Slow Heat
Page 20“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I do stuff all the time. I don’t keep myself distanced.”
Pace wiped his face with a towel, tossed it aside, and kept running. “Right. You go out plenty—or at least you used to before you got a pretend girlfriend. But that shit doesn’t count, that shit isn’t even real. Getting your hands dirty is real. Coaching the street kids you’re afraid to connect with because you’ll see yourself in them is real. Getting behind your dad, supporting him through rehab instead of waiting for him to fail again, that’s real. Being a real boyfriend to a woman you have feelings for, sticking around when it’s not all fun and games, that’s real.”
Wade stared at him, then sank back onto the bench.
Pace watched him warily as he ran on the treadmill. “You going to say anything? Try to hit me? Anything?”
“My legs feel funny. Rubbery.”
“Stop working out.”
“I think it’s what you said, not the weights.”
“Which part?” Pace asked. “The love part?”
“No.” Yes. Spots danced in Wade’s vision and he had to put his head between his knees.
“Love . . .” Pace said again, a smile in his voice. Asshole. The spots danced faster, and now his ears were clanging.
“If I could feel my legs, I’d pound you into next week.”
“Even if you could feel your legs, you still couldn’t catch me.”
Chapter 17
Don’t bunt. Aim out of the ballpark.
—David Ogilvy
Sam was late for the team meeting. She was never late. But Tag had asked for a specific cereal for breakfast, and it was so rare for him to care that she’d run out to the store to get it and then she’d forgotten the milk and had to go back out to get it, and then Tag had spilled it down the front of him, and . . .
And she could feel her blood pressure hitting the edge of the healthy range, heading directly into heart failure territory as she ran into the team room, tugging Tag along with her.
She was the last to arrive. She slowed her pace as they entered, wanting to appear cool, calm, and collected. It was her MO, her modus operandi, always.
Never let them see you sweat.
See, she’d learned something from her father after all.
“I’m tired,” Tag said.
“Shh.” She pointed to a chair away from the large group of men all now looking at her, a group of men that included an irritated Gage, the entire support team, and every single of one the Heat players along with the one she’d had erotic dreams about all damn night long. “I won’t be long,” she murmured to Tag, locking gazes with Wade. “Sit.”
“Not a dog,” Tag muttered, but he sat and pulled out the Game Boy she’d bought/bribed him with yesterday.
“You lose your watch?” Gage asked Sam.
She sighed as she took a seat. “No.” Most of the players nodded or smiled at her. Pace’s was just sympathetic enough that she shot a second involuntary look at Wade.
He wore workout sweats, and was slouched in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. A warm, intimate just-for-her smile crossed his face, completely disarming her.
“Sam, you want to open with a debriefing on tonight’s event?” Gage asked.
“Yes.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out . . . the box of Frosted Flakes she’d just purchased.
Sam slid her gaze to Tag, who bit his lip. “Um,” he said, hopping down off his chair and coming up to her. “Sorry, that’s mine.”
She was well aware of that. Not willing to get into it with him right now in front of the team, she silently handed him the box.
Tag took it and moved back to his chair.
There was about five beats of utter silence—well, as much silence as there could be with a ten-year-old rustling through a box of crunchy cereal—when Wade nodded toward it with his chin. “I’ll take some.”
Tag offered him the box. Wade patted the seat next to him, and Tag sat.
Gage gave a barely audible sigh. He didn’t like delays or deviations from his plans. And he sure as hell hated having his meetings interrupted.
Wade grinned at him and popped Frosted Flakes in his mouth with one hand, his other on Tag’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Sorry, Skip. Carry on.”
Gage gestured to Sam, who shot a quick glance at Tag, but the kid was actually sitting still now. Best to move quickly. She opened her file on the carnival. She told everyone their booths—ignoring the friendly jabbing at Wade when she listed the dunk booth—and laid out what she needed everyone to do. Halfway through her spiel, she watched Tag wriggle out of his chair and pull out a stack of baseball cards. Wade’s and Tag’s heads were bent together, smiling, murmuring in conspiracy. And in that moment, she finally realized who it was that Tag always reminded her of.
Wade.
That evening as the sun gave one last hurrah over the Santa Ynez peaks, glimmering brightly on the Pacific Ocean, Wade and Pace walked through the park-turned-carnival. The other athletes were there, too, each getting ready to work a booth on the grassy field.
The festive strings of lights twinkled in the growing dusk, bright and inviting. The Ferris wheel slowly turned in the salty air, music booming as the place became a hustle of activity.
At the front gates, a crowd lined up, anxious for the grand opening, only twenty minutes away now. Wade, wearing board shorts and a T-shirt in anticipation of the dunking booth, eyed the Ferris wheel with nostalgia. “That’s where I’d have picked to work. Easy, fun, and it doesn’t require getting wet.”
Pace just grinned, and Wade narrowed his eyes at him. “Which booth did you say you were running?”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re an asshole. You got the Ferris wheel?”
“Yep.”
Wade shook his head. “You suck.”
“Yes, I do. I suck up to our fearless publicist. A method you ought to try once in a while instead of this weird backing off thing you’ve got going. Since when do you back off on anything?”
Since he’d realized he was in over his head.
“If you wanted, you could be enjoying the last half of your fake relationship while you still have the excuse, and see where it takes you.”
“Look,” Wade said. “I know you think I’m not trying, but—”
“But you’re not.”
“Just because it came easy for you with Holly—”
Pace laughed good and hard over that. “Are you on crack? You were there. You saw how it was. We nearly killed each other. And the whole time you were in my ear, telling me to make it work, to give it a shot. Now I’m trying to tell you the same thing, only you’re not listening.”
