* * *
Grant had no answer for that. Was she kidding? Did Piper know how badly he wanted to prove his expertise in that particular field? Or was she screwing with him? And not in a good way?
She laughed. “If you could see your face.”
“Not funny, woman.”
She laughed harder. “Thanks, Grant. That felt good.”
“For one of us, at least.”
Piper moved from the counter and stood on tiptoe, in heels, to kiss his cheek. Her perfume went straight to his head, something sensual, no flowers and lightness for her. “You’re cute when you blush. I’m going to change into my comfy clothes while you make us dinner. Surprise me.”
“Anything you don’t like?” he asked to her back.
“No onions.”
“Got it.”
Half an hour later, he’d whipped up a batch of crepes with mushrooms, gouda, eggs, and peppers. Pleased that Piper had seconds, he studied her surreptitiously while she ate and laughed. The woman liked to talk, and she put him at immediate ease.
Grant didn’t mind being the center of attention when it came to baseball. He could function well enough at parties, always playing the part of a do-gooder ball player who said little but made others feel good. Where he wasn’t himself but playing a role.
The real Grant said what he thought all too often, regardless of others’ feelings.
For the whole of their dinner, he’d been nothing but himself, and Piper didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m sorry, you told the second base player that he wasn’t performing up to your standards?” She sounded incredulous. “And he didn’t punch you in the face?”
“I think he wanted to, but when I backed up my complaint with statistics, he couldn’t without looking bitter about the truth. So we practiced together for a while during the off season. This was the year before last. This season he totally nailed it. Heck, last month he joined the 30-30 club.”
“What’s that?”
“He hit thirty homeruns and stole thirty bases.”
“And you’re taking the credit for that.”
He shrugged. “I am responsible for pointing out a few of his bad habits. Which the infield instructor and batting coaches should have but didn’t, because Steve can be a real ass.”
“But you didn’t care.” She huffed. “Not the West Wind.”
“Nope. I’m all about telling it like I see it.” He sighed. “Which is why I never talk during press junkets. I’ve been told to smile and keep my mouth shut.”
She chuckled. “I’ll bet. Wasn’t there some trouble a few years ago? I remember Jared laughing about it. Something you said during an interview with a female reporter, I think.”
She would have to remember that incident.
“Hey now, that wasn’t my fault. I was new to the team at the time. And this reporter kept coming on to me off camera. She’d flirt, ask me a question on film, then pause off the mic to say all sorts of things I won’t repeat. So the next time she asked me a question on camera, I told her I had no plans to satisfy her carnal urges, and that it was less than professional to intersperse those comments—I did repeat them on the air—with an interview about the game.
“Apparently, she didn’t like that, though the team thought it was hilarious for a long while after that. Unfortunately, she was good friends with the owner’s daughter, so that was a problem for a little bit. But after that mess cleared up, and they wanted me to give interviews again, I never had anyone ask me anything other than questions about the game.”
“I’ll bet.” She grinned. “I’m surprised you didn’t take her up on her offer to satisfy those ‘carnal urges.’”
“I wasn’t attracted to her, to be honest. I found her aggression a little too off-putting.”
“So you don’t like aggressive women?”
He set down his fork on his plate and leaned back, giving her the smile he could feel to his toes. “Well now, aggression has its place if it’s the right woman doing the pursuing.”
