“That’s true enough.” His chuckle wasn’t as full as normal, but it warmed Alex all the same. If they both held onto their sense of humor, this date could still be fun.
Side by side but careful not to touch, they strolled past the yogurt shop and a nail salon before entering the restaurant.
“Have a seat anywhere. I’ll be right with you.” The voice called to them from the kitchen.
Alex slid into a booth near the window. Her skirt spilled over onto the table. When she shoved one side down, the other jumped up. She tried shoving both down at the same time and it puffed up in the middle, making her look like she was hiding a small child under the layers of silk and tulle.
Sam chuckled. “I don’t think beating it will help.”
“Probably not.” Alex sighed. Why had she let Caro talk her into this ridiculousness? Oh yeah—guilt. “I’ve always envied guys. All you do is put on a jacket and tie and you look polished. A woman has to put on all kinds of crazy clothes, plus makeup and—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Stop fishing for compliments, Alex. You’re beautiful in anything.” His lips quirked in a wicked grin that made her stomach flutter. “Or nothing.”
The memory of them, naked in the hotel room, sent heat spiking through her. She sipped the water a ponytailed teenager had slipped onto the table without interrupting their conversation. “Is it hot in here?”
Sam nodded. “Steaming.”
“Well, drink your water.” She nudged the untouched glass toward him. “I don’t intend to lose my job tonight.”
“Right.” Long, strong fingers wrapped around the glass and propelled it to his mouth. He gulped down half the glass before thumping it back onto the table.
“Better?”
“Not really.” He grimaced. “Only one thing is going to make this hard-on go away.”
“An ice-cold shower?” She dutifully shoved aside the picture of his big hands soaping her breasts, and the accompanying rush of desire.
“Not a shower.” His voice was tight. Under the table, his knee brushed her leg. “Being on public display for the next several hours might kill me.”
She leaned back against the booth and, for self-preservation, shifted away from his knee. “Me too. But we have no choice, so let’s talk about something—anything—else.”
Lids dropped over his piercing blue eyes. When he opened them again, they were no longer clouded with desire, rather filled with the drive to win that made him so good on the field. “We never finished talking about what you were like in high school.”
Panic rose in her throat. “Sure we did. I was the girl who mocked cheerleaders.” Hopefully her smile wasn’t as shaky as it felt. “We did not, however, get to touch on your high school exploits.”
Sam shifted on the wooden bench. “I take it back.”
“The question? Sorry. You can’t do that.”
He shook his head, and a lank of golden blonde hair flopped over his forehead. Alex wanted to reach across the table and brush it back into place, but she didn’t dare. She kept her hands clasped in her lap.
“Two things will kill my hard-on. You can guess the first. The second is talking about what I was like in high school.”
“A jock like you can’t have had a bad high school experience.”
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe I was mocked one too many times by the girl who thought she was too cool to be popular.”
“Doubtful.” She searched the depths of his eyes for a hint of the boy he’d been. “I know. The prom queen dumped you on prom night.”
“Hardly.” Sam hunched his shoulders.
Something in his closed-off posture triggered a warning, and Alex backed off. So Sam had secrets too. He was allowed. Lord knew she didn’t have a license to complain — not when she’d buried her past so deep he’d have to dig for years to find it.
The reappearance of their teenaged waitress was a welcome disruption. “Welcome to Casanova’s. What can I get you?”
The spaghetti and meatballs sounded awesome, but the way her luck had been going, she’d end up with sauce on her out-of-control skirt. She settled for a slice of pepperoni and a salad. Sam opted for the man-sized double slice and salad combo.
Not long after they received their plates, a flash went off at the window.
Sam’s fork hit the plate with a clink. “Don’t look now, but I think the press has arrived.”
Naturally, Alex’s gaze went right to the window. A pudgy guy with a camera had the lens trained on them. She swallowed. “I think they got me with a mouthful.”
“That’ll happen.” Sam grinned, his moment of awkwardness apparently forgotten. “Good thing you’re cute with your mouth full.”
Funny. She didn’t feel cute. She was as self-conscious now as she’d been in high school, when she worried that everyone was staring at her 24/7. She glanced down to make sure she hadn’t dropped any food on her dress. So far, so good.
By the time they finished their pizza, the crowd of reporters and photographers milling around on the sidewalk outside the restaurant had quadrupled in size. Their conversation buzzed outside the window.
Sam met her eyes. “Sorry about this…mess.”
“I knew what I was in for, going out with a famous athlete.”
“And you did it anyway? Brave woman.”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “I just know what I want.”
In an instant, tension sizzled between them again.
Me and my big mouth.
Alex scooted out of the booth, away from the temptation to touch him. “The sooner we get back in the limo, the sooner we can end this date from you-know-where.”
“Good point.” Sam shoved the last of his pizza in his mouth and jumped up to follow her toward the door.
But before they reached the threshold, his hand landed on her shoulder. She stopped and, through a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese, he muttered, “Let me handle the press.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Because that went so well last time.”
“Last time they caught me by surprise. Now I’m prepared.”
“If you insist.”
