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close the distance, and gave Tucker a firm handshake. They were both big men in different ways, and Emmy marveled at how Tucker towered over Simon, but Simon made Tucker appear much thinner by comparison.
“Tucker, this is Simon Howell. Simon’s a sports reporter from the Chicago Sun-Times. He’s here covering the Sox.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Simon said. “Big admirer, of course. Great to see you back this season.”
“Thanks.” They pulled free of the handshake before it went to awkward lengths, then Tucker looked at Emmy and their gazes locked. “Chicago, you said?”
“Yes,” Simon confirmed.
“You knew Emmy before she was a Felon.”
Emmy and Tucker continued to stare at each other, in spite of the pitcher directing his questions at Simon.
“Simon is my… Simon’s my boyfriend.” The word boyfriend sounded stupid to her in this context. It was such a youthful word, and at thirty-two she hardly felt young enough to be using it. There were two grown men in her office, and she was describing one of them in high school terms. Maybe she should call Tucker her crush to balance it out.
For once her cheeks didn’t flare up at the wrong moment, and she was grateful for small favors.
“Of course,” Tucker said, finally looking back at Simon. “Emmy told me about you.”
After she let me kiss her, Emmy finished his sentence in her head.
“If you have a few minutes, I’d love to ask you some questions. Before the rest of the press gets to you.” There was the Simon Emmy knew so well. Using any advantage to get the scoop. He was smooth, she had to give him that. All smiles and flattery.
It helped he didn’t tend to rip players apart in print. There was no reason for Tucker not to talk to Simon. Simon’s mission wasn’t to write a gossipy tell-all, he just wanted something to fill up the sports section.
“Sure,” Tucker said. “Maybe you can give me some insight into Emmy while we’re at it.”
“Emmy?” Simon favored her with his grin. “She’s an open book. What you see is what you get.”
“Is that so?” Tucker regarded her again, and this time the message was clear: I see you. When do I get you?
There was no stopping the hot, pink flush that covered her cheeks when she fell under the scrutiny of his gaze. With one pass of his mismatched eyes, Tucker did things to her Simon’s rakish grin could never have managed.
She flipped open her laptop and typed egwrwrhwhww rgwgwhw ogworignwognw into an open email, trying to will her face to stop betraying her. “You guys have fun.”
Simon leaned across her desk and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She jumped when his lips touched her skin. “Don’t work too hard. I still want to take you out.”
Emmy smiled at him, but she couldn’t escape how guilty she felt.
Chapter Ten
San Francisco at Kansas City, Record 1-2
The opening series against Chicago had been a disaster. It was only the first three games of the season, but the San Francisco sports media was already projecting a dreary season.
As if baseball were like the weather and anyone could predict a season after two losses.
But Tucker understood their logic. He’d tried to avoid reading anything, but in his hotel room at the Kansas City Hyatt he had time on his hands and needed a distraction. He wasn’t pitching tonight but still had to go to the park early for a one-on-one with Emmy to work out his arm.
If he dwelled too long on the idea of being one-on-one with Emmy, he would go out of his mind, so he opened his laptop and checked a few overdue emails. His agent was asking for an answer on a proposed cologne endorsement, but Tucker wasn’t sure. The money was good, but he didn’t understand how he fit the Hugo Boss image.
He’d ignore Dave a little longer.
His sister had emailed new pictures of his niece and nephew. Cameron was only eight months old, but Lucy already had him decked out in full Felons gear. Poppy was wearing last season’s shirt, and it was too small, showing off her round toddler belly. The three-year-old proudly held her little brother up for the camera, beaming her perfect child’s grin.
Tucker smiled and wrote back a short thanks to Lucy, passing on kisses to the kids.
With no emails left to distract him and only a lonely hotel room at his disposal, Tucker had two options. He could read the sports blogs, or he could jerk off.
