He tossed his head back and laughed. “Maybe I’m g*y. You ever think of that?”

He was built and warm and funny, and looking at her as if he’d like to butter her up and nibble on her all night. He wasn’t g*y, but she played along. “Are you?”

He touched her jaw, gently stroking a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes going sleepy and sexy. “No. But I have a feeling if Pace walked into this bar right this minute, he’d want me to be. He’d probably make me a eunuch.”

“I make up my own mind about who I see.”

“And it’s not going to be me,” he said, good-naturedly resigned. “Or you’d have let me know by now.” He leaned back and settled in. “Okay, so what is it you need to know?”

“What makes you think I need to know something?”

“Well, to my eternal disappointment, you’re not here for my fine body.”

She laughed again. “Okay, so I wanted to talk about Jim and Slam.”

“We’ve done that.”

“Yes, but I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh.” He reached for his beer.

“From everything I’ve read and been told,” she said carefully, “Jim never admitted guilt and Slam claimed innocence, in spite of both of their toxicology reports coming back positive.”

“True. Jim has never talked about it, and Slam is still claiming he never knowingly took any steroids or enhancers.”

“So what does that mean, that someone fed them to him without his knowledge?”

Ty lifted his shoulder. “He’s not the first to claim such a thing.”

True enough, but the thought of a trainer or someone doing such a thing without a player’s permission was galling.

“Ask me what you really want to know, Holly.”

“Could it happen? Honestly?”

“Honestly? In a billion-dollar sport, where more than just bank accounts are on the line? When it’s also reputations and traditions and egos? Anything could happen.”

“I’ve read that something like one out of ten professional athletes use steroids or stimulants.”

“Right, but that’s all sports combined—wrestling, football, track and field . . . Look,” he said. “Athletes, both professional and amateur, have an incredible amount of pressure put on them to perform, and perform well. Add to that the fact that there’s a limited amount of time for them to do their best work and gain success before ego or injury sets in. So if there’s a shortcut to that success, someone’s always going to be willing to take it.”

“Even if it’s risking their career.”

“But,” he said, “you have to take into account that historically speaking, it’s only been recently that enhancers and the like have come into play as the bad guy.”

“So what are you saying? That it’s okay for the public and the industry to put this kind of pressure on the athletes, that it’s okay for the athletes to respond by using drugs to enhance their bodies and performances?”

“Actually,” he said calmly, “I’m just saying you can’t believe everything you read.”

“One out of ten . . .” she murmured, brain whirling. “That would mean that statistically speaking, at least two members of the Heat are using.”

At that, some of the affection and amusement went out of his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that, Holly.”

“No?”

He sighed, set down his beer, and stood up, pulling some cash from his wallet and dropping it on the bar.

“Well.” She sighed. “I’ve certainly got the knack of pissing people off tonight.”

“We’ve got an early flight, that’s all. Time to hit the sack.”

When he was gone, she stood up, too. And ran smack into Gage.

“Where are you off to?” he asked. As tall and built as his players, he could be charming as hell when he chose. Though he was smiling, this wasn’t one of those times. His eyes were troubled.

“As Ty just pointed out to me,” she said, “we have an early flight. I’m going to bed.”

“Alone?”

“Excuse me?”

He appeared to wrestle with himself, then grimaced and muttered, “What the hell,” before swiping a hand down his face and meeting her gaze once again. “Let me walk you to your room.”

“Are you coming onto me, Gage?”

“What?” He looked so horrified she almost felt sorry for him. “No!”

“Okay, that leaves babysitting. I don’t need babysitting.”

“Just tell me that you’re not going to Pace’s room.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” She tried a deep, calming breath, but it didn’t work. “You know what, Gage, I don’t even know where to start with you. But I’m thinking of wrapping my fingers around your neck and squeezing. Fair warning.”

“Warning taken.”

“And I’m not sleeping with your precious pitcher.”

“Okay. If you could keep it that way . . . ?”

“Oh my God.” She stared at him, slowly shaking her head. “You know what? All of you are—”

“Crazy. I know.” He gently took a hold of her arm when she turned away. “Listen, I’m sorry. But honestly, given the sparks coming off of you two, I’m afraid if you . . . investigate that, then—”