“I’m talking about you and Sam.”

“There is no me and Sam. It’s pretend, remember? We’re just making the sponsors happy.” His cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, saw the area code that signaled Oregon, and swore. His father. John had left Wade a message earlier, telling him that he’d gotten in trouble for running a poker game and he needed bribe money for the caretaker. Not needing another call like that, Wade hit Ignore.

Pace was watching him. “You’re good at that, hitting Ignore.”

“I’ve already sent money today to get him out of trouble for gambling. I think he can wait until after the game for anything else.”

“Maybe it’s not money he needs. Maybe writing a check, either to the kids, to your father, to whoever asks, isn’t always the answer. And you’re missing my point on purpose. Stop ignoring, Wade. Make a commitment, somewhere, with someone.”

Wade just shook his head. He had a damn hard time with commitment, cliché or not. He’d been let down by commitment before, by people bound to him by blood even. It wasn’t in the cards for him. Besides, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t act on his growing feelings for Sam because in spite of her toughness, he sensed that she wanted to commit, and he refused to let her down. And he would eventually let her down.

“Look,” Pace said. “You told me I had a real chance at a great life, with Holly. You told me to go for it.”

“Yeah, and you told me I was full of shit.”

“I was wrong. You were right. And now I’m right.” He squeezed Wade’s shoulder in commiseration. “Just as I also know you’d like to kick my ass for saying so, but you can’t because Gage is looking at us right now, trying to decide if he needs to come intervene.”

Wade looked up and met Gage’s narrowed, carefully observant eyes. The team manager, aka Skipper, had broken up more fights between his players than he had fingers and toes. One more wouldn’t be a problem, but Wade let out a rough breath. “I could kick your ass before he even got over here.”

“Keep dreaming,” Pace said in a mock soothing voice that really did make Wade want to smash his face in, best friend or not. “But if you tried, Sam would really be pissed.”

Wade shoved away and stalked off to Pace’s low, knowing laugh as he grabbed his gear and headed out for practice.

Chapter 12

Baseball is a ballet without music. Drama without words.

—Ernie Harwell

Feeling all mixed-up and churned-up and more confused than ever, Sam walked to her seat in the stands and found her usual seatmate waiting for her.

“Hiya,” Holly said.

“I need sugar.”

Without missing a beat, Holly handed over her lemonade, then pulled out a bag of M&M’s to go with it.

Sam sighed in sheer pleasure as she ripped into them. “You’re a good friend.”

“I am.” Holly looked at her speculatively. “I know why I usually need sugar. Either Pace has pissed me off, or I need to get me some.”

“Some what?”

Holly waggled a brow.

Sam sighed.

“And,” Holly said, “since I know you just got some—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Uh-huh. So that leaves pissed. Question is, are you pissed off at Wade, or yourself?”

Sam busied herself with the M&M’s.

Holly snorted, then lifted a tray she’d stowed behind her feet. It held the bribes—two fully loaded hot dogs, peanuts, and cotton candy.

“I’m on a diet,” Sam said in protest, but grabbed a dog. And then on second thought, the peanuts and cotton candy as well, hugging it all to her chest.

“Atta girl.” Holly tore into her own hot dog. “So. How’s that pretend thing going?”

Sam chewed a huge bite of hot dog. “I don’t want to talk about that either.”

“Okay.”

“I mean there’s really nothing to even talk about. We got into the papers over the weekend, got the word out, as planned. Sponsor’s happy.”

“Good.”

“It’s just playing a role.” Sam sucked mustard off her finger. “Sure, maybe we got a little carried away for a minute.” She grimaced. “Okay, for like an hour, but the man is . . . well. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course not.”

“And anyway, he drives me batshit crazy,” Sam said.

Holly made a soothing, understanding noise.

“And he’s so easygoing and effortlessly sexy. He could reel in a damn nun.”

“Good thing we’re not talking about it.”

Sam just sighed and stuffed her face, and Holly smiled. “Honey, admit it. You want to go for it. For real.”

“No. If I’m going to let someone into my life, it’s going to be a grown-up.”

“That man is allllgrown-up, and he is fine.”

“I want a man who makes me laugh.”

“Hello—o—o,” Holly said. “Wade makes you laugh.”

“It’ll be someone who lights me up in the bedroom.”

Holly just slid her a long look.

“Okay, so he lit me up like Fourth of July. But I want a guy in it for the long haul.”

Holly sighed in defeat. “You have me there. He’s not shown a lot of depth in relationships before. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t, for the right woman.”

“Come on. It’s Wade.”

“Yeah, but he’s the one who told Pace to get something else in his life besides baseball, and that the something should be me. He told Pace to let himself love me.” She smiled at Sam’s clear surprise. “So see? Maybe there’s hope.”

Sam didn’t necessarily believe in hope. She believed in doing. In making one’s own destiny. And though a part of her could admit she’d had a few fantasies about Wade being hers and only hers, she had to doubt it ever becoming a reality.

They ate their way through the first two tight innings, with Sam unable to tear her gaze off a completely oblivious Wade. At the top of the third, the guy behind Sam tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”

She turned and looked at him. He was holding his iPhone open to a page from ESPN. It was a picture of her and Wade at the wedding. They were seated at a table, Wade sprawled out, his arm around the back of her chair, smiling into her face as his fingers played with her hair.

“Is this you?” the guy asked. “You Wade O’Riley’s new girl?”

Holly looked at the picture, then to Sam, biting her lip to keep her smile back.

“Yes,” Sam said on a barely there sigh. “That’s me.”

“Cool,” the guy said, and leaned back.

“The press you two have gotten is fairly incredible,” Holly whispered. “Nice to see it all positive for a change.”

