by Jill Shalvis
“Jim never admitted guilt and Slam claimed innocence, in spite of both of their toxicology reports coming back positive.”
“True. Jim has never talked about it, and Slam is still claiming he never knowingly took any steroids or enhancers.”
“So what does that mean, that someone fed them to him without his knowledge?”
Ty lifted his shoulder. “He’s not the first to claim such a thing.”
True enough, but the thought of a trainer or someone doing such a thing without a player’s permission was galling.
“Ask me what you really want to know, Holly.”
“Could it happen? Honestly?”
“Honestly? In a billion-dollar sport, where more than just bank accounts are on the line? When it’s also reputations and traditions and egos? Anything could happen.”
“I’ve read that something like one out of ten professional athletes use steroids or stimulants.”
“Right, but that’s all sports combined—wrestling, football, track and field . . . Look,” he said. “Athletes, both professional and amateur, have an incredible amount of pressure put on them to perform, and perform well. Add to that the fact that there’s a limited amount of time for them to do their best work and gain success before ego or injury sets in. So if there’s a shortcut to that success, someone’s always going to be willing to take it.”
“Even if it’s risking their career.”
“But,” he said, “you have to take into account that historically speaking, it’s only been recently that enhancers and the like have come into play as the bad guy.”
“So what are you saying? That it’s okay for the public and the industry to put this kind of pressure on the athletes, that it’s okay for the athletes to respond by using drugs to enhance their bodies and performances?”
“Actually,” he said calmly, “I’m just saying you can’t believe everything you read.”
“One out of ten . . .” she murmured, brain whirling. “That would mean that statistically speaking, at least two members of the Heat are using.”
At that, some of the affection and amusement went out of his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that, Holly.”
“No?”
He sighed, set down his beer, and stood up, pulling some cash from his wallet and dropping it on the bar.
“Well.” She sighed. “I’ve certainly got the knack of pissing people off tonight.”
“We’ve got an early flight, that’s all. Time to hit the sack.”
When he was gone, she stood up, too. And ran smack into Gage.
“Where are you off to?” he asked. As tall and built as his players, he could be charming as hell when he chose. Though he was smiling, this wasn’t one of those times. His eyes were troubled.
“As Ty just pointed out to me,” she said, “we have an early flight. I’m going to bed.”
“Alone?”
“Excuse me?”
He appeared to wrestle with himself, then grimaced and muttered, “What the hell,” before swiping a hand down his face and meeting her gaze once again. “Let me walk you to your room.”
“Are you coming onto me, Gage?”
“What?” He looked so horrified she almost felt sorry for him. “No!”
“Okay, that leaves babysitting. I don’t need babysitting.”
“Just tell me that you’re not going to Pace’s room.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” She tried a deep, calming breath, but it didn’t work. “You know what, Gage, I don’t even know where to start with you. But I’m thinking of wrapping my fingers around your neck and squeezing. Fair warning.”
“Warning taken.”
“And I’m not sleeping with your precious pitcher.”
“Okay. If you could keep it that way . . . ?”
“Oh my God.” She stared at him, slowly shaking her head. “You know what? All of you are—”
“Crazy. I know.” He gently took a hold of her arm when she turned away. “Listen, I’m sorry. But honestly, given the sparks coming off of you two, I’m afraid if you . . . investigate that, then—”
“What? You’ll lose? In case you haven’t noticed, that’s what you’ve been doing anyway.”
“It’s not for me. It’s everyone else. They’re unbelievably superstitious, and now we’re facing Pace’s injury and possible surgery—”
“Surgery?”
“—and all that bad press, it’s just blown out of proportion.”
“Surgery?” she repeated so that Gage finally shut up and just looked at her.
“He didn’t tell you. Fuck.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, listen, this is between you and him. Just . . . just don’t go try to talk to him tonight—”
“Oh, I’m going.” She pointed a finger at him. “But I can promise you this: there will be no sleeping involved.”
“Uh . . .” Gage was clearly trying to evaluate her intention. “If you could not kill him, that would be really great, too.”
“Now there’s a promise I can’t make.” She headed to the elevators and pounded the button for Pace’s floor. Possible surgery. Which meant he’d probably torn that rotator cuff. How ironic that the press had been claiming that very thing for weeks.
