The Heat flew to Florida for a two-game series against the Marlins. When the private plane they usually chartered was grounded for maintenance at the last minute, they had to fly commercial, which meant much of management was left behind in order to get the entire team and the coaches there in time.

Everyone grumbled nervously without Holly there to kiss Pace, who felt good enough to start. He did okay, but Gage pulled him after three innings to save him for the Mets.

Pace sat on the bench and watched Ty struggle to keep their lead.

They lost seven to six.

The next day Holly’s article came out, this one opening the door for the fans to the last mysterious frontier left in America—the Major League Baseball clubhouse.

She described it as a self-contained world where players lounged, bonded, ate, and occasionally fought, but she wrote that one undeniable thing about any clubhouse remained: the chemistry inside it made or broke a team.

Once again, she was right, and eloquent, and this time she landed a live interview on SportsCenter, which had been following her summer series with great interest. Pace and Wade sat in their hotel room and watched as on live TV she came off as sharp, funny, and—

“She’s smoking hot,” Wade noted.

Yeah. That. God, he missed her.

They flew from Florida to New York, where the rest of the support team finally met up with them for a three-game series against the Mets. Pace was up in the rotation for game two, and in the locker room, just before the start he felt Gage’s beady eyes drilling a hole in the back of his head.

“Sorry,” Pace said. “I have no idea where Holly is, but if you want, I’ll kiss you instead.”

The guys all laughed and Gage lifted his clipboard to throw it at them, but then the door opened and in walked Holly.

She wore a pristine white halter sundress and a Heat-orange belt, the definition of sweet and sexy all at the same time, and Pace wanted everyone to vanish so he could slide his hands all over her and ruffle her up. Ruffle her up and down . . .

Everyone smiled and greeted her, thanking her for showing up as if she was the second coming of Christ.

Or the woman who could seal the deal on a win for them.

With a small smile playing about her lips, she walked right up to him, her eyes lit up with warmth and affection, and as happened every single time he looked at her, something deep inside him split open.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asked.

“No.”

They stared at each other, and everyone stared at them.

“It’s nice to have everyone happy to see me,” she murmured. “Are you happy to see me, Pace?”