He slipped his arm around her waist. “Don’t say a word. All you have to do is pretend like you’re besotted.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting the truth: it wouldn’t be pretending.
****
Besotted? Who talks like that?
Sam clamped a hand over his inner critic’s mouth and put the jerk in a headlock. With doubt wrestled into submission, he shoved open the door and stepped into the melee.
“Hey, Sloane, isn’t this shopping complex a little tame for you?”
Someone else snickered. “Next stop, Sunnyvale High.”
Tension vibrated off Alex, who stood stiffly to his right, looking anything but besotted. The word probably left the same metallic taste in her mouth. He tugged her closer, so they stood hip to hip, and after a moment, she relaxed against him. Her lips curved into a somewhat pained smile.
Sam cleared his throat and raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “We’re all adults here, so let’s act like it.”
“Be easier to take you seriously if you weren’t dressed for prom.”
“You know what they say about dressing for success,” he shot back. Wisecracks were the best way to handle these clowns. If he never gave a straight answer, they’d have nothing to write about.
Won’t stop them from writing, though.
Again, Sam ignored the voice. His conscience didn’t know jack. “I’ll save you the trouble of tailing us. We’re headed to the Desert Botanical Gardens for a sunset walk.”
A whistle pierced the air. “Romantic.”
“Shouldn’t you have done the romantic-date thing before the wild-monkey-sex-in-the-hotel-room thing?”
Sam bit down on a sharp reply and started guiding Alex through the throng of reporters and photographers. They made it to the waiting limo and escaped inside. The driver closed the door and
jogged around the front of the car. Moments later, they were on their way.
Alex blew out a shaky breath. “That went well.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” he grumbled.
She laid her hand on his knee. “Maybe next time, you should let me do the talking.”
“You think you’d have handled things better?”
“I think I could hold my temper. I do have a degree in PR, with a minor in marketing, you know.”
He shook his head. He’d had no idea. To him, Alex was the too-tempting intern in the Condor suit. He’d given no thought to what she did in the front office.
“I see you underestimated me.” She squeezed his knee. “It’s okay. Most people do.”
He studied her bright eyes, freckled nose and pouty mouth. Yeah. Alex’s looks made it easy to dismiss her, like he’d assumed there couldn’t be a decent brain in that sexpot head.
“I won’t make that mistake again.”
****
Damn. A stroll under the stars shouldn’t make her heart race like this.
Of course, it wasn’t the exertion at all. It was Sam’s presence, so near yet untouchable, that had Alex’s heart beating triple time.
Mr. Schmidt’s instructions were clearer than a wine glass fresh out of the box. If the intrusive press caught them doing more than holding hands, both she and Sam would be out of jobs.
So no matter how much she wanted to pull him behind the nearest cactus and steal a kiss, she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to commit career suicide, even for the sexy Sam Sloane.
“What’s on your mind?” Sam’s breath brushed her ear. “You look so serious.”
Alex forced a smile. “Nothing worth repeating, believe me.”
“That’s too bad. You’re cute when you concentrate.”
She couldn’t help feeling slightly insulted. “Only then?”
“You know better than that.” He glanced down.
Hmm. The erection tenting Sam’s shorts was a damn good indicator he still shared her enthusiasm for bedroom gymnastics.
Good. If anything could kill his desire, it was this mess of a night. Overdressed in prom-like finery, tailed by nosy journalists, and unable to do more than hold hands.
Speaking of hands … Sam’s much larger one engulfed hers. His warm palm flattened against the back of her hand, and their fingers were entwined.
Funny how something so innocent made her tingle all over. With anyone else, she needed all the stimulation to feel less than dead inside. It had always been that way—until Sam.
With no desire to contemplate the meaning of that realization, she edged away. “Think we’ve fulfilled our obligation to Mr. Schmidt yet?”
He checked the time on his phone. “A thirty-minute stroll seems more than reasonable to me.”
“Good.”
After a moment of silence, Sam waggled his brows. “Race you back to the limo?”
A run would burn of some of the tension that shimmered between them. “Wish I were dressed for it.”
“The walkway’s paved. You can take off your shoes.”
“And give you an advantage?” Her competitive streak reared up. “Not a chance.”
“These aren’t exactly running shoes. But I’ll go barefoot too, just to make it fair.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “You’re such a good sport.”
“Not really. Just trying to manage my—er—”
“I know. Me, too.” God, she hated Mr. Schmidt and his ideas of propriety.
“Think we’re off display once we get back in the limo?”
“Tempting, but I think we’d better wait until tomorrow.”
“That long?”
Sam’s anguished whine would be funny if she didn’t feel the same way. But when it came to her career, it was always best to be overly cautious. “Yeah, that long.”
“Okay, but I’m not going to like it.”
“Me neither.”
He toed off one black wingtip and then the other. “Are we running or not?”
“Depends. Can I have a thirty-second head start?”
“I doubt you need one,” he grumbled under his breath. “But if you insist, I suppose—”
“I do. You’re used to running sprints. I’m more of a distance gal.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
The concession surprised her, but she pounced. “Okay.” After Alex unbuckled the gold sandals and held them by the ankle straps, she grinned at him. “Ready.”
