The Change Up (18 page)

Her father walked past her down the hall at a clipped pace.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Down to the field,” he said in a perfectly normal tone of voice. “Why don't you come with me?”

Like she had a choice.

Never mind
, she texted Liv as she followed after him. Maybe bringing her father to the stadium had been a bad idea.

Then again, he seemed perfectly normal the entire way down to the field. At one point, he even gave her shoulder a squeeze and said, “This is our best business collaboration yet.”

It made Rachel's heart sing, like the old days, when he would come to the Philadelphia office and praise her over lunch for meticulously following his directions and making the business thrive.

That's where her focus was when they turned the corner and heard, “Good afternoon!”

Sam's rich voice rumbled right through Rachel, littering her skin with patches of heat.

Several days had passed since she'd last seen him—naked. She'd expected some awkwardness, but she hadn't expect this instant flood of desire. It coursed through her, wild and teeming.

“Hello,” she said evenly.

“Mr. Reed, how are you?” Sam nodded and reached forward, offering his hand.

Rachel almost took it just to touch him, which was alarming. She wasn't normally this interested in a man. Then again, none of this was normal. She was out of her element, working closely with a very hot, slightly younger man. No suit. No tie. No agenda.

She watched his thick forearm as he shook her father's hand. Noticed his ragtag jeans. His easy smile. The genuine interest in whatever her father was saying. Sam mesmerized her, persuading her to spend more time with him without even saying a word.

Speaking of not saying a word … nothing in the conversation alluded to what had happened in the woods. No mention of the search or the hospital. Maybe her father didn't remember. Maybe Sam figured as much and went with the flow. He really was a good listener.

The conversation focused on chalkers, liners, and field spray. It was a snippet of normalcy, and Rachel felt something blossom beneath her breast that she hadn't felt in a while: joy. She was still wallowing in it when she suggested they let Sam get back to work.

“Of course,” her father said. “I could use another cup of coffee.”

She made a mental note to steer him toward the downstairs break room, where she could grab them both a cup, but before she headed off in that direction, she glanced back at Sam, who was smiling at her. The sexy, satisfied smile of a man who was thinking about a woman naked. She smiled back, infusing the same damn thing in her expression. And then he winked, as if to say, “I'll see you again soon. Very soon.”

She would have to seriously consider that.

• • •

Liv was leaving for Philadelphia in the morning and Rachel had finally conceded to staying with her parents rather than at the hotel, so the pair hit up Foley's to toast their recent burst of progress. Their to-do list was shrinking, the front office staff was in place, and she had a workable list of coaching candidates to hand over to Mark Olean, thanks to Sam.

Of course, the minute she thought about Sam, he walked into Foley's, wearing a sinfully fitted pair of jeans and a thin, gray, crewneck sweater.

Sam's gaze locked onto her as if she were magnetic.

Rachel smiled, to which Liv glanced over her shoulder and paled. “He's with Ian.”

“He's always with Ian.”

“Let's go.” Liv slid toward the edge of the booth.

Rachel looked at their untouched buffalo-chicken salads and ruby-slipper martinis. “No.”

“He's going to come over here, and I'm going to say something stupid.”

“So what?”

“He'll know I think he's hot.”

“I don't see how that's a bad thing. You have an empty hotel room right next door.”

“I would die.”

“A very happy death.”

“I mean, I wish I could, but I'm just not confident like that. I overthink everything.”

“A good lover will make you forget your name.”

Liv blushed. Rachel laughed. And the guys ambled toward them like a dessert platter.

“Ladies,” Sam said, holding a bottle of beer.

“Gentlemen,” she returned.

Ian smiled down at Liv, who was inordinately fascinated by her salad. “Hi,” she managed, adding a little wave of her fork.

“Why don't you guys join us?” Rachel asked. She was evil. She made no excuses. Instead, she tapped the toe of her heel on Liv's. “Wouldn't that be nice?”

“Sure!” Liv said, sounding slightly deranged.

