Twelve
Woot-woot and wolf whistles shrilled the air. Joe’s party posse had arrived. The most gorgeous women on the beach took to the checkerboard. Stevie stood off to the side next to Zane Cates, as the women homed in on their main man. Circling and sexual. All hotties with perfect bodies. Coming on to Joe.
Team Rogue stopped talking among themselves. Shaye voiced her unease, muttered, “Kids in the crowd. PG-thirteen, Zoo.”
Her concern carried. Joe glanced her way, a man moderately hard of hearing. He grinned. “R-rated, got it.”
The guys chuckled.
Shaye rolled her eyes. “Idiot.”
Team Rogue listened as the Zoo Squad claimed his attention. “You promised a short weekend break, no longer,” a gorgeous brunette reminded him as she got reacquainted. She wrapped her arms about his neck, and her red T-shirt hiked, baring her hip bones and belly. She kissed him full on the mouth. Broke their kiss with, “Missed you, guy.”
Stevie’s heart lost a beat. Apparently Joe had planned to return to his posse after their wedding shoot. How could he not? The women promised fun and fantasy with their suggestive bodies and sensual smiles. Good times at the bar. Great times in bed.
“That’s Alyssa,” Zane said, satisfying her curiosity.
“You know her? Them?”
“Not like Zoo knows them. They’re all local. They catch fire for athletes.”
Joe was a professional ballplayer. A match lit for sex and satisfaction.
A tall redhead patted Joe’s butt. “Roz,” noted Zane. She soon left Joe for Pax, showing heightened interest in the first baseman.
An athletically toned woman stroked his shoulder and chest, and skimmed his hip. She had incredible legs.
“That’s Bo.” Again from Zane. “Marathon runner.” He quietly filled her in on each one.
Cady, as Stevie learned, led with her chest. The seams on her T-shirt strained, barely containing her large breasts. She hugged Joe with intimate familiarity.
“I’ve recently seen her with Sam,” said Zane. “Holding hands on the boardwalk.” He raised an eyebrow. “A few of Zoo’s posse seem to be branching out.”
Possibly, thought Stevie. Although one woman stuck to Joe like Velcro. Alyssa. She was last to take her square. “Beer later?” she asked him. “Me after midnight.”
“We’ll see.” No commitment. No decline.
Both sides were now positioned to play. Sports-minded Bo directed the Zoo Squad. Joe maneuvered Team Rogue. Stevie admired both teams’ strategy. The two were evenly matched. Up until the end. Joe knocked out Bo. Only to have Alyssa come after him. Three checkers remained. Two black, one red. Joe made it to the Squad’s back row, was crowned. An about-face, and Alyssa got out of his way. She came after Stevie, who was positioned mid-board.
Stevie was aware that Joe could only move one diagonal space at a time in non-capture mode. Alyssa was on Stevie’s ass, about to corner her. Joe managed to keep Stevie two squares beyond Alyssa’s capture as he crossed the board to protect her.
He was all strut and checker-attitude when he finagled a backward jump, and took out Alyssa. She’d been concentrating on Stevie, not as a human checker, but as a woman sensing her competition. Now she looked narrow-eyed, pinched-mouth, releasing a forced laugh that he’d gotten the best of her.
Joe and Alyssa hugged it out. He let her go. Alyssa was slower to release him. Her hand lingered on his arm possessively. He crossed four squares to Stevie. Drew her up on tiptoe for a kiss. A claiming kiss that sketched deep lines in Alyssa’s frown. Her amber gaze darkened with jealousy.
Dusk dipped the sun beneath the horizon. Neon lights from the boardwalk colored the sand. Music pounded a night rhythm. A flatbed truck came down the beach, bringing workers to dismantle the game boards. Rogues and challengers collected near the pier. There was widespread celebration. The atmosphere vibrated with exuberance and high spirits. Alyssa moved in, beside Joe. She elbowed Stevie. Purposely stepped on her toes. Tossed her hair and grinned. Meanly.
The crush of the crowd separated Stevie and Joe further. She found herself next to Zane. He had a big presence. Stevie felt safe beside him.
“What’s next?” Pax called out.
“Beer!” The cry rose, gained momentum.
“Zoo’s buying!” someone shouted. “Blue Coconut.” Cheers exploded like fireworks. Deafening. A human shift, as partiers left the beach for the bar.
“Where’re you headed?” Zane protected Stevie from the onslaught. A wave of humanity. Getting trampled was not her idea of a good time. She’d lost track of Dean and Lori. Joe had been quickly swept away by his party posse and booze fans. Stevie had no chance to catch him. She could only watch him go. With Alyssa. Away from her. Disappointment flooded her.
