Double Play (17 page)

“Who’s not here yet?” Pace asked.

“The woman you’re craning your neck looking for who. Your sexy rabbit’s foot. And what the hell, man. Double fisting this early in the night? I thought you gave those suckers up.”

“Past tense.” The twin Dr Peppers were cool and icy against his palms and calling to him like a pair of long-lost lovers. “And Holly’s not mine. We’re not . . . we’re not.” Dammit.

“Yeah. I bet all that kissing is a real drag then.” Wade accepted his drink from the bartender and leaned against the bar. “I think you’re making a mistake with her.”

His gut tightened. “She’s not the leak.”

“I meant you’re making a mistake waiting to go for it.”

“Yeah, well.” Pace downed one of the drinks. “I have strict instructions.”

“Bullshit. You’re only obeying Gage because it suits you to ignore this thing between the two of you, and there is a thing,” he said when Pace opened his mouth. “And honestly? I don’t get it. You stand on a mound directly in the path of baseballs flying at you at the speed of light, and yet you’re afraid of her. One woman. I get that there’s a reason you’re afraid. Love can suck golf balls, and we both know it. But taking the walk instead of the hit? That’s just stupid.”

Holly appeared in the doorway, and as she seemed to be able to do, laid her eyes right on Pace.

And damn if something didn’t shift inside of him. “I know,” he said to Wade. “I know it’s stupid to take the walk.”

“Then go for it already. Go get her and take her home. Get some fun of the naked variety. It does a body good.”

Someone handed Holly a cocktail. Her hair was down, loose to her shoulders, which was new. She wore a crisp business jacket over a matching skirt, which was not new.

And she was quite beautiful.

God, he’d missed her. “What if it’s not just naked fun? What if it’s more?”

“Then I’ll get to watch the mighty Pace Martin fall on his face for once.” Wade clasped Pace’s good shoulder, a wide grin on his face. “Hell, man, everyone should get something out of this.”

 

 

Holly
saw Pace right away. It was that weird chemical vibe they had between them, and her own personal curse to be so hyperaware of him. She liked to think he was cursed with the same affliction when it came to her. He was at the bar with Wade, the two of them watching her intently, but only one of them stopping her heart in faded Levi’s and a button-down and with a day’s worth of stubble. With a careful breath, she headed over there, but was quickly sidelined by Samantha, who pulled her aside to stand with her and Jeremy.

“I don’t know how or why,” Sam said, “but per Gage, you’ve got yourself an unlimited pass to the clubhouse, with instructions to be there exactly one hour before the start of every game.”

Jeremy raised a brow. “Impressive, as Gage’s usually so tight-assed with those things that he squeaks when he walks. I had to beg for mine, and my own sister runs the PR department.”

Knowing exactly why she’d gotten the pass, Holly took it and slipped it into her purse. “Thanks.”

“What makes it the most interesting,” Sam said slowly, watching her face, “is that we have obvious press problems. They’ve revoked the other press passes.”

“Maybe it’s my articles,” Holly murmured, trying to deflect.

“Or maybe it’s how the saying goes,” Jeremy said. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer . . .”

When he moved on to talk to someone else, Sam arched a brow. “Ignore my ass of a brother, he’s pissed because I wouldn’t give him some Heat privileged information he asked for. So what’s going on, Holly?”

“I’m not your leak.”

“Good. Can you explain the pass?”

“Turns out you were right about that whole superstitious thing.”

“Okay. More.”

“Pace has to kiss me before each game.”

The usually unflappable Sam blinked.

“The guys didn’t tell you?”

“No, they didn’t.”

Interesting that that hadn’t leaked like everything else. “Yeah. We have to kiss in the shower room.” She paused. Blushed. “Up against the tile wall.”

Sam choked out a shocked laugh. “Wow. Such a horrible sacrifice, having to kiss Pace Martin.” She stared at Holly. “So that’s it. The reason you’ve let your hair down, why you’re smiling more. You’ve been ferreting out secrets, while holding one of your own.”

“Hey, I smile.”

“Yeah, but this is more of a goofy I’ve-kissed-a-hottie smile. It looks good on you. So . . . where’s Pace on the kissing scale?”

Holly’s eyes locked on Pace. He was still watching her. “Off the chart.”

Sam laughed. “I knew it. Did he ever give you your interview? He certainly owes you now, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” she murmured, still looking at him. “He most certainly does owe me.”

Sam pulled out her phone, punched in a number, and from across the room Holly watched Pace pull out his cell phone and answer it.

Sam turned away so Holly couldn’t hear how their conversation went, but when Sam closed her phone, she nodded. “He says—”

Holly’s cell rang. She pulled it out of her purse and answered. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

Her heart tripped. “Pace.”

“Sam says you need the interview now.”

“That would be great, if you have the”—she turned to once again locate him in the crowd and nearly plowed right into him—“time.”

Standing in front of her with his cell phone to his ear, he smiled, a mix of resigned and heated affection in his eyes. “I’ve got the time.”

You don’t save a pitcher for tomorrow. Tomorrow it may rain.

—Leo Durocher

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holly
took a deep breath as Pace slid his phone back into his pocket. He’d been hurting, he had a lot on his plate, and he’d clearly needed distance, whether imposed by Gage or not.

And in truth, she’d needed the distance, too, needed it to do the job she’d come here to do. But all that went out the window when he gestured toward the door to the shower room, a door she was very, very familiar with.

He held it open for her, and as she walked through, she brushed up against him, incredibly aware of the air molecules that seemed to sizzle between them.

His clothes were simple tonight but there was nothing simple about the dark gaze that met hers. “You okay?” she asked, realizing he wasn’t wearing his shoulder brace.

