“Definitely not.” She sounded extremely amused at the question, so much so that he found himself taking offense. What the hell. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend—when he chose to be a boyfriend, that is, which, granted, he didn’t do a lot. Women liked his wallet but usually not the fact that for seven months out of the year he was pretty much physically and emotionally unavailable.
“His date then,” River guessed.
Another laugh from Holly. “No.”
“You don’t have to sound like it would be so distasteful,” Pace muttered.
“To date you?” She was still smiling. “Really?”
Okay, now he felt downright irritated. “What would be wrong with dating me?”
“I’m not sure we have enough time to cover it all.” And what the hell did that mean? He opened his mouth to ask, but she dropped to her knees next to the boys with utter disregard for her skirt and was oohing and aahing over the gloves. His cell phone rang, distracting him. It was Samantha, the bane of Pace’s existence at the moment. “You didn’t cancel my interview,” he said, stepping away from the gang so he couldn’t be overheard by one nosy reporter and a bunch of even nosier kids.
“I didn’t, no,” Samantha said. “Was I supposed to?”
“Hell, yes.” Behind him he heard Chipper asking Holly if she was a baseball groupie. Jesus. He strained his ears to catch Holly’s response.
“No,” she murmured. “I’m not much of a groupie type.”
“Do you play baseball?”
“Pace?” came Sam’s voice in his ear. “You still there?”
“Yeah. I’m still here.”
“Holly Hutchins is a reporter who’s known for the nitty gritty. The owners want her to do this series to give us some good publicity. She’s supposedly a little uptight and reserved . . .”
Gee, he hadn’t noticed.
“But she’s fair, and very good, so be nice.”
“Uh-huh.” At the moment, Holly didn’t seem quite as uptight and reserved as she had back at the facilities, not with her knees in the dirt, smiling and laughing with the kids, telling River that she’d grown up in a rough neighborhood, where hanging around outside on a field hadn’t been such a good idea, so no, she’d never learned to play baseball.
“Sucks,” Danny said, their shortstop. Which was also his nickname, given that he hadn’t had his seventh-grade growth spurt yet. Or any spurt.
“Pace?” Sam said in his ear.
“I never wanted this interview, Sam. Give it to one of the other guys who’ll love it. Wade, maybe.” Who’d get into Holly’s pants in thirty minutes. “No, wait. Give her to Ty.” Ty didn’t have sex during the season, ever, which made him safe. Though why Pace cared, he had no idea. “He’s been wanting more press now that he’s having a strong year.”
“It’s good publicity,” Sam repeated. “For you. You’re our star, Pace, and you know it.”
“It’s only good press if she spins it that way, and trust me, I haven’t made the best impression.”
“Oh for God’s sake.” Samantha sighed, the sound of female exasperation personified. “How hard is it to smile and make nice for the pretty lady?”
Harder than she could imagine.
On the mound, Danny was still trying to sell Pace to Holly. “I bet if you dated him,” the kid said, “he’d teach you how to play.”
Holly turned and gave Pace the serious once over. She didn’t look too impressed, so her next words didn’t surprise him. “I tend to date a more cerebral type.”
“I’m cerebral,” Chipper told her eagerly. “I got an eighty-one in science.”
“Do the interview, Pace,” Sam said in Pace’s ear. “It won’t kill you, I promise.” She sounded amused, and hell if he wasn’t getting a little tired of amusing females at his expense.
And dammit, he was plenty cerebral.
“I’m going now,” Sam told him. “Just be nice. Women respond to nice. She’s a tough one, I’ll give you that, but I doubt you’ve ever met a woman you couldn’t crack. Flash her that million-dollar charm and give us some good press.”
He sighed. “I always give good press.”
She laughed, but he could hear her fingers already clicking over her keyboard, as always multitasking efficiently and effectively. “Oh, and if you could not sleep with her, that would be really great.”
Sleep with her?
Fuuuuurthest thing from his mind.
Not even a possibility.
Not even a spec of possibility.
Even if her hair was suddenly catching the sunlight, looking like spun gold. And her smile, as she aimed it at the kids, wasn’t for his benefit. Hell, she wasn’t even looking at him. Nope, she wasn’t playing them to get into Pace’s good graces; she was being heartwarmingly genuine. She had some sweet curves on her for such a careful thing, too, curves that would be even nicer with less clothing.
Okay, so maybe he’d given the briefest thought to sleeping with her.
The kids were walking her farther out onto the field, fawning all over themselves to try to impress her, and she was impressed.
Or at least acting it.
