“You know,” she said, wrinkling her nose and waving her hand. “The
awkwardness of that whole evening. I was so sure it would be explosive, and
instead it was just weird.”
He recovered quickly. She’d known he would. “Right. It was …”
“Kind of like kissing your sister?” she supplied.
His eyes fell on her mouth for just a split second before looking away. “Sure.
Aren’t you glad now that I stopped it? Even under bad circumstances?”
“So glad. Which is why I hate to be in this awkward situation of asking for another
favor …”
She winced as though dreading the question she had to ask next.
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Another favor? I don’t have to get na**d for this
one, do I?”
“Not unless you want to.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“So every year, the company that owns Stiletto likes to make believe that it isn’t
located in the middle of the country’s urban center and hosts this nightmare
known as the annual softball tournament.”
He frowned. “Softball? In Manhattan?”
“Central Park. Anyway, this year, Stiletto is paired up against Oxford.”
“The guy magazine with all the stupid advice?”
“Right. So all the employees are strongly encouraged to bring a plus-one to
ensure enough players for each team.”
“Well, I guess it’s a damn good thing you’ve got an older brother who played
baseball in high school and college.”
“See, usually that is a good thing. Except when said brother is out of the country,
and the game is on Saturday.”
Sam swore softly. “Right. That damn Amsterdam thing.”
“Yup.”
“What about Patrick?”
“Yes, I’m sure my other big-shot brother would be more than happy to take a day
off from his super-important job to travel four hours from Boston for a softball
game.”
“Meg? Kate?”
She gave him a withering glare. “You know full well that Meg doesn’t do well in
group activities. She can’t even gracefully lose at charades at Christmas without
accusing her own children of cheating. And Kate …”
“Has probably never even seen a softball,” he finished for her.
“So you’ll do it?” she asked, giving him the platonic, don’t-mind-me smile she’d
been practicing in the mirror. “You can play softball, right?”
“Yes, McKenna, I think I can figure out how to manage a game of softball with a
bunch of women who write about shoes and orgasms.”
She clapped her hands. “So you’re in?”
He hesitated. “And this is strictly as friends, right?”
“Oh gosh, of course. I don’t think I can even picture us as anything else now.”
She gave a dramatic shudder.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he muttered into his drink.
She pressed her lips together to hide the smirk as she stood. “You’re the best.
Seriously.”
He gave her a half smile. “I’m trying to think about it as paying it forward. I’ll
remember your recent string of favors next time I need something from you. Say
… Yankees tickets?”
“I’ll keep my eye out.” She winked. “See ya around, Sammy.”
“You’re leaving?” He looked a little surprised at the rapid departure, and dare she
say … disappointed? Then again, that could have been her stupid, wistful heart
being a pain in the ass again.
“Got a date,” she said with quick glance at her watch. “One of Mitchell’s friends
from Wall Street.”
She watched his face carefully, but he revealed nothing. “So he’s going to be the
subject of your story? The anniversary issue that you have to make personal, or
whatever?”
“Well, that depends,” Riley replied casually, tossing back the rest of her drink.
“On?”
“How good he is in bed,” she said with a cheeky smile.
This time Sam’s poker face wasn’t nearly so impressive, and Riley had to turn on
her heel so he wouldn’t see her elation at the raw possessiveness that had
flashed across his face.
“See you on Saturday,” she called over her shoulder.
Sam didn’t respond, and Riley knew it was because he was brooding.
Once out of sight, she dug her phone out of her bag and sent a text message to
Emma.
Got him.
Chapter Twelve
“So how am I doing?” Riley asked, trotting back to the dugout and plucking
Grace’s water bottle out of her hand. It was icy cold. Of course. No lukewarm
water for Grace, even though she hadn’t had access to ice in hours. She was like