“Fine. Get your rest, Sleeping Beauty.” Red took his tape and, heading to the door, added, “If you keep winning, I just might get my pennant yet.”

“You mean if we win this series.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said if I win.”

“Well, what the hell’s the difference?”

“I’m not the whole team.”

“This year you are.”

Pace’s doctor would disagree. He’d remind Pace what he’d said just this afternoon, that his rotator cuff was possibly beyond strained, that it might be torn, which meant that it needed to be repaired. He had two choices: laser surgery now, or stick with physical therapy and hope it didn’t get worse.

Two perfectly reasonable and perfectly shitty choices.

Tucker tapped the plastic bag of vitamins he’d pushed into Pace’s arms. “Take these, daily. Especially if you have a hot date.”

“The only hot date he needs is with his own bed,” Red muttered. He nudged Pace, which equaled a hug in Red’s world. “Alone.”

Pace just sighed and kicked them both out.

Unable to sleep after Pace’s call, Holly alternately paced her condo and stared at her blank computer screen. She was trying to write her first article, but every time she wrote a sentence, she considered hitting Delete instead of Save.

This might have been because she’d kissed her subject.

God.

She paced some more, obsessed some more, then called her best friend, Allie.

“About damn time, chica,” Allie said. “I’ve been worried.”

They hadn’t touched base all week, which was all Holly’s fault as Allie had called several times. “I’m sorry. I’m starting a new series.”

“Which means you’re pacing in front of your computer, cursing Tommy and life in general. One of these days, maybe you’ll try it my way.”

Which involved yoga, health food, and a complete lack of stress. Unfortunately, Holly fell over whenever she attempted yoga, she had an ongoing love affair with junk food, and she lacked the ability to live stress free. “My way is fine. Or it would be if Tommy would trust me to pick the series ideas.”

“Interesting that you want your scumbag of a boss to trust you, when you don’t trust anyone.”

“I trust you.”

“When you trust so few,” Allie amended. “Yeah, you write about secrets, chica, but remember, not all secrets mean someone is cruel and neglectful. Not everyone with a secret is your mother.”

Holly sighed. “Yeah.” She and Allie had met in a college creative writing course, and despite their differences, they’d bonded over their horrible teacher. They’d roomed together for two years, Allie and her tofu, Holly and her chocolate. They’d become close, with Allie turning into Holly’s first true friend.