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  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,