“That is definitely fantastic. You’ve been putting up the numbers all season, man. But tell me something, how’s your mom? Last time we talked you said she was having chest pains. How’s she doing?”
“She’s all better. And hey, thanks for asking about her. That means a lot to me, and it makes me feel even better about what I want to ask you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it shows you care about me. About my family. And that’s why I’m hoping you’d want to negotiate a fat new contract with the Yankees for me? Think you’d be up for that?”
Fireworks spark across the whole night sky. “I’d love nothing more.”
A couple days later, Jason joins me for a Yankees game in my box seats.
He surveys the swank setup, complete with catering and plush velvet chairs. “Still slumming it, I see?”
“Yeah. Maybe someday I’ll move up to the third baseline.”
“I trust business is good?”
“It’s excellent. Lorenzo is all mine now.”
“Ah, so evil Leather Pants Poacher didn’t nab him?”
I scoff. “No way. I’m still the man. And your new biz is taking off?”
“Started some of my new work this week. Maybe I’ll even write a piece about etiquette when invited to a fancy suite at a ball game. Like, may I please devour all the mushroom canapés?”
“Do you even know what a canapé is?”
“Does anyone know what a canapé is?”
“No one does. Also, I’m glad you figured out your lady issues and your work issues. Like I said, work isn’t everything.” I tap my ear. “See? I’m Bluetooth-free today.”
“But I bet your mobile ringer is on high.”
“Of course it is. Bat line too.”
He grabs a carrot from the appetizer plate and crunches into it. “Someday you’ll meet a woman who makes you want to turn the bat line off.”
“Maybe. For now, I see no reason to end my run as New York’s most eligible bachelor. But you’ve ended yours. How’s it going with the lady?”
“Perfect. Totally perfect. She’ll be here any minute. She has a crush on the shortstop.”
“Who doesn’t?”
During a break in the action later in the game, I step into the hall to take a quick call. When I’m done, I hear the click of shoes.
I turn.
Haven Delilah.
She’s walking toward me, and why, oh fucking why does she have to look the way she does? That chestnut hair. Those chocolate eyes. That body. She’s a total smoke show, and the universe must be having a field day, making my biggest rival the hottest babe I have ever seen.
“You following me, Delilah?”
“Yes, Summers. I was up at the crack of dawn, waiting for you. I’ve been slinking behind buildings and hiding around corners just to follow you to Yankee Stadium. What a shock to run into a sports agent here.”
I ignore her sarcasm. “That’s so thoughtful that you came here to congratulate me on adding Lorenzo to my roster.”
She crosses her arms defiantly. She does everything defiantly. It’s so fucking sexy it should be illegal. “Congrats. Too bad you didn’t get a pitcher though. I’ve heard they have more long-term value. Oh, but probably none were on the market, since I rep half the bull pen.”
“It’s okay. I get that you’re still licking your wounds. But I guess this makes us even now.”
She rolls her eyes as the caterer—earbuds in place—heads down the hall carrying an empty tray.
Haven takes a step closer, getting in my space, and holy shit. I can smell her perfume. Or is it her shampoo? It smells like honey, and it goes to my head. Fucks with my senses. “Still having a hard time letting the past go?”
I swallow roughly as she calls me on my bullshit, right as her insanely seductive smell is drifting through my mind.
She pitches forward, squeaking in surprise as the caterer bumps her with the empty tray. “Oh!”
She stumbles closer. Instinct has me grabbing her arm, steadying her. She lifts her chin. She’s inches away. Her face is kissing distance from mine. Her lips are dangerously close. Lips I know so well. Lips I’ve traced, explored long into the night.
For a moment, all our games, all our anger sizzles away. “You okay?” I ask.
She looks into my eyes, her chocolate-brown irises blazing with some unusual combination of heat and confusion. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
