Slow Heat

by Jill Shalvis

  turned down Joe’s and Mike’s offer to go out and shake it off, which was code for trolling the bars. Instead, he went up to his hotel room and called Sam. “Hey.”

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “Maybe you should come cheer me up.”

  “You think wild monkey sex can cheer you up from a loss like that?”

  “Who said anything about wild monkey sex? I was thinking of playing cards or something.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

  “But hey, if you want wild monkey sex, I suppose I could oblige you.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re such a giver, Wade.”

  “That I am.”

  “I have to get Tag fed and in bed. Then his tutor is going to stay with him. I have a quick meeting with Gage and a local reporter in the bar.”

  “I’ll meet you down there.”

  He showered and changed and hit the bar. Some of the guys were still there. He pulled up a chair to where Kyle, Henry, and Mason were sharing a pitcher and a few laughs.

  Mason nodded at a group of women walking into the place, working their way closer. “Think they’re Marlin fans and just feel sorry for us?”

  “I wouldn’t mind that,” Kyle said, smiling at one of the women, a pretty blonde. “Sometimes pity’s hot.”

  “When?” Henry asked. “When is pity ever hot?”

  “When it looks like that,” Mason said, winking at the blonde, who winked back.

  Sam walked into the bar with Gage and they ended up on the other side of the room at a table with some suits, one of which was her father.

  Wade watched as Mr. McNead barely greeted Sam or Gage. They’d lost today and the man hated to lose. In fact, steam was practically coming out of his head, and after a few minutes, the suits left and Sam’s father proceeded to chew off Gage’s ear for a good five minutes. Gage, never one to back down, coolly said his piece in return. Then McNead started in on Sam.

  Meanwhile the women at the bar had made their way to the table with Wade and the others, and the introductions were made. There were four players and six women, two of whom sat one on either side of Wade. They were pretty and smiley and touchy-feeling, a situation that only a few months ago might have made his night.

  Instead, he couldn’t take his eyes off Sam. He was hoping she was going to work her way over here and kick some ass. He loved it when she did that, when she claimed him as hers.

  After a few more minutes, Gage got up, squeezed Sam’s shoulder in silent commiseration, and left. Sam and her father continued what looked to be a heated conversation, and though Wade couldn’t hear their words, he could sense the anger vibrating off her.

  Wade pushed away his drink. His own father was doing God knew what back in Santa Barbara. He’d stayed to attend his AA meetings, saying he wasn’t ready to travel and face all the hotel bars.

  “He’s not usually so deaf,” Mason said to the woman on Wade’s left, nudging Wade with his foot as he answered a question that had been clearly meant for Wade. “He loves dancing.”

  “Then let’s go,” one of the pretty blondes said, and everyone rose but Wade.

  “I’m sorry, but you should go on without me.”

  Kyle reached down and laid a palm on his forehead. “You sick?”

  “Management’s waiting to talk to me,” he said, standing.

  “Are you in trouble for today?” the blonde asked, eyes wide. “For losing?” She pressed herself close and kissed his jaw. “Dancing will make you feel better.”

  “Sorry,” he said, gently disentangling himself. “I’m . . . taken.”

  She sighed. “Still?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be with the others if you change your mind,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He headed across the bar, toward the woman he was “taken” by, for the next few days anyway, and suddenly wished he’d argued for two months instead of one. Hell, maybe he should look up Tia and get her to stalk him some more, and get himself “taken” by Sam for the rest of the season . . . .

  Sam was sitting with her father when Wade came to their table. Her father was still brooding over Sam’s decision to open her own PR firm, but she’d already been approached by several potential clients, and nothing was going to change her mind now. She knew she’d been good enough at her job that he would still want her to handle the Heat’s publicity, and she looked forward to doing so as an independent contractor, not a Heat employee. They’d just finished discussing it when Wade had been kissed by the woman.

  Her father had looked amused.

  Sam didn’t feel amused, so she doubted she looked it. For how aggressive Wade could be on the diamond field, when it came to women, he tended to be laid-back and easygoing, letting them come to him.

  And come to him they did; big, little, curvy, skinny, they came in all shapes and sizes and ages, most falling all over themselves for a piece of him.

