The Hot Corner (24 page)

“Come on, are you ashamed of me?”

I scowled even though he couldn’t see me. “Of course not. I just feel like there should be a boundary when we’re both traveling on business.”

“I’m your business, am I not? Shouldn’t you be observing me and how I adjust to life on the road?”

He sounded quite proud of the little point he’d just made, and I couldn’t fault him. It was a good one. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, that’s something at least. And while you’re at it, why don’t you think about giving up hotel life and staying at my place?” He’d asked that question every day for nearly a week since our mini-golf date. “It’s the thrifty thing to do. It’s stupid to make your publisher pay for a hotel room when I have all that space at my condo. We spend every night together anyway.”

I wasn’t sure we were ready for what was essentially living together, but I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out either. “We don’t even stay at your place—we stay at mine. Your place doesn’t feel like . . . anything. Besides, we’ve already discussed this.”

“No, I’ve discussed. You’ve eluded and made excuses. Don’t you want to be with me?” His voice sound pleading, and I sighed and shook my head.

“You know that’s not the issue.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s too soon and you’re gone too often. I can’t see myself working there. It’s cold.”

“So warm it up. It’s not like it won’t start looking lived-in the instant you step foot in there. You’ll toss a shirt over the couch, leave those ugly slippers you love so much in the middle of the living room, shoes will litter the hallway, a half-eaten bag of chips will get stale on the coffee table—”

“Are you calling me a slob?” I asked, trying not to laugh. So it was sort of accurate. But at least my space didn’t look like a museum. And my slippers weren’t ugly.

“No, I’m calling you comfortable. Come on, Dani. Move in. Give my cleaning lady something to do.”

I laughed. “But I have a cleaning lady to keep busy at the hotel.”

“She has other people to clean up after.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“You like me that way.”

I did. Nobody else I dated would pester and cajole me to get their way.

“I’ll think about it.”

“All this thinking. Better be careful or you’ll get a headache.”

“I already have one. He’s about six foot three, two hundred and twenty pounds, black hair. Maybe you’ve seen him.”

Brad laughed. “All the time. And it’s a pleasure to. He’s a handsome man.”

“Your ego knows no bounds.”

“Oh, you manage to keep it in check. That’s why I need you around.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you have a game to go play?”

“Don’t you have a game to come watch me play?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I need my good-luck kiss.”

“Oh no, no more public kisses.”

“Come on, baby, the public expects it now. We have to give them what they want.”

I shook my head. “I’m not enduring any more taunts about being the real Baseball Annie.” Damn the tabloids and their nicknames.

“But it works so well with your hair.”

“Ass.”

“But I’m your ass.”

I smiled. Somehow, again, he was.

“Take my ass and get it to the stadium. I’ll see you after.”

“In my room?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Good enough. See you later, Hot Corner Cutie.”

“Ugh!” I buried my face in my hands. The LA papers had started calling me “Hot Corner Cutie” since Brad played third base—the hot corner. “Bye, jerk.”

I let loose the laughter after I got off the phone with him. The man was persistent, I had to give him that.

I stopped laughing when I remembered that he forgot. Why should I spend the night in his room when he’d forgotten my birthday again? Okay, so seven years had gone by, but I still remembered his. It wasn’t a big deal, really. I was just another year closer to thirty, which wasn’t something to celebrate anyway.

My phone rang before I could sink into depression, and I smiled when I saw Bec’s name on the caller ID.

“Hi, woman,” I said.

“Happy birthday, Annie!”

I was seriously going to kill the next person who called me Annie. “I’m hanging up on you.”

“Oh, come on, it’s cute. You’ve got those gorgeous red curls and you’re dating the hottest baseball player on the planet. Your name even rhymes with Annie. It’s perfect.”

“Betrayed by my own kind.” The
New York Post
,
king of the headlines, had started it by printing a side-by-side picture of me and Little Orphan Annie, our wild red hair so similar. My fellow journalists were now the enemy.

“But now all the bitches know you’ve got your hooks in Brad. It’s a win all the way around.”

“For you, maybe.”

“You’ll be laughing all the way to the bank. The amount of hits searching for your name has gone through the roof, book sales are up, and the publishing people are crying tears of joy. Not to mention, I’m getting a ton of inquiries from athletes hoping to be the subject of your next book.”

I squinted my eyes shut. “They want to be the subject or they want to be the next one I’m caught making out with in the stands?”

“Either/or. Doesn’t really matter! We’re talking big names!”

Big, slutty men who wanted to sleep with the easy author, she meant. I threw myself back onto the bed and glared at the ceiling. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“And I told you it was a good one, and clearly I was right. You’ve reconnected with your ex, you’re making tons of money, you’re getting incredible word of mouth for the book, and you’re getting free publicity all over the place. It’s so much more than even I imagined.”

“I don’t like the publicity.”

“Well, get used to it. You’re dating one of the most wanted men in the world. You’d get it regardless, so you may as well benefit. Now, stop whining and tell me what the man candy is doing for your birthday.”

I pouted. “Nothing. He forgot.”

“Well, it has been a long time. You should remind him, make him feel like shit and get you an awesome present.”

“I don’t want to remind him. It’s just another day.” And he should have remembered on his own.

“You’re missing out on an opportunity for a guilt present. Guilt presents are awesome. They’re usually expensive to make up for forgetting, there’s a lot of groveling and begging for forgiveness, and he’ll be nice to you for several days in fear that you’ll throw his gaffe back in his face. Take advantage. Have I taught you nothing?”

