by Jill Shalvis
Chapter 20
Baseball isn’t a business, it’s more like a disease.
—Walter F. O’Malley
The next morning the Heat left early for a trip to Colorado to play the Rockies. Sam brought Tag and his tutor, and on the plane, Tag pulled out his schoolwork. Sam ostensibly did paperwork herself, but in reality she stared out the window and thought about the night before.
The carnival had been an undeniable success business-wise. Personally? She wasn’t as sure. She and Tag had managed to turn their misunderstanding into a positive thing, or so she hoped. She felt like he’d let her get closer to him.
Wade had certainly let her get closer as well. So close she still bore the whisker burns on her breasts and between her thighs.
He’d been there for her, from soothing her raw nerves to making her forget the panic with mind-blowing sex. Hell, he’d made her forget her own name.
But she still didn’t know what to do with that.
In Colorado, game one, Wade delivered a pinch-hit, two-run, walk-off triple, capping a three-run ninth to give the Heat a series-opening win, three-two.
Afterwards in the hotel, the team ate together at the bar. It was a good crowd, easygoing and laid-back, the mood mellow and relaxed.
Sam did her job, moving between tables, making nice with the few reporters that were around, keeping one eye on Tag, who was once again with Santos’s boys. The mood was fun and jubilant. They’d won today’s game, the fans were happy, and so were their sponsors, so much so that Wade’s face was currently once again all over the country’s most popular cereal boxes these days. She caught little pieces of the conversations going on all around her, most of it about Wade.
“. . . He’s been phenomenal lately . . .”
“. . . Amazingly pinpoint with his control, commanding both sides of the plate . . .”
“. . . Strategized the perfect game plan, and executed it . . .”
She absorbed it all and felt a warm sense of pride for him, knowing he worked his ass off and had earned it. And yeah, maybe she couldn’t take her eyes off him—
“Nice job on the pretending,” Gage said, coming up next to Sam. “It’s hardly noticeable at all that you’re staring at him.”
“Just doing my job,” she quipped.
“Sam.”
She knew that tone, that soft but undeniably authoritative tone, the one that said, “Talk to me.” When he used that voice, most people willingly spilled their guts. He had the power that way. And thanks to his Latin father and supermodel mother, he really was almost too gorgeous to look at this close. “Is it still pretending?” he asked, his dark eyes solemn, concerned.
“A little late to ask me that now, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too late.”
She looked at Wade, who was surrounded by the other players, all laughing and having a good time. Wade was smiling but his eyes were . . . locked on Sam. “Actually,” she whispered to Gage, her gaze held prisoner. “This time it is.”
“A picture,” one reporter called out, and gestured for her to move closer to Wade’s table. “To show that the mighty Wade O’Riley is still off the market.”
Wade stood and took Sam’s hand, smiling that warm just-for-her smile. It momentarily caught her off balance, a situation he took full advantage of by sitting back down and pulling her into his lap, cupping her face and kissing her softly.
“Thanks,” the reporter said with a laugh after he’d gotten the shot. “You guys are great sports.”
Wade pulled back slowly, eyes on Sam. “My pleasure.”
Yeah, she thought shakily, feeling his hands on her back, one slipping low enough to cup her ass beneath the table. Her pleasure, too. And wasn’t that just the problem.
It wasn’t pretend.
And in less than two weeks, it’d be done.
Not letting herself go there, she moved out of the bar and into the hallway to check her messages, only to go still as she felt someone come up behind her and stand close enough to share body heat. Since her nipples hardened, she knew exactly who it was.
“Guess who?” He ran a finger over her shoulder.
She bit back the soft sigh of pleasure. “Oh, Gage.”
Wade let out a choked laugh and whipped her around to face him.
She arched a daring brow. They hadn’t been alone since he’d gotten her naked in her backseat at the carnival. It didn’t bode well that she felt like dragging him into the closest closet now for a repeat performance. “Nice game today,” she said “Actually, fantastic game today, but I’m mad at you, and you know why.”
That had him blinking. “Maybe you could remind me.”
“You guilted me into getting into that dunking booth, and while I sat up there terrified I was going to get dunked, you were paying people off.”
“And that’s a problem?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She couldn’t help it, it was a damn fine mouth. “You could have told me.”
