by Jill Shalvis
day after, back in Santa Barbara? After our Houston game.”
“Wade.”
“Sam.”
His other hand joined his first under her shirt, and she shivered in pleasure. “J-just dinner?”
“For now. We’ll wing the rest.”
“You’re good at that, but I’m not.”
Something came and went in his eyes, so fast that she thought maybe she’d imagined it—regret? “Stop thinking so much,” he said softly. “Let one area of your life just happen. Dinner,” he repeated. “Dinner, because I like food and I like you. And you like me, too. It’s what two people in like do, they go out to dinner.”
“Fine. But no elevators, Wade. No bathrooms. And no backseats.”
“Tag’s right. You sure have a lot of rules.” But with a small smile, he leaned in and kissed her, a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss that lingered long after she’d locked the door behind him, making her ache just a little as she wondered how nice it would be if there was no rules at all.
Thanks in part to his own ninth-inning catch at the plate, Wade assisted the Heat to a satisfying win the next day. After the game, he sat with some of the guys at the hotel bar in front of a flat screen enjoying a few beers. They were flipping between basketball and wrestling when a group of well-dressed women showed up and started flirting.
And then began the silent pair-off as his teammates settled into a different kind of game for the evening. Wade used to be the king of that game but tonight, as he had for months now, he held back because his idea of fun was eight floors up, working on her laptop and hanging out with her nephew.
Still, one of the women playfully asked him to autograph the napkin her drink had been set on, and then she took the pen from him and settled a hand on his. Turning it over, she wrote her number on his palm. He had no idea why so many women did this, if they thought it was unique or what, but she was looking at him, soft and willing, waiting for a sign that he might actually use her number when a familiar female voice spoke from over his shoulder.
“Sorry. He’s already got the only number he needs tonight.”
Wade looked up into Sam’s steely gaze just as someone in the bar took a picture, making them all grimace at the unexpected flash.
The woman with the pen smiled with some chagrin and moved away to join her friends.
Wade smiled up at Sam. “Sit with me.”
“I have a meeting with Gage and then I’m going back to Tag. You do know that picture will show up all over the Internet tomorrow, right?”
“Yes. My protective girlfriend, saving me from myself.”
She shook her head and walked off. Wade sipped his drink, watching her go, thinking how radically things had changed for him, that for the first time in his life he was the one being walked away from.
The next morning the picture of Sam standing over Wade indeed appeared everywhere, the reports claiming she’d been possessive, protective, and gorgeous with it.
The guys loved it.
Wade did as well.
But Sam appeared to hate it, and ignored anyone who teased her about it, including Wade.
Back at home, the Heat played Houston. Wade loved a home crowd, and today’s was particularly, satisfyingly rambunctious. The Heat trailed by one for the first five innings, then erupted for seven runs in the bottom of the sixth to take a twelve-eight lead. Wade took a hard kick to the thigh in a home slide by the Astros center fielder but with no other mishaps, they held the Astros scoreless in the eighth and ninth innings, and took the win.
Afterwards, Wade limped into the clubhouse thinking he’d slap on a little Icy Hot and be good to go for his date with his crazy, jealous, gorgeous girlfriend tonight. After a shower, he sat on the bench in front of his opened locker, hurting but happy. The guys were messing around on either side of him, still high on adrenaline, planning some fun for the night ahead.
“You coming with?” Joe asked.
“Got a date,” Wade said.
“Catch up with us when you’re done.”
There’d been many nights when he’d done just that, gone out with a woman, had his fun, then joined up with the guys. But tonight, he had a feeling the only person getting kicked to the curb would be him.
He pulled on his clothes and found Pace watching him. “If you wanted to see something,” Wade said. “You should have watched while I was still in the shower.”
Pace sat next to him. “I didn’t want to tell you before the game. Your father called me.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Have you thought about actually talking to him?”
“I send him what he needs.”
“Yeah. A check isn’t going to solve this one. He wants out of the center you got him into.”
“So? No one’s holding him there.” Wade tied his shoes and stood up. “He can do whatever the hell he wants. He always did.”
“I think what he wants is you.”
“He had a health scare. Doctor told him to quit drinking. He’s got it in his head that he can’t quit drinking without me.”
“So give him you.”
“Hell, Pace, he’s had me all along. But I no longer even attempt to compete with the booze.”
