Slow Heat

Too late. He appeared to be enjoying his temper tantrum. “I don’t wanna sit in your office and do schoolwork. Why do I have to do everything with you? At home, I got to stay alone.” He paused, then almost as an afterthought, kicked the floor, then repeated his favorite mantra. “I want to go home.”

“Okay,” she said. “I know I started this, but—”

“I could go home if I really wanted to. I could call Uncle Brett. He’d come get me.” He pulled out his cell phone and thumbed through his contacts.

She was no longer sure if they were playing at this temper tantrum or if he was testing her, so she decided to wait him out a minute.

He went still. “Aren’t you going to stop me?”

“From calling a member of your family? Never.”

Tag stared at her, not old enough to hide his dismay. “But I was going to tell him to come get me. And you don’t want me to go. You like me.”

“Actually, you silly, cheese-loving, grumpy old man hiding out in the body of a ten year old, I love you, with all my heart.”

Tag blinked, and then in his ear Brett said, “Hello?”

Sam reached out and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “You realize you don’t have to talk me into letting you stay, right? That I truly want you to stay. If you want to.”

“I want to,” Tag whispered back, eyes bright. “I really want to stay with you.”

“Music to my ears.” She closed his phone on her brother, no qualms. Brett would forget they’d called within two minutes. “Now come here,” she said softly, slinging an arm around Tag’s narrow shoulders and pulling him in.

He was stiff, but didn’t shrug her off. “You’re not going to kiss me are you?”

She sighed and kept her lips to herself.

Shortly after, they cleaned up breakfast and Sam showered and dressed. She was going to be in professional capacity but a far more casual one than usual, so she went with a pantsuit today. And a Heat baseball cap with Wade’s number on it.

It was for appearances, she told herself as she drove her and Tag to the park.

“What are we doing here?” Tag asked.

“It’s a surprise..”

Both Pace’s and Wade’s cars were in the lot. The sight of Wade’s gave her stomach a little quiver. Other body parts quivered as well.

On the field, Pace and Wade were coaching two teams of ragtag kids against each other in a game of baseball. Wade stood behind the catcher, his sunglasses catching the sun. He wore battered Levi’s and a T-shirt that stretched across his biceps and chest and was loose over his washboard abs. He also wore a smile, the one that did things to her insides.

And her insides didn’t need things done to them; they were already fluttering.

From across the field, he met her gaze. She looked right back at him and more fluttering occurred.

“Jeez,” Tag said at her side. “Take a picture.”

She’d wondered when he was going to act like a ten-year-old. Seemed the real Tag was starting to show himself.

And so were her feelings for Wade.

Wade watched Sam and Tag arrive. That she’d showed up today for the game didn’t surprise him. She ran the 4 The Kids charity with the same easy efficiency she seemed to run her life, and though this wasn’t one of her events, it was Pace’s. Wade was only along because Pace had dragged him out of bed, saying he needed more help than just a check with this one. Sam was here because she’d insinuated herself into their program, for which they were both grateful.

What did surprise him was the ball cap on her head.

With his number on it.

It’d been only last night that he’d held her while she’d slept on the plane, and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her. There were no reporters here today, they didn’t have to be “on,” so probably some space was called for between them.

But he didn’t want space.

Sam was running back and forth between her car and the snack bar, setting it up when he cornered her in the lot. “Nice,” he said, flicking the cap up to see her eyes.

She lifted a shoulder, but couldn’t quite hold back her smile. “It’s a girlfriend thing.”

“I like it.”

“Sorry about drooling on you last night.”

“Yeah? You snored, too.”

When her horrified gaze flew to his, he laughed softly against her temple.

“I don’t snore,” she grumbled, smacking him lightly on the chest.

He pressed his face into her hair. “Only a little.”

With an eyeroll, she turned away and hoisted a box of candy bars out of her trunk.

“Candy,” he said. “The way to every little boy’s heart.”

“And the big boys?”

He took the box out of her hands and set it on the roof of her car. Then he backed her up against the door, slid a hand to the back of her neck and kissed her. She made a soft sound of acquiescence that sliced straight through him, and when her tongue tentatively touched his, he got hard so fast the blood drained from his brain, leaving him dizzy. “The big boys have a different way to their heart,” he said against her lips.

“I can feel that.”

“Smart-ass.” He stroked a finger from her temple to her jaw. “We should go out for dinner after the game.”

“For pretend?”

“For whatever comes to mind.”

Her eyes darkened.

“Tell me,” he demanded softly. “I want to know what you just thought about.”

“Naked. Naked is what comes to mind. And,” she said quickly as he skimmed a hand up her back, pressing her closer, “it’s a bad idea.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of her top to settle on bare skin. Bare, warm skin that he wanted to kiss, nibble, suck . . . “Because . . .?”

“Because in a few weeks we go back to whatever we were before.”

She had him there. Together they walked to the field where Tag was already with Pace and the others. Tag was by far the youngest boy out there, but no one had any problem including him. This would never have happened in an organized league, but these kids were different. At one time or another, they’d all been the misfit and because of it, they were far more accepting.

When the game started, Wade and Pace stood behind the plate coaching their respective teams, tossing out encouraging directions to the kids, most of whom couldn’t have caught a ball before this season to save their lives.

By the end of the fourth inning, the game was tied zip all. They agreed to one last inning, and Wade’s team was up at bat. Tag headed out of the dugout, slowing as he got to the plate. He’d struck out twice already and looked a little bit like he was heading to the guillotine. Wade had tried to help him with advice but Tag hadn’t wanted any, so Wade kept his mouth shut this time.

