Playing Hard

by Melanie Scott

  Oliver wasn’t an itch.

  No.

  He was already more like an addiction.

  Which should worry her but right now, like any good addict, she was more focused on getting her fix than where her addiction might lead her.

  She could hold off a little longer. No calling him.

  Instead she reached into her bag for her lipstick, repainting the deep coral she’d chosen to go with the royal-blue top she’d donned under a white jacket. Hammered gold hoops in her ears and a matching long loop of hammered gold and silver links around her neck were the best she could do to make up the Saints’ team colors without resorting to a cap or a team jersey—which was in no way suitable to wear in the owners’ box. She’d paired the jacket with skinny black jeans and spike-heeled boots. Dressy but not too outright fussy.

  Her instinct had been right, as it turned out. The other women in the box wore subtle hints of team colors but were otherwise dressed similarly to her. Expensive jeans or short skirts or sleek dresses.

  She fit right in.

  Which was a pretty odd thought.

  Lipstick restored, along with a measure of calm she hoped, she made her way back to the box when she heard the last few lines of “The Star-Spangled Banner” echoing across the PA system and the crowd start to cheer again.

  Please don’t lose, please don’t lose, please don’t lose.

  She wanted it for Finn. They’d seen him for a few minutes earlier but he’d been tense and distracted. Amelia had coaxed the Castros and Em away, and he’d given her a grateful smile over his shoulder as he’d disappeared back into the locker room.

  The last thing she was expecting when she stepped back into the box was the sight of Oliver, leaning on a walking stick and talking to Maggie Winters at the rear of the box. Maggie was grinning at him, clearly delighted that he’d turned up.

  Amelia fought her own cheek muscles to keep the grin that wanted to take over her face at bay. There would be no grinning goofily at the pretty baseball man. Not while Em and the Castros were in the room. Still, she couldn’t help shutting the door with a little more force than was strictly necessary. There was enough noise in the room that she didn’t think anyone was really going to notice, but Oliver’s head turned toward her like she’d shouted his name.

  He gave her one fast smile, dark eyes approving, before he turned back to Maggie.

  Which left her feeling vaguely put out.

  Idiot.

  She was the one who had told him to play it cool in public. Couldn’t blame him for sticking to the plan. So she needed to get back to her seat and focus on the game before she blew said plan for both of them. But there were several important-looking guys in expensive suits blocking her path, and she didn’t want to just barge her way through. Not when she didn’t know exactly where she was. So she stayed put, looking for an alternative route and definitely not looking at Oliver. No sir. No looking. Looking was bad. Looking made her forget important things.

  Like her inhibitions.

  Unfortunately she hadn’t counted on Maggie Winters. Who spotted her hovering by the door and arrowed over to her with a smile of welcome.

  “Hi. You’re Amelia, aren’t you?” Maggie said. “We met at the hospital.”

  “Yes. I am. And you’re Maggie. I remember.” Not exactly the smoothest opening but it would do. She focused on Maggie’s face, determined not to look past her to Oliver.

  “Are you sitting with Finn’s parents?” Maggie said. “They must be nervous. You must be nervous. Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’m fine,” Amelia said. She wasn’t sure whether Maggie’s rapid-fire conversation was her normal hostess style or whether the truth was that Maggie herself was nervous. “Big day for all of you.

  “Yes.” Maggie swallowed hard then shook her head. “But we’re going to win, so it’s all fine. Hey, did you see Oliver was here? He got out of the hospital a few days ago. Did he tell you?”

  “Um, no.” Amelia said. There. Nice and noncommittal. Maggie could draw her own conclusions about what exactly she was saying no to.

  “Come say hi. I’m sure he’d like to see you. It was nice of you to visit him in the hospital.” Maggie put a hand on Amelia’s arm and headed toward Oliver. There was no way to politely stay where she was, so Amelia went with her, making pleading eyes at Oliver who was watching them now, his expression politely interested.