I laughed. “I take it you have personal experience with this?”

“Hell yeah. Rich forgot our fourth anniversary. He was going through a big promotion at work—totally stressed out—and forgot completely. Where do you think I got my diamond tennis bracelet? He remembered our fifth, let me tell you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Poor Richard.”

She laughed. “He’s doing just fine.”

“I believe you. And I’m not shooting for a guilt present. He forgot. It’s no big deal. He wants me to spend the night in his hotel room, but—”

“Do it!” Bec shouted, and I held the phone away from my ear. “I bet his room is awesome. Steal a robe for me.”

“Won’t that be blurring the professional lines even more than we have already?”

“The line is nothing but a smudge now. You may as well erase it completely and have a little fun. And I want the robe. And the toiletries. I’m not joking.”

I laughed. “I can’t steal a robe for you. I’m sure Brad would have to pay for it.”

“And he can more than afford it. Come on, Dani. It’s your birthday, even if he forgot it. The least he can give you is a few good orgasms.”

“Now there’s a birthday present,” I muttered. “I think you’ve been talking to Pam too much.”

“She is the best! She’s going to let me rep her biography. Can you say bestseller? The woman is a trip. And the men she’s been with! Think of the stories she can tell. You ought to think about branching out from athletes. I’m sure she’d love to work with you—have you write her bio.”

“Ha! Let us remember that one of the men she’s been with is mine, and I’ve already had to endure some painful conversations about him. I don’t know that I need further details.”

“It’ll be totally salacious, and Brad’s not even close to being the headliner. Think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I looked at the clock and winced. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Okay, have fun and get that birthday sex.”

“Will do.” I disconnected before she could respond. I didn’t need any more birthday advice.

If nothing else, I was excited to be going to Wrigley Field for the first time. It was one of those stadiums everybody has heard of, whether they like baseball or not. I took in the old-time sign, the excited chatter of the fans, and the smell of roasting hot dogs as I walked up to the entrance.

My seat, not surprisingly, was over on the third base sideline. I didn’t know how he managed to get me such an awesome seat at an opposing team’s stadium, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The wind swirled around the stadium, and I was glad I wore a jacket. Chicago wasn’t exactly Los Angeles in April. I took out my phone and snapped a couple of photos to send to my brother. He’d have loved to visit Wrigley.

The Cubs were warming up, so Brad was nowhere to be seen. It was a good time to head in for a hot dog and a beer, but before I even left my seat, I heard someone calling my name.

“Excuse me, Danielle Pierce?”

An usher was at my side, and I smiled.

“That’s me.”

He whipped off his hat with a flourish, and I noticed that he wasn’t alone. There were four of them, all dressed in red-and-white striped jackets. Before I could ask, they launched into a jazzy version of “Happy Birthday,” complete with bows. I felt my face turning red as everyone around us took in the show.

“Mr. Reynolds asked that we give you these.” The front man handed me a baseball, while another gave me a cupcake that had a baseball on it and the words
Happy Birthday
. I managed to thank them despite being both mortified and touched by the public display. Once they departed, I focused on the ball.

Did you think I’d forget? Happy birthday, Red.

I had to laugh. The man was good. I tucked the ball into my jacket pocket and peeled the wrapper off my cupcake. I took a bite of the white cake and let out a moan when I tasted the raspberry filling. No, he didn’t forget. How he’d had the time to find my favorite cupcake was beyond me, but I was thrilled.

He was making it impossible for me not to fall for him again. The new Brad still had a lot of the old Brad in him, and I was blown away by both. He was even more attractive now, the confidence no longer putting me off like it did when we’d first reunited.

“So are you going to spend your birthday with me?”

My breath caught as I looked down to see him right in front of me, grinning. “How could I not? Thank you for the cupcake.”

“And the song?” he asked, laughing when I shook my head. “Hey, it was better than me singing it to you over the PA. I looked into that, you know. Had we been at home, I could have done it.”

“Then I’m eternally grateful we’re in Chicago,” I said, and he laughed all the harder. “I doubt you’ve learned to carry a tune since I last heard you sing.”

“I don’t think you were overly concerned with my lack of singing talent back then.”

No, I hadn’t been. We’d been dancing at some party and he’d crooned in my ear as his hands moved up and down my back. In between the lyrics, he’d thrown in some dirty suggestions of what we could be doing, and we’d left the party right after the song ended.

“Do you remember?” he asked, jarring me back to reality and another stadium full of people.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to relive that night?”

I shivered. “Yes.”

“Consider it done.” His smile was triumphant. “Now do I get my kiss, or what?”

I eyed him for a few moments before shrugging. “Oh, what the hell?” I leaned toward him, but instead of meeting his lips with mine, I mashed a little piece of cupcake against his mouth. He chuckled and licked his lips clean.

“It’s good.”

“It really is. Thank you for that.”

“There’s more where that came from. See you after the game?”

“Yeah.” I leaned forward again, this time giving him a quick kiss. “Better win for my birthday.”

Brad’s wicked grin flashed. “I already did, Red. I already did.”

“Lucky girl,” someone said from behind me, and I had to agree. This had the makings of the best birthday ever.

Chapter 21

The man was impossible to say no to when he wanted something. Before the day was over, he had me agreeing to stay at his condo, against my better judgment. Bec had no problem with it, the publisher wasn’t exactly upset with our very public romance, and I just didn’t have the strength to say no when he turned that pleading green gaze on me. His lips and hands and the rest of his body were hard to resist as well, but his sweetness was my undoing.