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
He motioned her to join him. He talked as they walked. “Blue Coconut is a townies’ hangout, two blocks off Main Street. The bar can get loud. People talk over each other and the music on the jukebox. No dress code. Baskets of shelled peanuts are served. The shucked shells are tossed on the floor. Crunchy underfoot. A life-size neon Elvis statue leans against one corner of the bar. Dartboards and pool tables draw customers to the back rooms.” Pause. “The place will be packed, a bouncer at the door, a line down the sidewalk, sometimes into the parking lot, but I’ve never been turned away.”
He was a Cates—the family owned the town and operated the boardwalk businesses. In a family of five siblings, Zane was the second oldest of the Cates brothers, a year behind Dune. A year ahead of contractor Aidan. Then came Shaye, and lastly, Rylan.
Stevie had gotten to know the hurricane hunter as the afternoon progressed. He flew with the 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron, stationed at Keesler Air Force Base, in Biloxi, Mississippi. Rylan called him “mental” because Zane flew into tropical storms and the eyes of hurricanes. A nice guy from what she could tell. Built like a brick, crew cut, single-dimple smile. Home on a week’s leave.
They soon rounded a corner, a half block from the bar. The door stood open, music blasted, and couples danced on the sidewalk to “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg” by the Temptations. Free and uninhibited. Stevie slowed near a streetlight. She was curious about the bar. About the party scene. About Joe and his posse. His relationship with Alyssa. Yet a part of her held back.
Zane stopped beside her. “Problem?”
“I’m not sure I want to go inside.”
“Second thoughts?”
She twisted the gold band on her thumb. “I’ve never met Zoo, the hell-raiser. The partier. Downing beers. The most popular guy in the place. The man of many women.”
“How do you know him?”
“As Joe, a man who loves his dog. Kind. Considerate.” She half-smiled. “Persistent.” He’d wanted her. Once.
“Avoidance, Stevie?”
“I’m not escaping who he is. Who he might always be. I’m merely protecting my heart.”
He eyed her closely. “Sad?”
“Over a man I never had?”
“You may still have him. You just don’t realize it.”
“Joe is the poster boy of the single life.”
“Don’t fool yourself.” His voice was low. “The right woman wakes up a man. He suddenly finds being a couple more exciting than living alone.”
She appreciated his male perspective. “Speaking from experience? ”
A self-deprecating grin. “I’ve loved, lost, and wished things had turned out differently.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m wishing right now . . .” Only one man could make that wish come true, and he was in the bar, while she stood on the sidewalk outside. She sighed. “Time to call it a night.” She’d ridden to the beach with Dean and Lori, and had no idea where they’d disappeared to. She’d thought to catch a ride back to the house with Joe. No longer a possibility. A cab? Eyes opened, she noticed traffic on the street was bumper to bumper for as far as she could see. Walking was out of the question. Too dark. Too far.
Zane was a mind reader. “Can I give you a lift?”
“I live at a dog day care.”
“Rylan mentioned you were Twyla’s niece, in town while she recovered from a broken leg.” He knuckled his jaw. “Are you hungry?”
She and Lori had split a ham sandwich at lunch. Nothing since. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to decompress after the crowd today. We can pick up a pizza, take it back to Unleashed. Work for you? ”
“Sounds good,” she agreed.
He had a sudden glint in his eye that hadn’t been there moments ago. Not until he’d mentioned pizza. They left the blaring music and the wild crowd, and walked a short distance, soon locating his 1967 Chevy Impala in the employee parking lot behind the boardwalk shops. The muscle car rumbled and growled with the turn of the key. Throbbing metal. Powerful.
“I restore old cars,” he told her.
“A mechanic at heart?”
“Antique vehicles pulse with the past.”
She liked Zane Cates. She felt comfortable with him. They’d only met that afternoon, yet he had the familiarity of an old friend. He drove to Zinotti’s Pizza, located on Commercial Boulevard, alongside other fast food restaurants.
It was a busy place, and parking was tight. He dropped her off at the front door. “Order whatever you like. I’ll be in to pay as soon as I find a spot.”
As Stevie entered Zinotti’s, she was greeted by a red-and-white-checkered floor, red booths packed with customers, enormous photos of pizzas with different toppings, and a short counter for orders. She studied the blackboard menu on the wall near the kitchen.