Of course he hadn’t mentioned how bad it was earlier, which left her to wonder if that was because he didn’t trust her not to put it out to the public, or because he didn’t want her sympathy.
Or maybe it was far simpler than that. Maybe he just didn’t care enough about her to bring it up.
No. No, she refused to believe that, and got onto the elevator. The man who’d kissed her tonight hadn’t been a man who didn’t care. Which left her to believe something else. He’d picked a fight so she’d go away and leave him to his own misery. Yeah. It was entirely likely that he’d do exactly that rather than talk to her about his fears and pain. “Damn idiot.”
The man with her in the elevator shot her a startled look.
“Not you,” she said quickly. “I—”
He hit the button for the next floor and got off as quickly as possible, without a backward look.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall. Yeah, she certainly had a way with men tonight.
When the elevator opened on Pace’s floor, she went straight to his room and knocked. But either she was wrong and he’d gone off for his own fun for the night, or she was right and he was ignoring her, because he didn’t answer.
And she slept alone, granting Gage his wish.
The Heat flew home, and Holly’s next article came out. This time she’d written about the pitfalls of the sport, the number one thing being injuries—the ugly side of an industry that required so much from a person’s body. She’d blamed the owners, trainers, and managers for pushing the players. She’d blamed the players for caving to the pressure and not knowing their own limits well enough to back off when necessary.
Up until now, the articles had been extremely popular with her readers and the industry. But today, the industry wasn’t sending the love; they were sending hate mail.
Tommy was in heaven, loving the increase of traffic to the site, negative or otherwise. “That’s what you’re there for, doll. To air the laundry and stir things up.”
And to raise his ad rates.
“But I still need a secret,” he reminded her. “The readers keep asking for the big one.”
“Maybe there isn’t one this time.”
“There’s always a secret. Now go find it.”
Sure. She’d just go find it.
The next day, she still hadn’t heard any news from Pace, or about Pace, and she wondered what the final outcome on his shoulder injury was. She wondered how he was.
If he was doing okay . . .
Going stir-crazy, she grabbed her camera and headed to the Heat’s facilities. She told herself that she needed some pictures of the team, but if she ran into Pace, so much the better. They had a few things to discuss.
Okay, maybe it was just her. She had a few thing
s to discuss.
And she wanted her underwear back.
His fancy car was in the lot. There were plenty of other cars, too, including a few police units, who were probably watching practice on their lunch break again. That was good; she and Pace wouldn’t be alone. If they weren’t, she had a fighting chance of not losing today’s underwear as well.
Not that having people around had stopped her before . . .
That she was even thinking that way had her rolling her eyes at herself. She was not letting him anywhere near her underwear! She’d just reached for the door of the facility when someone behind her yelled, “Hey!”
Turning, she came face to face with Tia, who wore Pace’s jersey again—or still—and a tight smile. “You,” Tia said stiffly.
“Hello.”
Tia didn’t crack a smile. “I told you he was mine.”
Oh boy. “Are you supposed to be here?”
Tia ignored that and gestured to Holly’s camera. “Pace doesn’t like pictures taken of him when he’s not aware of it. He’ll be upset, and he doesn’t need that right now.” She held out her hand. “You’ll have to give that to me.”
Holly slipped her Canon into her big bag. “I don’t think so.”
“If you don’t, I’ll be forced to confiscate it personally and turn both it and you over to the authorities.”
“Tia, I’m not giving you my camera.”
“Hey, I’m an official here, and—”
“You are not. You’re a stalker—”
“Okay, that’s it. I’ve asked politely. Now you’ll have to pay the consequences.” With that, Tia took a diving leap toward her.
Holly was so shocked, she hit the concrete before she knew what had happened, with Tia on top of her. “Are you crazy—” But she was stunned into disbelief when Tia took a swing at her.
“Hey!” Holly tried to roll away, but though Tia was bad with the aim, she could hold on like a monkey, and they both fell off the curb, knocking the air out of Holly.
Tia lifted her head, and hair wild, eyes wild, everything wild, she gritted her teeth. “I just broke a nail!”
