thought that Bella's assignment in Boston was temporary, but this was clearly her permanent residence.

Bella said nothing, though I did get another rather impressive glare. "It's nice," I said, trying to make up for the fact that she probably hated me even more now than she had before.

"You have to understand, I have to explain. I'm not sorry I kissed you. It's more like. . .I'm sorry I was an ass. I . . .don't typically like reporters and well. . .you rubbed me the wrong way."

"And then what," Bella snapped back, "I rubbed you the right way?"

"Actually, yes." I took a step closer, and Bella retreated, her back nearly bumping up against the door. She was rather short, and I took perverse delight in the fact that she had to crane her neck up to meet my gaze.

"Save it; I'm not interested."

"See," I said, taking another step closer to her and smoothing a tendril of hair away from her face, "I'm not exactly sure that's the case." Her back was now flush against the door, as she'd backed up in a misguided attempt to get away from me, but I had almost completely closed the remaining distance between us.

"Don't touch me," she bit off, but the words carried a lot less heat than before. I knew I was beginning to wear her down. She felt the attraction too--it was all a matter of getting her to forget just how angry she was at me and at the same time, convincing her that acting on said attraction was a good idea.

With any other woman, this wouldn't have been all that difficult, but with Bella, I felt like I was always half a step behind her. She was smart and capricious and way too clever for her own good--or mine, for that matter. I only had one weapon at my disposal, and while I definitely wasn't adverse to using it, I wanted to wait until just the right moment.

I took a deep breath and swung at my last pitch. "I'm not sure I like you--you've pissed me off from the moment you walked into the clubhouse but maybe that's because I didn't like what you did to me."

"What I did to you?" Bella scoffed, clearly gearing up for another round of insults and nastiness and it's-totally-all-your-fault-that-I-constantly-have-PMS. But just like earlier, when she'd kissed me to get me to shut up, I decided I was just done listening and I kissed her, swallowing her words.

Bella struggled for about half a second, then melted into me, unwinding against my body like hot caramel. I'd had a feeling she wouldn't have the self-control to fight me off, but her surrender was even sweeter than I could have imagined.

Her lips were hot and urgent against mine and in my desperation to get even closer to her body, I pinned her up against the door, my hands lifting her flush against me. She didn't resist--and she even encouraged me by wrapping her arms tightly around my neck and winding her legs around my waist. She was small and compact, and felt fucking perfect, I thought as I kissed her deeply, sliding my hands up her torso, under her shirt. Her skin was smooth and hot to the touch and I gasped into her mouth as it singed the tips of my fingers.

Maybe, I thought as my other hand drifted down to the heart-stoppingly perfect curve of her ass, I did need to get laid. My cock throbbed as I slid her hard against me, and her hands tangled in the hair at the back of my neck. I heard her groan once, then twice, as I shifted her again.

Her nails dug hard into my shoulders as she ground into me, the friction of her scorching hot flesh burning the world around us away until it had condensed to just me and the woman writhing against me.

It felt fucking amazing, but I wanted more; I wanted to rip her clothes off and enjoy every inch of her smooth, pale skin pressed up against me.

I tangled my hand in the hem of her shirt and yanked up, desperately trying to feel more of her, but instead of one of those hot-as-fuck sounds she'd been making, Bella squeaked in alarm instead.

I broke away from her mouth, panting, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. Had I hurt her? And that's when it hit me.

I'd been this close to screwing Bella against her front door.

Fucking hell.

"What?" Bella gasped out, her knees buckling as I tried to set her back down on the ground and pull us back to cold, hard reality.

I leaned against the brick, trying to catch my breath and pretend like I wasn't about to explode out of my pants. I couldn't even remember the last time a woman had had such a visceral effect on me. I knew I had to have her--whether I liked her or not.

"You know," I said, aiming for a calm, conversational tone and ending up somewhere in way-too-eager territory, "we have to stop doing it like this."

"Like what?" Bella asked with a ragged sigh as she picked up the purse she'd dropped and started rummaging for her keys. Clearly, her anger and frustration had simply been incinerated in the conflagration of near-sex that had nearly burned both of us alive because now, she was calm and absolutely matter-of-fact.

"I'm not going to lie," I confessed. "I think it's pretty obvious I want you. And you want me." Bella shot me an amused, smoky glance, but she didn't argue. "So maybe we should do something about it. Other than against your front door."

Bella didn't answer right away. She finally unearthed her keys and was unlocking the door before she turned to me. "I don't know, to be honest," she admitted. "I do want you. I can't exactly say why I want you, but it would be foolish to deny it. I just. . .I don't want to fuck this up."

"What do you mean?" I sensed that this conversation was going downhill, and I grasped desperately at the shred of hope that I had left. "You won't. We can keep it, you know, a secret."

Bella rolled her eyes at me, her key still in the door. "So would it be just sex or not?"

That was the one question I hadn't wanted her to ask, because at this point, I was pretty sure she wasn't going to like my answer.

I shrugged. "We can figure it out."

Bella's gaze narrowed, and I felt the heat of her eyes on me. I could sense her temper was flaring before she even spoke. "I don't like the sound of that."

"What do you want me to say?" I said. "I am trying to be honest with you. I'm not sure I like you; you're not sure you like me. But we sure as hell want to have sex."

Bella looked me over from head to toe for a split second, right before she wrenched open the door. "That's not enough," she said quietly, then slammed it in my face.

And so I was left standing on the stoop of her townhouse with a boner that wouldn't quit, a suddenly bottomless pit of sexual frustration, and a head full of questions--back, almost exactly, at the same place I'd been at the end of the game.

Well, fuck.