  “Ollie, you remember Amelia, don’t you?” Maggie said. In front of them, the crowd suddenly roared and Maggie’s head snapped around to the field like a dog catching a scent.

  “First pitch,” Oliver said. “Go sit with Alex. I’ll find a seat.”

  Maggie nodded absently, attention still riveted to the field. “Okay.” She smiled at Amelia then turned on her heel and left them alone.

  “Don’t you want to sit down, too?” Amelia said, trying to think of something casual to say. But all that she could think was that Oliver was here. With her. So close she could smell him. Dressed in a dark jacket, white shirt, and dark pants that fit him like a glove. Put a gold hoop in his ear and he would be the perfect modern pirate. And she suddenly desperately wanted to be plundered. Damn it.

  “I’ll wait until everyone settles down a bit,” Oliver said. “Easier to maneuver once everyone else is seated.” He sounded casual, too, but the look in his eyes was hot.

  “It’s pretty crowded in here, isn’t it?” Amelia fanned her face, hoping everyone in the room would think the heat in her cheeks was due to the excitement of the game.

  “Definitely more crowded than I’d like right now,” Oliver agreed with a half smile.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not flirt,” she said in a fierce whisper. “Flirting is not part of the plan.”

  “Amelia, right now we could probably make out and most of the people in this room wouldn’t notice. They’re all watching the game.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Now she was thinking about it. Crap. “As far as these people know we’ve barely met, remember?”

  “They’d just think you’d fallen for my irresistible charm.” His grin widened. She resisted the urge to smack him. Because he was injured. And it might cause a scene.

  “I’m feeling an irresistible urge to go find my seat,” she said sternly. “After all, there’s a game on.”

  His grin vanished. “Don’t go. I’ll behave. Scout’s honor.”

  “I’ll bet you were too busy playing baseball to be a scout.”

  “Busted. But I’ll behave. Stay here and talk to me. Just for a few minutes. I’ve missed you.”

  Well, that was unfair. How was she meant to be sensible and go back to her seat when he said things like that to her? “All right. But only for a few minutes.”

  She looked up at him, suddenly unable to think of anything to say that wasn’t Let’s get out of here, to hell with everybody. Double crap. She had it bad. Em was right. Baseball players were apparently her kryptonite. Or this particular one was.

  “Did you have fun with Em last night?”

  “Yes.” She paused. “Did you watch the game?” The Saints had lost. Which put them two down. So today’s game was all or nothing.

  “A little,” Oliver said. “Until it became clear what was happening.”

  The Saints had played well for the first two innings but then the Red Sox pitcher had taken two outs with two pitches and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. “How about you?”

  She’d watched every minute from the time she’d woken up after her nap to Em knocking on her door. At which point, like Oliver, she’d given up, too depressed to watch the inevitable. She’d recorded it, though, and watched the highlights while she’d done the work she’d brought home with her after breakfast. But she didn’t think Oliver really wanted to rehash the game.

  “Do you think they can pull it off today?” she asked.

  Oliver shrugged. “They can play well enough to do it. It’s mostly a matter of whether they let the situation get to them. If
they do that, they’re toast.”

  “Remind me again why baseball is meant to be fun?” Amelia said, feeling queasy all over again.

  “Well, for one thing, it’s the way we met, sort of,” Oliver said.

  She shook her head. “Not sure that counts.” She lowered her voice. “And that’s getting back to things we aren’t talking about here.” She glanced down to the front of the room where Em and the Castros were sitting. “I need to get back to them. They’re going to wonder where I am.”

  Oliver nodded. “If you have to.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out something wrapped in brown paper. A suspiciously small package. Casually he reached over and dropped it into the pocket of her blazer. “That’s for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something best not talked about here,” he said. “Go sit down, Amelia. We’ll talk later.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was late by the time they got back to Manhattan. Despite the fact the Saints had pulled off a win, Amelia mostly felt exhausted rather than elated. Though part of her still seemed to have the energy to wish she was at Oliver’s rather than here in her own apartment with Em.

