Chapter 21

Will an affair tear the Delphies apart?

Last night, Emma Sander, the girlfriend of star pitcher Luke Carter, was seen leaving his apartment in a rage, after she'd been caught in a delicate situation with Carter's teammate Dexter O'Connor in a bar.

Neighbors report yelling and shattering plates could be heard through the walls. Sander hailed a cab in front of Carter's apartment, wearing her boyfriend's jersey, but overwritten with O'Conner's number. Eyewitnesses told us they had seen Luke's girlfriend with O'Connor several times before that. Nothing conclusive can be said at this time, but we know one thing for sure: The good German girl suddenly doesn't seem as innocent as everyone had thought.

Luke had always thought it was a feminine malaise, but now he was sure he was about to have a veritable migraine. To make matters worse, the article had come with two large pictures, one that showed Emma in Dexter's arms, and the second a shot of her in the altered jersey. Wesley had been livid, and had kept barking at him that a token relationship didn't involve a token affair. At some point Luke had just hung up the phone, because he couldn't take his friend's angered voice anymore.

In the changing room, he'd been forced to listen to his teammates tell him that apparently he didn't have his girlfriend under control; though they all knew what the papers said was bullshit. First of all because they had been present in the bar, and second of all because there was an unwritten rule among them, never to make fun of the women the others went out with, let alone sleep with them. Should that rule be broken, the player in question became an outlaw, and had better brace himself for a horde of fellow baseball players in steamroller mode.

Unfortunately the rule didn't preclude Jake Braker from pinning the article on Luke's locker door once again, slapping him on the back and stating that thankfully, Luke was at least wearing the breeches on the diamond.

Dexter had apologized to him – not for dancing with Emma, but for the fact that they had been photographed at it – and grumbled that today's headlines were good for wrapping the fish tomorrow.

Luke pulled up the zipper on his jacket and stared at Dexter's broad back. He was one of his best friends, and yet he couldn't shake the creeping thought that Dexter wouldn't say no to a night with his mock girlfriend, at least if Luke wasn't in the picture. And technically he had no right to condemn his friend for that, because – good God – no man would be averse to having her, once they knew how she sighed softly when you kissed her throat.

Luke turned away and shouldered his bag in an irritated, sweeping motion. If Emma knew that he was pondering taking his fist to Dexter's face, she would probably beat him with his own bat.

Yesterday she had been in a more conciliatory mood, but much to Luke's displeasure, she had opted to sleep in her own bed. He would have to do some more persuading when he saw her later.

"Is anyone naked in there? Pull your pants up, I'm coming in!" a loud, female voice suddenly called from beyond the door, which was then pushed open. The short little blonde who had haunted Luke's thoughts just a minute before stepped into the changing room, one hand clamped over her eyes, and her head cocked to one side.

Twenty baseball players, most of them already fully dressed, stared at her with dumbfounded expressions. This was the first time anyone could remember that a woman simply walked into their changing room.

"Would anyone help me out here? Tell me if I can lower my hand, people," she urged impatiently.

Luke snorted and took a step towards her, then pulled her hand from her face.

"You got some nerve," he murmured, but couldn't quite suppress a grin. "You could have waited for me outside."

She looked up at him with a confused expression and furrowed her brow. "But I'm not waiting for you. I'm here on business."

She turned away from him, got on an empty bench, and looked around the room. All eyes were on her, with no exception.

"Alright, guys," she said loudly, putting her hands on her hips. "I know you are men and thus incapable of planning more than two days ahead, but you've all been invited to the wedding of Mr. Carter senior and Mrs. Alberto in four weeks, and several of you still haven't confirmed or declined. Raise your hand if you haven't replied to the invitation!"

Various jaws dropped and nobody moved. Luke's grin widened, until Emma fixed him with narrowed eyes and said: "You, my dear, have no call looking smug. You still haven't marked the box where you choose whether you want chicken or fish either, and you're living with me!"

Now the others were laughing, but they stopped as soon as his mock girlfriend focused her attention on them again.

