Just One Night (Sex, Love & Stiletto 3)

Sam hung up his helmet, and unlike the prissier Oliver, he merely ran a hand through his unruly hair. He nodded in thanks as she handed him his glove.

They walked shoulder to shoulder onto the field, he to shortstop and she to left field. “Try and actually get the ball in the glove this time, hmm, Ri?” he said as he settled between second and third base.

“Maybe if you were a little more adept at grounders, I wouldn’t have to do all the work. Besides, I’m carrying my weight.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “How do you figure?”

“Well, let’s see.” She tapped a fingernail against pursed lips. “One of us scored, and the other—”

“The other got on base because he actually made contact with the ball, not because the pitcher was distracted with nipples,” he snapped.

So he’d noticed.

Riley did her best impression of embarrassed, although admittedly it wasn’t her best role. “Wrong bra choice, I guess.”

Sam’s eyes darkened, exactly as she’d hoped they would. “Another of those scrappy lacy numbers?”

Riley made an oh gross face as she walked backward. “I thought we were going to pretend that never happened.”

His gaze flicked briefly to her chest before he pulled down the bill of his hat and turned his back to her. She thought she heard him mutter something, but it was hard to know for sure when she was so distracted by the way his butt looked in those jeans.

Sam had shown up wearing a navy hoodie over a couple of layered T-shirts. The look was good on him.

She felt a glare, and glanced over to where Julie was giving her a look from right field.

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.”