Just One Night: Sex, Love & Stiletto Series (17 page)

Right. Start thinking little-sister thoughts
.

Camille hollered, “Batter up!” and needlessly blew a whistle, and Sam leaned over slightly in that “ready” pose of people who actually knew how to play this sport.

Her chances of being able to focus on the game went from about one percent to nil when she had an unobstructed view of his butt.

Luckily Emma had taken over the pitching mound and made surprisingly quick work of the trio of
Oxford
wives and girlfriends who stepped up to the plate.

The game proceeded in the boring back-and-forth that defined amateur softball, and finally, finally, the ninth inning rolled around.

“Do you have a mirror?” Riley asked Sam as she tried to find the least ugly helmet out of the bunch. There was a purple one that wasn’t
so
bad, but it was planted firmly on the head of Julie, who was on first base for the first time ever.

Riley was
pretty
sure Jake had given Julie a pity walk, but she doubted
she’d
get any such sympathy. Jake, being the loyal type, only had eyes for Grace and hadn’t been the least bit enthralled by Riley’s careful
Playboy
posing two innings back. She’d struck out.

“It’s not a freaking fashion show,” Sam muttered as he plucked a brown helmet off the bench and set it on her head, giving it a soft smack on the top.

“This one’s ugly.” She scowled up at him.

He looked down at her, his lips curving in amusement. “But it fits.”

The air became still between them as their gazes held, and Riley quickly stepped back and grabbed a bat as she silently repeated the mantra Emma had ingrained in her head.

Make him hate that you’re over him
.

“You know this is the closest
Stiletto
’s ever come to winning?” she asked.

“So? We’re losing five–four, and it’s the bottom of the ninth with two outs.”

Riley glanced at the area above his head. “Oh, look, a little black storm cloud.”

“Just get on base, would ya?”

She shrugged. “Honestly, I’m kind of just in it for the free beer at O’Malley’s after the game.”

Still, she did
kind
of want to win. Not because she liked the sport. Because she liked
winning
.

Then there was a crack of the bat as Emma lined the ball over the head of the third baseman and everyone started yelling. Like,
everyone
.

Ironically, the loudest voice was Emma screaming at Julie to run, run, run, which was rather unnecessary, as running was the
only
athletic endeavor Julie could do, thanks to Mitchell’s penchant for marathons.

Julie apparently drew the line at Emma’s scream to
slide
but made it safely to third all the same, while Emma gloated on second and Jake did an admirable job of not having a heart attack on the pitching mound.

Riley was so delighted with her friends’ success that she didn’t immediately realize what Emma’s clutch hit meant for
her
.

Bottom of the ninth.

Two outs.

Runner on third.

Now there wasn’t even a ghost of a chance that Jake would walk her out of pity. She actually had to
swing
.

Sam stopped his cheering and came up behind her, planting palms on her shoulders. “You’ve got this.”

“Really? Because I seem to remember soccer being more my thing.”

“Only because you liked the outfits better.”

“Have you actually
seen
women’s soccer gear? It’s not exactly a short cheerleading skirt.”

“I remember the way
you
wore those soccer shorts.”

She gave him a surprised look, and he shrugged. “First day we met. You’d just gotten home from practice and were wearing shorts.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember all of it.” His eyes flicked to hers for a half beat before he removed his hands and shoved her none too gently forward. “Go get ’em.”

Great. Now her hands were shaking from the tension of the game
and
whatever moment had just passed between her and Sam.

Camille stood behind the plate with hands on her hips, and Riley saw from her boss’s narrowed eyes that she’d observed that entire encounter.

“There’s a reason coed sports end after sixth grade,” Camille muttered.

Alex Cassidy came out from the
Oxford
dugout to stand with Camille behind the plate. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Just providing a second opinion,” he said smoothly.

“You think I’d cheat?” Camille asked, eyes fierce behind her rented ump mask.

“Let’s just say the stakes got a little higher with that last at bat,” Alex said, his eyes flicking briefly to second base, where Emma stood, hands on her hips, glaring right back.

