have imagined he’d say, “I’m hitting rehab, Sam.”
“What?”
“Obviously my personal habits have gotten out of control, and are affecting the way I handle myself.”
She hated that her first response was suspicion, but she’d bet her last dollar that he was full of shit and only wanted her sympathy. Or something. “What are you addicted to?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” she asked warily. “Or a lie?”
He sighed. “I’m suffering from exhaustion, okay? I joined a ninety-day program here in South Carolina.”
“Exhaustion? Come on, Jeremy. That’s a total celebrity cop-out.”
“Okay, and maybe prescription pain meds from my knee surgery last year.”
She sighed. “You were a snake. Own up to it.”
“I was a snake and I’ll be back in ninety days. Minus the snake part, and better behaved, I promise.”
“Jeremy.” She rubbed her temples. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say that even though I know I have no right to ask you, you’ll take care of . . . something for me.”
Ah, there it was. “Something?”
“You’re the only one I can trust with this—” He broke off, and Sam heard someone telling him to hang up.
“Jeremy?” she said. “Who’s that?”
“Just say yes, Sam,” he said quickly now, low and urgent. “I’m going in and I’m not allowed any phone calls or any contact with the outside world for two weeks minimum. I need an answer. Please, Sam.”
Ah, hell. He sounded scared, and one thing Jeremy had never been was scared. “Fine. But so help me God, if it’s something illegal, I’ll—”
Click.
“Jeremy?”
Nothing. When her cell rang immediately, she snatched it open. “Jeremy? Stop being vague. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“Not Jeremy,” said a familiar low, husky voice. “It’s your boyfriend.”
She sighed and felt the beginning of a headache. “Wade.”
“Oh, good, you do remember me. Now if you could remember that you were supposed to be my date about fifteen minutes ago and get your pretty ass up to the restaurant, that’d be fantastic. I’m starving.”
Shaking her head, she put her brother and his troubles out of her mind, and headed out to meet her “boyfriend” for the rehearsal dinner.
The restaurant was on the rooftop, and as it was a glorious evening in perpetually sunny SoCal, the weather couldn’t be more accommodating. It was a fantastic seventy-two degrees, with the setting sun casting the sky into an orange and red and purple extravaganza over a group of people who genuinely seemed to care about each other. As Sam got off the elevator, her eyes went immediately to the man standing at the entrance, waiting.
Her date.
Tall, built, and amazing. He’d changed somewhere, into a dark charcoal suit with a French blue silk shirt, the combination pretty much taking her breath away. He’d even combed his unruly sun-kissed hair and shaved, and as he moved toward her in that easygoing, almost lazy stride that was in complete contrast with his intense eyes, she actually felt her knees wobble and her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth.
He was the most gorgeous man in the room and he was heading right for her. Resolutely, she locked her knees. Sure he looked good. Sure he kissed even better. But this was just a gig to keep him out of trouble.
Part of her job, nothing more. “Not your type,” she reminded herself. “Not even close.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and eyed her over their entwined fingers. “How am I not your type?”
“You’re nice on the eyes, but you’re a player.”
He pulled her in and put his mouth to her ear. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His lips had touched her earlobe as he spoke, and dammit, her eyes drifted shut. “You go out with one woman for a night or two, and granted, you make her feel like the only woman on earth, but then you’re on to the next flavor of the month. Nothing serious, nothing long-lasting.”
“Ah.”
“You’re funny,” she granted him. “But everything’s a joke, everything’s lightweight. Until it isn’t.”
He pulled back enough to look into her face, looking amused. “You’re trying to talk yourself out of me.”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah.”
