Page 40 of Treat

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him, and he sagged with relief. “It’s about Tommy’s schedule. He didn’t have much on it, because he was keeping it light, but there are a few things she has to shuffle. She wanted to know if you’d be willing to step in for him on one or two of them.”

“Oh.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “Okay, sure. What are they?”

“Well, there’s only one.” She glanced down at the small notepad she held, though she didn’t need to refresh her memory. “Throwing out the first pitch at the Tiger’s game on Saturday.”

He stared for so long that she started to wonder if he’d heard her—even Tilly’s whining for attention didn’t get a reaction. Finally, he said, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

She kept her expression neutral, but it was tough. “No. It’s a day game, so the first pitch is scheduled for one-fifteen. We’ll have to be there early, of course?—”

“We?” he interrupted.

“—and while you don’thaveto stay for the whole game,” she continued, refusing to dignify the unspokenyou think you’re coming with me?questionwith a response, “it would be a bad look not to.”

He was still staring at her, and starting to look really annoyed, so she decided to get the rest of it out before he found his voice again. “We can either sit in the stands between the away dugout and home plate, or in one of the boxes. I think we should sit in the stands. The boxes are more comfortable—they’re air conditioned and have better food—but you’ll have better visibility in the stands, and the whole point is for people to see you.”

“They’re going to see me make an ass of myself,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry?” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

She bit her lip to contain her smile. “I’ll have more details when I call their PR office in the morning—what time we have to be there, what they want you to wear, that kind of thing.”

“Of course, they’re going to tell me what to wear.” On an oath, he let his head fall back against the couch. “God, I hate PR.”

“You can wear what you want,” Brynn reminded him. “But some team gear would be a good idea.”

“Mine or theirs?”

“Preferably yours,” she said. “But you could slap on a Tiger’s hat for good luck.”

“What’re you going to wear?”

“Oh, I’ll have my fielder’s cap. Maybe my dad’s Sparky Anderson jersey, if I can find it.” She frowned. “I think it’s still in storage, though.”

“Who’s Sparky Anderson?”

She just sighed. “You know, you say stuff like that in this town, and your hotness factor just drops.”

He blinked, then a slow, cocky grin spread across his face. “My hotness factor?”

Oh, hell. “And if your pitch sucks,” she said, trying to pretend her cheeks weren’t on fire, “it’ll drop out of existence.”

He winced but recovered quickly. “I’m a professional athlete. I can throw a ball.”

“Good,” she said cheerfully. “Then everything will be fine.”

Thursday morning,Jude stood in the back hallway of the gym with two brand new mitts, a baseball and a confused trainer.

“I thought I was supposed to be getting you ready for hockey season,” Mac said, frowning at the mitt in his hand. “Why am I playing catcher?”

“Because I have to practice, and you’re my only option,” Jude said.

“Don’t you have friends?”

“They’re busy.”

“I’mbusy,” Mac protested.

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