Page 34 of Angel In Armani

“Not exactly the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen,” she admitted.

“If I had my way, we’d tear it down and rebuild,” Lucas said. “But that’s not in the budget just yet. Besides which, the fans would probably picket us.”

“People like it?”

“People like history,” he said. “That halo is older than either of us.”

She looked up at it. Squinted sideways.

Tried to see the big silver ring as something more than a blight on the landscape. It didn’t magically become more attractive. She shrugged. “To each their own.”

“Baseball fans are sentimental. And superstitious. The Saints need all the good luck they can get, so we can’t go messing with our good-luck symbols.”

“That’s a good-luck symbol?” she asked. “Maybe that’s your problem. Anyway, aren’t the Saints like the worst team in the league?”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about baseball.” He slapped a hand against his chest, looking mock-wounded “But the one thing you do know is that my team is terrible?”

“I did grow up on the island,” she said. “I might not pay attention to that, but it’s pretty hard to miss the mass depression of the entire male population at the end of the season.”

Lucas looked skyward, muttering something. Suddenly he looked very Italian.

“Are you telling me they aren’t the worst team in the league?” she asked, half teasing. If he couldn’t joke about his team and take a bit of ribbing, it was best to know now. For one thing it would make it easier to forget about him. She liked her men to have a healthy sense of the ridiculous to go along with a healthy ego.

And for another, it was going to stop her shoving her foot in her mouth if he was touchy about it. Not that being touchy about the Saints seemed sensible. He was going to give himself a nervous breakdown owning the Saints, if their reputation was true and he was too set on being a winner or something. Evan had been big on winning. Even mini golf and supposedly friendly Frisbee in the park turned into a contest with Evan. And Kane had been another competitive flyboy, with an extra dose of high-octane army testosterone. She was over men who needed to win at all costs.

She held her breath as Lucas studied her a moment, blue eyes unreadable.

“We finished seventh in the American League last year,” he said eventually.

“Is that good?”

He groaned theatrically. “You really don’t know anything about baseball, do you? Seventh means we didn’t make the play-offs, but it’s also not dead last.”

“Well, that’s something.” She reached out and held out her hand for his bag. “Not last is good.”

“Of course,” Lucas said with a grin, “if you look at our average performance over the history of the team, we are definitely the worst team in baseball.”

“Which begs the question of why you’d want to buy this team?” Sara said. She waved a hand at the stadium. “I mean, this is kind of sweet and all. But don’t you want to win?”

His smile turned rueful. “To tell the truth, I’m still not entirely sure how Alex talked us into it. I think he put something in the bourbon that night. But no, it’s not about winning. It’s about being part of something that I’ve always loved. I’ve been a Saints fan my whole life.”

“But you grew up in Manhattan,” Sara said. Manhattan and the Hamptons and all the other playgrounds of the rich and privileged. “Why pick the Saints?”

He shrugged a shoulder and said, “Trying to explain that is like trying to explain why you fell in love with someone. My dad kind of followed the Yankees. But the first proper game of baseball I ever went to was the Saints versus the Red Sox and I just kind of … fell. I liked their spirit.” Another shrug. “Or maybe it was the fact that their mascot is an angel.”

“Why Dr. Angelo. That’s very sentimental of you,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “Not logical. It horrified my dad. Still horrifies my whole family really.” He nodded toward the helo. “Shall we?”

Apparently they were done with chatting for now. Which was good. The more she talked to the man, the more she remembered what she’d liked about him back in that hotel room.

“I’ll show you where to put your bags,” she said. There. Pretend he was just another customer.

Thankfully he didn’t call her on it but listened attentively as she showed him where to put his stuff and how to use the headset and adjust the seat. Then she left him to settle himself and climbed up into the pilot’s seat to ready for takeoff, running through her mental list of checks and tasks while trying not to notice the very familiar scent of Lucas Angelo that had spread through the helo way too quickly.

Ignore it.

Focus on the flight. She started the helo and wasted no time getting them into the air and pointing the helo toward JFK.

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