Page 81 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

“I didn’t say that,” I say, grabbing her hand and leading her over to the ladder. “You go second so I can watch your butt while you climb down.”

She smiles and tilts her head. “Don’t you think you’ve looked at it enough?”

“Trust me,” I say, squeezing it, “that day will never come.”

As she gets to the bottom of the ladder, I pull her onto my back and start swimming toward the beach. I swim as slowly as I can partially because I’m worn out, but mainly because I don’t want to share her with anyone else at this point. When we get closer in, I see Butch lounging on the beach.

“Y’all have a goodtalkout on the boat,” Butch says as we walk out of the water.

“Leave it alone, Butch,” Raine says. “Why aren’t you up on the patio eating with everyone else?”

“Because I wanted to make sure lover boy had enough stamina left to get you back here.”

“So you heard us, huh?” I say, rubbing my face.

“People on the next island over heard you.”

“The rest of this party is going to be torture, isn’t it?” Raine says.

“Naw,” he says. “Everybody else was up on the patio. I turned the music up when I heard—”

“Stop,” she says, pointing at him. “We’re done talking about this. Come on, Alex. Let’s get this over with.”

She pulls me behind her up to the patio. Everyone’s sitting around—eating, drinking, talking. The music’s cranked. No one even looks at us.

“You think we dodged a bullet?” I whisper to her.

“Or maybe they’re just being polite,” she says, her hand closing around mine tightly.

I lace my fingers through hers. “You don’t mind if everyone sees us holding hands?”

“I guess that’s the least of our privacy concerns now, right?”

“Yeah. I guess.” I pull her over to the buffet table. “We burned a lot of calories. Let’s get you fed before you change your mind.”

“Raine!” Sophie yells from across the patio. “We saved you guys seats over here.”

After we load up our plates, we head over to their group—steeling ourselves for the teasing we think is about to explode.

“Hey,” Seb says, looking up at us, “take a seat. You need a beer, Alex?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly as he tosses me one. “What do you want to drink, Raine?”

“Here, I made you a mai tai,” Maisie says, passing it across the table. “I’m glad you two finally made it over here. Alex, Seb’s trying to convince us that Miami could win the World Series next year. What do you think?”

I take a deep breath and squeeze Raine’s hand under the table. Amazingly, it looks like they might not have heard us.

“Uh,” I say, “yeah, I mean we have to get to the playoffs first, but our division’s so competitive if we get past the first round, I don’t think the rest of the league’s much competition. You never know.”

Stone nods. “That’s what Paul and I always say. You have a better record than half the league, but you’re in the most competitive group. They need to stop doing it by division and just invite the teams with the best records.”

“And, of course,” Paul says, “there’s no way Miami makes it without you, Alex. Have you signed your contract yet?”

“Not yet,” I say as Raine puts her hand on my leg. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Yeah,” Seb says, “and he doesn’t need any help to make the decision, so next topic.”

As the table melts into a conversation about Ricky’s wipeout on a jet ski this morning, I turn to Seb.

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