“Emma’s pretty good, isn’t she?” Riley said cheekily to Cassidy as she strolled up to the plate, keeping her voice and posture casual as though the entire game didn’t rest on her shoddy hand-eye coordination.

Cassidy’s eyes narrowed just briefly, and Riley caught an unexpected glimpse of the alpha businessman hiding behind that easygoing lankiness.

Look out, Emma
.

And then she forgot all about Emma and Cassidy, about Camille and even Sam, because it was just her and Jake.

Grace’s boyfriend—no,
fiancé
—might make a ridiculously attractive Hugh Jackman look-alike, but right now he was the enemy.

“Who’s the scorekeeper?” Jake yelled to the bleachers. “Better get ready to write another
K for this one!”

“I don’t know what that means,” Riley hollered back, “but let’s hope you’re wearing a cup today!”

“He’s not!” Grace yelled from the dugout.

Riley gave her trademark cat smile as her eyes dipped to the vicinity of Jake’s waist. “Excellent.”

But Jake Malone was made of stronger stuff and knew Riley well enough to be wise to her tricks, because he merely slipped on his game face and got into a rather intimidating pitcher’s position.

Playing the part, Riley stepped up to the plate and hovered the bat over her shoulder.

“Just keep your eye on the ball, Riley,” she heard Mitchell call from the dugout in his calm, nothing-riles-me voice.

“I always do,” she called back, getting the expected laughs.

She wanted to sneak a look at Sam, but then Jake was doing his windup thing, and she became determined not to be one of those girls who couldn’t manage to hit a little ball because she had a crush on a boy.

She could have sworn that the first pitch was going to be way to the right, but then it did some weird thing where it came back at the last second. Riley knew even before she heard Cassidy mutter a satisfied
strike
right before Camille’s more begrudging pronouncement of the same call.

“Lookin’ good,” came the husky voice from behind the catcher’s mask as he tossed the ball back to Jake.

“Shut it, Cole.”

Cole Sharpe was one of
Oxford
’s other golden boys and normally fun to flirt with in a harmless, platonic kind of way, but right now she wanted to win.

The second pitch was outside, although just by a hair.

“The count’s one–one!” Cole hollered needlessly. “Two more strikes and it’s beer time.”

“One more
hit
and it’s beer time,” Riley snapped.

Cole’s teeth flashed white in a way that claimed
bullshit
.

Riley remembered that she’d have to actually swing. So she did.

She missed.

Strike two.

“I thought this was supposed to be as simple as keeping your eye on the freaking ball,” she grumbled.

The next pitch looked almost perfect but seemed to dip low at the last second, and Riley checked her swing.

Camille declared it a ball.

Then Jake declared Camille a scheming witch, which ended up in a rather fantastic shouting match. Riley gladly stepped away from the plate and let her boss and Grace’s fiancé duke it out.

Riley snuck a glance at Sam, who was leaning against the chain-link fence, arms crossed over his chest and hat pulled low.

She couldn’t actually see his eyes to know that he was watching her, but she felt it. Despite the fact that the game was inexplicably held in late September instead of summer, Riley felt suddenly hot.

Camille won the argument by a landslide, surprising nobody, and Riley stepped back up to the godforsaken plate.

The count was two and two, and her palms were beyond sweaty. To think she’d thought her biggest hurdle of the day would be getting caught staring too long at Sam.

The next pitch came at her so much faster than any of the ones before, perhaps fueled by Jake’s temper, and Riley didn’t have any time to gauge whether or not this was going to be high or low, or in her freaking face.

It was swing or die, and Riley wasn’t about to go to her grave an almost virgin.

She swung.

There was a sharp crack that was so foreign in its loudness that she didn’t realize exactly what had happened until she heard someone yell
run
.

Probably Emma, judging by the manic intensity of the shout.

Riley sprinted toward first, and although she wasn’t sporty like Emma or a runner like Julie, her days as a high school midfielder kicked in and she made it to first base just seconds before the ball thumped into Jason Kendall’s mitt.

She barely heard Jason’s good-natured curse over the cheering coming from the
Stiletto
dugout, and then Riley knew that Julie and Emma had both scored.