A striking woman appeared through the swinging doors, stepped behind the counter. She wore a Zinotti’s signature T-shirt and black jeans. Her name tag tipped over her left breast. Tori. A pile of auburn hair set off light blue eyes, arched cheekbones, and full lips. Her smile was welcoming. “What can I get for you?” she asked.
Stevie liked the basics, extra cheese and pepperoni. Zane was big, brawny, and appeared like a guy who’d order the works. “Large, the works,” she ordered.
“Crust?” Tori asked, her gaze on the computer screen.
Stevie had no idea. She was about to say “plain” when Zane swung through the door. Hearing the question, he went with, “Jalapeño garlic.”
Tori’s head snapped up. Her jaw clamped shut. A stunned, hurt look flickered in her eyes, followed by the flint of anger. The anger held. Heated.
“What are you doing here?” A low hiss that didn’t disturb the diners.
Zane approached the counter, his expression closed. “Picking up a pizza.”
“There are four pizza joints on the highway.”
“None have your personality.”
A dark glare and a harsh word. “Asshole,” muttered under Tori’s breath. Still audible.
The diners ignored them, as if they’d seen and heard it before. Stevie figured they were residents, not seasonal snowbirds. Locals would recognize Zane Cates. Tori was perhaps a long-term employee.
Silence lengthened, harsh and antagonistic. Stevie stepped aside, out of their line of fire. She eyed them from the far corner of the counter. She sensed a lot of baggage. Hostility or chemistry? Hard to tell. An invisible undercurrent between the two ignited tangible sparks. Tori’s features were tight with resentment. Zane’s face showed raw control.
Zane finally approached the counter. “Jalapeño garlic crust,” he repeated.
Tori’s voice sharpened. “I heard you the first time.”
Zane reached for his wallet. “How much?”
She deliberately quoted double the cost, according to the pricing on the blackboard menu.
A snicker from a corner booth, covered by a cough. No argument from Zane. He counted out thirty-five dollars, placed the money on the counter. Tori punched his order into the computer, took his cash, and returned to the kitchen.
Stevie watched Zane watch Tori. She disappeared, and his expression slipped for a heartbeat. Indifference fell to pain and disappointment. A moment’s vulnerability. He cared.
Zane stared for an inordinately long time at the tip jar between the straw container and napkin holder. Thoughtful. He added a Benjamin Franklin to the singles and change. Stevie’s eyes widened at the hundred-dollar tip. For a pizza. Generous man.
He fully detached with Tori’s return, pizza box in hand. Tori regarded Stevie and Zane, and Stevie picked up on her look. Her quiet evaluation of their relationship. Were Zane and she a couple? A tinge of hurt appeared in her eyes. Rapid recovery. Back to being mad.
Tori handed the box to Stevie. “Zinotti’s thanks you.” It was a stiff good-bye. Totally dismissive.
Stevie had the sudden urge to tell the woman that she’d just met Zane, and that they were no more than two new friends sharing a pizza. Zane disrupted her thought, delaying her confession. He curved his hand over her shoulder, nudged her toward the door. “Let’s go.”
He released his hold in the parking lot. Soon leaned his hip against the rear bumper of his Chevy Impala. He blew out a frustrated breath. Said, “Tori still hates me.”
“Who is she to you?”
His pause was so long, she wondered if he’d even tell her. “My ex-wife.”
“Oh . . .” Made sense. An explosive history. No surprise, then, to those in the diner. There was a good chance they’d witnessed similar exchanges. Passionate, yet unfriendly.
“An unresolved misunderstanding.” He left it at that. He opened the passenger-side door, held the pizza box while she settled on the seat. Told her, “You’re taking the first bite. Tori had poison in her eyes.”
* * *
They arrived at Unleashed as the last pet owner, Livia Taylor, fetched her Brussels griffon, Chester. Stevie found Twyla in the entry hall, leaning heavily on her crutches. She looked tired. There was no one else around. Stevie felt suddenly guilty for taking the time off.
“Where’s Dana and Berkley?” she asked her aunt, mentioning their two loyal employees.
“I let the girls leave early,” said Twyla. “Several of the owners ran unavoidably late. There was no reason for all of us to wait for them.” She pursed her lips. “Dean called, requested an overnight for Etta. I fed Turbo and her. They’re out back playing. He chases her. She chases him. They’re fun to watch.”
She slipped off her glasses, rubbed her eyes. Resettled them low on her nose. Stared at the man beside Stevie. Familiarity lightened her eyes. “Zane Cates, I thought that was you. How are you, son?”
