Double Play (14 page)

I’m convinced that every boy, in his heart, would rather steal second base than an automobile.

—Tom Clark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After
the win, Pace poured out of the dugout with the others, telling himself things were good. That they were going to stay good. That the unnamable ball of uneasiness sitting on his chest was ignorable.

The guys with family in the stands were rushed and hugged and congratulated, and with that odd ache still in place, Pace turned away.

And then was nearly bowled over by a soft, warm body.

Holly.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing his earlobe, and right there, surrounded by tens of thousands of people, the adrenaline that lingered after every game was whipped into something else entirely, and suddenly he felt like a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal who wanted to drag his woman off to his cave and have his merry way with her.
Me want you now . . .
He let his arms tighten on her, hauling her against him.

Oblivious to the sharp need slicing through him, Holly grinned up at him, the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about through nine innings, the woman with the expressive eyes and soft lips, the woman who’d panted when he’d kissed her neck, making him want to do it again.

“You’re good at that,” she laughed, pulling free. “Putting up with people hugging you.”

Not so good with it, not usually.

“Your shoulder okay?”

He felt himself tense. “Why?”

“Because I want to put out the scoop before anyone else.” She shook her head, sarcasm in her eyes. “Because you look like you’re favoring it.”

“No, I’m good.”

“One of these days you’ll learn to trust me.” She nodded toward Red. “Looks like you have to go. Coach’s gesturing at you.”

Yeah, he was, and looking apoplectic while he was at it, wanting Pace to get back to icing his shoulder, which wasn’t as okay as he’d pretended it was.

With one last sweet smile, Holly moved off, and Pace headed to the usual postgame signing. Typically, this was actually fun, especially after a win, but tonight a large group of drunken assholes showed up in line, causing a commotion. After Samantha was harassed when she tried to step in and shut them up, the police were called, and the players were quickly bused back to the hotel and ushered into a private room at the restaurant for the postgame team dinner.

Well used to the occasional mob riots, Pace and the guys were unfazed and happy to eat. Pace grabbed his plate and looked for a seat. Wade was getting an earful about something from Gage. There was a spot next to Red, but Pace didn’t feel like talking shop.

Besides, the empty seat next to Holly seemed to be calling out his name, and telling himself it was the closest open one available, he took it.

“What?” he said to her surprised expression.

“Nothing. I was just expecting you to do the ignore-me thing, especially after I nearly strangled you on the field with my congrats today.”

He looked into her eyes and was instantly transported back to the clubhouse, where she’d held on to him as though she were drowning and he was the only thing that could save her. “I just took the closest empty kiss—er,
seat
. I meant
seat
,” he said a little weakly.

She took a bite of pizza, studying him as she chewed. “I knew that kiss made you uncomfortable.”

“I wouldn’t call it uncomfortable.”

“What would you call it?”

He looked into her eyes and had to take a breath. “Turned on as hell.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“You’re direct.”

“It was just a kiss, Pace. And just a hug.”

A hug that had involved having her strain up against him, all warm, sexy, curvy woman. “I know.”

She cocked her head. “Do you? Because it seems like maybe you’re having some trouble with it. Need me to back off? Am I scaring you?”

“No.” He shook his head at her smile and had to let out one of his own. “Okay, yes. Yes, you’re scaring me.”

“Aw.” She slung a friendly arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “I’ll be gentle.” She went back to her pizza with gusto. “I loved watching you play tonight. You looked good out there.”

She was looking good, too, but he kept that to himself, as well as the fact that she was messing with his head without even trying.
Both
heads.

“So when you’re out there on the field, can you hear us cheering you on?” she asked, catching a string of cheese off the tip of her pizza with her tongue.

“Yes,” he said, staring at that tongue. “But it’s more like white noise if I’m in the zone.”

“Well, I made plenty of white noise today.” She laughed at herself. “I really lost myself.”

He was feeling a little lost himself, in both the sound of her laughter and the warmth of her eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“Ignoring you is going to be a hell of a lot harder than I thought.”

She didn’t point out the obvious, that he was a grown-up, that he could chose not to ignore anything, but she simply sat there and ate her pizza, easily becoming the most enigmatic, intriguing woman he’d ever met.

 

 

The
next morning the news was buzzing about what had happened after the Atlanta game with those wild fans. The story had gotten exaggerated, with some of the papers reporting that Sam had been beaten and nearly raped. The Heat flew home, where they were met by Sam’s entire family, all of them royally pissed off and ready to kick some ass.

While Sam cooled their jets and assured everyone she didn’t have a scratch on her, the players got ready for their game. Pace wasn’t pitching, but his shoulder felt good—okay, not good but not bad—so he still dressed out, as he’d be practicing in the bullpen while watching the game.

Which they lost.

As well as their next three games.

At the end of that week, the players chaired a 4 The Kids auction, raising $250,000 before facing another home game, this one against the Colorado Rockies.

This time Pace was on the schedule to pitch. He’d had to see the team doc every single day that week to get approval, but he got it, and two hours before the start, he stood in the Heat’s luxurious clubhouse in front of his locker, looking down at the few vitamin packs he still had left. Most of the guys swore they noticed a difference in their energy and strength levels, but other than sleeping better, Pace hadn’t noticed anything. Still, for Tucker, he kept taking the stuff. He was pulling on his jersey when Henry, Ty, and Johnny joined him. He glanced over, but they said nothing, just stood there staring at him like Curly, Mo, and Larry.

