Hers, too, she thought, watching Pace through her camera lens—but not necessarily for his competitiveness, focus, dedication, or pitching ability. No, her fantasy was much more female based than that . . .

The late afternoon was steaming hot. The air smelled of popcorn, hot dogs, and freshly cut grass, and shimmered with the heat.

Pace put on his glove and adjusted his cap. Game face on, he turned to view his outfield, and Holly experienced a little frisson of thrill at the sight of his name stitched across his back.

Good Lord, she thought, lowering her camera. She’d turned into a rabid fan.

The first batter stepped up to the plate to wild cheers from his home crowd. Holly knew that a successful batter got a hit only thirty percent of the time he went to bat, less when Pace was pitching.

She held her breath.

Pace wound up and let the ball go, where it promptly whizzed right into Wade’s mitt with a loud smack.

“Steeeee-riiiiike!” the ump yelled.

“Fastball,” someone said behind her. “Fastest fastball in the league.”

Wade threw the ball back to Pace, dropped into a crouch, and sent Pace a sign between his spread thighs.

Pace nodded. His next pitch arched, making the batter leap back from the plate with an oath, but then the ball arched again, sliding right into the strike zone.

“Steeeee-riiiiike!” the ump yelled again.

The batter looked pissed off.

The Philly crowd booed.

“Jesus, did you see that curveball?” someone on Holly’s left said in disbelief. “It must have curved a foot and a half!”

Holly had no idea how low it really curved, because she couldn’t take her eyes off Pace. He went on to pitch a textbook no-hitter, and if he felt any of the pain she’d sensed the other day, he didn’t let it show. In fact, he let nothing show. He was a solid, tough rock of determination from the start to the seventh inning, when Gage pulled him to save his arm for the next series.

Ty went in, allowing several runs, but still holding their lead, and the Heat won eight to four.

The informal after party was set in one of the bars of the hotel, free drinks on management. Holly found herself with a lingering headache, probably from the hot sun, not to mention the cheering she’d done. She thought about escaping to her room to work on her next article, which she’d decided would be about the public’s view of baseball, from past to present, focusing on kids and how much the game and the players meant to them.

But looking around at the growing crowd, she decided to stay a few more minutes in case she heard anything interesting.

Which was really just an excuse.