“Well, Twyla, thanks. On leave, home for a week. Catching up with family and friends.”
“How’re your parents? Your granddad?”
“My folks are on a cruise. Grandpa Frank is living large at the retirement village. He turns ninety this summer.”
Twyla smiled. “Good to hear. Did you take part in the game-day fund-raiser?”
Zane nodded. “Rylan recruited me. That’s where I met Stevie.”
“Two hours of checkers, and he brought me home,” Stevie supplied.
“Joe?” her aunt questioned.
“Having a beer with friends.”
“You didn’t join him?”
No official invitation. She’d stood beside him on the beach until the push, shove, and wave of humanity lifted and landed him at the Blue Coconut. He hadn’t missed her. Hadn’t come looking for her. She hedged, “I was more hungry than thirsty. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Appreciated, but I have plans.” She turned and hobbled down the hallway ahead of them. She paused at the back door. “George is stopping by later with Chinese. We’re both fond of pepper steak.”
With one foot out the door, Twyla snapped her fingers, remembering. “There’s a message for you on the table. A feature editor from I Do magazine would like to stop by late tomorrow afternoon. She’d appreciate an interview to go with the photo shoot.”
Stevie held her breath. “Just the bride, or the groom, too?” She’d much prefer to do the interview alone.
Wasn’t meant to be. “The couple, if possible,” her aunt informed her.
“Might be just me.” If Joe declined, preferring to be with Alyssa and his party posse.
Twyla’s expression was sympathetic. “You know best, dear.” She slipped out.
Did she know best? Stevie wondered. She wasn’t so sure. A headache threatened, and her heart hurt.
She walked with Zane into the kitchen. Set the pizza box on the table. Then went to the cupboard and found paper plates. “Forks or fingers?” she asked him.
“Pizza tastes better with fingers.”
That it did. Ripped sheets of paper towels became their napkins. She looked in the refrigerator, asked, “What would you like to drink? Iced tea, Dr Pepper, beer?” Joe’s beer.
“Brand of beer?”
“Red Dog.”
Zane’s brow creased. “I know only one guy who drinks Red Dog.”
“Me.” Joe now stood in the doorway, his fists clenched. The calmness in his voice was deceptive.
Her breath caught. Stevie turned so quickly, she banged her hip on the refrigerator door. “You’re home early.”
“Early enough to catch you having pizza with Zane.”
“A great pizza with the works,” Zane said casually.
Joe widened his stance. He crossed his arms over his chest, hooked his thumbs in his armpits. His Team Rogue shirt appeared stretched, as if it had been pulled by fans. He glared at Stevie. “Where did you go?” His tone was low, accusing. “You disappeared. I thought you were behind me as we left the beach. I turned around inside the Coconut and found Alyssa instead.” His gaze darkened. “I waited for you. Saved you a seat. You never showed. I left.”
Alyssa had taken Stevie out with an elbow to the ribs and a stomp on her toes. Stevie didn’t rat her out. Instead, she said, “We got separated with the first crush of the crowd.” It had been enormous.
“I came to look for you,” he stated. “Too late, apparently. You hooked up with Zane.”
Hooked up for supper, nothing more. “I lost—”
“Lost you, found me,” said Zane around his first bite of pizza. His tone was intimate. Expectant. Goading.
Stevie started. What was he doing?
Provoking Joe, apparently. The muscles in his jaw flexed hard. Joe’s blue eyes turned midnight dark. His temper was barely contained.
She held up a bottle of Red Dog, asked, “Share a beer with Zane?”
“Only my beer.”
Sounded ominous. She didn’t fully understand. What more could Zane possibly want, that Joe wasn’t willing to give?
Something, apparently. Zane looked at Joe. A checkmate stare. Provoking. Intense.
Stevie returned to the table. Set down the beer. Zane pushed back a chair with his foot, offering her a seat. Next to him. “Don’t let the pizza get cold, sweetheart.”
“She’s not your sweetheart.”
“The night is young,” Zane dared.
Tension vibrated between the two men. The air was thick with testosterone, and escalating rivalry. Spiked irritation.
Stevie sat slowly. Uncertainly. On edge. Zane leaned close, and their shoulders bumped when he scored his second slice. Selecting one piled with more meat than vegetables.
“Join us?” she invited Joe.
“Not sure there’s enough to go around.” Zane’s response shook her. Only two pieces were missing from the large pie. There was plenty left.
Joe’s refusal was evident in his silence.
“Try this, Stevie.” Zane held his slice near her mouth, offering to feed her. A couple’s gesture.