  She pulled off her jacket and the small parcel he’d given her fell to the carpet. Damn. She’d forgotten about it in the excitement of the game and its aftermath. And now it was lying on her rug, a mystery, daring her to open it.

  Em was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. The sound of water running and Em clattering around meant the coast was temporarily clear.

  The paper came off easily and all too soon she was staring down at a bright silver key. A house key. Or rather, in this case, what she could only think was the key to Oliver’s apartment.

  What the hell?

  “Whatcha got there?” Em said from the doorway. Amelia jumped. The key, predictably, went flying, landing halfway across the room. She dived for it, scooping it up again before Em could grab it.

  “Jumpy,” Em commented.

  She’d donned pajama pants printed with Wonder Woman and a Saints sweatshirt, piling her dark hair up in a messy bun. She still looked gorgeous. Really, the Castro genes should be illegal.

  “Whose key is that?” Em asked.

  Amelia thought fast. “Um, one of the neighbors. Wants me to feed their cat next week when they’re away.”

  “So why were you staring at it like you’d seen a ghost?”

  Because Oliver Shields had given her the key to his freakin’ apartment. “I had a moment where I couldn’t remember if it was meant to be this week I was feeding the cat,” she lied. “But no. Next week. So it’s all good.”

  “Too much excitement today scrambling your brain,” Em said. She came over and climbed onto the bed next to Amelia. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack during the final inning. I can’t believe they won by one run. And that Finn got the out.” She bounced on the bed. “He did so well. One run. Amazing.”

  “Bet the Red Sox can’t believe it, either,” Amelia said.

  “Yeah, well, the Red Sox can suck it,” Em said. “My baby brother lives to play another day. At first base.” She held up her hand for a high-five and Amelia hit it. Part of her felt uneasy with the knowledge that Finn was playing Oliver’s position, but it wasn’t as if she could go back and change what had happened the night of the accident. And maybe Finn getting the chance to play in the position he wanted would ease whatever it was that had been making him edgy the last few weeks.

  Em bounced a second time, almost making Amelia drop the key again. She tossed it into the little container of change on her nightstand then hugged Em with an arm. “I’m glad we got to watch the game together. Felt like old times.” When they’d gone to high school baseball games pretending to hate it but secretly enjoying every minute. When they didn’t live in different cities and had to make appointments to Skype.

  “I can’t believe I can’t stay and watch the game tomorrow,” Em said, squeezing her back before she sighed. “Whose bright idea was it to become a lawyer?”

  “Yours when you were about twelve,” Amelia said.

  “Twelve-year-olds know nothing. I really want to stay and watch Finn play.” She sighed again. “But that’s just not going to happen.”

  “We’re still having brunch with him and your folks before you leave, though. So you can tell him to break a leg or whatever.”

  “No breaking legs. Breaking legs would be bad.” Em sighed. “Unless it’s a Red Sox player. Is that terrible of me?” She flopped back on the bed, scowling. “I’m never going to get to sleep. I’m still wired from the game.” Her expression brightened. “Hey, I’m starving. Can we make grilled cheese or something? Watch a movie?”

  Amelia was pretty sure she had cheese and bread in the fridge. She’d been working such crazy hours lately that she hadn’t stocked up on groceries. But she definitely had DVDs and they could always order pizza if her fridge failed to provide any food. Em wouldn’t mind if Amelia fell asleep on the sofa during a movie. “Sure. Just don’t blame me if cheese before bedtime gives you nightmares.”

  Em bounced off the bed and headed into the kitchen. Amelia stood to follow her but heard her phone vibrate on the nightstand.

  She snatched it up.

  The text was from Oliver.

  Did you open it?

  Yes.

  Are you freaking out?

  It’s a key, Oliver.

  You are freaking out. Don’t freak out.

  Easy for him to say. I can’t talk now, she sent back. Em’s here.

  Okay. But don’t freak out. I’ll see you at the game. Sweet dreams, Amelia.

