Hot Number (Hot Zone 2)

Playing the field. Yank chuckled at his own joke. Yank represented many players in many sports and only a select few did he treat like his own son. Vaughn was one. Fuller another. Which was why Yank trusted his gut. Micki liked the center fielder and he needed a decent woman. They'd suit each other just fine, Yank thought. Case closed.

So Micki was going to Tampa instead of Sophie, though it'd have been nice to have a chance to bail on that damn doctor's appointment-which was why he'd tried to push Sophie out of New York next week. He didn't have the stomach to go through tests and build up hope only to find out he'd been right all along and he'd need assistance for the rest of his life.

Just as soon as Yank knew little Michelle, the one who'd latched onto his calf and never let go, was settled and happy, Sophie would have her turn. Then Yank would feel like he'd done right by his sister and her girls. Done his job as the parent, though he'd never planned to be one.

"And then what, old man?" he asked aloud.

You’ll be alone, a voice in his head told him. Darned but that voice sounded a lot like Lola's.

For someone who'd abandoned him in favor of his best friend, the woman seemed to be talking to him a lot lately. He smacked at his noggin, annoyed he was hearing things.

It was enough he'd be going blind. He didn't need to add insanity to his list of ailments. And dealing with Lola and his feelings for her didn't make a dang bit of sense when the woman deserved better than a blind old bat like him.

CHAPTER THREE

A FEW DAYS AFTER RECEIVING Annabelle's assignment by default, Micki took a late Sunday morning flight to Tampa. Before leaving, she'd spent time with both of her sisters and felt better about Annie and her unborn baby's health. She had also fit in a Saturday lunch with Lola, but the other woman had refused to discuss Yank, just as he always avoided talking about her. Micki doubted there were two more frustrating people on this earth but there was nothing she could do to change the status quo.

Micki checked in to the hotel after dinnertime and headed for the bar where the team had decided to hang out after their late-day win. With the autism fund-raiser scheduled tomorrow, an off day, the guys could afford to relax and let loose. Micki decided to join them for a quick bite to eat instead of sitting in her room alone. She had every intention of turning in early so she'd be up and functioning tomorrow morning.

Within seconds of-stepping into the outdoor bar, the typical Florida humidity wafted around her and destroyed whatever soft waves she'd managed to create in her hair.

She pulled up a chair and joined a group of players sitting at a rectangular table. "Hey, guys."

"Micki," they all chimed in at once.

She smiled at their welcome. "At least you're not disappointed you got me instead of Annabelle."

"We'll miss her," Ricky Carter said raising his glass, tipping it her way, "but I hear you're single."

Micki didn't take his cocky attitude or his interest seriously but he earned an A for sheer arrogance alone. She pierced him with a scowl. "Doesn't mean you're getting any action, hotshot."

He just smiled and took a slug of his beer.

"With Annabelle married to Vaughn, he would kick our asses if he caught us drinking and hanging out like this with his wife," said Joe Caruso, the third baseman.

"He might kick your ass for giving his sister-in-law a hard time," Micki replied.

"Micki, Micki, that's what I love about you. Your sense of humor." Roper grinned, his gaze zeroing in on her made-up face.

She had no doubt he'd also noticed she was wearing a dress, a definite change from her normal black-and-white uniform. At least he hadn't said anything aloud.

Uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, she was glad Damian wasn't here to make her discomfort even worse.

"I live to amuse," she said wryly. "Someone want to buy me a drink or at least call the waitress over?"

Roper gestured for the nearest waitress.

She walked over, tray in hand. "What can I get for you?" she asked.

"An iced tea would be great, thanks." Micki wasn't much of a drinker. College had taught her she didn't hold her liquor well, and the hangover the next day, even from one glass of alcohol, wasn't worth whatever fun she might have while intoxicated.

"Lightweight," Roper said, but she heard the joking affection in his voice.

She glanced at his highball glass with the cherry floating in it and rolled her eyes. "You're hardly one to talk. What's that you're drinking, a Shirley Temple?"

He leaned back and laughed, then smoothed his neatly cut blond hair. "It's a mai tai."

"Anything for anyone else?" the waitress asked.