Playing the Player(63)

Slade’s hand looped easily through his wrist strap. He smiled down at me. “Why don’t you just hold onto me? You won’t have to reach as high.”

The shuttle lurched away from our stop, and I fell against Slade. He settled his free hand on my shoulder, anchoring me in place. I was pretty sure my skin was melting under his touch—possibly evaporating altogether.

I was grateful to hold my tote bag in both hands, since I didn’t know what else to do with them. I took a deep breath, which was a mistake because I inhaled Slade’s piney, sunshine smell.

“You okay?” His voice was soft and right next to my ear, since he’d leaned over, his face close to mine.

Unable to look at him, I just nodded and stared at my toes. The polish was already chipping again. WTH? Why did I even bother trying for cute toenails?

He straightened, but his arm stayed wrapped around me, his grip warm and firm on my shoulders.

What was going on? I squeezed my eyes shut and remembered what I’d told Desi about not turning into obsesso-girl, analyzing his every move. I was full of crap. I’d never been so obsessed in my life.

“We’ll get off at the end of the line, then walk to the stadium,” he said.

I nodded, focusing my attention on the passing view of shop fronts and meandering tourists. The shuttle stopped, and everyone rushed for the doors. Slade held Max’s hand and I held Gilly’s.

“I love baseball!” Gilly exclaimed, swinging my arm as we strolled behind the guys.

“Really?” I looked down at her red hair glowing in the sunlight. She reminded me of an escaped elf from the North Pole.

She nodded vigorously. “Know why? Cuz when my daddy watches baseball we have pizza. And he swears at the TV.” She shot me a mischievous glance, then yelled at the top of her lungs. “Blake Street Bombers my ass! Rockies suck!”

“Gilly!” I was torn between shock and hysterical laughter.

Slade jerked to a stop in front of us and turned, laughing so hard I hoped he didn’t choke. Max stared at Gilly, his lips twitching, finally breaking into a grin.

“Bomb my ass!” Max yelled.

People stared, and a few of them glared at Slade and me. Like we had any control over these two?

“It’s Bombers, not bomb,” Slade told Max, still laughing. “And you guys need to rein it in, or Trina and I are going to end up in nanny jail.”

That shut them up. Gilly turned a horrified face to Slade. “Jail? You can’t go to jail!” Max’s face started to crumple.

“Way to go, Edmunds,” I muttered, shooting him a pretend glare, but my mouth twitched with a smile. I knelt down and put my arms out for the kids, who rushed toward me for a hug. “Nobody’s going to jail. Not nanny jail, not even Molly Brown house jail. We’re going to have an epic afternoon.”

Gilly wiped a tear from her cheek. “Epic? What’s that?”

I tugged at her hair. “You’re about to find out.” I smiled up at Slade, who towered over us, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking every bit the sun god.





Chapter Thirty-Five


Slade


June 21, Friday

Epic. Completely, unbelievably epic. Once we ditched the museum and got to the baseball field, it felt like we wandered onto a movie set. Everything was perfect: the weather, our seats, the fans…everything. The kids had a great time and only spilled one soda. The Rockies even beat the Dodgers.

But the best part was Trina. I hadn’t been sure what to think when she’d clammed up on the mall shuttle. But once we got to Coors Field she acted like a kid in a candy shop, turning into the fun Trina who’d won the Putt-Putt contest. I bought her one of those stupid foam fingers, and she spent half the time waving it around or hitting me on the head—when she wasn’t heckling the Dodgers’ pitchers or dancing with Gilly to all the walk-up songs.

Halfway through the game, we switched seats so we were next to each other, with the kids next to me, instead of us flanking them. I’d been to lots of games, but I’d never been so distracted. Especially when she jumped up and shimmied to the music.

When the game went into extra innings, I texted the moms to tell them where we were and that we’d be home late. Trina leaned in close to me, her thigh connecting with mine. I shoved my phone in my pocket and took a deep breath.

“Making plans for tonight?” she teased, still leaning into me.

I had all sorts of plans that she didn’t know about. Yet.

“Nope. Just texting the moms to tell them we’ll be back late.”

She jerked away from me, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open. “Oh my God!” She glanced at her watch. She was the only person I knew who wore one. “I totally lost track of time.”

I put my hand on her knee. “Don’t sweat it. They said it’s fine.” I squeezed her knee. Why was I torturing myself like this?

She glanced at my hand, then back at my face. I couldn’t tell if she was blushing or sunburned. I released her knee, grabbing my soda from the cup holder attached to the seat. Not for the first time, I wondered how long it would be until I finally kissed her.

As I forced myself to focus on the game, I heard the “Oh Yeah” song from Ferris Bueller playing in my head.

Bow. Bow. Beauuuuutiful. Chicka chicka. Chicka chicka.