Tag let out a breath, bravely took his stance, and his helmet promptly slid over his eyes.

With a sigh, Wade pulled him back out of the batter’s box and tightened the helmet. He kept his voice low and soft. “Keep your eyes on the ball—”

“I know,” Tag said in a tone that sounded more like, Well, duh!

Wade lifted his hands and stepped back. His gaze went to Sam, standing in front of the snack bar watching like a nervous mother hen.

Tag’s teammates yelled out some encouragement, and Tag swung at two far outside left balls. Finally, he stepped out of the box, looked at Wade, and sighed.

The only request for help he was going to get. “You’re closing your eyes,” Wade told him. “It’s a family trait.” He slid a look to Sam, who smiled. She closed her eyes when she batted, too.

Tag nodded and kept his eyes wide open as he swung on the next one and connected. “Holy crap!” he yelled in ten-year-old glee, tossing his bat, running as the ball sailed up past the pitcher.

Pace was calling out directions to the shortstop, telling him to keep his eyes on the ball, to back up a few feet . . .

The shortstop missed the catch, but scooped it up fairly quickly and probably could have thrown the ball all the way to first, but Tag was grinning and running and tugging up his falling-down jeans as he hauled ass toward the base.

And then something happened that Wade didn’t expect. The shortstop held back, looking at the first baseman, who nodded. “Keep going,” the kid said to Tag. “Go to second.” Then the shortstop threw to second base and the second baseman missed.

Pace clapped his hands to his head in disbelief.

But Wade was grinning. Pace’s team was letting Tag take a homer. “Go, Tag, go!”

The kid rounded third and slid into home like a pro. He stood up triumphantly, filthy from head to toe.

Sam was jumping up and down for him. Tag bumped fists with all the members of his team, but Sam was having none of that. She ran around the fence and wrapped her arms around the kid, squeezing and kissing him until he squirmed free.

“Jeez!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” she said, and kissed him one more time.

Tag didn’t look like he minded all that much.

Wade knew just how the kid felt. In fact, he snagged Sam by the back of her shirt and pulled her to him for a kiss of his own. “Sorry,” he murmured, echoing her own words right back at her. “I couldn’t help myself.”

That afternoon Wade was working out in the Heat’s facility before a mandatory team meeting, pushing himself hard at the bench press in tune to Jane’s Addiction on his iPod when Pace sat on the bench next to him.

“Problem,” Pace said.

Wade pulled out one of his earphones. “Holly left you for a real man, and she’s waiting for me at my place?”

“Funny. No, tonight’s fund-raiser.”

Which was a full-out carnival to celebrate another year of the 4 The Kids charity. Professional athletes from a variety of sports were paying out the wazoo for the opportunity to run a booth and be seen doing something charitable, which was a win-win situation for the charity’s checkbook. Since Wade had put out a big chunk of money to help fund the carnival, he hadn’t committed to running a booth.

“We’re short a few athletes,” Pace said. “Sam’s working the phones right now, scrambling.”

“She’ll find someone.”

“It’s the dunking booth that’s causing the big problem. She wants a high-profile athlete, but no one wants to do it.”

Wade lifted a shoulder. “So get in the dunk booth, man.”

“I’m already signed up for something else. And I’m also the MC for the event.”

“You like to multitask. Just make sure you don’t get dunked with the microphone in your hand. Electrocution isn’t pretty.”

“Okay, wise guy,” Pace said. “Let me just spell it out for you. Sam and I just signed you up for the dunking booth.” His supposed best friend grinned and clasped him on the shoulder. “Going to be good times.”

Wade slid him a look. “If you dunk me, I’ll personally put you in the booth for your turn.”

Pace stood up and moved out of the reach of Wade’s arm. “You’d have to catch me first. And I’m faster than you are.”

“Why can’t you get Henry to do it? Or Mike?”

“She wants you.”

“Why?”

Pace shrugged. “Maybe you’re not paying enough attention to her. Maybe you’re being a bad boyfriend.”

“Hello, it’s pretend!”

Pace got on the treadmill and he began running steadily, swinging his arms naturally, his shoulder completely healed from the surgery he’d had months ago. “I see you’ve learned nothing.”

“I’ve learned plenty,” Wade told him. “I’ve learned she likes me best either far, far away, or with my tongue down her throat. We don’t do so well with anything in between.”

“You haven’t tried anything in between. You’ve let the chemical attraction take over. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“It’s not chemical.”

“You’re right,” Pace said, working the touchpad control of the treadmill. “It’s not chemical. Given how thrown you are about this whole thing, it’s probably love.”

Wade nearly swallowed his tongue. He came off the bench, and with a laugh, Pace held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Okay, whatever you say, Wade.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m pretty sure it means you’re an idiot. Look, you drove me crazy last year with all the ‘Live your life’ shit, and now look at you. You’re not doing a f**king thing with yours.”

“Not doing a f**king thing—” Wade choked and stared at Pace. “We just started a new season, you dumb ass. We’re building a charity that gives street kids a fighting chance.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a great ball player and a great guy, too. You’ll get no argument from me there,” Pace said quietly, the joking gone. “Without you, I wouldn’t be half the pitcher I am.” He pointed when Wade opened his mouth.

“Shut up. You give big bucks to the kids, more than any of the rest of us. You write checks for your father. You’d write a stranger a check. How many times do we have to talk about this, Wade? You can write all the checks you want, but—”

“Ah, Christ, the but. I hate the but.”

“—But when it comes to the actual doing, you’re still standing back. You’re still keeping yourself distanced.”