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He left Javier laughing and moved through the crowded box. The reception spilled into the corridor, outfitted for the chill Michigan evening with space heaters and a generous open bar. He would probably find Maggie there, or, failing that, outside the crisp white canvas the event company had hung to keep the cold air at bay. When she wasn’t at the bar, he made a beeline for the exit.
Bingo. She was exactly where any normal person would go, and that was away from the party. She held a cigarette awkwardly between two fingers as she looked over the rail and across the park. The lights made it bright as day down there on the grass, making the shadows more aggressive where they stood.
“Ma’am, this is a no-smoking facility,” he said, and she startled out of her contemplation.
“I’m trying to quit,” she admitted. “I just needed an excuse to step out.”
Chris leaned his forearms on the railing beside her. “Overwhelmed?”
“Something like that.” She dropped the cigarette to the concrete and snuffed it out, then nudged it under the rail with the toe of her expensive shoe. “Dad would kill me if he saw me smoking.”
“Your dad would kill you if he saw you littering in the park.” Ah, what the hell. The blazing red dress and the curve in her back made her look like a piece of red rope licorice, all slender and flexible. “And if he saw you were out in public in that dress.”
The moment the words came out, a sense of having truly fucked up made his stomach drop. To his relief, she laughed.
“First and foremost, because it clashes with the uniform.” A slight breeze ruffled her curls, and she shivered. “You probably won’t believe this, but as a kid, I had more navy and orange clothing than any other color.”
“Knowing your dad, I believe it.”
“What happened to Portland?” she asked, leaning back with her elbows on the railing. “I thought you blew this popsicle stand.”
“No, I blew Portland.” He grimaced and revised his statement. “I blew it in Portland. After my Tommy John surgery DLed me for two seasons, I’m lucky to be on any team at all. Your dad was in my corner, though. Even when he quit coaching, he had a lot of influence here.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And to hear that you didn’t blow everyone in Portland.” Her mouth quirked and she shivered again. Her nipples stood out against the fabric of her dress. Eyes up.
Slipping his jacket off, he draped it around her back, and she pulled it over her bare shoulders gratefully. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I think I look better without the jacket, anyway.”
She snorted. “I think you do, too.”
“Watch it,” he cautioned. “That could be construed as crossing a line. That would be a hell of a lawsuit on opening day.”
“It would never make it through the court that fast.” She had a nerd laugh, right through the back of the nose. Somehow, it was diabolically attractive coming from her. She straightened, his jacket still hanging over her shoulders, and tossed her hair. “Hey. Do you wanna get out of here?”
Only a fool would turn down a chance to spend time alone with a woman who looked like Maggie. “Sure. Where are we going?”
The tip of her pink tongue poked slyly at the corner of her smile for a tantalizing second. “I know this place…”
* * * *
“Turn on the light,” Maggie whispered, though she didn’t know why she thought it was necessary to keep their voices down. Everyone was upstairs, wondering where the guest of honor had disappeared to, but she doubted anyone would guess she’d gone to the batting cages downstairs.
“You know I’m a pitcher, right?” Chris asked, a touch of amusement in his deep voice.
She turned and raised an eyebrow, a hand on her hip. “Aw, do you need me to call in a designated hitter?”
He grinned at her like a guy who had a fix on a horse race and went to the equipment locker against the wall. He pulled down a bat and gave it a practice swing before dropping it into her hands with a dismissive, “There. Should be light enough.”
Her mouth fell open in outrage, and she closed it with a laugh. Some people might have been irritated by such meaningless, aggressive challenges from someone who was, in effect, an employee. Maggie lived for the thrill of competition; she wouldn’t have been as successful as she was without the stubbornness and competitiveness that came from being Ron Harper’s daughter. All the trash-talking might as well have been phone sex. “Step aside, pitcher. Let me show you how it’s done.”
She handed Chris his jacket, tilted her head from side to side and was rewarded with a series of loud, rapid-fire pops as her vertebrae adjusted. As he loaded the machine and grabbed the remote from the wall, she tapped the head of the bat against the rubber floor. She steadied herself, teetering on her pumps as she tried to get into a comfortable stance. She could have taken them off, but winning in heels would make her victory even sweeter. The moment everything clicked, she narrowed her eyes at the arm of the machine and said, “Let’s go.”