Emma clicked her tongue. "Guys, come on, make this one easy for me. Nobody's going to get detention. Raise your hands."

A few hands went up tentatively, and she stepped down from her makeshift pedestal. "Alright. Keep those hands up until I've written everyone down." She produced pen and paper and walked through the room.

When she was done, she folded the piece of paper, put it back in her purse, and headed for the exit. She grinned at Luke, went on tiptoe, and gave him a kiss, before saying: "I need to catch the coach, too, would you wait by the exit elevators?"

He was fully aware that all of his teammates were watching him, so he merely nodded, and then she was gone.

He looked around the room feeling sheepish. Jake grinned back at him, and Luke had the sinking feeling that he wasn't even wearing the breeches on the diamond anymore.

***

Ten minutes later Emma had pinned down the coach to a yes, and was walking down the wide corridor that led to the elevators.

Last night had been uncomfortable, and the day so far horrible, not the least because of the three reporters, who had intercepted her in front of the entrance to her company this morning, wanting to know who was better in bed, Dexter or Luke.

It had cost her a lot of effort not to scream, "Your mother," but she had managed to push past the cameras without saying a word.

When Linda had kindly placed the magazine on her desk, one glance had been enough to make her feel guilty.

The pictures were cringeworthy. The one of her and Dexter had been taken from an angle that suggested she was pressing her body against his. It made her doubt for a moment if she hadn't actually had an affair with him, and just didn't remember any of it. And walking out of Luke's door with the painted-over jersey hadn't been one of her shining moments either.

Fact was that her conscience was giving her hell. Of course she had been furious about Luke's reaction. Of course he had overreacted. But maybe he hadn't been as wrong with his prediction of the spun story as she had thought.

She scratched her forehead and shouldered her purse. They had a deal. Her part was taking care of positive publicity, not stupid headlines like that. Though it was mostly her who was slammed in the article.

She sighed and spied Luke's tall frame at the end of the corridor, waiting for her with his sports bag over his shoulder.

Maybe they should stop having sex. She had been right: Sex made everything complicated. Why else would Luke get so jealous?

Men simply tended to become strangely possessive when they were sleeping with a woman. It would probably be best if they returned to a platonic level for now.

He stomach tightened a little. Don't fall in love with him, Emma. Because you look at him as if your heart was made of chocolate.

Dexter's words were echoing in her head when she stopped in front of her mock boyfriend, and smiled tiredly. Her heart was not made of chocolate. She wasn't stupid enough to fall in love with Luke. Plus Luke was nothing she looked for in a man … but maybe she shouldn't even go there. Her body had found a few things she did look for in a man after all.

"Was it any use?" she asked, looking up at him. "I thought I could help dissipate the rumors."

He gave her a grim look. "Nobody on the team thinks that you had something going on with O'Connor."

She raised her eyebrows and blurted, "Nobody but you?"

He groaned. "Are you going to hold that against me forever? I said I was sorry …"

She sighed and waved it aside. She was no longer mad with him at all. It bothered her a little how quickly she had forgiven him, given that she was usually prone to bearing grudges. "No, it's okay. Sorry. I didn't mean to pick on you. I just wanted to be sure that nobody on the team has any wrong ideas … and I really do need to know who's going to attend that wedding."

Luke nodded and turned towards the elevator, because it would take them directly to the parking garage, but Emma pulled him back. "Let's leave through the front entrance."

"Why?"

"Because there's an army of paparazzi out there, and I want to set straight what I messed up last night," she said in a more subdued voice and blushed.

Without thinking, Luke tucked a strand of her hair back from her forehead. "You didn't mess up anything. The press is simply made up of a bunch of money-grabbing jerks. But you're still right; we should show our faces." He changed direction and casually took her hand in his, where it felt right at home.

Alarm bells went off in her head.

Emma stared at him and cleared her throat softly. "Luke," she began, "maybe we should stop sleeping together. I mean, the deal–"

"That's a stupid idea. If you're not lying naked in my bed again tonight, I will have to come get you."

She blinked and blushed furiously. "Okay."

He looked at her and laughed. "You look as if I just said something scandalous."