The
Stiletto
team had won.

And indifferent to softball or not, that felt
good
.

Riley let out a whoop and entered a hopping, squealing girl-hug with Julie and Emma.

“That was
clutch
!” Emma yelled in her ear.

“Quit speaking sports nerd to me!” Riley hollered back, seconds before a shrieking Grace joined the hug, followed by the rest of the
Stiletto
staff.

When the mob finally broke apart, Riley started to go over to Jake to rub it in just a little but stopped short when she saw his scowl. Maybe she’d just let Grace soothe that one.

Riley heard a sharp smacking noise seconds before her ass started to burn. “Ouch!” she said, turning toward her gloating boss. “What was that for?”

“That’s what the coaches do on ESPN,” Camille said, lifting her hand for another smack. “It means good job.”

“Please. As if you’ve ever watched ESPN,” Riley said, dodging the second smack.

“I watch it for the eye candy,” Camille said, giving up on the ass patting and giving Riley a rare hug. “Don’t think I won’t remember this come Christmas bonus time. I only hope someone caught Cassidy’s face on camera the second you hit the ball. Pure shock.”

Camille moved toward the
Oxford
editor, crowing about how after-the-game drinks were going to be on
Oxford
’s budget, and Riley gingerly rubbed her still-smarting ass cheek.

“Nobody was more shocked than me,” she muttered.

“You know there are at least half a dozen men here who’d do that for you.”

Riley froze at the sound of Sam’s voice. She’d almost forgotten he was here. Almost.

“Do what?” she asked, turning and meeting his light blue eyes.

He nodded his chin in the direction of her backside. “Ease that sting.”

Riley’s hand froze and her mouth went dry as her traitorous mind reminded her just whose hands she’d like to have on her.

And the usual retort was on the tip of her tongue:
You offering?

But flirtatious banter was what he’d expect and was not part of the plan. She racked her brain for something platonic and sisterly to say, but
damn it
—she couldn’t look at this man without thinking sexy thoughts.

He gave her a wry look as though reading her thoughts exactly. “You did good, Ri.”

She grinned. “I know, right?”

Sam gave her a little half smile, and her throat ached with the urge to throw her arms around him the way she wanted to and celebrate the sheer thrill of the moment.

“You know, it’s weird,” she said, as though just struck by a sudden thought. “Everyone else on the
Stiletto
team came dashing out to congratulate me, but I didn’t see you. Did you get lost?”

“That your way of fishing for your congratulatory hug?”

Damn
. He was onto her. And she didn’t even care.

“Well,
Liam
would have done the whole bear hug thing, and since you’re the stand-in …”

He sighed, uncrossing his arms and opening them to her. “Make it quick.”

For as long as Riley could remember, she and Sam had exchanged hugs because it was what her touchy-feely Irish family expected. He’d hugged her just like he’d hugged her sisters when he came over on Christmas and birthdays, or after they hadn’t seen each other for a while.

But with Meg and Kate the hugs had always been, well … 
normal
. A quick good-to-see-you squeeze.

With Riley and Sam it had always been …

Awkward.

They either lingered too long or jerked back too quickly.

But
this
hug was something entirely different. It acknowledged what was between them even as it begged to be more than a hug.

She knew he meant it to be just a brief, token embrace. It’s what
she’d
meant it to be too. But the second his arms closed around her, she felt the rightness of it, and knew from the way he tensed that he did too.

Riley turned her face just slightly, letting her nose burrow into the warmth of his neck, although she stopped short of pressing her lips there. Barely.

One of his hands slid upward, his fingers playing over her spine, his breath hot against her temple.

It was not a brotherly hug.

There was a pointed clearing of throat behind them, although it took Riley a full five seconds before she could bring herself to step back from Sam.

She was fully expecting a frowning Emma.

She wasn’t disappointed.

“Riley, this must be your brother!”

Riley gave her a look that said
over the top
, but Emma didn’t lose the steely, determined expression as she extended a hand toward Sam. “I’m Emma Sinclair. We didn’t get a chance to meet earlier.”