“Maybe if you just talk to him instead of—”
“Not interested.” Wade could talk until he was blue in the face, it never changed anything. Grabbing his keys and his things, he headed out of the facilities and made his way to Sam’s condo. Downtown was crowded, the streets packed as usual. He had to park a few blocks down and was recognized several times as he walked the street toward Sam’s building. He stopped to sign a few autographs and climbed the stairs to her condo.
Tag answered the door. “Hi.”
“Hi. You stay out of trouble today?”
“I did . . .” He winced. “Not.”
“What did you do?”
“Sort of scared the babysitter off.”
Wade tucked the kid’s head under his arm like a sack of potatoes, mussed his hair with his knuckles, and with Tag letting out a belly laugh and trying to swat his hand away, stepped into the entry.
Samantha turned from the window. She was still in her work clothes, a wraparound shirt dress the color of the day’s sky. Her usual elegant and sophisticated business style.
But she didn’t look her usual cool, calm, and collected in the face of any storm. She had a stress line dividing her forehead, shadows beneath her eyes, and on the window-sill, her fists were clenched.
She was a woman on the edge.
For most of his life, he’d run like hell from this very thing, from worrying about someone else, from caring. But when it came to her, no matter how often he’d tried telling himself it was just the pretense, the great sex, it didn’t fly.
Because even he didn’t believe that was all there was when it came to her.
Chapter 21
Baseball fans are junkies, and their heroin is the statistic.
—Robert S. Wieder
“I’m sorry,” Sam told Wade. “But I have to cancel dinner.”
Wade’s stomach tightened. He’d been thinking about tonight all day, looking forward to it far more than he’d even admitted to himself. “Why?”
“Because the babysitter—”
“Yeah. I heard.” He gave Tag another head noogie.
Tag let out a belly laugh, and Wade smiled at the sound as he looked at Sam. “You don’t have to cancel because of the kid here. We’ll just bring him.”
“Wade, he had the babysitter believing he had three physical disorders, two behavioral disorders, one psychosomatic disorder . . . and a bladder control problem.”
Wade arched a brow and let go of the kid’s head. “That took talent,” he said into Tag’s eyes with a smile. He looked back at Sam. “I say we make him watch us while we eat burgers and play games on the wharf.”
Sam sighed. “Wade—”
Wade looked at Tag. “Why don’t you give us a minute.”
Tag, no dummy,
ran down the hall and slammed a door. “I can’t hear a thing!” he yelled through it. “I swear.”
“It’s not going to work,” Sam said quietly to Wade. “He’s acting out. Yesterday he didn’t want me to leave him here with his tutor when I had a meeting. He left the water running into the tub and just about flooded the entire condo so I’d have to stay.” She shook her head and spread her hands. “Stick a fork in me, I’m done.”
“You’re quitting him?”
She stared at him in shock. “What? No, of course not! I’m quitting you. Obviously Tag has separation anxiety.”
“I think it’s more than that,” he said quietly, knowing firsthand what abandonment issues felt like.
She nodded and lowered her voice to a thread of a whisper. “I realize that. There’s going to be an adjustment period, and clearly he’s testing me. I get that. I’m trying to prove myself to him, trying to show him that I won’t up and leave him, ever, but I can’t screw this up, Wade. I won’t do that to him.”
He felt his heart catch hard, and all he could manage was a nod. She got it. She got Tag.
And she’d get you, a small voice said, but he told the small voice to shut the hell up.
Sam drew a deep breath. “The bottom line is that I just can’t do this thing with him correctly, and also whatever the hell it is we’re doing at the same time.”
Okay, now this he didn’t get. “Why not?”
“Why not?” She gaped at him as if he were an idiot. And maybe he was, because he didn’t see the problem.
“Because,” she said in a low whisper. “It’s taking all I have to handle him the right way.”
Risking his neck, he stepped closer to her, running a finger over her jaw. “I’m pretty sure there is no right way, Sam. All you can do is your best. And for the record, you’re doing a great job at that.” He settled a hand on her hip. “He doesn’t mean to be a pain in the ass, he’s just hurting and scared.”
“I know that, don’t you think I know that?” She looked destroyed over her inability to solve this with her usual strength of will. “It’s just that he’s good at pushing my buttons.”