He smiled a little tightly, but when he spoke, his voice was classic Pace, low throttled and sexy as hell. “Is that the woman or the reporter asking?”

“Let’s start with the woman.”

He let out a low laugh, scrubbed a hand over his day old stubble. “Not sure what the hell to do about this, Holly.”

“This.”

“Us.”

She looked at the tile wall of the showers, which several times now he’d pressed her up against to kiss her. “We could do whatever comes to mind.”

“I’m not sure you’d say that if you could see what keeps coming to my mind.”

Her knees wobbled and she let out a shaky breath. “I’d like to see,” she whispered.

“I thought this was going to be an interview,” he said, sounding just as unraveled as she. “Sam insisted.”

Right. “Okay, that first.” She struggled to push aside the aroused woman and find her professionalism. “I’ll try to make it painless.”

He let out a soft laugh, suggesting he didn’t figure that to be possible. “You do that. Come on.”

“Where to?”

“I figure it should be up on the hill where you watched me practice in the beginning, where you weren’t supposed to be. Remember?”

Where she had gotten her first look at him, where a part of her had begun to fall for him . . . “I remember.”

“The diamond looks good from there, especially lit up at night, like now. If you want pictures.”

“Wow, you really are going to behave.”

“I didn’t say that. This way.” He took her through the equipment room, where he grabbed two flashlights, then led her out a door that opened directly outside, along the backside of the parking lot.

It was a very dark night, and quite a hike from here to the top of the hill, but he didn’t say a word about either. Instead, he said, “Thanks for the brownies, by the way. They were the best I’ve ever had. You’ve got all these . . . pieces, Holly. So many pieces of you.”

Yes. She’d flitted from one to another her entire life, never quite landing . . .

He was quiet a long moment as they climbed, as he began to struggle for breath. “I think that’s what’s so attractive about you,” he said. “You’re whole. With a bunch of different pieces making that whole. Not me. I’m just the one piece—baseball.”

And at the moment, he didn’t even have that, which she knew had to be killing him. But there was much more to him than baseball, or there could be. “Wade introduced me to your father when he came to watch you play.” Drill Sergeant Edward Martin had been tall, dark, and handsome. Like father, like son. He’d also been formidable and quite intimidating. “He seemed proud of you.”

“He’s confused by me is what he is.”

“He was at your game. That says a lot.”

He looked at her. “Your father miss your stuff?”

“He missed my life.” She shrugged at his questioning gaze. “He walked.”

“My mother did the same.” He was quiet a moment, then when the trail got rocky, or maybe just because, he reached for her hand. “My dad’s a busy guy. Not into kid stuff.”

“And he considers baseball kid stuff?”

“He did. And maybe that’s why I went for it. I couldn’t please him to save my life, so why not royally piss him off.” He shook his head. “I was a shitty kid. Bad attitude. You?”

“I don’t know. I pretty much had the opposite thing going. My mom was the shitty kid. She had both a bad man habit and a bad shopping habit, each constantly landing us in trouble until I was old enough to take over. And even then, she was still sneaking around, spending what we didn’t have, trying to fool me . . .”

“Ah.”

“What?”

He squeezed her hand. “Explains your love of furrowing out secrets.”

“Yeah. I guess it does.”

He smiled and nodded, and they fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence as they walked. At the top, he stepped to the edge and she pulled out her camera.

He looked down onto the field far below. “Looks different from up here.”

“You miss it.”

He glanced back at her, the affirmation in his dark gaze, a tough, edgy, beautiful study in the night, backlit by the lights over the stadium. A tough, edgy, beautiful, unhappy study.

“You don’t have to be all baseball, Pace.”

“Let’s just get the interview part over with. Ask what you want to know. I’ll answer.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but I can’t believe we’re finally doing this.”

There was a light breeze ruffling his hair, lit by the moon high above. He was definitely revealing more to her than he usually did, and she couldn’t tear her gaze off him. His eyes were serious, so very serious as he said nothing, and slowly she lowered her camera.

Because she got it. A little slow but she finally got it. “You’re not letting me do this, at least not willingly.”

More of his famed nothing, and she let out a low laugh. “So what did they threaten you with?”

“Another game on the bench added onto my medical time off.”

“Ouch.”

“They wouldn’t really do it, but they’re pretty desperate for good publicity.”

“It’s not a death sentence, talking to me.”

“That’s not what I was worried about.”

“What are you worried about?”

“How about the fact that I’m not too upset that Gage is going to make us kiss before every game for the rest of the season.”

Yeah. That didn’t seem to upset her either. “Is that a problem?”

An indefinable sound escaped him, a breath that cut through the thick, steamy hot August night and stirred up all sorts of memories. “I’d have thought you’d have a thing against sleeping with one of your subjects.”

“Sleeping with?”

His eyes were very clear and very direct. “That’s the rational next step for this thing, don’t you think?”

Her tummy quivered. “I thought you were ignoring it.” “No can do, apparently.”

She let out a breath. “So we what, un-ignore it in the name of getting past it? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Sleeping with someone tends to do that.”

More than her tummy quivered now. “Always?”

“Well . . . have you ever ended up keeping a lover forever?”

“No,” she admitted, and he gave her an I-rest-my-case look. “Okay,” she said shakily. “Maybe we’d better finish the interview first because I’m losing brain capacity quick.”

“Fine.”

She cleared her throat, slipped her camera in her bag, and pulled out her pad. Tried to switch gears from hot and bothered to professional. “Everyone knows your shoulder is in question. A strained rotator cuff, right?”