by Jill Shalvis
baseball cap on his head uneasily. “What do you want?” he asked Sam.
Did no one ever ask his opinion? “I’d love to have your favorite tonight, whatever that is.”
He gave that some very serious thought, his brow furrowed like an old man. “Pepperoni, extra cheese.”
“Nice choice,” Ernie said.
Sam thought about the calories and mentally groaned but smiled at Tag, who was still looking like he was thinking too hard. “Is your bag heavy? Let me—”
“Girls aren’t supposed to carry stuff for boys.”
So Jeremy had taught his son how to treat a woman, but not how to be a kid. Sam looked into Tag’s far too solemn eyes and damn if she didn’t see past the delinquent-in-the-making and completely melt. She arranged for delivery, then led Tag out of the place. On the crowded sidewalk, a group of college students passed by them. Five females, all dressed like it was Halloween at Victoria’s Secret.
Tag’s neck nearly snapped as he tried to keep them in his sight. “Holy cow,” he whispered. “Do they walk around like that all the time?”
“It’s a college town,” she said, barely suppressing the urge to cover his eyes. She led him across the street to the art gallery. By sheer bad timing, the window display had changed from the gorgeous oils of the different seasons of Yosemite to a series of nude sculptures.
“You live here?” he asked in awe.
“On the second floor.”
Tag blinked at the nudes but didn’t voice his thoughts, which Sam figured was just as well. They climbed the open stairs to the second floor and walked along a balcony to the third door. She fished through her purse for her keys while Tag leaned on the railing, watching the goings-on below, running his fingers over Wade’s number on his chest.
She opened her door and let him in. He paused before stepping inside, all ten-year-old bravado combined with a heartbreaking smile and assessing eyes that reminded her of someone that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Make yourself at home.”
Tag carefully set his bag on the floor and stood in the foyer, not moving.
Sam loved her condo. It was surprisingly big and airy, with high ceilings and big picture windows. But she hadn’t done much with the place. The walls were the same cream they’d been when she’d moved in three years ago, and mostly bare, but she’d decided she liked the clean, efficient look. Her furniture came in earth tones and was sparse but soothing.
It definitely wasn’t set up for kids.
Hell, it was barely set up for her, given how much she traveled with the Heat seven months out of the year. “Are you thirsty?”
“No, thank you.”
They looked at each other in awkward silence. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me, Tag?”
“When am I going home?”
Her heart tightened. “Not for a while.”
She watched the hope die in his eyes and she wished she had a road map on how to handle this. “How about a tour?” She pointed to the other end of the living room, which spilled into the kitchen and a dining area. “Food’s in there. I’m probably not stocked for your palate but we can fix that.” In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator. “You can help yourself . . .”
Tag stared into the fridge with absolutely no expression. Sam looked from his face into the refrigerator as well. Water. Apples. Coffee beans.
No kid food.
Feeling like she was failing, she sighed. “Okay, so during the season I eat out a lot. We’ll get you stuff tomorrow, okay? What constitutes kid food these days?”
He lifted a shoulder.
“Come on. Give me a hint.”
Nothing.
“Spinach?” she teased gently. “Liver and onions?”
His eyes cut to hers, caught her smile, and then it happened. His lips twitched. He caught himself before he allowed a full-blown smile though, so it wasn’t complete success, but she was going to win him over. Any minute now.
“Maybe quesadillas,” he finally said.
“Great.” Tortillas and cheese, easy enough. “What else?”
“Mac and cheese.”
“Okay.”
“And pizza.”
She smiled. “So anything with cheese.”
He did the almost smile thing again.
“I have a secret Cheez Doodle stash,” she admitted, and opened the shelf above the refrigerator.
Tag eyed the bag. “My dad never lets me have Cheez Doodles. I leave orange handprints everywhere.”
“Then you’re not eating them right. The trick is to lick your fingers clean.”
Again with the almost smile. She showed him her spare bedroom, which had a bed and an exercise bike that she’d used exactly twice. The spread on the bed was a pale yellow down comforter, with a pile of pillows. Probably a little girly. “This can be your room,” she said. “We can get you different bedding. Maybe send for some more of your things.”
Tag was quiet a moment. “Am I going to be here that long then?”
