Before the next day’s game, Pace was in the clubhouse when things went from bad to worse: his father called. “You forget my number?” the old man asked.

Just what Pace needed, that disapproving tone right before a game. “Hi, Dad.”

“I’m in Houston. You going to win or lose today? Because if you’re planning on winning, I thought I’d come watch.”

Edward Martin didn’t make it to many games because of his busy schedule. And in truth, their relationship was far better for it. They had one of those things-are-fine-if-we-don’t-spend-too-much-time-together relationships. “I’ll get you a seat.” Pace hung up knowing he’d either disappoint his father or not, but to stack the deck in his favor, he searched the clubhouse because he had a girl to kiss.

“She’s not here,” Wade told him. “No extras in the clubhouse today. Given our press problems, management thought it best.”

Hell. He reminded himself that he wasn’t superstitious, that of course he could win without kissing Holly.

“I’ll go pull her from the stands,” Red offered.

“Not necessary.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, and headed out the clubhouse door, only to come back a few minutes later, flushed and wheezing—and alone. “Not in her seat,” he said, calling Gage, who was just about to use the PA system to comb through the entire stadium looking for her when Pace stopped them both. “This is ridiculous. We are not hauling her in here for some stupid superstition.”

But then he went out and pitched like crap and was yanked at the bottom of the third.

They lost.

The guys gave him shit on shit. Hell, Red didn’t even speak to him the whole flight back. The only one who did was the sole flight attendant, who somewhere over Arizona pulled up her skirt and asked him to sign her inner thigh.

He sat alone on the plane, head back, eyes closed, until he felt a set of legs brush his.

Her scent teased his nostrils, some complicated mix of exotic fruit, maybe flowers—all he knew was that it was amazing. She was amazing.

He opened his eyes as Holly squeezed in past him and sat. Around them, the plane was silent. The lights were dimmed; most everyone was sleeping.

“You okay?” she asked after a minute.

“Been better.”

“Is it your shoulder?”

“No.” Nope, he’d stunk up the diamond all on his own today.

“You know what they all think,” she murmured. “That we should have—”

“Yeah.”

She stared at his mouth. “I wouldn’t have minded kissing you.” A smile curved her lips. “For the cause and all.”

He felt a stupid, helpless smile hit him. “No?”

She shook her head, and she leaned in. “Maybe we should . . . I don’t know . . .”

His heart leapt hard against his ribs. “Practice?”

“Great minds,” she said, repeating his own words from Atlanta back at him.