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Emmy lowered his arm, pushing herself away from him. Her fingers trailed down the sensitive skin of his underarm.
“Do you have anything in common?” Tucker asked, more to distract himself than really wanting to know.
Emmy bent his fingers back, stretching his palm and wrist. “I’m sure we did. It sort of stops being about that after a while though, you know?”
Tucker did not know. He hadn’t been in a long-term relationship in years. Honestly, short-term relationships were even more hassle than he was able to commit to. “Sure,” he lied.
“Our schedules worked together. We knew how to coexist. He makes me laugh, and he remembers to buy toothpaste when it’s out. There’s something to be said for that.”
“Hire a funny assistant.”
“Cute.”
“I guess I don’t see the logic of staying in a relationship with someone you never see. Not when…” He drifted off before he said too much.
“Not when?” Emmy had stopped stretching him but was still holding his elbow. Her hand was warm.
“Not when there are other people who—”
Jasper came in clutching two plastic bags from CVS and two Starbucks cups stacked on top of each other. “You would not believe the pains I took to find civilization.” He dumped the bags on a nearby table and thrust a coffee in Emmy’s direction. “Hey, man.” Jasper nodded at Tucker, completely oblivious that he’d walked in on anything. “Don’t know how you can drink the toxic sludge this one makes.”
“I don’t know,” Tucker said as Emmy released his elbow. “I’m pretty fond of her way.”
Chapter Twelve
Emmy leaned against the dugout fence with Alex Ross beside her and Tucker one spot down. The April air was cold in Missouri, and she had a Felons beanie pulled down over her ears but nothing to keep the chill off her cheeks.
Miles Cartwright was in his third inning, and he was making things interesting. The young pitcher—in only his first start in the majors—was keeping the score at nothing, but giving them all a heart attack by walking at least one batter each inning.
Alex was in a forced off day and watching the backup catcher take wild pitches off the newest member of the Felons bullpen. He kept cursing under his breath and gnawing on his hoodie sleeve to keep the words from showing up on national television.
Next to him Tucker was dead silent, having not moved a muscle since Miles first stepped to the mound. Emmy was having trouble deciding which part of the performance was bothering him most. It might have been the erratic way Miles was handling himself, but Emmy suspected it had more to do with how goddamn good the kid was when he got his shit together.
A 103-mph fastball was…well, it wasn’t just unusual, it was a lethal weapon for a team struggling to regain their former glory. A pitch that fast couldn’t be hit. It took an eighth of a second to get from the pitcher to the catcher, and there was no way for a batter’s brain to react quickly enough to swing on time. It didn’t matter how many millions he was paid.
Emmy watched batter after batter succumb to the nasty fastball Miles was throwing, and all the while she could practically read Tucker’s mind.
The fastball used to be his pitch.
She’d seen him throw a ball that fast after nine innings once. A complete game shutout and he was still pitching over 100 mph. That kind of stamina was unreal.
She wondered if he had that kind of stamina in other situations.
What was it he’d been about to say in the therapy room before Jasper had walked in? Something about other men? There was something going on between them she couldn’t ignore—no matter how hard she tried—but was he after more than just sex?
Alex grumbled something next to her, derailing her thoughts.
“What?” Emmy didn’t actually need to know what he was complaining about, but talking to him seemed better than thinking too hard about what Tucker’s expectations of her were.
Whatever they were, it was time for her to start reconsidering her relationship with Simon, because it wasn’t fair to either of them if she was spending day in and day out thinking more about Tucker Lloyd than about the man who was supposedly her boyfriend.
“He’s leading with his leg too soon,” Alex responded, pointing at Miles with a pinky finger. “It sets him off balance, and he’s fucking up half his goddamn pitches.”
At first she wanted to ask what the hell Alex knew about pitching since he’d never done it, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and watched Miles’s setup more closely. He drew up his knee and lunged out, but Alex was right. His step went ahead too far before his arm was in motion, giving him a slight wobble on his delivery.
Emmy straightened up, trying not to draw attention to herself, and pulled away from the fence. She found Mike Anson—the pitching coach—and tapped him on the shoulder.
“’Sup, Em?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unfriendly.