“Is it working?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“Good.” He startled her by stroking a finger over her temple in the exact spot it ached. “Because you’re right about all of it. Especially the part about me not being a keeper. Now tell me what’s really wrong.”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Well, then, please God, let’s be fine inside. I need a steak.” He turned her from him and nudged her inside. “Or a plate of burgers. Hell, I don’t care what it is as long as it’s red meat and no longer mooing. I hate being hungry.” >
They sat down just in time to be served appetizers: cod-fish mousse with fried plantain chips. It was fantastic, but after a minute, Sam realized she was the only one of them eating. Wade was pushing his around with his fork, a deep frown on his face.
“Problem?” she asked.
“It’s fish.”
“Uh-huh.”
He wrinkled his nose.
She laughed. “You don’t like fish?”
“Does a fish say moo?”
“Don’t be a baby.”
“A baby?” He slid her a brooding look. “I’m wasting away here from starvation.”
The main course was a guava-glazed red snapper and Wade groaned. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Looks good.”
A scowl had creased his forehead. “Mark didn’t have a hand in this; he hates fish, too.” He looked around for the groom, spotting him sitting across the room with Meg in his lap, who was kissing his face all over. “Well, that explains it. He’s getting laid out of this deal, so he doesn’t care what he eats.”
“It’s really delicious.” She took another bite. “Maybe if you just try it.”
“It’s fish, Sam.” He pulled his napkin from his lap and stood. “I’ll be back.”
She watched his tall, rangy form make its way to the doors and vanish. When he didn’t immediately return, she figured he was checking out the vending machine in the hotel lobby in search of a candy bar.
Mark plopped down next to her. “Let me guess. Wade got his lucky ass out of this fancy joint and is out seeking real food.”
“I’m thinking yeah.”
He sighed wistfully. “That guy always did have the best survival instincts. I’d kill for a burger.”
“It’s your dinner,” she noted, amused. “Order one.”
“Clearly you’ve never been the groom-to-be. And you’ve certainly never had to stand up to a bride.” He looked over at Meg, sitting at a table surrounded by other women, positively glowing, and he smiled dopily. “God, she’s amazing.”
“Which is why you’re willing to eat food you don’t even like.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “I let her have her way, and she . . .” His grin widened. “Well, let’s just say it works to my favor.”
She laughed. “A marriage made in heaven. You’ll make a good family together.”
“Thank you.” He studied her a moment. “You know, I’ve never said this to one of Wade’s girlfriends before, but I’m going to say it now. I hope you stick.”
“Oh. Well—”
“If anyone could use more good family around, it’s Wade. I mean he has me, of course, but we don’t get to see each other much these days. There’s his dad, but he doesn’t really count. And he has his teammates, but a guy could use more, you know?”
Sam was stuck on the dad comment. She’d written the bio for every player on the team, Wade’s included, so she’d always figured she knew most everything there was to know about them. “His dad is alive?”
A funny looked crossed Mark’s face, and he set his
drink down. “Wow, Meg was right. I should have quit two drinks ago.” He paused. “Look, he’s a bit touchy about his past, which is silly given how much money he sends home, but still, he’d hate that I brought it up.” Mark caught Meg waving at him and stood up. “Gotta go pretend I love the seafood. Tell Wade he’s a lucky bastard.”
“Oh, I will.” As Mark walked away, Sam looked around for Wade. It’d been ten minutes since he’d vanished on her.
She waited five more, then left the table and made her way down to the lobby, thinking about Wade’s father. Wade had always been open about growing up poor as dirt, about the fact that it’d been just his father and him in a single-wide in the woods in some tiny town in Oregon, and that it was just Wade now.
But it wasn’t just Wade, not if his father was still alive. Was the man still in Oregon? Or here in California, maybe even in Santa Barbara somewhere? But if that was the case, why had she never heard about him? Or seen him at a game?
She checked the restaurant and bar, then stepped out of the resort’s front double doors, onto a huge grassy area, lined with wild flowers in every conceivable color. And there, sitting on the grass in that beautiful suit was her multimillion dollar MLB catcher, eating a Big Mac.
Chapter 6
Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too.
