Love Bats Last (The Heart of the Game) Read Free Page A

was ancient to him. Alex had just hit thirty-one.
    “Not today,” he said as Scotty trailed him to his locker. “I checked out that marine mammal center I told you about. I’m running over to have a look. Then I have to head up to Sonoma; there’s a party at the vineyard.”
    “How about I come with you and we look at the videos up there after?”
    Alex chuckled to himself. Scotty said up there as if the wine region to the north of San Francisco was a foreign country. What with the hyperfocus on the grapes and the odd mix of country and city, it might as well be.
    “Can’t,” Alex said. “I’m meeting with my farm manager in the morning.” He slipped a sweater over his head and grabbed his jacket. “I plan to stay over.”
    “My fridge’s empty.” Scotty protested. “And I love parties.”
    “Pretty insistent for a heartlander, aren’t you?”
    “Afraid you might not show up back here.” A grin curved across Scotty’s face. “You’re my career insurance, so I like to keep you close.”
    Scotty hardly needed that. He’d already racked up a brilliant rookie season with the Giants, and this year he was likely to do even better. But he was right about one thing—Alex’s glove-work in the infield kept runners off base.
    “I’ll have to loan you a tux,” Alex said, conceding to his enthusiasm. “One party at Trovare should cure you of snarking invitations forever.”
     

     
    Alex’s cell rang as he and Scotty drove out of the stadium parking lot. He knew the ringtone; it was Sabrina.
    “Answer that, would you?” He nodded to Scotty. “It’s my sister.”
    “Sea World Express,” Scotty said. He pushed the speaker button.
    “Alex, tell me you’re coming up for this party. I can’t bear another round of Where’s Alex tonight.”
    “On my way. Scotty’s coming with me. I have a stop to make and then we’ll be up. Kiss the gargoyle for me.”
    Scotty clicked off the phone. “Gargoyle?”
    “My father bought it at an auction before he died.” He shot Scotty a grin. “It’s supposed to ward off dugout dollies.”
    He was only half kidding. The women who tracked players, often developing elaborate plans to make contact, kept Scotty well in their sights. They tracked Alex too. Though he’d dated a few, he kept to his rule to keep it casual. He’d learned better than to drag a woman into his life. He’d done it once, when he was in the minors. Another mistake he was determined not to repeat.
    He’d been young and foolish that summer, and he’d fallen hard—he hadn’t been reading the signs. Not that anyone liked life in the minors. The long bus rides, cramped motels, terrible food... it wore the best of them down.
    But it’d turned out that the woman he’d loved was in love with Trovare, in love with the flash. She was interested in Alex in his role as vineyard heir. Being dragged around from one small town to another during the minor league season, into a life without the glamor or the swirl of San Francisco, was of no interest to her.
    He’d been foolish to think she loved the game, that she’d loved him.
    At one point she’d even tried to talk him out of playing, and into returning to the city. But worse than that, she’d ridiculed one of his friends, a young outfielder from Tennessee. One thing the game held sacred was respect for anyone’s honest effort.
    When she’d put down Tom’s life and his dreams, Alex had finally realized he’d been fooling himself all along. He wouldn’t do that ever again.
    He should thank Tom.
    “You’re losing your touch, Tavonesi. You don’t need a gargoyle. Just handle the lovely ladies like grounders. A moment in the hands”—he whirled his hands in the space between them—“and then a gentle and mutual toss-off.”
    “Thanks, Yoda,” Alex said. “Remind me to ask you for hitting advice as well.”
    That wasn’t going to happen. Nobody expected a pitcher to hit, and Scotty met that expectation handily by hitting well below