Holly might have laughed, but she was on the ground in white jeans and a pale pink T-shirt she’d just gotten on sale, and that pissed her off. So did Tia grabbing her hair. In retaliation, Holly took a fistful of Tia’s hair and a big chunk came off in her hands.
“Oh no, you didn’t!” Tia shrieked and took her hands off Holly to hold her head. “My weave! My expensive weave!”
“That’s not a weave, it’s a damn wig.” Holly took a look at the thing in her hand. “And a cheap one.”
“You bitch!” She slapped Holly right across the face. “Now I’m going to kick your ass—”
Holly rolled Tia to her back and held her down, cheek and jaw stinging. “If there’s any ass kicking, it’ll be me, and—”
And nothing. Because suddenly she was hauled off Tia, her arms yanked behind her back. “Ma’am,” an unfamiliar male voice said in her ear. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Pace stood outside the police station, leaning back against his car, soaking up the sun, sipping a Dr Pepper he held in his left hand. Fuck quitting. His right hand was in his front pocket, the only position his arm felt comfortable.
When Holly emerged half an hour later, she winced at the bright sunlight and slipped on a pair of sunglasses from her purse.
He straightened from the car. “Hey.”
With a deep breath, she walked down the path, right by him.
“Holly.”
She kept walking.
With a grim smile, he caught up with her, touching her arm.
“You,” she said as if speaking to a piece of shit on her shoe.
“Me? What did I do?”
She sent him a glacial look. “You’re breathing, aren’t you?” She shoved him away, careful, he noted, not to touch his bad shoulder, and kept walking.
She didn’t live anywhere near here, and he knew damn well her car was still at the stadium, so he had no idea where she thought she was going. “Not even a thank-you?” he asked, easily keeping pace with her, his eyes narrowing in on the bruise forming on her cheekbone.
“You’re right,” she said with mock politeness. “Thank you for getting me arrested.”
“I meant for bailing you out.” He took her arm and pulled her resisting body around, lifting a hand to gently touch her face. “She got you good.”
She lifted a shoulder and relented slightly. “I got a few licks of my own in.”
“Atta girl.” He looked her over but saw no other injury. “You okay?”
“Yes. Thanks for posting bail.” She said this begrudg ingly, barely allowing him to redirect her toward his car.
“Tia’s still in lockup.” He figured that piece of news would cheer her up.
“I hope she rots in there. Can I drive?”
“She’s in a 5150 hold. And no, I’d have to be on a 5150 hold to let you drive this baby in your current mood.” He opened the passenger-side door for her.
“They’re going to let her go in three days?” she asked indignantly. “The woman is completely insane.”
“Yeah, well the police think the both of you are. I talked them out of holding you.” He went around to the back of his car, opened the trunk, and pulled out his first aid kit. He grabbed the portable ice pack, slapped it against his thigh a few times to activate it, and then got in the driver’s side, gently pressing it to her face. “Hold that.”
“I really want to be pissed off at you.”
“You’ll have to stand in line.” He pulled away from the curb, letting her be for a few minutes.
“Jail sucks,” she finally said. “So do you.”
“I vouched for your sanity, you know. And believe me, that took some doing. I should get some points for that.”
“It did not take some doing.”
“It did.” He shot her a glance, satisfied that she was holding the ice to her jaw. Her clothes were filthy, but her hair had been tamed. That was his careful Holly. “So what the hell happened anyway?”
“She was going to take my camera.”
“So you beat the shit out of her?”
“Is that what she said?” She sounded pleased as she leaned back, resting her head. “Good.” She was quiet for another few minutes. “I really wish I’d started a series about the beauty and serenity of some island in the South Pacific instead of doing it on baseball. I’d be on the beach right now, my toes in the water, sipping something cool and refreshing while being served by a cute—and silent—cabana boy.”
“It’s not too late.” He drove into the stadium and pulled up to her car.
“I want my panties back, Pace.” She didn’t get out. She didn’t move a muscle actually, except to slowly turn her head and give him a pissed-off look. “Don’t make me take your ass down like I did Tia’s. I could do it, too.”
Torn between laughter and the need to wrap his fingers around her pretty neck, he just looked at her. “Honest to God, I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Trust me, you’re not the first one to face that problem.” She got out of his car, shut the door, then gave him a long, indecipherable look. “But when you figure it out? Let me know.”