"You did."

"I know." He mussed up her hair.

Perplexed, she slapped his hand away. "What was that about?"

His grin widened. "With that face and that hair, the reporters will think that we just had sex in the locker room."

Her blush deepened and she tried to wrest her hand free of his. "You're such a …"

He laughed again and held on to her hand. "There is no better way to dispel rumors than that, Emma," he said and pulled her along with him.

The following two weeks passed in a blur. Slowly but surely Emma was feeling the familiar ‘finish line stress.' Any time an event was about to take place, the work seemed to pile up and turn into a mountain that was impossible to manage. She monitored the replies, organized the flower arrangements, and even asked the minister what he was planning on wearing, just so every little detail would be perfect for Nadia Alberto's wedding. Nadia was terribly nice, but Emma knew from experience that it was precisely the terribly nice women who had the biggest meltdowns if anything didn't go according to plan on their special day. When Emma returned to Luke's apartment in the evening, most of the days she was so exhausted that she did end up in his bed, but still fully dressed. Which didn't keep Luke from undressing her slowly, and then waking her with a kiss that quite literally made her breathless, when she was already completely naked. And if she murmured that she was too tired, he seldom believed her, because her hand was already feeling its way towards his thighs.

Sleep was extremely overrated anyway, and if Luke brought her scrambled eggs in the morning to apologize for his attack in the evening, Emma couldn't muster the energy to be even a little mad at him. Let alone remember that only two weeks ago, she had been practically livid. Emma didn't want to acknowledge it, but with every passing day her token relationship seemed better than some of the real ones she'd had. She shouldn't think that way, she knew that, but sometimes those pesky little evil thoughts managed to sneak into her head. Thoughts that asked her whether she didn't like Luke a little too much, and whether there wasn't maybe also a slight chance that he felt the same way. But when she woke up again the next morning, drove to her office, and googled Luke's name, just to find that the first thirty thousand image hits showed him with beautiful models on his arm, she knew she was fantasizing. Sex was not love.

At least not for him.

***

Luke groaned and dropped his bag on the floor, massaging his shoulder, before he rummaged for the key to his apartment.

They had taken an embarrassing beating in New York, and to add injury to insult, he had bruised his shoulder in an attempt to reach the third base in time.

The day after tomorrow, on Saturday evening, he had to be on the field again, this time in Chicago, and he dreaded getting on yet another plane already tomorrow afternoon. He fiddled with his key ring, and put the door key into the lock. He hadn't seen Emma for all of four days, and the only thing he wanted before dropping into bed like a dead man, was to see her smiling face, and maybe to hear her say that he wasn't supposed to whine, so he wouldn't be mistaken for a wuss.

He didn't want to acknowledge it, but Emma possessed the ability to make him feel better. He was sure that if he she kissed his shoulder, it would be a lot better in the morning.

He opened the door and stepped into the living room, which was illumined by a dimmed lamp. The TV was muted and turned to the sports channel, which showed the highlights of the game that had been finished two hours ago.

She had watched the game, or at least tried to. Apparently she hadn't been very successful, for she was lying on the couch with her eyes closed, a blanket pulled up over her shoulder, and her legs tucked in. Her breath came calm and steady, while her hand dangled over the edge of the couch, and her fingertips barely touched the remote, which was lying on the floor.

Luke had to grin, and quietly stepped towards her, when he noticed something sticking to her forehead and chin.

Were those PostIts?

You won? Let's celebrate … tomorrow. Please let me sleep,

was written on her forehead. He looked at the second one.

You lost? Maybe my sleeping self can comfort you. I repeat: my SLEEPING self.

He chuckled and squatted in front of her, before gingerly taking off the PostIts.

She mumbled something in her sleep and curled up even more tightly. Her face was smooth and peaceful, and her pale lashes brushed her cheeks.

He let his thumb caress her cheek gently, before he carried her into the bedroom, cautious not to wake her. He lay down next to her only after he'd written his own note on a PostIt, and stuck it to her forehead.

Want to fly to Chicago with me tomorrow?