Her heart squeezed, but he’d asked several times now and she knew she had to be as honest as she could. “Maybe three months.”
He let out a barely heard sigh.
She wanted to promise him Cheez Doodles for the rest of his life if he’d stop looking like she’d just handed him a death sentence. “What are we going to do about school?” she asked.
“I’m homeschooled. Or I was. But last week my teacher chucked the coffeepot at dad’s head and didn’t come back.”
“Let me guess. The twenty-two-year-old?”
“Yeah.”
Sam opened her mouth, then closed it. Seemed she’d be hiring a tutor. They watched TV while sharing the pizza, and she offered him the remote, interested in what he’d pick.
A SpongeBob SquarePants repeat.
He ate three pieces of pizza when it came, and shocked her by taking her plate away and cleaning up afterwards without being asked.
She was beginning to realize that in his household, he’d been the grown-up.
“Maybe we should go to bed,” she said. “It’s already nine-thirty. What’s your bedtime?”
“I don’t have a bedtime.”
“You do now. Come on. Shower first.” She brought him to the bathroom and pulled out fresh towels for him.
When he emerged a few minutes later, his hair was standing straight up and he still had a smudge of something near his ear. “Did you use soap?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You didn’t say I had to use soap.”
She stared at him. “For the record, from now on when you take a shower, I’ll want you to use soap. And shampoo. You know, actually clean yourself.”
“ ’Kay.”
“How about toothpaste?”
He tossed up his arms like who knew? and disappeared back into the bathroom.
When he came back out, she decided not to mention that he’d also need to use a comb regularly. One battle at a time. “Ready for bed?”
“I’m not tired.”
His eyes were drooping and he was yawning even as he said this. “Humor me,” she said.
“Can I make a call first?”
She’d like to save him the disappointment of calling his dad and not having him answer but she didn’t want to say no to such a simple request. “Sure.”
He pulled out his cell. “Hey,” he said. “You said I could call any time, day or night. Can I come over?” Tag’s gaze slid to Sam. “Yeah, she’s here. Hang on.” He handed the phone out to Sam.
“Having trouble, Princess?” came Wade’s low, husky voice.
“No.” At least nothing she wanted to admit to. Sam looked at Tag. “No trouble at all.”
Wade let out a soft laugh that scraped at her belly. “You’re as talkative as he is. And you sound like you’re a woman on the edge.”
“No. There’s no edge.” Only a huge gaping black hole swirling, waiting to gobble her up.
“Want me to come save yo
u and take him for the night?”
Yes to the coming over. But that was certain parts of her body talking, and they didn’t get a vote. “No.”
“You sure? I have ways to tame kids.”
And women . . . “We’re fine.” She shut the phone and tossed it back to Tag. “Sorry, but it’s you and me, Tag. We can do this.”
Tag sighed and nodded.
Not exactly a vote of confidence.
Chapter 16
The great thing about baseball is that there’s a crisis every day.
—Gabe Paul
The blogs and newspapers continued to buzz with the fact that a woman had tamed Wade, and the Heat’s like-ability improved daily. The sponsors were happy. Gage was happy.
Then the Heat took the Padres at home on game two and the fans were happy, too.
Sam wasn’t sure what she was, but it didn’t matter. She was too busy to think about it. She had pre-game interviews, post-game interviews, and everything promotion-related in between, which included lots of standing next to Wade and smiling for a camera.
He seemed to get a kick out of it, making sure to touch her as often as possible. Before the third Padres game, the reporter asked Wade to kiss her, and with a grin, he bent her over his arm and did.
He kissed her long and wet and deep.
Sam made sure to pretend to like it.
Except there wasn’t much pretending involved.
Tag joined Sam and Holly in the stands, happy to dig into their standard tray of delicious junk food, but when she and Holly leapt to their feet to cheer Pace on during a tense third inning, he remained seated.
Until the fifth inning, when it was Wade they were cheering for. Tag got up for Wade when he hit a triple. Sam stared at him, grinning broadly.
“What?” he asked.
“You cheered.”