  He’d been good at doling out pieces. He’d had girlfriends, casual relationships that he’d played at. But Sam had never, not once, seen him hand over the whole of his heart and soul.

  And in spite of the fact that he clearly felt something for her, maybe something more than the usual, in the end, she knew she’d be no exception. Not a pleasant realization, especially since she could honestly say she’d most definitely given him a piece of her heart and soul.

  Which hadn’t been in her plan.

  “Is the month up already?” her father asked Wade.

  “No,” he said, looking at Sam.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, and saw his surprise.

  “Tomorrow?” Wade frowned. “I thought we had a few more days.”

  “Time flies.” Her father gestured to a chair for Wade. “Wanted to thank you, O’Riley. I appreciate you handling the month with as much grace as you did, pretending to have a relationship with Samantha here. I know it wasn’t what you wanted, and it probably wasn’t easy.” He smiled at Sam. “She’s good, but never easy.”

  Sam stood up and grabbed her purse. Wade stood as well, and set a hand at the small of her back in silent but clear support. “Ready?” he asked her.

  Beyond ready. “Yes.”

  Wade nodded, then looked at her father. “You don’t have to thank me. Sam did all the work, and that she did so was because of me in the first place.”

  “Any problems that she couldn’t fix?”

  Sam opened her mouth in protest but Wade shook his head. “She pulled the job off like no one else could have.”

  Satisfied, her father nodded, and Sam somehow managed to hold her tongue. She held it as they walked through the lobby, but it was difficult. She could fight her own battles, dammit, and more than that, she hadn’t liked the feeling that all she and Wade had accomplished was hiding behind the pretendclause.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Wade murmured as they waited for an elevator. “But he’s really a very scary man. How’d you turn out so normal?”

  She had to force herself not to hug him on the spot. “You think I’m normal?”

  He smiled, and slid the hand he’d never taken off of her up her back in a soothing gesture, as if he knew just how on the edge she was. “Relatively speaking. You okay, Princess? You’re practically vibrating.”

  She sighed. “I’ve just had a really bad hour. You just had a bad game. And tonight is our last night of being boyfriend and girlfriend—” She broke off, unhappy that had slipped out. It felt needy, and she hated needy. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some . . . I don’t know. Alcohol. Cookies. Sensitivity. Something.”

  “Our last night,” he repeated softly.

  Her breath caught. “Yeah.”

  The elevator opened and he nudged her in ahead of him. As the doors closed, he backed her up against the wall and pressed into her, looking into her eyes for a long enough beat that her heart skipped. “One thing,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “You’re beaut
iful.” And then he kissed her, long and deep. When he slid a hard thigh between hers and moved against her, she completely lost herself and didn’t come up for air until the doors dinged and slid open.

  He pulled back, ran his thumb over her lower lip, his eyes all hot and sleepy and sexy as hell. “I have something I want to show you in my room,” he said.

  “I bet.”

  He grinned, and looking like sin on a stick, took her hand. And instead of putting voice to her insecurities, or wishing for things that weren’t meant to be, she called and checked on Tag, then went with Wade to his room and let him show her whatever he wanted.

  Twice.

  And then once more in the shower for good measure.

  The next day, the Heat arrived back in Santa Barbara. Wade entered his house for the first time in a week to a crowd of old men sitting on his couch in various stages of paunchy, wrinkled baldness, all wearing their pants up to their armpits, swirling their dentures in their mouths, passing his Xbox around. “What the hell?”

  The room erupted into cheers and requests for autographs, except no one could seem to get up; they were all fighting their walkers and canes.

  John came close as Wade watched in disbelief. “Found myself a geriatric AA group.”

  “Of course you did,” Wade said. “They’re playing video games.”

  “Yeah, but they’re not drinking.”

  “Aren’t they a little old for you?” Wade slid his father a glance, then took a double take at the very loud, red Hawaiian shirt, plastered with green parrots, which almost but not quite distracted him from the edgy expression on his father’s face. He was still missing his booze like he’d miss a limb. “Dad. You realize it’s hard to take you seriously with that shirt, right?”

  John looked down at himself. “I like this.”

  Wade shook his head. “Are you scamming them?”

  “We really have to work on your impression of me.”