She had no choice but to take a bite. A small bite, otherwise she would’ve choked. Cheese stuck to one corner of her mouth. Zane thumbed it, pressed it between her lips. Familiar. Overly friendly.
Joe crossed the kitchen in three long strides, before she could even swallow. He flattened his big hands on the table, his fingers curled on the wood. “She can feed herself, and she has her own napkin.”
Zane had the balls to touch her mouth a second time. “Missed the sauce.” He traced her lower lip.
Stevie was certain there was no sauce. That Zane was merely taunting Joe, for whatever reason.
Joe’s growl was guttural. Hellhound-menacing. “Touch her again, and—”
“You’ll what?” Zane draped his arm over the back of her chair just to annoy Joe further.
Joe dipped his head, dragged air deep into his lungs. Brought calm to his chaos. “If you weren’t Rylan’s brother . . .” The threat hung between the men.
“You’d what?” Zane pushed.
“Show you the door. You need to leave.”
Zane’s grin came slowly, annoyingly. “There’s no ring on Stevie’s finger. She’s free to see whomever she likes.”
“Her call.” Joe’s tone was sharp. “Choose, Stevie. Him or me.”
So un-Joe-like. He’d put her on the spot with his seeming jealousy. Demanding a decision. She balked. Said nothing.
“Pick me, and I’ll pick you back,” Zane said around a mouthful of pizza. Challengingly.
Ludicrous. Stevie recognized a blatant lie when she heard one. Especially from a man who was still hung up on his ex-wife. She realized he was matchmaking. In the most obvious, obnoxious way. Shoving Joe into a corner. Requiring him to commit. Zane’s intentions might be good, but it wasn’t fair to Joe. She didn’t want him to feel trapped.
She held back. She knew Joe liked her; he’d told her so. But did his feelings go deeper? Liking and loving were very different. Joe held his emotions close to his chest. She refused to force his hand.
She placed a piece of pizza on her paper plate. Pushed off her chair. Took both men in with a glance. “I’m the one leaving. You two need to get along.”
Zane’s chuckle followed her out.
Along with Joe’s, “What the hell?”
“Hell is what women put us through when we love them,” was the last thing she heard from Zane, as Stevie climbed the stairs.
“I need a beer,” came from Joe.
Men!
* * *
Stevie hadn’t mentioned the magazine interview to Joe. He’d spotted the message beneath a corner of the pizza box. Read it. He’d done the photo shoot. He was the designated groom. She might not want him answering questions, for fear of what he’d reveal. Too bad. He planned to field at least one or two. Like it or not.
He’d left practice and headed back to Unleashed. His teammates had teased him unmercifully in the locker room about leaving the Blue Coconut before he’d even sat down. He didn’t give a damn. They had no complaint. He’d paid for two rounds of drinks, got the party started. Stevie was a no-show. He had missed her. She filled a part of his heart he hadn’t realized was empty. It was a scary realization, but worth investigating. He’d cut out, desperate to find her.
Finding her at the dog care with Zane had twisted his nuts. Of all the men on the beach, Zane was a straight shooter. The last to steal another man’s woman. Yet Zane had pissed him off. Joe had nearly punched him. Over Stevie. His lady. One minor problem—she didn’t know he wanted her in his life permanently. There was always a chance she’d reject him. The interview would tell all.
Joe parked in the circular driveway, exited his Jag, and bounded up the steps. Banged the front door wide. Closed it more gently. Turbo spotted and greeted him, for all of a second. Only to take off again after Etta. Etta slowed to sniff a male pit bull named Biff. Turbo cut between them, herded Etta out the back door. His boy was territorial.
He glanced in the office, saw Stevie behind the desk. Her blond hair was spiky, as if nervously tugged. Perhaps she’d contemplated telling the truth. That she had no real fiancé. She’d have to face judgment in that case. He didn’t want her hurt or embarrassed. A dark-haired woman faced her on a wingback chair. He didn’t knock, just entered. His gaze was on Stevie. “Hey, babe.”
She straightened, stiffened, unsure of him. They hadn’t spoken since the previous night. Her “Hey, yourself,” sounded forced. Awkward. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
A twist to his lips. “Almost didn’t make it. The note was under the pizza box. Not in plain view.”
He introduced himself to the feature editor. A pretty lady in a red pantsuit with a notepad on her lap. “Joe Zooker.”
“Candace Mayne.” They shook hands.