Ian either didn't notice or didn't mind the awkwardness. He dropped his bottle to the table and slid into the booth beside Liv with a playful nudge. He probably said something funny, too, but Rachel didn't hear it, because Sam moved into the booth beside her, pressing the full heat of his body against her side, from knee to shoulder. All she could hear was the whooshing of her heartbeat in her ears.

She was too old to be feeling like this. Wasn't she?

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “It was nice seeing your dad at the field today.”

“It was nice having him there.”

“Speaking of the field …” Ian raised his bottle. “I have an announcement to make. I'm trying out for the Arlington Aces.”

Rachel looked at Sam, who seemed to be stunned silent.

Well, well. At least someone at this table was trying out for the team. Ian wasn't the local guy she wanted and needed, but he would definitely help—maybe even to get Sam to play.

“I didn't know you played baseball,” she said, lifting her martini glass.

“I'm nothing like this one”—Ian hitched a thumb in Sam's direction—“but I can play.

“Good for you,” Sam said. “I hope you make it.” But his voice sounded strained.

Rachel was about to ask him why he didn't join Ian for tryouts as moral support, when Ian said, “Air hockey table is open!” like an overgrown kid.

“Um …” Sam looked at Rachel, and something intimate and pleasurable shot through her. “I'm going to hang out here for a little bit. Why don't you take Liv to play?”

“Do you play?” Ian asked.

“She sure does,” Rachel answered with her gaze locked on Sam's and her foot nudging Liv out of the booth.

“She doesn't play, does she?” Sam asked when the odd couple had gone.

“I don't know. I doubt it.”

“Trial by fire.” He slid a hand up her thigh, and she melted.

She was definitely too old to be feeling like this, but for the time being, she didn't care. He was just that good. Too good. “Is there anything you're not good at?” she asked.

He laughed. “Yes.”

“What?”

“Let me think about it.”

She laughed, too. “Well, we know it's not sex or baseball.”

He raised his brows. “You've experienced both once. How do you know they weren't flukes? You should definitely see me in action again before you make any rash decisions.”

“I never make rash decisions.”

He leaned back long and low in the booth, slinging his arm across the edge of the seatback behind her. “Excellent.”

She angled toward him, propping her elbow on the table, so they could be eye to eye. And when she leaned closer, his pupils dilated, taking her in, turning her on. “I have an idea.”

“So do I. Let's hope it's the same idea.”

“If you try out for the team, I'll get to see the full breadth of your talent as a ball player.”

His face wrinkled. “Not what I was thinking.”

“Don't get pouty,” she said, poking a finger at the corner of his mouth and lifting his lips into a lopsided, deranged smile. “There's more to this proposal.”

“Thank God.”

“The new workout facilities are sitting there empty. You have my permission to use them to get ready for tryouts.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Sexy sarcasm dripped off the word.

“You look disappointed.”

“Aren't
you
?”

It was a loaded question better circumnavigated, but she tackled it head-on. “Sam, I'm a grown-ass woman here to do a job. If we get intimately involved on a regular basis it will just … complicate things when it's time for me to leave.”

“I'm not asking for complicated, Rachel.” His mouth was inches from hers, his beer-scented breath tickling her lips. “I'm just asking to make you weak again. Seems simple to me.”

Very
, if her pulse was any indicator. And she was tempted. So tempted to kiss the man right here. But then an ice-cold bucket of water in the shape of Luke Sutter walked into the bar and up to the sign marked “takeout.”

“Maybe some other time,” Rachel whispered and excused herself from the booth.

• • •

Sam watched as Luke turned away from the bar, putting him in Rachel's path. They seemed cordial enough, but then Luke looked Sam's way, and the tick in his jaw made things clear. Sam was going to hear about this later. Whatever
this
was. He wasn't sure how it had looked from the outside, but he sure as hell knew how it had felt.

“Hey.” Ian plopped into the booth across from him. “Do you think she's going to eat this?” he asked, staring longingly at the barely touched salad.

“Order your own,” Sam said, even though he was pretty sure the ladies wouldn't be back.