“What, that I was never going to let you get dunked?” He tugged her in hard against him. “Which, by the way, was a luxury you didn’t afford me. When I took my turn after you, I got dunked twenty-seven times. I still have water in my ear.” He held her, his warm hands stroking up and down her back. “So is that what you’re really mad at, or is it the fact that I told you I was falling for you?”
“That,” she said shakily, dropping her forehead to his chest. “Most definitely that. People don’t just . . . fall.”
His hand came up and cupped the nape of her neck. “Sure they do.”
“I don’t.”
“Ah.” He said this very gently and brushed his jaw to hers. He smelled like a million bucks, and was warm and strong and so sure. “Maybe it’d help if you loosened up a little bit. Give your heart some rein to fly free.” He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Just let go and see where it takes you.”
She realized she was leaning into him like he was her own personal support beam. She tipped her head up and stared at him. Just let go? See where it took her? No worrying about the two week expiration date? She understood that was pretty much his life’s motto, but she’d never worked like that.
“I can be lots of be fun,” he coaxed with a brow wriggle that suggested much of that fun might be had naked.
She had to laugh. He was right. Loosening up and flying free would be fun. Of that, she had no doubt.
But what about after the fun was over?
“I’ve met some of your family,” he said. “They’re all pretty intense guys, so I’m guessing fun men aren’t exactly familiar to you, but you should give me a try.”
“I’ve gone out with plenty of fun men.” She’d done so in a purposeful attempt to find the polar opposite of the doggedly aggressive men she’d grown up with.
“And?”
“And nothing worked out.”
“Why?”
“Because their fun always won over substance.”
“Common mistake, but you’re armed with knowledge now. Give it a try. Kiss me, Sam. I’ll show you what I mean. I’ve got plenty of substance.”
Uh-huh. And some of that substance was currently pressing into her belly. With an ache of need drumming through her, she fisted her hands in his shirt, her gaze still locked on his mouth.
With a smile, he bent his head and kissed her. It involved tongue, lots of tongue, and heat slashed through her. She moaned and—
“Ew.”
With a gasp, she pushed free and twisted around to face Tag, who stood there watching them.
“Kinda gross,” he said, and went into the boy’s restroom.
Above her, she sensed Wade smiling. “This isn’t funny,” she said.
“You’re right. It’s nice.”
“Nice?”
“I get the feeling Tag’s view on relationships is pretty fucked up. Having him see two people who have feelings for each other is good for him.”
She stared up at him, wondering why the fact that he so obviously care
d deeply about Tag reached out and grabbed her by the throat. “Pretend feelings,” she whispered.
The crux of her problem.
He was quiet a long moment as he ran his thumb over her jaw. “We’re pretending to have a committed relationship, true. But my feelings for you aren’t pretend.” He leaned in and kissed her again, softly, sweetly. And then he walked away, leaving her standing there shaken to the core, with more questions than answers. But she’d wanted to know this wasn’t all play, and it seemed she’d gotten her confirmation.
And yet somehow instead of putting her at ease, she felt a little like she’d just walked off the edge of a cliff into a freefall.
After dinner, Henry, Joe, and Mason ordered up an Xbox for a play-off in their suite. Sam allowed Tag to go with them because one, she knew the guys wouldn’t do anything stupid in front of him, and two, she needed a moment to herself. She hadn’t had a moment to herself since opening day two and a half weeks ago. Ever since then, when things came up that she needed to think about, she’d had no choice but to shove it into a file in her brain labeled To Obsess Over Later.
Except that compartment was now full. Overflowing, in fact. In the glorious silence of her hotel room, she worked for several hours on her laptop, planning the next big charity event—an elaborate, elegant dinner and auction for Santa Barbara’s rich and famous. She also worked on some upcoming media appearances and other publicity events for the guys. There were interviews to set up and calls to make, some of which dealt with reporters trying to get the scoop on her brother and her family, or on her and Wade. She deflected the negative into positive wherever she could. That was her job. She was cool, composed. Tough as hell.
No weaknesses.
But she didhave weaknesses, two of them, and both new to her. Tag, who’d somehow turned her into a fiercely protective Momma bear, and Wade, who lived life like it was a freebie, like he was a cat with eight more lives in the wings, because he knew more than most that life was short and meant to be lived hard and fast.
She got that about him.
She understood that about him.
She just couldn’t be like him.
Though she’d certainly enjoyed being under him . . .
