Rules of the Game Read Free Page B

shoulders. Excitement. Brooke could feel the electricity of it coming in waves. Instantly, her own apathy vanished to be replaced by an avid curiosity. People were her obsession, and here they were, thousands of them, packed together in a circle around a field of green grass and brown dirt.
    Something other than hunger began to stir in her.
    â€œLook at them all, Claire,” she murmured. “Is it always like this? I wonder.”
    â€œThe Kings are having a winning season. They’re leading their division by three games, have two potential twenty-game-winning pitchers and a third baseman who’s batting three seventy-eight for the year.” She sent Brooke a lifted-brow look. “I told you to do your homework.”
    â€œMmm-hmm.” But Brooke was too caught up in the people. Who were they? Where did they come from? Where did they go after the game was over?
    There were two old men, perched on chairs, their hands between their knees as they argued over the game that hadn’t yet started. Oh, for a cameraman, Brooke thought, spotting a five-year-old in a Kings fielder’s cap gazing up at the two gnarled fans. She followed Claire down the steps slowly, letting her eyes record everything. She liked the size of it, the noise, the smell of damp, crowded bodies, the color. Navy-blue-and-white Kings pennants were waved; children crammed pink cotton candy into their mouths. A teenager was making a play for a cute little blonde in front of him who pretended she wasn’t interested.
    Abruptly Brooke stopped, dropping her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Isn’t that Brighton Boyd?”
    Claire glanced to the left to see the Oscar-winning actor munching peanuts from a white paper bag. “Yes. Let’s see now, this is our box.” She scooted in, then lifted a friendly hand to the actor before she sat. “This should do very well,” Claire observed with a satisfied nod. “We’re quite close to third base here.”
    Still looking at everything at once, Brooke dropped into her chair. The Colosseum in Rome, she thought, must have had the same feel before the gladiators trooped out. If she were to do a commercial on baseball, it wouldn’t be of the game, but of the crowd. A pan, with the sound low—then gradually increase it as the camera closed in. Then,
bam!
Full volume, full effect. Clichéd or not, it was quintessentially American.
    â€œHere you go, dear.” Claire disrupted her thoughts by handing her a hot dog. “My treat.”
    â€œThanks.” After taking a healthy bite, Brooke continued with her mouth full. “Who does the advertising for the team, Claire?”
    â€œJust concentrate on third base,” Claire advised as she sipped at a beer.
    â€œYes, but—” The crowd roared as the home team took the field. Brooke watched the men move to their positions, dressed in dazzling white with navy-blue caps and baseball socks. They didn’t look foolish, she mused as the fans continued to cheer. They looked rather heroic. She focused on the man on third.
    Parks’s back was to her as he kicked up a bit of dust around the base. But Brooke didn’t strain to see his face. At the moment, she didn’t need it—his build was enough. Six-one, she estimated, a bit surprised by his height. No more than a hundred and sixty pounds—but not thin. She leaned her elbows on the rail, resting her chin on her hands.
    He’s lanky, she thought. He’ll show off clothes well. Parks dipped for a grounder then returned it to short. For an instant, Brooke’s thoughts scattered. Something intruded on her professional survey that she quickly brushed aside. The way he moved, she thought. Catlike? No. She shook her head. No, he was all man.
    She waited, unconsciously holding her breath as he fielded another grounder. He moved loosely, apparently effortlessly, but she sensed a tight control as he stepped, bent, pivoted. It was