Chapter 13

“So are you all excited to go to your first major ball game?” Moira asked as the foursome ambled leisurely along the narrow, crowded streets of Boston’s North End.

The chilly fall air swirled around them, a stiff breeze pushing off the Charles River.

Clarissa pulled up the collar on her jacket and smiled. “In truth, I am.”

“We have great seats,” Moira said, “compliments of my mother-in-law.”

“I thought Pat said they were Quentin’s grandfather’s tickets.”

Moira slanted her a look. “Oh? When did he tell you that?”

The more she got to know her friend, the more Clarissa appreciated what an astute listener Moira was. Well, Clarissa had perfected the art of deflection during her school years, so, with a shake of her head and in her most neutral, clinical voice, she answered, “I don’t remember. The seats are good, though?”

As they continued walking, Moira wrapped her arms around her torso. “God, it’s chilly today. And yes, the seats are amazing. Q’s grandfather was the owner of the Alabama Cougars football team. But he was a diehard Boston fan and every opportunity he could, he’d take in a game and bring the boys, my brothers, and me when we were little. My mother-in-law practically grew up at Fenway. When her dad died, since she was the only child, she inherited everything, including the condo we’ll be staying in tonight.”

“Wow. I didn’t know Quentin had such a famous lineage.”

Moira laughed. “Want to hear the really woo-woo part?” She flapped her hands in the air. “My dad played pro-football for Grandpa Bloom’s team. My mother-in-law knew him before he ever met my mom.”

“And your mom and Delilah have been best friends forever, right? That is woo-woo,” Clarissa said. She took a quick glance at the men a few feet ahead of them. They were engrossed in a conversation and could have been brothers, their physiques and builds so similar. The basic difference in their looks came down to coloring. Quentin had ash-blond hair to Pat’s midnight black, and Q’s eyes were a deep, mossy green to Pat’s ripened blueberry hue.

Clarissa noted several female heads turning in their direction.

“You get used to it after a while,” Moira said.

“What?”

“The way women stare at them.”

Clarissa raised an eyebrow. “I’d think you’d be a little unsettled by other women staring at your man.”

“I think most girls would be, but I’ve known Q since birth. Even in school he never had a swelled head when girls threw themselves at him. He always knew what he wanted.”

“You.” Clarissa grinned.

“Yeah. And horses.”

“What about your brother?” She stole a quick glance at Pat as he waited for the maître d’ to seat them.

“A conversation as involved as that one is best had over a bottle of wine and a box of chocolate,” Moira said. “And a few hours of free time.”

“What is?” Pat asked them.

“Nothing,” his sister responded, and took her husband’s proffered arm. “Girl talk.”

Pat’s eyebrow shot to his hairline.

“Don’t ask,” Clarissa said, under her breath.

He put a hand to her lower back while they were guided to their table, and Clarissa’s nerve endings all stood at attention. When he lowered his voice and said into her ear, “I’ll worm it out of you,” those same nerves firecrackered through her system. His voice sent a punch of sexual heat, quick burning and erotic through her insides, and—God help her—she knew she’d tell him anything he wanted if he used it on her again.

The late lunch/early dinner crowd was heavy in the North End from patrons having a bite to eat before heading to Fenway Park or to the theater district for a show.

As she had on the street, Clarissa noted several female heads turning to the men at her table more than once. When Pat smiled at their waitress as he ordered a drink, the woman noticeably stood straighter, jutting her breasts out while she wrote in her pad.

When Quentin turned his attention to Moira, Clarissa took the opportunity to whisper to Pat. “You really can’t help it, can you?”

To the question in his gorgeous eyes, she added, “The whole natural, sexy, flirting thing you do without even thinking about it.”

The grin started at one corner of his mouth and spread across to the other side, mesmerizing her. All Clarissa had to do was move a fraction of an inch and she would have been in Pat’s lap, her lips molded to his. When her gaze dropped to his mouth, his perfect teeth peeking out from behind his irresistible grin, she actually considered giving into the thought.

“You think I’m sexy?” His voice slipped into a seductive timbre that made her lady-parts quiver.

“What are you whispering about?” Moira asked.

“I was telling Clarissa the chicken piccata here is great,” Pat said easily. Underneath the table his hand squeezed her thigh.

The dinner conversation among the four of them was comfortable and laid back. Clarissa, usually nervous or self-conscious when in social situations, felt utterly at ease with them.

Her reaction to Pat’s presence, which had once made her edgy and on guard, had changed so much in the past few weeks. No longer shy around him, she even indulged in a small amount of flirting when he ordered dessert and offered her some from his fork. When she’d tasted the delicious and creamy cheesecake, closed her eyes and moaned, she heard his breath catch. When she opened her eyes and found his lips slightly parted, his gaze zeroed in on her mouth, she knew exactly what she was doing when her tongue skimmed across her bottom lip from corner to corner, her eyes going half closed again. His fingers tightened on the fork, and Quentin had to ask him a question twice before he responded.