She was talking to them, not down to them as so many stupid adults tended to do, but to them, in a way she hadn’t with Pace. Yeah, she was definitely much more open now, and he felt as though he was getting his first real glimpse of her as she nodded, listening to everything Chipper said. She walked with confidence and smiled with compassion.
“His date then,” River guessed.
Another laugh from Holly. “No.”
“You don’t have to sound like it would be so distasteful,” Pace muttered.
“To date you?” She was still smiling. “Really?”
Okay, now he felt downright irritated. “What would be wrong with dating me?”
“I’m not sure we have enough time to cover it all.” And what the hell did that mean? He opened his mouth to ask, but she dropped to her knees next to the boys with utter disregard for her skirt and was oohing and aahing over the gloves. His cell phone rang, distracting him. It was Samantha, the bane of Pace’s existence at the moment. “You didn’t cancel my interview,” he said, stepping away from the gang so he couldn’t be overheard by one nosy reporter and a bunch of even nosier kids.
“I didn’t, no,” Samantha said. “Was I supposed to?”
“Hell, yes.” Behind him he heard Chipper asking Holly if she was a baseball groupie. Jesus. He strained his ears to catch Holly’s response.
“No,” she murmured. “I’m not much of a groupie type.”
“Do you play baseball?”
“Pace?” came Sam’s voice in his ear. “You still there?”
“Yeah. I’m still here.”
“Holly Hutchins is a reporter who’s known for the nitty gritty. The owners want her to do this series to give us some good publicity. She’s supposedly a little uptight and reserved . . .”
Gee, he hadn’t noticed.
“But she’s fair, and very good, so be nice.”
“Uh-huh.” At the moment, Holly didn’t seem quite as uptight and reserved as she had back at the facilities, not with her knees in the dirt, smiling and laughing with the kids, telling River that she’d grown up in a rough neighborhood, where hanging around outside on a field hadn’t been such a good idea, so no, she’d never learned to play baseball.
“Sucks,” Danny said, their shortstop. Which was also his nickname, given that he hadn’t had his seventh-grade growth spurt yet. Or any spurt.
“Pace?” Sam said in his ear.
“I never wanted this interview, Sam. Give it to one of the other guys who’ll love it. Wade, maybe.” Who’d get into Holly’s pants in thirty minutes. “No, wait. Give her to Ty.” Ty didn’t have sex during the season, ever, which made him safe. Though why Pace cared, he had no idea. “He’s been wanting more press now that he’s having a strong year.”
“It’s good publicity,” Sam repeated. “For you. You’re our star, Pace, and you know it.”
“It’s only good press if she spins it that way, and trust me, I haven’t made the best impression.”
“Oh for God’s sake.” Samantha sighed, the sound of female exasperation personified. “How hard is it to smile and make nice for the pretty lady?”
Harder than she could imagine.
On the mound, Danny was still trying to sell Pace to Holly. “I bet if you dated him,” the kid said, “he’d teach you how to play.”
Holly turned and gave Pace the serious once over. She didn’t look too impressed, so her next words didn’t surprise him. “I tend to date a more cerebral type.”
“I’m cerebral,” Chipper told her eagerly. “I got an eighty-one in science.”
“Do the interview, Pace,” Sam said in Pace’s ear. “It won’t kill you, I promise.” She sounded amused, and hell if he wasn’t getting a little tired of amusing females at his expense.
And dammit, he was plenty cerebral.
“I’m going now,” Sam told him. “Just be nice. Women respond to nice. She’s a tough one, I’ll give you that, but I doubt you’ve ever met a woman you couldn’t crack. Flash her that million-dollar charm and give us some good press.”
He sighed. “I always give good press.”
She laughed, but he could hear her fingers already clicking over her keyboard, as always multitasking efficiently and effectively. “Oh, and if you could not sleep with her, that would be really great.”
Sleep with her?
Fuuuuurthest thing from his mind.
Not even a possibility.
Not even a spec of possibility.
Even if her hair was suddenly catching the sunlight, looking like spun gold. And her smile, as she aimed it at the kids, wasn’t for his benefit. Hell, she wasn’t even looking at him. Nope, she wasn’t playing them to get into Pace’s good graces; she was being heartwarmingly genuine. She had some sweet curves on her for such a careful thing, too, curves that would be even nicer with less clothing.
Okay, so maybe he’d given the briefest thought to sleeping with her.
The kids were walking her farther out onto the field, fawning all over themselves to try to impress her, and she was impressed.
Or at least acting it.
She was talking to them, not down to them as so many stupid adults tended to do, but to them, in a way she hadn’t with Pace. Yeah, she was definitely much more open now, and he felt as though he was getting his first real glimpse of her as she nodded, listening to everything Chipper said. She walked with confidence and smiled with compassion.
