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“Yes, I’m sure my other big-shot brother would be more than happy to take a day off from his super-important job to travel four hours from Boston for a softball game.”
“Meg? Kate?”
She gave him a withering glare. “You know full well that Meg doesn’t do well in group activities. She can’t even gracefully lose at charades at Christmas without accusing her own children of cheating. And Kate …”
“Has probably never even seen a softball,” he finished for her.
“So you’ll do it?” she asked, giving him the platonic, don’t-mind-me smile she’d been practicing in the mirror. “You can play softball, right?”
“Yes, McKenna, I think I can figure out how to manage a game of softball with a bunch of women who write about shoes and orgasms.”
She clapped her hands. “So you’re in?”
He hesitated. “And this is strictly as friends, right?”
“Oh gosh, of course. I don’t think I can even picture us as anything else now.” She gave a dramatic shudder.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he muttered into his drink.
She pressed her lips together to hide the smirk as she stood. “You’re the best. Seriously.”
He gave her a half smile. “I’m trying to think about it as paying it forward. I’ll remember your recent string of favors next time I need something from you. Say … Yankees tickets?”
“I’ll keep my eye out.” She winked. “See ya around, Sammy.”
“You’re leaving?” He looked a little surprised at the rapid departure, and dare she say … disappointed? Then again, that could have been her stupid, wistful heart being a pain in the ass again.
“Got a date,” she said with quick glance at her watch. “One of Mitchell’s friends from Wall Street.”
She watched his face carefully, but he revealed nothing. “So he’s going to be the subject of your story? The anniversary issue that you have to make personal, or whatever?”
“Well, that depends,” Riley replied casually, tossing back the rest of her drink.
“On?”
“How good he is in bed,” she said with a cheeky smile.
This time Sam’s poker face wasn’t nearly so impressive, and Riley had to turn on her heel so he wouldn’t see her elation at the raw possessiveness that had flashed across his face.
“See you on Saturday,” she called over her shoulder.
Sam didn’t respond, and Riley knew it was because he was brooding.
Once out of sight, she dug her phone out of her bag and sent a text message to Emma.
Got him.
Chapter Twelve
“So how am I doing?” Riley asked, trotting back to the dugout and plucking Grace’s water bottle out of her hand. It was icy cold. Of course. No lukewarm water for Grace, even though she hadn’t had access to ice in hours. She was like half MacGyver, half Martha Stewart.
Julie wrinkled her nose. “I’d say you’re doing all right. Your fielding skills suck, but you’ve gotten on base plenty, although I’m pretty sure that’s because your Yankees T-shirt is a child’s size medium, and your boobs are … ahem … not medium.”
“Or childlike,” Grace added.
“I wasn’t asking about my softball skills,” Riley said, handing the now empty water bottle back to Grace. “But since you went there, I’d just like to point out that my fielding skills are just fine.”
“Really?” Emma drawled. “Because last inning, the ball literally sat still at your feet for a good forty-five seconds while you fanned Maria’s brother with your eyelashes.”
