feeling the heat, Lorelei braced herself for the second dose as she watched the waitress serve Mark. He was shaking his head at her and frowning, like he hadn’t ordered the drink, when she smiled and pointed in Lorelei’s direction.
His head whipped around and his focus snapped to her instantly, his gaze penetrating even from the distance across the room. She could feel it clear down to her toes, and suddenly blood pounded hard in her ears. No way had she expected such intensity. It made her feel like throwing her hands in the air and shrieking, The jig is up!
She needed that other shot.
He was still staring at her like she was a bug under a microscope, so Lorelei grabbed up that second shot with a shaky hand. Being zoned in on like that was damn disconcerting. Understanding of what made him such a famously fierce baseball player instantly dawned. Nobody in their right mind would want to be opposite that gaze on the field. It was lethal.
Good thing she wasn’t in her right mind.
What was she going to do now? Should she act nonchalant? Should she acknowledge him? Obviously, playing the Invisible Woman wasn’t going to work anymore. She forced a smile and met his unblinking stare with her own. Then she raised her glass in a silent toast.
She saw his eyebrow shoot up in surprise at the salute and watched him reach for his drink. But then his brows pulled down into a frown. Lorelei felt her stomach sink as he pushed the drink away from him—very slowly, very deliberately. His eyes never left hers.
Okay, so no, she wasn’t dolled up like the other women in the bar, and she knew she wasn’t gorgeous by any means. She was average. Average height, average curves, average weight.
Sigh. Fine, so a few pounds beyond that. She liked food. Sue her. But seriously, she had her redeeming qualities, and the sting still hurt, damn it. He’d sent a message and it was brutally clear.
She’d been rejected.
Chapter 2
MARK PUSHED THE drink away and shook his head. He’d wondered how long it would take the brunette to make a move. For the past hour he’d watched her out of the corner of his eye. And for that hour, her eyes had been fixed on him.
It was something he’d become used to over the years—having ladies stare at him. Most of the time he enjoyed it as a major perk of being a professional athlete. Lately, for whatever reason, not so much. And he really wasn’t in the mood tonight to analyze why. Or really ever. He considered it a momentary glitch in his programming and nothing more.
So why was he vaguely disappointed that the brunette was making a move? And just what had that salute meant? It was such an odd gesture from a woman hiding in the corner. A salute was something that belonged at a wedding—charming and full of goodwill.
The woman looked anything but full of goodwill. In fact, she looked somewhere between scared shitless and royally pissed. How she managed to pull off those two emotions at the same time was oddly fascinating to him. She wasn’t his usual type, so why he was so intrigued beat the hell outta him. He usually preferred his women fake on the inside and out. It was safer that way.
Raking his hair back with a hand, Mark watched her and waited for her reaction. When it came, his eyebrows shot up and he felt a chuckle rise in his chest. It was the complete opposite of what he would have assumed she’d do.
In his experience, natural women like her had major attitude. It was that whole liberated feminist schtick. He’d more than half expected her to march over to him and demand to know what was wrong with her and her drink. Instead, she looked confused; she frowned and shook her head.
Then she stood up clumsily from the table, wobbled a bit, and began glancing around like she was looking for a purse or something. Apparently she couldn’t find it, or didn’t have one, because she threw her hands up and headed for the exit.
It was the oddest reaction Mark had ever seen.
And because it was so odd and unexpected, he was even more intrigued. Keeping his eyes on her retreating back, he pushed away from the table and stood. Then he whipped out his wallet and threw a twenty down.
Peter Kowalskin—Denver Rush’s ace pitcher—eyed Mark and asked, “Where you off to