Chapter 1

Chapter One

Cosmos

“ S TE-RIKE THREE!” the umpire yelled emphatically.

“What the hell, man? That ball was way outside! Get some glasses!” Mr. Rockstar stood up at his seat and turned toward the Cubs dugout. “You gonna let him get away with that, coach? Why don’t you manage this team instead of standing there with that sour look on your face?”

Cosmos took a deep breath and let it out. “Ashford, you promised to keep a low profile if we took you out in public today. I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me.”

The man next to him waved him off.

“Excuse me,” an apologetic voice said to his left. He looked up at the newcomer to the section. She was a pretty young thing. Early twenties. Dark, straight hair. Well-tanned skin. A nervous smile. She was looking at the man sitting one row ahead and gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “I think that’s my seat.”

The man she was talking to grumbled, half rising in his seat to let her pass to the open chair. She thanked him and slipped past as best she could without touching him.

“Hel-lo, there, sweet thing,” Cosmos’ seat-mate crooned to the newly seated guest.

Oh, fuck no. Don’t do this. Don’t make me haul your ass outta here.

The girl turned in her seat, gave the greeter a forced smile. “Hello.”

“You’re wearing the wrong colors there, sweet thing.”

The girl looked at Ashford’s Cubs jersey and laughed. “I could say the same for you.” She turned to face forward.

“Aww, someone led you astray about who’s a real team. I can teach you all about that.”

Without turning around, she replied, “I don’t need a baseball lesson, thank you.”

From behind her, Mr. Rockstar reached out and twirled a tendril of her hair around his finger. “Then can I buy you a beer, sweet thing?”

At his proffered drink, she turned in her seat. Her gray eyes went cold, as did her polite response. “Please don’t touch me again. And no, thank you.” She quickly turned back to face forward and watch the game.

Cosmos smirked. She was feisty. He liked that in a woman, and he felt the first stirrings of his libido in a long time. Returning his face to its detached, bodyguard look, he whispered a warning. “Mr. Ashford, remember–low profile.”

The singer turned to him, pulling his sunglasses down his nose. “Listen, dude. I hired you . Not the other way around. That means what I say goes. And I say, I wanna talk to sweet thing, here.”

Abigail

Ugh! Why can’t this jerk just leave me alone?

Three innings later, he was still at it. He hadn’t touched her again, but he was still jawing at her. Midwest-polite was getting her nowhere with his badly veiled sexual innuendos and arrogant self-compliments. She was going to have to get nasty. She hated being nasty.

“Aw, c’mon, sweet thing. I’m just trying to be nice.” He leaned forward, putting his mouth as close to her ear as possible, hot beer breath blowing on her. “Neighborly,” he stretched the word out. Then she felt it. The tip of a finger running along the top of her shoulder where her tank top strap rested. “Wearing those Brewer colors in our house, you might need protection from someone with devious intentions.”

She turned in her seat so that she sat sideways, slapping his hand like a mother might a young child. “And who would I need protection from that’s more devious than you? I asked you nicely to stop touching me. I won’t ask nicely again. My advice to you? Sit back, have another beer, and shut your mouth. And if you can’t do that, then I suggest you shove a hot dog in it to keep you quiet.”

She whirled back around in her seat. Behind her and to the left, she heard a chuckle. It didn’t come from Mr. Mouth, as she started calling him in her head, but someone sitting next to him. Oddly enough, she thought she heard praise in it, as if to let her know he liked her sass.

Mr. Mouth was silent for all of a minute before he started up again, but this time his comments were quieter, more harassing, and more insidious. “You know, sweet thing, if you paid attention to who you were talking to, you wouldn’t be brushing me off. In fact, you’d be creaming your jeans to get some of this action.”

She was just about to yell for security when a voice, one she assumed belonged to the chuckler, rumbled, “Ashford, quit being a dick and leave the young lady alone. ”

“I told you to butt out, dude. I pay you to protect me, not parent me.”

“Well, right now, you need protection from yourself. Your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

She turned in her seat to watch the discussion play out, as well as see the face that went with the deep voice that made her insides vibrate.

Well, wash my brain out with laundry detergent, then bleach my panties, because that man is H-O-T-HOT!

Mr. Mouth puffed up like a peacock. “Are you threatening me?”

Mr. Hot did not react. He sat, casual as could be, looking for all the world like nothing was going on except for watching the game in front of him. “I’m warning you. You’re about to create a scene. That scene is going to get worse when she either calls an usher over here to kick you out, or she knees you in the balls, and you get carted away by the paramedics. Personally, I’d quite enjoy the second option right now because you’re being a tool and you deserve it.”

Mr. Mouth insulted Mr. Hot, Mr. Hot’s mother, and Mr. Hot’s business. When Mr. Mouth got loud, that was apparently the last straw. Not a hair out of place or a flash of emotion, Mr. Hot stood up from his seat, buttoned his suit coat, and put the idiot in a headlock. Fans in the section quietly clapped and cheered, and Abby couldn’t help but smile.

Mr. Hot’s sunglass-covered eyes turned in her direction. “His apologies, Miss. Enjoy the game.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Just a weak wave before he disappeared, and a prayer in her head that she wasn’t drooling.

Holy cannoli!