Ty shoved Johnny, who shoved Henry. Who then looked at Pace. “You’ve got to kiss her, man.”

“What?”

“Holly,” Ty clarified. “You have to kiss her the same way you did in Atlanta, or we’ll lose again.”

Henry nodded.

Johnny nodded.

And Pace just stared at them. No one knew he’d kissed Holly, no one but him and Holly. And . . . Red.
Dammit.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, sliding Red a long death stare across the clubhouse.

From twenty feet, Red lifted a shoulder, then ambled over. “They guessed.”

“They did not.”

“Okay, they didn’t.” Red jerked his head toward Holly, who was taking pictures of Mason and Kyle goofing off at the food table. “But the last time we won was the last time you kissed her.”

Jesus. Normally Pace had a healthy respect for the superstitions of his sport, but this one . . . This one just might kill him.

“Just do it,” Henry said. “Kiss her.”

Yeah. Hardly that easy.

“If you want,” Ty offered. “I can do it for you.”

Over his dead body. Pace looked at Holly. She’d written two more intriguing, fascinating articles without more than a mention of him, and though the writing had been insight ful and quite hard-hitting, she hadn’t exposed any big secrets or been negative on the sport in any way. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.

“Don’t mess this up,” Red said.

Pace tried to figure a way around this, but as he knew all too well, it was immaterial whether or not
he
believed that they’d lose if he didn’t kiss Holly again.

The guys believed it.

“Here,” Henry said, offering up a Dr Pepper. “For fortification.”

“No, dude, he quit.” Ty offered his Nalgene bottle instead.

Pace downed the water in it, but his mouth was still dry.

“You ready?” Henry asked.

Wade had joined them, soaking up the conversation with interest. He slapped Pace’s back. “Go take one for the team, big guy.”

“Goddammit.” He headed toward the woman he’d been doing his best to avoid for days and found her in the middle of an off-color joke that was actually pretty funny.

He waited until she turned and looked at him. “Hey, you,” she said, a warm smile curving her mouth.

“Hey.” He shifted on his feet, trying to figure out a way to ease into this. “Uh, can I see you a minute?”

“Sure,” she said easily, because she had no idea how
not
easy this was going to be.

“In there?” He gestured to the shower room, following her there, until Gage caught his arm and whispered, “Kiss only.”

Pace looked at him. “What?”

“Yeah, no sleeping with her or we’ll lose.”

“Okay,” Pace said on a long exhale. “What the hell have you been smoking? What have you all been smoking?”

Gage hesitated. “Listen, certain people think it’s the sexual tension between the two of you that gave us that win.”

Certain people. Pace craned his neck and slid Red a look of disbelief.

Red pulled out his inhaler.

Dammit. Low blow.

“So kiss her,” Gage said quietly. “But don’t f—”

“Whoa.” Pace shook his head and pulled free. “You’re all a bunch of fucking nuts.”

Holly was waiting for him at the door to the shower room, which he opened for her. She was carefully put together today, surprise, wearing a white shirt opened over a red tee and snug, hip-hugging jean capris. Her hair had been contained in a ponytail, with long sweeping bangs outlining the face that continued to tease him in his dreams all damn night, every night, where he’d done a whole hell of a lot more than kiss her.

The shower room was humid from the team’s recent showers, and as she turned to face him, her careful hair began to frizz adorably. “I didn’t think women were allowed back here,” she said.

“They’re not, usually. This is a . . . special circumstance, approved by management.”

“Really? What’re the special circumstances?”

Stepping forward, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her up against him.

“Oh.”
Her hands went to his chest as she tilted her face up, her lips parting in a little breath of surprise that he leaned in and swallowed whole with his mouth, and God, just like that he died and went to heaven.

With her own soft little murmur of pleasure, she sank her fingers into his hair, pressing her soft, warm body up against his, completely surrendering to him and completely snagging his heart in the process.

Pulling back with reluctance, he stared down into her glazed-over eyes and nearly drowned.

She licked her lips, just a little dart of her tongue as if she needed that one last taste of him and gave a sweet, pleasure-filled sigh that went straight through him. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“Luck.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He grimaced. “Listen, you should know, the guys think you’re a good-luck charm.” He paused, expecting her to get mad, which she’d certainly be within her rights.

But once again, she surprised him.

“Well, then,” she murmured, her voice still a little husky. “Best of luck to you.”

The
Heat won, then went on to take the series two out of three games. Back at home, Pace coached Chipper and the others through a pickup game and then worked another 4 The Kids charity event with his teammates, this one a big, fancy dinner where they served up the food to the rich and famous. He had a surprisingly good time, especially watching Holly, who’d volunteered to serve drinks, easily and sweetly helping warm up both the guests and their wallets.

They made a cool $150,000 that night for the charity’s pockets, then flew to Houston. At two in the morning, with Pace scheduled to pitch to the Astros in less than twelve hours, his cell phone rang.

“Bad news,” the Skip said without preamble. “Ty and Henry were just pulled over outside of some bar. Henry’s been arrested for DUI, and Ty was hauled in along with him for disorderly conduct.”

Pace’s gut tightened. “Oh Christ.”