“Shit.” Ian had turned his attention to his phone. “Well, that sucks.”

“What sucks?” But Sam had his own idea when he saw Rachel huddled up with Liv in a conversation that no doubt involved discussion about leaving.

“Watts is sick. We're playing the first-place team this weekend. We need … Hey! Do you have any interest in subbing for us?”

No.
But he heard himself ask, “What position does Watts play?”

“First.”

Funny coincidence.

“Nobody should squawk about us bringing in a former professional, because you're pretty rusty and out of shape.”

Why was everyone worried about his shape? Sam glanced down at his well-formed chest and shook his head. “I'm in great shape.”

“So you'll do it?”

Maybe
, but again he heard himself saying something different. “Sure. I'll give it a shot.”

“Awesome, man. Maybe your next step can be trying out for the Aces.”

Of course, that's when Luke walked up. Sam could've convinced himself his brother hadn't heard any of the conversation if it weren't for the steely set of his jaw.

“I figured I would come over and say hello,” Luke said, eyeing up the table, which included two pink drinks in martini glasses. “Didn't mean to interrupt anything.”

“It's all good,” Sam said, even as he snuck a peek at Rachel, who was talking to the waitress, probably squaring away her bill so she didn't have to come back to the table. “How's Mandy?”

“Craving wings, and cravings can't be denied,” Luke said with a smile, but there was wariness in his eyes.

“Exactly!” Ian said loudly. Then he picked up Liv's fork and dove into her salad.

“You're a piece of work,” Sam said.

“Order for Luke!” called the kid behind the bar.

“That's me.” Luke nodded a couple times and looked at Sam as if he had something more to say, but all that came out was, “Take it easy. See you guys at work.”

This wouldn't be the end of it. Luke was either worked up over seeing Sam in a semi-compromising position with Rachel, or he'd heard enough of the conversation to think Sam was considering playing baseball again. He wouldn't be wrong thinking that. The minute Ian had made his announcement, Sam's chest had grown heavy with a desire to do the same damn thing. That's why he'd agreed to fill in for Ian's rec team. Sam wanted to play ball. It didn't matter where. Baseball had been eating at him ever since he'd walked onto that field.

Something else was eating at him, too. He watched Rachel leave the bar without a backward glance.

“Okay! It's all set,” Ian said, finishing off a text and then shoving his phone aside in favor of the salad again. “You're officially a Bloody Bandit,” he said with his mouth full. “Well, for the weekend at least. Let's hope you don't suck, man.”

Yeah,
Sam thought.
Let's hope.

“What's going on between you and Sam Sutter?” Helen Anne asked.

Rachel had known eventually she would regret her decision to leave the hotel and stay with her family. Eventually had simply come faster than she'd expected.

She rolled her eyes over the rim of her coffee mug and said, “Let me guess. Someone saw us last night and couldn't wait to text you the juicy details.”

“Jaime Klein. She was behind the bar.” Helen Anne split an English muffin apart with a fork and dropped the halves into the toaster. “But she didn't give me any details.”

“Because there aren't any. Liv and I went to grab a bite to eat, and we ran into Sam and Ian. End of story.”

Helen Anne didn't look like she was buying it. “People saw you holding hands and dancing at the festival.”

“So what?”

“These people are bored and hungry for distraction. They'll be more than happy to move on from cracking jokes about the fat Reed sister who couldn't keep her hot husband to the older Reed sister who is sleeping with a younger man.” More hints about the divorce and the toll it had taken on Helen Anne. Rachel was just about to broach the topic and refute her sister's self-reproach when Helen Anne shut her up with, “Don't be their distraction, Rachel. Don't give them any more reasons to talk about how the mighty Reed family has fallen.”

Had the Reeds really fallen? Rachel wasn't sure she could agree with her sister on that. In fact, Rachel didn't care if people talked about her. She would rather have them talking about her and Sam than talking about Helen Anne's divorce and their father's Alzheimer's. “Everybody needs a little distraction,” she said. “I don't mind being theirs. Let them talk about me.”