He was used to women checking him out. Candy of the light eyes and parted lips openly stared. He was barely presentable. Hair uncombed, unshaved, scraped cheek, scripted T-shirt reading In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised, ripped jeans. Old, unlaced Adidas sneakers. Nothing much to look at, as far as he was concerned. Still, her gaze held on him. He shrugged. Moved over to Stevie.
Stevie’s eyes rounded when he hefted a second wingback over the corner of the desk, jammed it in beside her. Big chair, small space. Tight. He dropped down, hooked his arm about her shoulders, and hugged her close. The moment called for him to kiss her full on the mouth. He went with it. No tongue, but he did nip her bottom lip. Stevie blushed as red as the editor’s pantsuit. Candace smiled approvingly. Stevie was clearly shaken. Unsettled.
He nodded to Candy. “Ask us anything.”
“Nothing’s off-limits?”
“Your exclusive.”
That pleased her. She opened with, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Joe didn’t miss a beat. “Not before Stevie. We met at the bridal event on the boardwalk. She caught my eye.”
“How? Who initiated contact?”
Joe winked at Stevie. “She was trying on a garter. Lady has great legs. I complimented her.”
Candace jotted down his reply. She eyed Stevie. “After his compliment?”
Stevie hesitated, slowly said, “I walked away.”
“Played hard to get?” asked Candace.
“He . . . caught me.”
“That he did,” said Candace. “Lucky you.”
“Lucky me,” Joe added.
Candace tapped her ink pen on her notepad. “So, you haven’t known each other long, then.”
Stevie faltered, and Joe advanced, “I’m not bound by time. Never have been.” He squeezed Stevie close. “I live in the moment. Stevie’s more reserved. I told her to flip her calendar ahead a month or more, to whenever she’d be ready for me. She chose June.”
Candace laughed. “Summer, Stevie, as in a June wedding? ”
“To be determined,” Stevie hedged. “Baseball comes first.”
“A woman who understands her future husband’s career,” Candace complimented. She pursed her lips, specifically asked Stevie, “Joe, or Zoo to his fans, has the reputation of being a wild man. Both on and off the field. How do you deal with the fans, the women?”
Stevie owned it. “What fans? What women?” she returned. “When we’re together, it’s just us.”
“So, you’re a woman who is secure with her man?”
“Never a doubt.” Firm, final.
Joe inwardly smiled, relieved by her answer. Stevie was a psychologist. She didn’t analyze him, but she got him. Crazy-ass past and all. She was his present. His future.
Candace further questioned, “Small or large wedding? ”
Stevie was thoughtful. “I’d like something similar to the photo shoot. As many dogs in attendance as guests.”
“Speaking of the shoot, I have some preliminary pictures.” Candace went to her briefcase, removed a file. She spread three photos on the desktop. Two in color. One black-and-white.
Joe studied them alongside Stevie. Her breath caught, her heart in her eyes, and he knew why. His own heart warmed. There was nothing phony or pretend about the pictures. It appeared to be a real-life wedding.
Candace confirmed his thought. “A beautiful bride. A rugged groom. Visible flirting. A sexy happiness. Dogs, a part of the family. One of our best shoots. It’ll be the centerfold.”
“Publication month?” Stevie softly worried.
“May, both digital and print.”
Stevie sank against Joe. “Only two months.”
“We could be married by then.”
“Or not.”
“Where would you honeymoon?” asked Candace.
“Barefoot William is paradise,” said Stevie.
“Location is irrelevant,” from Joe. “A great bed is all that matters. A big brass bed.” As in Stevie’s bedroom. “Newlyweds seldom leave their hotel suite, anyway.”
Stevie pinched his thigh, indicating too much information.
Candace smiled, pleased. He was adding zing to her article. She had one final question. “Engagement ring? I don’t see one on your finger.”
Stevie flinched, but Joe filtered her unease. He laced their fingers, held up their hands. Sunlight split the windowpanes, glancing off the gold bands each of them still wore. “From the I Do shoot. Kind of romantic, don’t you think? Stevie knows I love her.”
Candace sighed. “Beautifully sentimental.” She gathered the photos off the desk, returned them to her briefcase. “I’d like to talk with Twyla, get a little background on Unleashed, if she has the time.”
“My aunt loves to share the Unleashed story. The dog day care is her first love.”
“Maybe her second love,” Joe whispered near her ear, as they stood. “George is moving up fast.”
They walked Candace to the kitchen, where Twyla was baking organic treats for the dogs. She was ready to get off her feet, and she settled in a chair, willing to answer questions. Stevie stayed behind, waiting for the timer to go off, so the biscuits wouldn’t burn.
