The Devil in Denim (20 page)

“I’ll pass.” He reached past her and picked up the other bottle of water. He cracked it open, swigged cheerfully, then stretched his arms out, another grin blooming on his face. But this time it was directed at the stadium, not at her.

“Kind of hard to believe I can jog here any time I want now. Must’ve been a cool place to grow up.”

She nodded. “Yeah, it was.” She walked through the gate and sat on the nearest seats, hugging her knees.

“I take it from the batting cages last night that you played ball growing up? Did you ever play here?” Alex settled in beside her.

“I played Little League and a bit of fastball. But no, never played a game here. It never bugged me though.” She’d loved playing baseball but it wasn’t the same as watching the big games, the spectacle of it. “What I really wanted was to have one of my birthday parties here.”

“Tom said no?” Alex sounded surprised.

“My birthday’s the start of the season. Mr. Lee—he was the head of the groundskeepers back then—would’ve had Dad’s guts for garters if something had happened to the pitch. Every year I asked, and every year I ended up either on one of the training fields or whatever other brilliant idea someone came up with.” She smiled suddenly. “Until my eighteenth. That year Dad surprised me. Built a dance floor over half the diamond and paid the groundskeepers a massive bonus to fix all the damage before the first game. It was a great party. Everybody came. All the players and their families—even the ones who weren’t at the Saints anymore. All my friends.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was. That was the cool part, there was always someone to hang out with. After—” She hesitated, unsure why she was even telling him this. Maybe it was just that no one at the Saints asked her about this stuff … after all, they knew the history.

“After your mom died?” he said gently after the silence stretched.

“Yes. After that, everyone just sort of made sure I was taken care of.” And now, she had to take care of them. She looked up at Alex, reminded of exactly why she’d made a deal with the devil. And, as he smiled down at her, looking ridiculously hot, reminded of exactly how dangerous dancing with the devil could be, no matter how easy he was to talk to. Time to steer the conversation to safer waters. “You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I do.” He leaned back in his seat, gazed out over the field. “So how do you feel about football?”

*   *   *

“Nice seats,” Maggie said dryly as they settled into them. The brown leather chairs were supple and welcoming. Much like the attendant who had materialized and was waiting to take their drinks order.

“The guy who owns the suite is a friend,” Alex said.

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Says the girl who grew up sitting in the owner’s box,” Alex retorted. “Don’t throw stones in your shiny glass house there.”

This suite was a lot nicer than what the Saints provided. Of course, it helped that the stadium was practically brand-new and the Giants had, you know, money. “Actually I used to sneak out and try to get to the bullpen or the front rows somewhere. I like to be close to the action,” Maggie said.

Not to mention that away from the box she didn’t have to listen to all the boring business talk that had made her want to beg to be let out as a kid. She’d always loved the game but hadn’t developed her fascination with what went on behind it until she’d been about fifteen.

“Now that I do believe,” Alex said with a grin. “Next time I’ll see what I can do. But for now, we’re here. Where it’s warm,” he pointed out. “And there’s good booze.” He accepted the single malt he’d ordered from the attendant.

“There is that,” Maggie agreed, taking her own drink. She leaned forward, peering out of the window of the box at the crowd below. Then she saw someone who made her duck back quickly

“Crap,” she muttered.

“What?” Alex asked, looking concerned.

“Will Sutter,” Maggie said. “With Ramona Clarke.”

“I know Ramona,” Alex said. “She reps Brett, right? But who’s Sutter?”

“You didn’t meet Will at the party?” Maggie asked. She tried to remember if she’d introduced them at any stage. She’d tried to steer clear of Will and Ramona, so maybe not.

Alex’s brows drew together as if he was trying to place Will. “Sutter. Why do I know that name?”

“His dad was Jack Sutter. Oil. Owned a good chunk of Texas. I guess Will does now.”

Alex leaned forward to peer out the window. “That’s Jack Sutter’s son? The crew cut with Ramona?”

“Yes,” Maggie hissed. She grabbed his arm, urging him back. “Don’t let him see you, he’ll come smarming around.”

“You don’t like him?”