When Wade thought about giving a real relationship with Sam a shot, he had two reactions. A surge of adrenaline comparable only to being in the lead in the bottom of the ninth in the playoffs.
And a gut-tightening fear.
He understood the adrenaline part, because when he and Sam were together, the sparks flew hard and fast. He’d been with more than his fair share of women, and he recognized that being with Sam was different.
What he didn’t understand was the fear. It made no sense to him. He’d been through harrowing experiences, he’d known real fear. Sam shouldn’t represent anything close to that, and yet every night when he got in his car to drive to her place, something stopped him.
Pace was still looking up at the Ferris wheel. “I used to ride one just like this at the county fair every summer. You?”
“Yeah.” Wade looked at the growing crowd, waiting to get in. “You just know there’s a whole bunch of teenage boys out there hoping to cop a feel on this thing tonight.”
Pace laughed. “I caught my first feel on one just like it.”
“When, last year?”
Pace gave him a good-natured shove. “I was fifteen and stupid. I had twenty bucks in my wallet from my father, and Stacy Adams holding my hand.” He smiled. “God, she was sweet.”
The memory was clearly a warm, happy one. Wade had no such happy memories. At fifteen, he’d been working at McDonald’s after school for his runaway fund, and eating free fries after his shifts for his dinner.
It had been a bleak time. He’d not been warm or happy. And rarely safe. Just thinking about it now had him glancing over at the hot dog station. He could go for one or two.
Or five.
These days he had as much money as he could ever want, but back then, having a twenty in his pocket to spend however he’d wanted would have been an unimaginable freedom. It would have boggled his mind to be able to stand in line like he was here tonight and buy himself whatever he wanted, much less know that he could do it all over again the following night if he so chose.
Holly was working at the park’s entrance, consulting a clipboard. She wore jeans and one of Pace’s Heat sweat-shirts, hair up, huge diamond glittering on her finger. Wade nodded in her direction. “Looks like you could probably get lucky again tonight if you wanted.”
“Counting on it.” Pace grinned, then headed toward her. When Holly saw him coming, she set aside her clipboard and walked right into his arms.
Pace pulled her up against him so that her feet were dangling, and her soft laugh echoed across the slightly damp ocean air.
Watching them, something deep within Wade tightened. All his life he’d had one goal—freedom. Freedom from poverty. Freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Freedom to be who he was. Freedom to work hard and play even harder.
He’d gotten that for himself. Maybe at a price.
Okay, definitely at a price.
Because he was alone. And yet, he’d always wanted that, too. Wanted to be responsible only for himself, never anyone else. He’d held himself back. He’d done so with careful purpose, not ever wanting to be responsible for hurting anyone.
And yet . . . and yet, looking at Pace hold Holly in his arms, that look of bliss on his face, made Wade wonder at exactly what he was missing. Shaking his head at himself, he headed to the dunking booth. The tank was huge, and filled with what he suspected was freezing water.
“Maybe no one will dunk you.”
He turned to face . . . “Tag.”
Tag was staring at the dunking booth. “Can you swim?”
“Worried about me?” He grinned and ruffled the kid’s hair. “I can swim just fine, but maybe you want to take my spot in there?”
Tag shook his head. “I just ate three hot dogs. You’re not supposed to eat and swim.”
“Maybe I should go eat then.”
Tag studied the dunking booth seriously. “You could tell Aunt Sam your stomach hurts. She’d get you a 7Up and excuse you.”
“That’s a good one, but I promised I’d do it, and I couldn’t back out on her.”
“Yeah.” Tag nodded. “She doesn’t like when people back out on their word.” That said, Tag glanced over his shoulder a little nervously and a lot guiltily.
“Nothing.”
Nothing his ass. “Where is she?”
“She’s . . . really busy.”
Wade had no doubt that was the truth. She was running this whole show. But if he knew Sam, and he was pretty sure he knew her better than just about anyone else, he’d eat his shorts if she didn’t have everything perfectly in control. “There’s no way she’s letting you run wild out here.”
“I’m not wild.”
“You know what I mean. She wouldn’t leave you alone. You’re her top priority.”
“No.”
Wade turned to face him fully, hands on hips. “Okay, spill it.”
“We were at the front gate, in the ticket booth. There’s some problem with the food stuff and she told me to wait, that she’d be right back. Three minutes tops, she said.”
“And?”
“And she didn’t come back.”
“Tell me you didn’t just walk off.”
“I was hungry.”
Christ. She’d be frantic by now. Wade pulled out his cell phone. She answered on the third ring with a sharp, curt “I can’t talk right now—”
“I have something of yours,” he said, eyeing Tag. “About five feet tall with a bit of an attitude—”
“Where are you?” she asked on a rushed breath.
“Dunking booth. I—”
She’d disconnected. Wade looked at Tag. “She’s coming.” He pulled out his wallet and handed the kid a twenty. “For the next time you’re hungry. But you have to ask her before you take off. Always.”
Tag pocketed the money. “She sound mad?” he asked in a wary voice.
Before Wade could answer, a figure came running like a bat out of hell directly for them. “Tag,” Sam called out, breathless, a look on her face that pretty much squeezed the hell out of Wade’s heart.
Her hair was loose and flying around her shoulders as she gulped for more air. He’d seen her in business attire and in heart-stopping cocktail dresses for certain events. He’d seen her na**d.
He rarely got to see her casual as she was now, in jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt. He liked the look, a lot. But what stopped his heart were her eyes. She was scared and panicked, and Wade grabbed the back of Tag’s shirt just as the kid’s automatic flight response kicked in. “Time to face the music, kid.”
Chapter 18
The scoreboard is an ass.
—Neville Cardus