Which was the only reason she was still in this. Well that, and because her body was addicted to Wade’s. She forced her mind off that problem and concentrated on the game. Wade was in his zone, running a good game. When a runner tried to steal third during a pitch, Wade made the catch, and without taking the time to wind up, shot the ball like a cannon at third to Mike, who made the pickoff. Mike pumped his fist and sent Wade a slow grin, which Wade returned.

And then he turned and looked right at her.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely clueless-and God, look at him. There was just something so innately sexy about him in his zone . . . .

“You’re staring,” Holly whispered.

“Am not.”

“And you just let out a dreamy sigh, an I-wish-he-were-my-real-boyfriend sigh.”

“For your information, I’m just noticing how the new hockey-style catcher’s helmets really allow for superior side vision.”

Holly laughed. “Look at you bullshit me.”

At the top of the fifth inning, the Heat was down three-four, and tension was thick as the Heat took their field positions. Wade had all his gear on. Little of his face visible, and yet she knew what his expression would be.

Fun.

Easy.

Relaxed.

Chill.

Because that was Wade. He was all of those things. God, she envied that.

Pace was still pitching, and he was in fine form today, but she still couldn’t take her eyes off Wade. A runner tried to steal as Pace let out an unusually slow pitch. Wade was standing up almost before the ball hit his mitt, tossing off his mask to throw the ball down the line to Mason, who caught it.

Runner out.

She let out a low, appreciative breath and sank back to her seat. The runner should have known better. Wade had the best record in the league of picking off runners stealing bases. No one got past him.

In the bottom of the next inning, Wade hit a line drive and she involuntarily leapt to her feet. “Go, go, go!”

Wade made it to second.

Sam woo-hooed and jumped up and down.

Holly was grinning.

“What? I like to cheer.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up.” Sam held her breath during the next pitch, when Wade stole third. Sam gripped Holly’s hand hard when Mike hit a pop fly and Wade headed home, sliding into the catcher a beat ahead of the ball.

The crowd went wild while Sam stared at the pile of entangled limbs over the home plate, “Get up,” she whispered. “Get up, get up—”

Wade pushed to his feet, then reached a hand down to help the Padres player, taking a moment to look him in the eye and say something. The other player nodded and Wade headed back to his dugout.

But not before taking a quick and direct glance right at Sam.

Her breath stuttered in her throat and she lifted her hand at him before she could stop herself.

His lips curved.

“Aw,” Holly said. “Look at you, all aquiver.”

Sam sighed and sank to her chair. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s sweet.”

Sam closed her eyes against the bright sun and shook her head. “It’s not sweet. Does he look sweet to you?”

“No, he looks big and sexy, and like a whole lot of fun.”

Sam sighed. Yeah. Yeah, he was big and sexy and a whole lot of fun.

And a whole lot of heartache waiting to happen.

They went into the ninth inning up by one. The Heat came out ready to hold the Padres to that score. Wade crouched behind the plate and gave a sign to Pace, who shook his head. Wade gave him something else, and this time Pace nodded. He threw, but the hitter got a piece of it and the fly ball went straight up into the air.

Wade rose to his feet and shoved off his mask, squinting up into the sun, relaxed as the ball flew . . . right into his mitt.

Out. Game won.

Wade straightened just as Pace slammed into him, picking him up in a bear hug to spin him around.

Wade grinned and hugged him back.

And Sam never took her eyes off him. Playing the game for real or for fun, even living his life, little got to him. Not the pressure of the game that was his livelihood, not the responsibilities that came with the level of fame and fortune he dealt with on a daily basis, and not her.

And wasn’t that just the crux.

Oh, he wanted her again. She knew it. It was there in the heat of his eyes as he once again turned and from twenty-five yards away met her gaze. A gaze which happened to melt her bones every time she found it leveled on her.

But it was lust. Nothing more. Because Wade didn’t do more.

And she didn’t do less.

After the game, the players signed autographs for an hour, during which time Sam stayed on scene as she always did, helping out with both crowd control and merchandise give-aways.

Wade was sitting at the table with the other players, signing autographs, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d just had security drag Tia—the woman who’d sent pictures of her and Wade to the press—off the premises and to the police station since she’d violated the restraining order.

It was Sam’s job to shield the players where she could, and she did a good job, but she’d had to remind herself this time that it wasn’t her job to want to punch a stalker for trying to get close to Wade.

It’d gotten personal, waaay too personal, but she had no idea what to do about it.

Wade had people in front of him but he was watching Sam with a little knowing look that heated her from the inside out. Could he read her inappropriate jealousy?

Halfway through the signing, three women tried to climb the table to get to him. With a sigh, she moved through the crowd and around the table, beating security there by two seconds, but not quite fast enough to stop one of the women from writing her phone number on Wade’s hand. Sam leaned over Wade and put her face between his and the women’s. “You ladies need to back up.”

“Aw, we just want to give him a kiss,” one of them said with a pout.

“No,” Sam said.

“Why not?”

“Sorry.” This from a grinning Wade. “She’s not much on sharing.” He turned his head, which was now only a few inches from Sam’s, and gave her a warm, just-for-her smile that for a moment cut off the oxygen to her brain.

The women obligingly backed off.

Mouth curved, eyes warm, Wade tugged on a strand of her hair. “Makes me hot seeing you get all possessive like that.”

Yeah, he read her. Like a well-thumbed book. She rolled her eyes and he caught her wrist, tugging her in so their mouths were close.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she whispered, half panicked and yet half hopeful at the same time.

“Only if you say please.”

She tugged free and moved back to her real duties, which absolutely did not include falling for his effortless charm.