“He worked for the Saints for a while when I was still in high school, wanted to learn about baseball management. But he didn’t want to start at the bottom.”

“Says the owner’s daughter.”

“Hey, I used to file stuff and run the mail around when I started. That’s about as bottom as you can get.”

Alex held up his hands. “Okay. So he’s the impatient type.

“Yeah. Spoiled, I guess.” She didn’t mention the flirting or the fact that the WAGs had labeled him grabby.

“And your dad kept him on?”

“For a year or so. Then he sent him to the Preachers.” And from what she remembered, Will hadn’t taken kindly to being sent to the minors. “Eventually he quit. He got Jack to try and buy the Preachers. But Dad turned them down. Will wanted to move them out to Texas. Start his own franchise or something. I don’t really remember all the details. But he’s not someone I’d choose to hang out with.”

“Glad to know I’m entertainment enough for you.”

“Don’t get too cocky. Dead pigeons are more entertaining than Will Sutter,” Maggie said. She smiled at him though. The seats in the box were too far apart to allow for any sort of surreptitious touching. Which was probably just as well. She still hadn’t really figured out if she wanted to take the touching any further. Well, her brain hadn’t. After watching Alex run laps the day before, her body was fairly certain that further exploration was warranted. But she was determined not to let her body do the thinking.

“Got it.” Alex settled back in his seat. “Plus Ramona will just want to talk to me about Brett and her other clients. I want to relax.”

“You don’t think Brett will leave, do you?” Maggie asked, stomach dropping. She’d been away from Hana the last few years. It would suck to have her move halfway across the country because Brett changed teams.

“You know him better than I do,” Alex said. “We’ve upped his contract offer as far as we can, so it probably boils down to whether he wants to play for us or wants a lot more money.”

“Hana would murder him if he dragged her away from here,” Maggie said.

“Good. Hopefully he’s sensible enough to be scared of his wife like the rest of us,” Alex said. “But this was meant to be a night off, let’s talk about something other than baseball.”

“If you wanted it to be a night off, you should’ve picked a nonsport activity. You know it’s going to be in the papers and on TV that we’re here if we’re spotted?”

“It’s football, not baseball.”

“Still, you’re sports news at the moment. Someone will notice and let the baseball guys know,” Maggie said. “Should’ve gone to the ballet.”

He nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” He nodded down at the field where the cheerleaders were just starting to spill out onto the AstroTurf. “But hey, there are dancers here.”

Maggie rolled her eyes at him. “Hardly the same thing.” She leaned forward too as the music started to play. “I can’t remember the last time I heard the words ‘booty shake’ at the ABT.” She tapped Alex’s knee. “Don’t go getting any ideas either. No cheerleaders in baseball.”

“Gotta have something to entertain the crowds between innings.”

“That’s what organists are for. And if the organist isn’t enough, think of something else that doesn’t involve booty shaking.”

He grinned at her. “Want to entertain me between innings?”

She stuck her nose in the air. “Football doesn’t have innings. Stop flirting.”

“Nope. It’s my night off. No one from the Saints is here.”

“Just lots of reporters and sports fans.”

“Perhaps I should’ve picked ballet after all,” he muttered. “The boxes at the ballet are small. And dark. More fun.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Too late, you chose the sports fix,” she said, ignoring the urge to grin back at him. “Now you just have to suck it up.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” Prudently she shifted slightly in her seat, widening the gap between them. Alex shot her a look but then leaned back in his own seat and pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping away at the screen.

“Are you working?” she said, trying not to feel indignant. But then her bag vibrated softly against her calf and she leaned down and pulled her phone free. The notification screen said she had one new text from the devil. Whoops. She probably should change how he was listed in her contacts now. She angled the screen so he wouldn’t be able to see and keyed in her passcode to unlock the phone.

Point of order. Talking about sucking is unfair when I’m not allowed to touch you.

Heat flooded her cheeks and she almost dropped the damned phone. She stole a sideways glance at Alex who was apparently fascinated by the action down on the field. Though he was idly flipping his phone from hand to hand with those long tanned fingers.