“Go!”
She was halfway to the limo when Sam’s footsteps closed in on her. He passed her and raised his hand in a wave.
By the time she caught up to him, he lounged against the still-closed door, wearing his shoes and a supremely satisfied grin.
She jabbed a finger in his chest. “I knew you’d run circles around me.”
“I am a highly trained athlete.”
“And I’m not?” The corners of his mouth quirked the tiniest bit, hinting he was poking fun at himself. Still, she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to make a stand for mascot-kind. Mascots didn’t get nearly enough respect in the sporting world. “Because if you don’t think it takes athleticism to put on that condor suit and run around in the furnace-like heat—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh. I know being Connie is tough work. I doubt I could stand that outfit the length of a game.”
Vindicated, she stepped back. No sense getting too close when it was impossible for the evening to have a happy ending.
She forced a bright smile. “Ready to go?”
“If it means a quicker end to tonight’s torture, yes.”
Chapter Nine
Sam yanked open the door and waited for Alex to climb into the limo. Once her skirt took its place on the seat beside her, he joined her and rapped on the window separating them from the driver. “Take us home.”
“The lady first?”
“Of course.” He sank back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Finally, some privacy.”
Rustling fabric indicated Alex was on the move, so he cracked open one eye. Her legs were tucked underneath her, barely visible under all the ruffles. She too was leaning back, eyes closed.
Fine by him if she didn’t want to talk anymore. In thirty more minutes, she’d be home and he’d be alone. Better that than unemployed. Right?
Right.
When Carl stopped at Alex’s complex, she caught Sam’s eye and grinned. “I’d thank you for a lovely evening, but we both know we’ve had better.”
An image of Alex, naked and beckoning to him, made his mouth go dry. Finally, he managed to choke out a “Yeah.”
She waggled her fingers goodbye and scooted out of the limo, careful to avoid any contact. Good thing, too, because it’d be too easy for him to wrap his arms around her and entice her to stay.
The car continued to idle at the curb after Alex shut the door. She stood uncertainly on the sidewalk, the sandals she hadn’t bothered to put back on after their race dangling from her wrist. Good thing the cement cooled off after sundown. If her feet burned, her next stint in the Condor suit would be even more uncomfortable.
Carl watched him in the rear view mirror. “Bet you’d like to stay here with her.”
Would he? “Hell yes.”
“I’m not stopping you.” He jerked his head at Alex. “No one would know.”
Something about the driver’s expression—cocked eyebrow and slight smirk—put Sam’s senses on alert. If Carl’s suggestion was a test, he was smart enough to pass. “Thanks, but I have a hot date with my pillow and Jimmy Kimmel.”
Without further comment, the limo pulled smoothly away from the curb. In an hour, Sam was in bed, wearing holey gray sweats and nothing else, after taking his second ice-cold shower in six hours. On the TV screen, Jimmy was delivering his monologue. Sam nursed a bottle of Bud while he tried, rather unsuccessfully, to unwind.
The ring of his cellphone jerked him out of the kind of half-sleep, half-wakefulness that oft
en came from zoning out in front of the tube.
“Hello?”
“Sam, it’s Alex. I can’t sleep.”
Shit. He couldn’t very well admit he’d been drifting off now. “Me neither.”
With her on the other end of the call, it was no lie. He was considerably more alert than he had been listening to the TV host’s patter.
He took a deep breath and then exhaled, supplying his brain an extra jolt of oxygen. “Maybe I should have taken Carl up on his offer to drop me off at your place.”
“Was that why you didn’t leave right away?” She laughed. “Did Mr. Schmidt really think we’d be dumb enough to fall for that?”
“Guess so.”
“Good thing neither of us is stupid.”
“Yeah, good thing,” he echoed. “Now we’re both alone and horny.”
Alex’s husky giggle kick-started the blood in his veins, and he swallowed—hard. He chased it with a gulp of beer and wished he’d thought to bring two bottles to his nightstand. It’d be a long night. “Have something in mind that won’t get us both fired?”
“Why don’t you let me ask the questions, Sam?”
So that’s how she wanted to play? Seemed harmless enough. Grinning to himself, he flipped the phone on speaker mode and dropped it onto the empty pillow beside him. Now both hands were free. “Fire away.”
“What are you wearing?”
Something—anything—would be more exciting than the truth. But he felt compelled to be straight with Alex. “Raggedy sweatpants.”
“Charming.”
“Just keeping it real.”
Her giggle tickled his senses. “Why don’t you ask me what I’m wearing?”
“Because you told me to let you do the asking.”
“Oh. Right.” Pause. “Well, I’m wearing the black lace panties and matching bra that were under tonight’s dress. Can you picture it?”
Could he? “I’d rather be beside you, stripping you bare.”
“Ah-ah-ah. Not until you take off those ugly sweats.” Another giggle. “We have to look our best for the private after prom party.”
“No one told me there was an after prom.”
“Private after prom.”
“Why do we need privacy when we’re miles apart?”
Ogling the Outfielder (All's Fair in Love & Baseball Book 4) Page 6