On the brief walk to the train station after dinner, the wind from the Charles River had picked up and Clarissa shivered despite wearing her jacket. When Pat’s arm went around her shoulders the same way Quentin’s did Moira, and he pulled her in closer to shield her from the wind, Clarissa gave in to the lovely feeling of warmth and snuggled as close as she dared without raising Moira’s radar.

Pat bent close to her ear at one point, and with a quick glance at his sister first, said, “The next time I come over for dinner I’m bringing cheesecake.”

She had to hold back the giggle threatening to burst forth. She stared up into his face and the boyish, teasing grin gazing back at her stopped her heart, cold.

They made their way through the hordes of travelers, all on the way to the seven o’clock start at Fenway Park. The train was crowded and noisy and there were no unoccupied seats, so the four of them stood together, sharing a hand pole. The ride was bumpy and speedy at times, and more than once, Clarissa found herself tossed against Pat, his free arm coming up to make sure she didn’t topple over. The three of them towered over her. She’d worn flats to be comfortable knowing they were going to be walking around the city, but belatedly debated the decision when her short stature was put on display. She felt small and young compared to them, even though she was only five years their junior. For the first time in her life, though, Clarissa knew what it felt like to have friends. Friends who actually liked her. Her!

And, for the first time in her life, she knew what it felt like to be falling in love. There was no other way to explain her reaction to Pat Cleary.

Yes, he was handsome, but she’d been around good-looking men before in college, med school and through residency. Most of them hadn’t given her the time of day due to her age and superior intelligence.

Yes, he was successful and a savvy businessman, but again, she’d been around some of the most respected medical minds in their fields and they’d considered her nothing more than an underling—and a naive one at best.

Pat Cleary was the first man to ever make her feel and act like a woman, through and through.

And Clarissa reveled in it.

They followed the baseball throng along the sidewalks and then onto the chaos of Yawky Way.

“My goodness,” Clarissa said when she saw the thousands of fans milling about the block, spilling out of the bars and restaurants. “The last time I saw this many people crowded together was when I was at an African market last year. This is crazy.”

“Par for the course,” Pat said into her ear to be heard above the din. He tightened his arm around her shoulders as they were jostled.

“Let’s get to our seats,” Quentin said.

When they were settled, Clarissa took her first look around the stadium.

“Over there is the Green Monster,” Pat told her, pointing to the set of stands behind third base. “Lots of home run balls are caught out there by fans.”

By the third inning, Clarissa started to understand the plays, Pat her willing teacher. By the sixth inning she was a devout fan, even joining in the collective stadium booing of a bad call for the home team by the referees.

When the seventh inning stretch rolled around and they all stood for a rousing rendition of “Sweet Caroline,” Clarissa vowed loyalty to the team for eternity.

“Want anything?” Quentin asked before the eighth inning began. “Pat and I are gonna get Fenway franks and some beer. You want ice cream?” he asked his wife.

“Seriously?” Clarissa asked. “You’re getting food? After the huge meal we ate?”

Pat laughed out loud. “That was three hours ago.”

“They always eat like this,” Moira told her with a roll of her eyes. “Mom calls them walking appetites.”

“But you love us anyway.” Quentin bent and kissed the grin on her mouth.

Clarissa caught Pat’s eye and from the heat in his gaze, she knew if they’d been alone he would have done the same.

“I’ll bring you back a soda,” he told her.

“I want jimmies on my ice cream,” Moira called after them.

“Like any of us would ever forget it,” her brother tossed over his shoulder.

They were no sooner gone then Moira turned to Clarissa. When those beautiful blue eyes narrowed and homed in on her, Clarissa knew what was coming.

“What’s going on with you and Pat?” Moira asked. “And don’t try to deny anything,” she added when Clarissa started to speak, “because I’d know you’re lying.”

“Do you realize how insulting you sound?” Clarissa asked.

“Deal with it. Now answer me. Have you two…you know?” She wiggled her eyebrows, making Clarissa grin, despite her annoyance.

“You’re ridiculous. No, we haven’t”—she lifted her own eyebrows—“anything.”

“But you’re obviously thinking about it, Clarissa. I’ve never seen my brother so relaxed and so on edge at the same time before. He looks at you and smiles. Smiles.”

“So? He’s not allowed to smile for no reason?”

“You’re the reason,” she said, poking a finger at Clarissa’s arm. “What’s going on?”

She hadn’t wanted to make their new relationship known to anyone yet. Clarissa still felt it would be better to go slow, keep things light and friendly before she decided to make it more.

But her mounting feelings for Pat, and the obvious fact he wanted more from her pecked away at her reserve.

If Pat hadn’t been Moira’s brother, she would have confided in her by now, girlfriend to advice-seeking girlfriend. Since she was Pat’s sister, Clarissa felt a need to protect his privacy.

But she really did want to confide in someone.

Clarissa nibbled at her lower lip, and revealed she and Pat had dinner together twice at her house.

“And what happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened? I fixed dinner. We ate and talked. We watched a movie the first time.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “Why do you look so unconvinced?”