  She was quite tempted to hurl the phone across the room. Sweet dreams. After he’d given her a key without any warning? More like lying awake staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell was happening.

  They’d kissed once. He shouldn’t be giving her a key.

  That was way too serious.

  And made her way too happy.

  “Did you fall asleep in there?” Em yelled from the kitchen. “No sleeping. Sleeping is for losers. Get your ass out here and help me find your frying pan.”

  Grilled cheese. She could do that. Grilled cheese was simple. Unlike keys and Oliver Shields.

  “Coming,” she yelled and shoved her phone and the key into her purse, where neither one could bother her until morning.

  * * *

  “Your mom says to say hi,” Mari said as she reached for water at brunch the next day.

  Amelia grinned at her. “Don’t try to guilt-trip me. I talked to Mom yesterday.”

  “Talking isn’t the same as seeing her,” Mari said. “You haven’t been home since Easter.”

  “We Skype a few times a week. She sees me,” Amelia protested, shoving down the pangs of guilt. Usually she managed three or four trips back to Chicago in a year, but work had been so crazy this year she’d only managed to get away once.

  Plus every trip back ate into her carefully hoarded vacation days. She tried to take as few as possible. Pullman was generous to employees, but she wanted to save hers. Because one day she was going to get that overseas job and at the end of that, she was going to take as much time as she could to travel. See the world. Not just New York and Chicago. Get on a plane and just go. See what was out there. Not be her mom and miss out on so much.

  “I’ll be home for Christmas,” she said. “I tried to see if Mom wanted to come and see Finn play but you know how she is about planes. I’d see her more if she would just fly.”

  Mari rolled her eyes at her but Eddie Castro, seated next to his wife, patted Mari’s arm. “Stop nagging, Mari,” he said. “Or she won’t come visit us when she does come home.”

  Em snorted. “As if that’s going to happen. She’s addicted to Ma’s Christmas cookies.”

  “Me?” Amelia tried to look innocent. “It’s Finn who eats all the cookies.”

  Finn, who was uncharacteristically quiet, shook his head at her. “I don’t think so.”

  �
�You can deny all you like,” Amelia said. “But I know you raid the secret cookie jar.”

  “How do you know there’s a secret cookie jar if you don’t raid it yourself?” Finn shot back. But he smiled and Amelia leaned back in her chair, happy to have distracted him for a moment or two. She’d expected him to be full of excitement, still riding the high of the previous night’s win, but he’d been very quiet since they’d picked him up. Nerves, she supposed. God. She couldn’t imagine how nervous he must be right now.

  “Em must have told me,” Amelia said. “I’m pleading the Fifth. I know nothing of cookies. Only bacon.” She stole a piece off Finn’s plate. They were having brunch extra early because he had to report to Deacon Field before midday. She guessed the Saints weren’t taking any chances with any of the team getting into any sort of trouble. Apparently he was starting at first base again after his performance yesterday. He’d dropped that little bit of news in the car, and Amelia had been surprised that the three other Castros hadn’t exploded with pride.

  “That wouldn’t hold up in court,” Em said, forking up eggs and bacon. She apparently wasn’t suffering from the same nerves that had the rest of them picking at their food. Probably because she wasn’t going to have to actually sit through the game. The Red Sox were still one up in the series, with the Saints’ win last night. If they won today, the series was over. Whoever came up with the play-off system was a sadist.

  “How are things at work, Milly?” Eddie asked.

  “Busy,” Amelia answered. “I’ve been running a big project to develop a new model for Australasian currencies. Hopefully it will be all wrapped up by the end of the month.”

  Across the table, Finn yawned ostentatiously as he always did when Amelia talked about economics. She balled up her napkin and threw it at him. “Sorry, did I use a word with too many syllables for you, jock boy?”

  Finn grinned again. “No, your words are just boring.”

  “Finn, don’t be rude,” Mari said. “Amelia’s work is just as important as yours.”

  “Yeah, she actually works for a living,” Em added, grinning at her little brother. “Doesn’t just swing a bat around.”