“It was a good hit.” And he calmly sat back down and grabbed another hot dog, as he was apparently a bottomless pit masquerading as a kid. Or maybe he had a tape-worm. She knew he was still dealing with missing home, missing Jeremy, the only real family he’d ever had in his life, and she worried every minute of every day that he was leaving his childhood behind too soon, that he’d suffer long-term from abandonment issues.
Especially since Jeremy didn’t call—either because he couldn’t, or because it didn’t occur to him. Either way, Samantha hated him for it. Tag deserved better. Hell, a dog deserved better. She’d managed to hire a tutor/nanny to travel with them—a guy, which seemed to please Tag. As did Wade, who took Tag with him to practices when he could, and also out to eat. He’d made Sam come, too, and she’d gone back to her office afterwards with her cheeks aching from laughing.
After the Padres series, they flew to San Francisco to play the Giants. Before the first game, Sam was working the clubhouse as she always did. She’d been worried about Tag being bored, but it turned out he wasn’t any harder to take care of than any of the other men around her. At the moment, he was in the guest clubhouse on a couch with a control box in his lap, playing a video game. His head was tilted back, his eyes glazed and locked on the TV, his mouth open as he worked the controls. He was decked out in Wade’s jersey, with someone’s far too large Adidas on his feet. He had a huge wad of bubblegum in his mouth, which was probably why it hung open.
And just looking at him squeezed her heart. How one little kid could worm his way into her life so damn fast, she had no idea. She brought him an apple juice and ruffled his hair, barely managing to resist hugging him because she knew he’d just squirm free. “Want a sandwich?”
He didn’t respond.
“Tag?”
He grunted, then shook his head.
Good Lord. He was already a guy through and through. Shaking her head, she moved past him. As always, the players arrived at least five hours early for the game, and even though they had a clubbie—a guy paid to make sure they had everything they needed—she always walked through to check on them as well. She’d been doing so since the beginning of time, so she no longer even noticed the half-naked men wandering back and forth from showers to lockers, or the behavior such testosterone brought out. In one corner Mason and Kyle were sparring with their gloves on for no discernable reason. She’d discovered guys didn’t need a reason for aggression, so she’d long ago ceased looking for one.
“Cool it,” Gage told them.
Joe walked out of the shower completely butt-ass naked. Mike snapped his ass with a towel and in return, Joe shoved him into a wall and kept walking, a big welt now blooming on one butt cheek.
Sam registered it all and saw none of it.
She turned to get herself a bottle of water just as one more player walked out of the shower room.
Wade.
He wore a towel and nothing else except drops of water and those lean, hard muscles. And unlike with the other guys, her mind went there, to him in the shower, all naked and soapy, and she felt heat slash through her belly. She opened her bottle of water and took a sip for her suddenly parched throat.
Wade was in his zone, his game face on, heading for his locker. When their eyes connected, some of the intensity left his face, softening his eyes and softening her insides, and for a moment, she wished that he wanted more, more of her and from her.
He was still looking at her, too gorgeous for words, and without her permission, a ridiculously helpless smile curved her lips.
In return, he let loose a smile, too, the warm, intimate one that he always gave her after kissing her stupid. They were staring at each other like idiots, surrounded by people. Uncharacteristically flustered, she turned away first, and plowed directly into Gage with her opened water bottle.
He was tall and built like the players. Solid muscle. Bumping into him was like bumping into a brick wall, but he absorbed the impact and caught her, holding her up as water splashed down the front of him. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.
He pulled his shirt away from his skin, his dark features twisting into a grimace. “Me, too. Where’s the fire?” He looked behind her to see what she’d been running from.
Wade was in front of his locker. He’d pulled on his compression shorts and was reaching for his jersey.
She winced as Gage’s eyes cut to hers again.
“I haven’t asked you,” he said evenly, with only a teeny tiny hint of irony, “how this whole pretend relationship thing is going.”
Oh boy.“Fine.”
“Is it going to stay that way for the rest of the month, no trouble?”
God, she hoped so. “Hey, no trouble is my middle name.”
Gage nodded, but his eyes reflected his concern that maybe she was lying through her teeth. She couldn’t reassure him because she had no reassurances. None.
Because just behind her façade was a bone deep certainty that she wasn’t fine. Not even close. She was falling for a man she had no business falling for, and for a kid that wasn’t hers.