Devil man. He was trying to drive her crazy.

Are you seriously sexting me during a play-off game?
She hit send.

She ignored the almost immediate buzz from Alex’s phone and stared down at the teams who were assembling for the national anthem while she waited for his response.

The game hasn’t started.

Oh, so I’m just a diversion?

Oh no. I take this very seriously.
He still didn’t look at her when everyone in the box climbed to their feet as the opening bars of “The Star-Spangled Banner” boomed out of the speakers and the celebrity du jour started belting out the words.

Her phone vibrated again in her hand as she mouthed along to the words, thankful for the fact that she’d sung them practically eleven million times and had the lyrics engraved on her brain so that she could remember them even when she was dying to see what he’d written next.

Luckily the singer stuck to a short version, without endless repeats of choruses and verses. Maggie surreptitiously turned her phone over as she sat back down once the applause had died down.

For instance, I wouldn’t be thinking about the taste of your nipples during the national anthem if you were just a pregame diversion.

She almost dropped the phone a second time. Beside her, Alex grinned. As she leaned forward to stuff her phone back in her bag she heard him say “chicken” very softly. Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t a chicken. The phone buzzed again.

I’m also thinking about that little noise you make when I kiss you.

She sucked in a breath, trying not to think about it too. Time to take the upper hand.

Maybe you should be thinking about the red lace I’m wearing.

She resisted the smile when she heard him grunt softly.

Oh I am. Why don’t you think about me taking it off you?

I think this time, gentlemen first. I want to see you when you watch me.

Any time, any place. So, if I was lying naked in your bed, what would you do to me?

I’d—

“Maggie Jameson, I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Maggie jumped, almost knocking over her glass of wine. She shoved her phone in her jacket pocket and looked up to see Ramona smiling down at her, with a glint in her eye. Damn, how had she gotten in? Maggie stood to greet her. Ramona wore black as usual but her suit was just as sharp as her dress had been at the party and the diamonds in her ears gleamed. “Do you rep someone playing?” Maggie knew all the baseball players that Ramona had taken on as clients but she didn’t pay much attention to the other sports she covered.

“Couple of guys in the Giants.”

“Well, they’ve had a good year, you must be happy.” Maggie saw Ramona’s gaze drift down to Alex and cursed a little. There was no graceful way to avoid introducing them. “Did you two meet at the party?” Alex lifted his head at the sound of his name, his face polite and bland.

Ramona shook her head. “Only for a minute. Though Brett’s been telling me all about what’s been happening at the Saints.”

“He’s a great pitcher and we’re lucky to have him,” Alex said smoothly. “You’ve got a good eye for talent.” He held out his hand.

Ramona shook it. “I also know what my clients are worth, Mr. Winters.”

“Let’s not talk shop,” Maggie said. “Ramona, you should be thinking about football today, not baseball.”

“Oh, I’m good at multitasking.” Ramona kept her eyes on Alex, her smile feline with anticipation.

Maggie couldn’t tell whether Ramona was looking forward to beating Alex at the negotiating table or trying to win him over in another arena altogether. An alarming flare of possessive outrage rose at the thought it might be the latter. “I’m sure you are. So why don’t you come with me to the ladies’ and catch me up on all the gossip? I was in Europe for six weeks, I’m out of the loop.”

Ramona arched one dark eyebrow at her. “Hana and Shelly didn’t catch you up?”

“I’m sure you know things they don’t.” Maggie looped her arm through Ramona’s and took a step away from Alex. “C’mon, Ramona. I want to hear something juicy.”

Luckily Ramona let herself be dragged away toward the private bathroom outside the box. When they were both reapplying lipstick, Ramona shot her a speculative look in the mirror, brown eyes alight with curiosity. “You and Winters look cozy. Anything I should know? I’ll admit, I was surprised when Brett said you were staying on with the Saints.”

“I’ve worked for the Saints most of my life, I wouldn’t think it was that surprising.”

“I thought you’d be on your dad’s side?”

“I am. He wanted to sell the Saints, not make me leave them. Nobody forced him into it, so there are really no sides. He’s happy I’m helping out.”