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“Connection?”
“Kasper. Of the Chicago Kaspers.” Shyly she raised her eyes and blushed. “Damn. I wasn’t going to say anything, and here I am scolding you for not knowing. Nice work, Emmy.”
“Emmy…” Tucker paused thoughtfully, running a hand through his hair. “Kasper. Kasper.” His eyes widened. “Holy shit. You’re Vince Kasper’s kid?”
“Ever since I was born.”
“I always thought he had a son for some reason.”
“Probably because my real name is Emmett.”
“It is not.”
She screwed up her face in a way that was entirely too adorable and yanked her keys from her purse with a triumphant whoop. She picked up her story where they’d left off. “He named me after Emmett Watson, this old-school sports writer. I guess Ruth and Sandy would have been too obvious?”
“Maybe you should be grateful he didn’t name you Nolan,” Tucker suggested, invoking the name of pitching legend Nolan Ryan.
“Nolan’s real first name was Lynn. I’d have taken that over Emmett.”
“Emmy is nice though.”
“Thanks.” They were standing in the courtyard of the Lakeside Villas, next to a stucco fountain. “That’s me.” She pointed to a squat little cottage painted salmon pink. “You’ve got a definite baseball name too, don’t you? Were your parents plotting that from day one?”
> “Nah.” He followed her up to the tiny porch in front of her cottage and watched her fidget with her key ring, noting the Sox logo dangling from a metal clasp. “We need to get you a new keychain.”
“What?” She followed his gaze downwards and then laughed again. “Oh God, I guess so. Good thing I didn’t pull these out in the clubhouse.”
“Can’t have you cursing us from the get-go. This is supposed to be a winning season.” He took a step towards her and reached for the keys. Tucker’s touch on her hand was tentative. He didn’t want to overstep some personal boundary and make Emmy uncomfortable, but he didn’t think he could stand within three feet of her and not touch her. It would have driven him crazy.
She didn’t withdraw when his fingers grazed her palm, and handed the keys over willingly when he took them. He kept his gaze on her face until she glanced up, and neither of them looked away as he twisted the old silver keychain off the ring.
“You guys take your superstitions seriously,” she said. He could tell she was trying to make a joke, but her voice had lost its light humor and was in a huskier register.
“It’s hard to say what might bring you luck.” His own voice was lower too, barely above a whisper. Returning the keys to her, he traced the grooves in her palm with his fingertips, circling the heel of her hand. Emmy gave a shiver, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with the spring air.
Emmy leaned in, her jacket fanning open, and the warmth of her body called to him across the inch of space separating them. The sweet smell of her skin caught in the breeze, making him want to close the gap between them.
“I wouldn’t want to be bad luck.”
“No.” Tucker lifted his hand, drawing it over her arm and up to her shoulder, which he gave a small squeeze—a gesture that eased his tension whenever he was on the receiving end of it. When she didn’t pull away, he touched the back of her neck, cupping her head in his palm, his fingers brushing back strands of her soft hair.
“Tucker…” There might have been something more to her sentence—an invitation perhaps—but it was lost. She said nothing except for his name. Her big hazel eyes were round, and he couldn’t stop staring at them as he lowered his head for a kiss.
Her eyelids fluttered shut, and his did the same as his lips grazed hers. Emmy sighed, opening her mouth to him and bracing one palm against his chest. He held her head with one hand and brought his other to her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. Her lips tasted faintly of beer and lime, a flavor so uniquely summer it made him think of hot baseball stadiums and roaring crowds.
He gave himself over to the kiss, pushing his body against hers and curving his back so he wasn’t stooped over her. Emmy’s hands scooted under his jacket, fingernails running over the thin linen of his shirt. Everywhere he touched her body was like a pulse of heat, warming him and flooding him with life.
Her mouth opened, and he brushed his tongue over her swollen lower lip. She made a small purring noise that made him flush, getting him hard with almost no effort on her part. The heat of her lower body radiated against him, chasing away any lingering chill of the evening. Backing her against the wooden railing on the small porch, he deepened this kiss, needing more from it but not knowing what. When his tongue stroked hers, Emmy went rigid, and her hands were suddenly gone from his back, forcing him away instead.
Tucker let her push him off, stepping backwards in a lust-filled haze, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. His cock throbbed, not satisfied with the unexpected turn of events.
“We can’t,” she said breathlessly, smoothing her hair and straightening her jacket. “I’m so sorry, Tucker. I shouldn’t have…”
“Sorry,” he mumbled in return.
“No, it was my fault.” The keys in her hand jangled as she tried to get a hold of them properly and unlock her door. “I didn’t… I mean…we work together, and…”
“Yeah.”