—Greg, age 8
Sitting on the perfectly manicured lawn, Wade slurped down his soda and tried not to think about the message he’d just retrieved from his voice mail. It’d been someone from the senior center reporting that if his father didn’t stop handing out contraband—alcohol and cigars—to the other residents, he’d be kicked out.
And then his father’s message, the softly slurred, “Yo, when are you going to get it? I don’t want to be here, I want to be with you.”
There’d been a long pause, and Wade had thought maybe his father had hung up.
He hadn’t.
Because there was more—his dad’s voice lowered, hoarse and thick, but even so, still filled with the despair that had coated most of Wade’s childhood: “Need you, Wade. Not your money. You.”
Uh-huh. He’d heard that before. Shrugging it off, Wade tilted the carton of fries up to his mouth, soaking up the last of the sun as it sank into the horizon. French fries and sunsets were God’s gift, he decided.
“I should have known.”
He looked up.
And up.
And up the best set of legs he’d ever had the pleasure of having wrapped around him. Which made him amend his thought. French fries were definitely God’s gift. But so were a woman’s legs.
And what those legs led to . . .
“You look like you just had really great sex,” Sam murmured, her eyes on his.
“You should know.”
She shook her head. “Why do you always circle back to that one bad decision? It was a long time ago, it meant nothing, and it’s never going to happen again.”
“Come down here and say that.”
She didn’t, reminding him that she possessed an unusually strong survivor’s instinct.
“How did you get to McDonald’s?” she asked.
“One of the guys lent me his car.” Leaning back, he dug into the bag for another carton of fries.
“How many of those have you had?”
“This is my second super-sized helping.”
“Maybe we should get your cholesterol checked.”
He laughed. “Are you worried about my weight?”
She slid her gaze down his body, and he could tell by the way she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and how her eyes dilated that she liked what she saw.
“You know damn well you don’t have a weight problem,” she finally said. “You don’t have an ounce of fat on you, you lucky bastard. Your body couldn’t get more perfect.”
It’s an illusion, he nearly said. Instead, he popped more fries in his mouth and moaned out loud. “Good Christ, these are amazing. Every single time.” He offered up the carton. “How do you suppose they do it?”
“It’s the salt.” She sighed and stared at the fries, clearly wrestling with herself. After a moment, she grabbed the carton and dug in, and then let out a hum of pleasure that rocked through him.
He grinned. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” She licked her fingers. “Almost as good as an orgasm.”
He stared at her mouth. “Baby, nothing’s as good as an orgasm.”
“French fries are,” she said firmly. “Well, mostly.” She sighed. “Honestly, it’s been so long I can’t remember. French fries might actually be better.”
“Aw, now you’re just daring me to remind you how good it was in that Atlanta elevator.”
She slid him an assessing gaze. “You’re fishing.”
He smiled. “Guilty.”
“Are you that insecure about your manhood?”
“Yeah. Reassure me.”
She just shook her head.
With a grin, he patted the grass next to him, wanting her to sit with him, to just relax. Be.
Make him laugh some more.
Her black suit was dressier than her earlier one, the skirt shorter, the heels higher and strappy and pretty much blowing his mind as she shook her head and gestured to her hem. “I can’t get down there without flashing everybody.”
Probably true. He eyed the few people wandering around, then got to his feet, took off his jacket, and held it around her.
She hesitated. “We should go back inside.”
“Is there still fish in there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then not yet. Come on, sit.”
“You have another phone number written on your hand.”
“The server at McDonald’s. You weren’t there to protect me.”
She rolled her eyes, then let him guide her down to the grass, cocking her head to look into his eyes. “Red meat agrees with you.”
“I know it. Other things agree with me. Want to guess what any of them are?”
“Ha,” she said. “And no. I don’t need to guess. I already know.”
“Well then?” he asked hopefully.
With a low laugh, she put her finger on a corner of his mouth.
The touch was like a bolt of lightning straight through his