Holly found herself seated next to Samantha for the game. The publicist was dressed in her usual princess-with-a-Nordstrom’s-account style, in a fitted business suit that dripped sophistication and elegance. She’d topped it off with a straw hat that had a Heat orange flower stuck in the band.

It would be easy to underestimate Sam, easier still to chalk her off as a trophy piece given that her father owned the Heat and that her uncle owned the Charleston Bucks expansion team, where her brother worked as well, but beneath that beauty beat a heart of steel—and she had the will to match.

Besides, in Holly’s book, anyone who loved fudge brownies and didn’t judge her for being a reporter was a keeper as a friend.

It was a gorgeous but steady hot day. Holly inhaled the afternoon air and the scent of freshly cut grass as she and Sam stuffed their faces with hot dogs, peanuts, and lemonade. They talked stats, about the game itself, and best of all, the guys.

“Aren’t they cute in their uniforms?” Sam asked as the Heat took the field.

Oh yeah, Holly thought, keeping her eyes on Pace as he jogged to the mound, though she wasn’t sure cute covered it. As he began the inning, she found herself once again mesmerized by the process that went into each throw. Gage stood just inside the dugout, giving signs to Wade, long, complicated gestures that Holly couldn’t begin to follow. Wade then repeated the signs to Pace, who’d either nod or shake his head or give a sign of his own. Lifting her camera, she caught his expression as he wound up and released one of his famed fastballs.

“Ah,” Sam said at the next pitch. “He pulled the string.”

“What’s that?”

“An off-speed pitch, which after that first high heat, was genius. Keeps the batter off balance.”

By the end of the fifth inning, Holly was in awe. “Oh my God—he’s got a no-hitter going—”

“Shh!” Sam cut her off by motioning the sliding of a finger across her throat. “Don’t talk about it. Don’t even think about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s bad luck. You’ll jinx him—I’m serious,” she said when Holly laughed. “Haven’t you noticed? Even the announcer hasn’t mentioned it. They’re all superstitious, every last one of them.”

“No.”

“See Mason out there, the toughest first baseman in the league? He’s wearing the same pair of underwear he wears to every game.”

“Come on.”

“And Henry? He drinks a soda after the bottom of the sixth inning, watch him. And Gage has to wear his lucky cap and touch it a certain way after each pitch. Hell, even Wade’s superstitious. He’s been rumored to sleep with his bat, though it’s never been proven. No one messes around with this stuff, trust me. They’ve all got something.”