Apparently she’d finally stepped inside the batter’s box that was her own life and taken a swing at living. Hell of a time to figure that out.

She wanted her underwear.

Pace could have found a way to get them back to her before the game. He should have. But she’d known by the way he’d slipped them possessively into his pocket and sent her that heated look that she was going to have to fight for them.

Dammit.

She squirmed some more.

“What’s the matter with you?” Samantha asked. She was on the phone with Jeremy. They’d been talking about some mutual charity events they had going. Actually, they’d been arguing, because Jeremy wanted top billing for the Bucks even though Sam had put the entire thing together. She pressed her phone to her chest as she regarded Holly. “You’re acting like you’ve got ants in your pants.”

Holly laughed tightly. “Yeah.”

Sam put her phone back to her ear. “Jeremy, I’ve got to go. I’ll yell at you some more later.” She shut her phone and looked at Holly. “Spill.”

Well, let’s see. Her dress kept touching her like a damn caress. She could think of nothing else, and if Pace was here in the stands instead of in the dugout, he could probably give her one look with those dark eyes and finish her off. “Nothing’s up. I’m good.”

Sam narrowed her gaze. “Is it Pace? You just kissed him, right?”

“Yeah.” Among other things.

“Huh.”

“Huh what? There’s no huh.”

Sam sent her a knowing look. “Just stay out of elevators. All I’m saying.”

Pace let himself fall into the zone, and played hard. He pitched a solid two innings, giving up no runs, but during the bottom of the third, he went into his rotation and did something that sent a white-hot poker of pain through his shoulder. Through his entire body. All he knew was that oh holy shit, he couldn’t breathe, could barely see past the blinding, searing pain.

To add insult to injury, the batter got a piece of the ball and whacked it, a fast line drive to left field that took him to second while Pace stood there panting and seeing stars. He had to force himself to breathe through it as the New York home crowd roared with pleasure.

Wade signed, asking if he needed a minute.

No, he didn’t need a minute, he needed a new goddamn shoulder. He shook it off, then proceeded to throw out eight piece-of-shit pitches in a row, walking two batters.

Bases loaded, the crowd went wild. Fuck.

Wade ignored Pace’s next motion that he was fine and walked to the mound. Pace kept his hat low over his face, because out of anyone, Wade could read him like the back of his hand.