“Well, maybe if there weren’t so darn many of them.” He laughed when she growled, and then he pulled her resisting body in for a hug. “Dinner,” he said softly, running his hand up her back. “You need to eat, he needs to eat, it’ll serve a purpose.”
He took it as a good sign when she snuggled into him instead of shoving him away, pressing her face to his throat and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Is this just an attempt to get back into my pants?”
“Baby, rest assured, everything I do is an attempt to get back into your pants.”
She surprised him by letting out a low laugh, and pulled back to look into his eyes. “I can’t do this, Wade. I can’t fight him and you at the same time.”
“So quit fighting.” He ran his fingers over the tense muscles of her neck. “We’ve talked about this. Loosen up a little and go with the flow.”
“And if I screw up?”
“With Tag?”
Something flickered in her eyes, making him realize she’d meant him. Them. “Yes,” she said, trying to recover. “With Tag.”
He pulled her back into him, body to body. “He has a mother who couldn’t give a shit, a selfish bastard of a father, and a nonexistent grandpa. By housing and feeding him, you’re already ahead of the game.” He entangled her fingers in his. “And as for what you really meant, with us . . .” He held her when she would have turned away embarrassed, bringing her hand to his mouth to brush his lips over her knuckles. “Not much you can screw up, Princess.”
“Right. Because we’re just . . . winging it.”
Okay, not what he meant. “Sam—”
“No, you know what? I don’t want to go there right now. Not now, maybe not ever.” She dropped her hand to his chest. “Yes to dinner,” she said, muffled. “Because I’m too tired and defeated to even call for take-out.” She hesitated, then surprised him by lifting her face and pulling his down for a soft, warm kiss, one that she initiated. “And thank you.”
He felt emotion spread through his chest. “For what?”
“For keeping it together, even when I can’t . . .”
Wade nodded, but in truth, he didn’t have it together at all, not when it came to her. Not even close.
He drove them to the wharf, where they ordered burgers and watched the early evening surfers. When the food came, Tag stared down at his burger but didn’t touch it.
Wade nudged him. “What’s the matter? Not cooked the way you want it?”
“I thought I had to watch the two of you eat.”
Sam stared at him for a beat, then met Wade’s gaze, hers filled with guilt as she set her burger down. “Oh, Tag. We were kidding.”
Tag put his hands over his eyes. “But I really was bad. On purpose.” He ducked his head even farther. “Probably so bad you would never even think about letting me play in the arcade . . .”
Christ, the kid was good, Wade thought with admiration. Shaking his head, he pushed the plate back in front of Tag. “Knock it off. Consider manipulating a no-go around here, along with scaring babysitters and trying to drive your aunt out of her mind.”
“Wade,” Sam said softly. “He’s—”
“Got your number,” he said bluntly, watching the realization that Tag had been playing her come into her eyes. He turned to Tag. “Eat your burger, kiddo, and think about this—you can be a little punk all you want, but Sam’s not going anywhere, not without you. She sticks.”
Tag lifted his gaze and settled a heartbreaking look on Sam.
“It’s true,” she whispered, her eyes unusually bright. “You’re stuck with me.”
“You’re not mad?” Tag asked her.
“Not at this moment, no. Can’t say that that won’t change, but one thing that for sure won’t change is your address for the rest of the next three months.”
“Yeah, because you have to keep me,” he said a little bitterly. “No one else wanted me.”
Sam put her hand over his. “Maybe I didn’t know I wanted you, but I do. And your father wants you and loves you, he’s just got to take care of himself right now before he can take care of you again.”
Tag nodded and stared at his burger.
“It’s true,” Sam told him. “I want you with me, I love having you with me. Because of you, I’ve expanded my food horizons to include cheese on everything. I watch SpongeBob SquarePants. And I’m getting good on the Xcube.”
“Xbox,” Tag corrected with a snort but he did let loose a reluctant smile as well.
“And my refrigerator is always full of good stuff,” she went on, smiling, too. “And best of all? Because you’re always at work with me, no one can yell at me. Plus, you’re fairly entertaining.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, and you’re also pretty darn cute when you’re not scowling. Now eat your burger.”
Tag grinned and ate his burger. Sam looked at Wade with a soft smile. He had no idea what it meant, but he liked it. A lot.
