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Not that she was thinking about doing that with Alex Winters. No sirree. No matter how nice his wrists were.
Damn.
She shoved the bin closed and wandered back to the table, straightening chairs as an excuse to avoid looking at Alex.
How many beers had she had, exactly? Only two. Not enough to justify that kind of thought. Unless drinking beer tonight had somehow reactivated last night’s tequila. Which wasn’t scientifically possible. Was it?
Double damn. She’d always been a sucker for good arms. That’s what happened when you grew up surrounded by ballplayers. You got spoiled by all the fine bodies on display.
“Shelly is sweet. And Hana seems like she might not punch me just yet.”
She looked up. He was leaning against the counter, those very nice arms crossed loosely at his chest. “Give her time,” Maggie said. “She has a temper.” She moved the last of the chairs into place. Damn again. She needed another distraction.
“So I hear. Still, I’m not likely to make a pass at her husband, so hopefully I’m safe.”
“As long as you don’t trade him,” Maggie said.
“I wasn’t planning to. We’re lucky to have him. He could probably double his salary at another team.”
“He loves the Saints.” Maggie shrugged. “I told you, baseball isn’t all about the money.” At least for some people.
“So you did. Which brings me back to our agreement. Tonight was a start and tomorrow we’re having a team meeting. I was planning on spending some time with all of the players in small groups but now I think we need to start off with a bang.”
“A bang?”
“Get them all together. A party. They’ve had Christmas and New Year’s with their families; do you think they’ll be in a party mood?”
She considered it. “Well, a lot of them must have cut their breaks short to come back for the press conference today. That can’t have won you many brownie points. So a big lavish party might unruffle some feathers. At least with the WAGs.”
“WAGs?” Alex asked.
“Wives and girlfriends,” Maggie said absently. “Dumb term but it’s stuck with the press.” She considered the idea. Yes. Not bad. Lots of good food, lots of good booze—extremely good champagne, especially—and Alex might start to win people over. Might. They were going to be wary of him until they found out whether he was going to start making cuts to the team; that was only natural. But a party—something that showed that he and his friends were going to be approachable and generous—was a step in the right direction. It was what she would do in his place.
“How lavish?” Alex asked. “I was thinking family-friendly.”
Maggie shook her head. “Leave the kids out of it for now. It’s too soon to start kissing babies. Maybe a family day when it warms up a little. But you need to get the team on your side first. They’ll be less distracted without their kids. And they’ll drink more. That might work in your favor.”
“You think they need to be drunk to like me?”
“No, but I think, at this point, a little beer and bourbon might not hurt your cause.”
He regarded her steadily. “Is this real Maggie Jameson advice or are you steering me in the wrong direction?”
Fair question. She had motive to make life difficult for him. “I said I’d work with you. We Jamesons keep our word.” Or this Jameson did, no matter that her father recently seemed to have developed a warped attitude to truth telling. The thought stung and she looked away for a moment.
“Okay. Trust it is.” He held out a hand. “How about we shake on it?”
She paused without really knowing why. She’d been shaking hands with handsome men all her life. Why did this one faze her? She looked at his hand, at the muscular wrist and the flex of his forearm under the rumpled white cotton. Remembered his hands on her last night, holding her safely even as he hauled her ass out of the bar. Remembered strength and warmth. She reached out and laid her hand in his.
And ignored the part of her insisting that there was the faintest scent of brimstone in the air.
Chapter Six
“So how did it go?” Mal asked as he pushed open the fire door and ushered them through to the stairwell.
Alex didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what he was asking about. Maggie. Last night. He flexed his hand and shrugged. “In summary. Ollie Shields doesn’t particularly like me, Hana Tuckerson is reserving judgment, Shelly Finch likes me, and Maggie agreed to come work for us for a few months.” He peered over the grimy-looking railing and peered downward at the concrete stairs.
“Way to bury the lede,” Lucas said, coming to a halt beside Alex. He looked around at the dusty stairwell with disfavor. “This place needs work. Aren’t they supposed to maintain the fire exits in good order or something?”