“Because I know my brother. He’s like a heat seeking missile. When he wants something he zooms right for it. And I know down to my toes he wants you. All you need to do is look at and watch him, whenever you’re around, to see it.”

Clarissa tried for nonchalance by lifting a shoulder. “Maybe he’s changed. Or maybe you’re wrong about what you think he feels about me.”

“No. I’m not. Remember, he’s my twin. I know him. How he thinks, how he works, everything. If he’s waiting to take you to bed there has to be a reason. A good one, too.”

When she crossed her arms over her chest and pierced her with an all-knowing, penetrant gaze, Clarissa comprehended what a force Moira really was.

In that way, she was a great deal like her brother.

“Maybe it’s me who wants to wait,” Clarissa said. In the next instant she regretted saying it because Moira’s eyes grew wide.

“So you do want my brother? Thanks for finally admitting it.”

“Moira.”

“Clarissa.”

“I really hate when you mimic.” She blew out a breath and tried to stifle the grin lurking to come out. “Look, I like your brother a lot. A lot. And yes, I’ve thought about what it would be like if we took this to the next level.”

“What a dumb phrase. It sounds like you’re building a house.”

Clarissa laughed. “But in all honesty, Pat and I decided to be friends first before we decide to…do more.”

“You’re a doctor, and you’re blushing like crazy talking about sex.” Moira reached for Clarissa’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s sweet, but you don’t have to be embarrassed with me.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it sweet. A little pathetic seems more descriptive.”

Moira smiled at her.

“I haven’t gone out with a lot of men,” Clarissa admitted. “In all honesty there haven’t been many who’ve been interested.”

“Every one of them are fools.”

“Now, that’s sweet. Anyway. If Pat and I decide to…explore…our relationship further, well, we’ll see what happens. Please respect we don’t want everyone knowing about us. It makes things easier.”

“Clarissa, nothing is ever easy with my brother, but I can promise you I’ll leave off pushing you about it.”

“Thanks. Here they come. No more, okay?”

Moira nodded.

When Quentin handed her the huge chocolate ice cream laden with rainbow colored sprinkles, stuffed into a plastic baseball cap with the team’s logo on the side, Moira grabbed him with her free arm and kissed him soundly.

Pat snuck a glance at Clarissa, and, while he handed her a soda and sat down, whispered, “I’d like to think I’d get the same kind of thank-you from you if those two weren’t around.”

Without even thinking about the consequences, Clarissa snaked a hand around his neck and pulled him in for her own kiss.

When her lips spread over his warm and full mouth, she didn’t care who saw them or knew what they were doing. He felt so damn good and tasted even better.

“Oh. My. God!” she heard Moira cry.

“Don’t look now,” Quentin said, a laugh flowing out of him, “but you two are on live television.”

Clarissa pulled back when the words registered. She quickly found the jumbotron across the backfield wall and sure enough, she and Pat were front and center. The entire stadium shouted catcalls and cheers. Before she could take a breath, Pat grinned and pulled her in for another kiss, this one heart-stoppingly hot. She could hear the cheers reaching a fever roar, and the irony of the situation pushed through her mind.

When Pat pulled back, grinning, her hand still around his neck, she took a moment to catch her breath.

“I guess it’s not a secret anymore,” he said softly, his fingers splayed across her chin, squeezing gently.

“Guess not,” she answered, resigned to it. For some reason, the thought wasn’t as unsettling as it had been.

“You don’t look upset.”

“Neither do you,” she said.

“I’m not.” He pulled her in and kissed her again. This time there were no catcalls from the crowd, only a drunken yell from somewhere in the seats above them. “Get a room.”

Clarissa started to laugh and pulled back. When she saw the way Pat’s left eyebrow arched suggestively, she socked him in the arm. “Stop.”

“I will if you will,” he said back, his grin turning into a leer.

A deafening roar from the crowd made them turn to the field.

“Grand slam,” Quentin cried and jumped up from his seat, Moira and Pat following suit. Every fan in the stadium stood as the runners ran back to home base, one after the other.

When the last player crossed over home plate, Quentin and Pat high fived each other and then Quentin pulled Moira up off her feet in a crushing hug, kissing her wantonly.

Pat grabbed a now-standing Clarissa and did the same.

“I’m fairly sure this was a good thing,” she said on a laugh as he hugged her tightly.

His arms stayed close around her waist, their bodies touching from torso to knees. A deep, hot seed of desire bloomed everywhere within her.

Eyes bright and focused, lips full and thick, Clarissa had never known another man who looked at her like Pat did or made her feel so alive from a glance or a brief touch.

“You can go a lifetime and never see a grand slam at a ball game. Consider yourself blessed and lucky.”

She cocked her head and nailed him with her gaze. “I do,” she said.

The warmth in his eyes heated. When she felt his hands tighten around her waist and pull her in even closer, Clarissa closed her own eyes and rested her head on his chest. Through the chaos of cheering and yelling around them, she heard his heart drumming wildly, and knew it matched her own heart’s tempo.