Joe went in search of Turbo. He found him in the backyard, hiding in the crawl tunnel with Etta. He let them be.
“Hi, groom,” Lori called to him. She was playing ball with three collie puppies. She and Twyla were the only two aware of the photo shoot, outside of those from the magazine. They knew the wedding was staged, imaginary, and they were sworn to secrecy. “How was the interview?” she asked.
“We upheld the image.”
She threw a handful of rubber balls, and the puppies scampered off. She approached Joe. “For how long?”
“It’s up to Stevie. I’ve no plans to break off our engagement.”
Lori gaped. “Reality check. Don’t lead her on.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh…” Her smile was dazzling. “Dean and I might have news soon, too. Based on this week’s outcome.”
Triple-A cuts. Dean had lived up to the coaches’ expectations. But was he ready for the major leagues? The final roster would soon be announced. There was a team meeting scheduled for late Friday. Kason Rhodes had an appointment to speak to the team.
The back door opened, and Stevie called out, “Pickup time. Gather the pups. The owner’s waiting.”
Lori whistled, and two of the three collies listened. The third ran away from her. Lori looked at Joe, who took the hint and chased down the little guy. As he carried the pup inside, he noticed the name on his collar, Dash. He lived up to his name.
Joe cornered Stevie. “Is she gone?” he asked, referring to the feature editor.
“Candace just left. She and Twyla had a nice chat.”
“We need to talk,” he pointedly said.
“I know.” She sounded defeated. She expected him to dump her. Not his intention.
“Your bedroom, in an hour.”
His chosen location surprised her. She slowly nodded.
He slipped his car keys from his jeans pocket. “I’ve got an errand to run. Back shortly.”
* * *
Fifty minutes later, he returned to an empty foyer, carrying a bakery box. No sign of Stevie. Or Turbo. Twyla poked her head out from the kitchen. “Quiet night. Your boy’s with me.”
Joe was appreciative. He took the stairs two at a time. Knocked once on Stevie’s bedroom door, warning her of his arrival, then entered. He found her looking out the window. Her back was to him. Sunlight kissed her hair, one side of her face. His heart swelled, warmed, just looking at her. He didn’t fight the feeling. He let it spread. It felt amazingly good.
He set the bakery box on the table, then went to her. Separated from Stevie by inches, he’d yet to touch her.
She dipped her head, and her shoulders sagged. “I’m listening, Joe,” she said, requesting that he speak first.
He did so. “Good dialogue with the feature editor.”
She started. “You thought the interview went well?”
“We gave her what she wanted.”
“A notepad of untruths.”
“Who’s to say what’s real, what’s not?”
“We know better.”
“I want what’s best for us.”
She turned slightly. “And that would be . . . ?” “Whatever you want.”
“I got us into this—I’ll get us out.”
“You breaking off our engagement?”
“We were never really engaged.”
“We convinced people we were,” he reminded her. “We shared a photo spread.”
“Couples part ways, without explanation.”
“You’d need a damn good reason for dumping me.”
“You’re not the marrying type.”
“You don’t know that.”
She faced him fully. “Prove me wrong.”
“A cupcake will set you straight.” He guided her to the table. “For you.”
She eyed the box, uncertain. Her hand shook as she lifted the lid. A peek inside, and she gasped. Could barely catch her breath. “What does this mean?”
He collected the gourmet treat. The wrapper was swirled in silver and gold with a lacy white bow. “That I like jumbo cupcakes. Vanilla cake, whipped vanilla frosting.”
“The topper?” Her eyes were overly bright.
It was a plastic bride and groom. “Us, our future. Marry me, Stevie.”
Tears escaped, and she cried. Not quite the reaction he’d expected. “Is that a yes?” he asked, seeking assurance.
She nodded against his chest.
“Happy tears?” he assumed.
She only wept harder. He could live with happy tears. She was really happy. He held the cupcake in one hand, eased her close with the other. He comforted her. She wrapped her arms about his waist. Held him tight. Sobbed out her soul. For minutes. Finally she was able to say, “I love you.”
He spoke his heart. “I love you, too.”
She sniffed, reached around him for a Kleenex from the table next to the bakery box. Wiped her eyes, blew her nose. Managed a watery smile. “A cupcake proposal.”
“Best I could do on short notice.”
“It looks delicious.”
They tasted the cupcake—and each other.
And were very satisfied.
* * *
The week progressed in a blur. Days of spring training. Nights with Stevie. Twyla and Lori cried over their engagement. Joe figured tears were a woman’s thing. He’d passed the Kleenex around.