  Wade sighed. “You’re scamming them.”

  “Hey, they just wanted to see where the great catcher Wade O’Riley lived.”

  “So you what, charged entrance fees?”

  John smiled. “I thought I’d earn my keep.”

  “Jesus.” Wade walked to the wall where the TV was mounted and hit the power button. The TV went black, and a bunch of groans rose in the air. Wade pulled out his wallet, and the room fell silent. “I’m paying you back whatever you paid to get in here, and then I’m sorry, but you have to go.”

  It took him an hour to clear the place out, and when they were all gone, John shook his head. “You’re a party pooper.”

  Wade let out a rough laugh. “Yeah, well, congratulations. You’ve managed to do what the Heat management hasn’t, you’ve turned me into a burnout before age thirty-five.”

  John grinned. “See, admit it, I’m good for you. So . . . how did the series go?” He followed Wade into the kitchen. “Where were you again?”

  “Forget it.” Wade opened the refrigerator, and stared in shock. He’d been cleaned out.

  “Ah, come on,” his dad said behind him. “I’ve been lonely. Talk to me.”

  Wade rounded on him, unable to hold his silence. “Do you know how many words you spoke to me when I was a kid?”

  John’s eyes flickered. “Uh, not many, I imagine.”

  “Less than you’ve spoken to me since you’ve gotten here. So you’ll have to excuse me, but I’m about at my limit.” With that, he took himself off to his room.

  His bedroom was large, done up in low, muted, warm earth tones. Dark wood dresser and armoire, huge king-sized bed. Minimal furniture, thousand-count chocolate brown sheets, and thick bedding. He didn’t have a TV in here; he’d never needed one in his bedroom before because when he was around, which wasn’t much, he watched in the living room, usually with the guys.

  But now he was stuck in here with his father holding the rest of his house hostage, and he had nothing but a big bed to look at.

  And no woman in it.

  A knock came on the door. “I’m hungry.”

  Wade sighed. “So call for food.”

  “No credit card.”

  “My wallet’s on the counter.”

  There was blessed silence for two minutes.

  Then John was back on the other side of the door. “Chinese?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I thought your wallet would be filled with condoms.”

  Wade didn’t bother to answer.

  “In fact, I sort of pictured your house filled with women. I thought I’d have to fight them off with a stick. Don’t you ever have this place filled with women?”

  “Almost never.”

  “Really?” John sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t have the life you seem to think I do, Dad.”

  “Well, damn.” John was silent for another beat. “Pizza?”

  “No.”

  “What, have you gone all metrosexual on me? Watching your diet?”

  Wade flopped to his bed spread eagle and stared at the ceiling. He was a free man again. There were a ton of places he could go tonight and none he wanted to go to.

  Except maybe one.

  “You getting fat in the middle?” John asked through the door. “A double chin? Is that it?”

  Wade closed his eyes. “A meat lover’s special,” he said. “Extra large.”

  After two days off, the Heat flew to New York for a three-day series. Sam brought Tag, the both of them hoping he’d get to see his uncles, but they didn’t come. Jeremy still hadn’t called Tag, who was doing shockingly well in spite of the odds.

  Sam was not.

  She’d been swamped with work and hadn’t had a moment to breathe much less miss Wade.

  Or so she told herself.

  But she had no idea where they stood. And she hated not knowing.

  In the guest clubhouse before the game, she kept herself busy with reporters, with Tag, with . . . “John?” She looked at Wade’s father in surprise as he grabbed a bottle of water.

  “Hey, darlin’.”

  “You came to a game,” she said, happy to see him, hoping it meant good things for his and Wade’s relationship.

  “Well, Wade’s gone all the time.” He ruffled Tag’s hair fondly. “Coming along is the only way I can irritate him.”

  “Have you tried not irritating him?” Sam asked dryly.

  John smiled. “I’m working my way up to that.”

  In the stands, it was Ladies Day, so the place filled up. Tag inhaled his typical mountain of food, and Sam and Holly assisted.

  “So,” Holly said. “Your month is up.”

  Sam sipped her soda as if they were discussing the weather. But discussing the weather had never given her a stomachache before. “Yep.”

  “That’s it then?”