“Of Dooley’s?” Sam asked, his voice full of skepticism.
She put her hands on her hips. “What’s so strange about that? And didn’t you not one minute ago promise to listen and not jump to conclusions?”
He put his hands up. “You’re right. I’ll hear you out.”
“They left the Babe Ruth baseball!” she exclaimed, exasperated, then glanced around. No one appeared to be paying attention. Charlie sat a couple seats over with his pal Skip drinking drafts. At the table behind Sam, three guys from the nearby Campbell Soup factory had come in after the early shift and were filling up on long necks and pretzels.
She leaned closer. The scent of Sam’s soap with a hint of Bay Rum hit her nose. She lost her train of thought for a moment.
“Babe?” Sam asked, his voice low.
“Ruth,” she said. The baseball. Right. She took a deep breath. “It’s a fake,” she reminded him.
“And?”
“And they left it but took the others. Anyone who knows anything about baseball autographs knows that Mickey Mantle is the most forged signature, but Dooley had an authentic Mantle. Babe Ruth? It’s worth even more if real, but they left it.”
“Probably knew it was a fake,” Sam said.
She threw her hands up. “That’s what the stupid detective said! Do you guys all go to the same detective school?”
She stomped over to the Guinness tap, this time taking care in building her beer. Calm down. He’s only trying to help, she reminded herself. It wasn’t his fault she’d been half in love with him from the time she hit puberty. That she kissed him when he graduated from college, without even thinking he’d be freaked out about her being seventeen. And then she threw herself into his arms when she learned he was getting a divorce from that bitch Emma. Okay, okay, maybe Emma wasn’t really a bitch. Shauna didn’t know because she steered clear of her. But she’d married Sam. The witch.
And then she cheated on him.
Okay, she was a bitch. Shauna, who only went to church because her grandfather guilted her into it, was conservative enough to believe wedding vows meant something. Commitment. Loyalty. Love.
She’d been ready to marry Jason Butler because Sam was married, which meant he was completely off-limits, and she wasn’t going to pine away for the rest of her life over a man she could never have. When Sam arrested him for fraud, she’d been devastated—she hadn’t seen it. Jason was a nice guy, all the way around. She didn’t believe it … except he was convicted. Yet, she’d forgiven Sam, hadn’t she? She’d given him a second chance.
He rejected her. Again.
Ultimately, it was her belief in true love that stopped her from dating any guy she’d met more than three times. Austin Davis and a host of others. Not when she was in love—or lust—with another man. She’d always be thinking about Sam Garcia in the back of her mind, what he was doing, who he was with.
It was enough to drive her slowly insane.
She drank slowly, savoring the rich beer, reminding herself she was a grown woman, nearly twenty-eight. She could sit down and have a reasonable conversation with a man, no matter how sexy he was, no matter how desperately she wanted to kiss him, no matter how long she’d known and liked him. Not even liked. She didn’t like him. It was lust. And it wasn’t like she was an eighteen-year-old virgin anymore.
Which made it worse. Because now she knew what good sex was, and if she was in love with the guy, it would be so much better. She knew how Sam made her feel when they had nearly gone to bed two years ago. She’d never forget it. She wanted that feeling back.
Damn, he’d ruined her for all other men and he hadn’t even made love to her! That just wasn’t fair!
She turned and caught him staring at her, his blue eyes melting her resolve. The temperature behind the bar suddenly skyrocketed, and she took a couple steps to the right to stand directly under the circulating fan. A little better.
What was he thinking? Certainly not what she was thinking. Two years ago he’d made it perfectly clear he loved her as a friend. She was his best friend’s little sister. She was practically his sister. They’d grown up together. He didn’t think of her that way. He was getting divorced, moving to L.A., etc., etc.
Even though he’d kissed her back. Even though he’d touched her and she melted. He’d held her tight, pushing her body against his.
Until he’d dropped her, literally, and stared at her like he didn’t know her. Reminded her that her taste in men was flawed.
That hurt. The rejection and the accusation.
And now he was back.
From the day she turned thirteen, she had never thought of Sam Garcia as her brother. She certainly couldn’t start now.