At the soft knock on her hotel room door, she shook herself and opened it to Wade himself. Tag was suspended by his ankles, draped over Wade’s back, laughing, and Sam’s heart cracked wide open.
Wade turned so that she could see Tag, and she took in his glossy eyes. He had to be exhausted.
By all rights, Wade should be, too. He’d played a physical game today, but he didn’t look tired as he met her gaze. He was wearing jeans and a black sweater over a black shirt and looked lean and predatory as he took her in.
“Got good and bad news,” he said, carefully swinging back around and walking into the room without decapitating Tag on the door jamb. “The bad news is that Tag ate all the M&M’s and an entire bowl of those mini-chocolate bars before anyone knew what was happening.”
Sam slid Tag a look.
“They were busy playing,” Tag said in his defense. “And yelling at the TV and each other.”
“In good fun,” Wade murmured and twisted over the back of the couch, dumping Tag face-first into the cushions, but more importantly, unintentionally giving Sam a nice view of the way the jeans perfectly fit Wade’s very fine ass.
“Good fun,” Tag repeated, rolling to his back on the couch, grinning up at Sam. “Pace called Wade a dickhead—”
Wade leaned over the couch and covered the kid’s mouth with his hand. “Do you remember what I told you?”
“Uh-huh. Not to repeat any of the bad words I heard tonight. Our secret. But I didn’t think dickheadis a bad word. Everyone says it in the clubhouse and stuff.”
Sam looked at Wade in time to catch a guilty grimace as he swiped a hand down his face.
“I won’t tell the rest,” Tag promised.
Again Sam looked at Wade.
Wade just shook his head.
“The good news?” Sam asked him.
“We already dealt with the sugar high,” Wade said. “He’s on his way down now.”
“Tired,” Tag agreed, his eyes drooping at half mast. As he yawned nearly wider than his head, Wade scooped him back up in a fireman’s hold, much to Tag’s tired amusement. Catching Sam staring, Wade raised his brow in question. “Where do you want him?”
“In here.” She’d gotten a suite so Tag would have a room of his own. She opened the door and turned down the bed.
Wade flopped him on the mattress, then pulled off Tag’s shoes and sweatshirt, brushing against Sam as he did, smelling warm and sexy.
She needed to get a grip.
Tag was already out like a light. She pulled the covers up to his chin, then stroked a strand of hair off his forehead. She should have made him brush his teeth, especially with all the sugar he’d consumed. Maybe she should wake him up—
Wade took her hand in his and pulled her from the room. He shut the door and gave her an amused look.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re getting more comfortable with him.”
“Funny thing about ten-year-olds. It’s hard to keep your distance.”
“Yeah, especially with that one. He’s got a way of worming right in.” He pressed a hand over his heart. “Here.”
She worked at not melting and failed miserably. “Are you just trying to butter me up?”
“No, I’m not crazy about butter. I’ll whip-cream you up though. Anytime.”
She shook her head even as her knees wobbled at the thought. “Can you be serious?”
“If I have to be.” He lifted a shoulder. “I like the kid.”
Simple. Easily admitted. No angst over the admission. Well, wasn’t he just free with his emotions lately? “It’s easy to like him,” she said. “It’s not so easy to be responsible for him.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy, but you’re doing great. You’re falling for him. No, don’t be embarrassed,” he said, tugging her around when she tried to walk away, holding on to her, dipping his knees a little, to look into her face. “It’s cute.”
“Cute?”
“Sexy, too.”
She had to laugh. “How is me caring for Tag sexy?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Sam. Everything you do is sexy to me.”
She felt her body react to his words and crossed her arms. “Okay, you know what? You need to stop talking. And—” she said quickly, when he took a step into her, the intent in his heated gaze quite clear. “No sex either.”
“How about just fooling around? We could just feel each other up.” He ran a hand down her arm and then settled it on her hip, his fingers slipping beneath her shirt to graze bare skin. “That’s not technically sex, right? I could still call for that whipped cream.”
Tempting as that thought might be, she shook her head. “You’re leaving.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. He’d known that. He’d been messing with her. “Have dinner with me when we get home.” He took his hand on a tour upward, over her ribs, gently gliding over her breast.
“W-what?”
“Dinner.” His thumb teased her nipple into a tight bead. “It comes after lunch. We have a game tomorrow night, so how about the