The Rogues’ locker room went silent when he told his teammates he’d be getting married. No one believed him at first. The boozer with the party posse had finally found his woman. Stevie did it for him. She calmed him. Settled his soul. Married player Brody Jones was the first to congratulate him. Their fist-bump sent a tremor up Brody’s arm. He winced. Odd. His buddies came around. Joking, offering marital advice, happy for him.
Later that afternoon Kason Rhodes and the coaches conducted a meeting first with the Rebels, then with the Rogues. It was a sober moment when the minor leaguers exited the conference room, shouldering their disappointment at not landing on the seasonal roster. The guys shook hands with the pros, followed by a few slaps on the back. They next hefted their athletic gear and duffel bags and boarded the Greyhound bus. Back to Roanoke.
Joe was quick to note that Dean Jensen and pitcher Noah Scanlon were not in line for the bus. What the hell? The Rogues were soon called to the meeting room. Brody hung back, didn’t attend.
The room was large, yet Joe immediately spotted the two Rebels in the back row, on the far side. Taking in the meeting with the team. That did not bode well for Joe. He and Dean had both fought for left field. His gut tightened. He’d know his fate soon enough.
The remaining Rogues crowded in, found seats. Kason surveyed the room. He congratulated the team on a strong spring training. And he was proud to announce the addition of Jensen and Scanlon to the roster. Scanlon would close for starting pitcher, Will Ridgeway. Nods all around. He had a hell of a fastball. Didn’t rattle easily. He was ready for the majors.
Kason read off the infield starters, no big surprises. Until he got to shortstop. “Brody Jones won’t be returning this season,” he said solemnly. Silence settled heavily over the room. “Because of a recurring shoulder injury, he’s decided to retire.”
Brody was older than the other players, often quiet. He came to work and did his job. No complaints. He’d covered short as if his life depended on it. He would head back to Plain, West Virginia, with his wife and kids. He would be missed.
Kason called off names in the outfield next. He stopped at left. His gaze shifted between Joe and Dean. “There’s been stiff competition for left field. Joe’s got longevity. Dean’s coming on fast.” There was a prolonged pause. “Execs and coaches feel that Dean deserves a chance this year.”
A chance at left field . . . Where did that leave Joe?
An unnerving silence until Rylan stood, his shoulders squared. An unprecedented moment. “Team captain objection, with all due respect. I want to speak on Zoo’s behalf. No offense to Dean, but Zoo’s proved himself over five seasons. He’s solid in left. The man face-smashed the cement post to catch your fly ball. Let the roster stand.”
Halo Todd pushed to his feet next. “Zoo throws dead-on from left to home. We don’t need a relay third baseman. No offense, Landon.”
“None taken.” Landon rose and said, “Zoo’s difficult, hard-core, but he always has our back, on and off the field. I vote for him.”
Pax, Sam, and Will added their endorsements. Catcher Hank Jacoby reiterated the strength and alignment of each outfield throw. It was a humbling moment. Joe was part of the team, but not until that moment did he truly feel the brotherhood. Eight players stood by him. Their opinions mattered. Even if they didn’t sit well with Kason.
Joe glanced over his shoulder at Dean. He sat slumped on his chair. Unhappy. Uneasy. Unwelcome. Joe felt an honest sympathy for the man. Whatever the ultimate result would be, his teammates had stuck by him. He exhaled his hatred for the minor leaguer. Breathed in hope.
“Done, guys?” Kason appeared more amused than annoyed. There was no further opposition. “Had you let me finish . . .”
* * *
Kason’s “finish” stayed with Joe on the drive back to Unleashed. He couldn’t believe the outcome. Dean pulled in behind him at the doggy day care. Both men climbed from their vehicles. Neither tried to trip up or shove the other off the stairs. It was six fifteen, and Unleashed was closed for the day. All the dogs had been picked up. Stevie and Lori huddled in the entry hall. Twyla and George in the background. All awaiting their news.
Each man embraced his woman. Shaking and scared, Lori spoke first. “What happened?”
Stevie clutched his arms, whispered, “Joe?”
He eased her mind. “I’m still playing left.”
Relief from Stevie, followed by concern for her cousin. Her gaze clouded. She bit down on her bottom lip. “Oh . . . Dean.”
Lori closed her eyes, disappointed.
Joe held up his hand. “Don’t feel bad for the Rogue.”
Both girls startled. Lori’s eyes snapped wide. “The Rogue? ”
Seconds of suspense passed before Dean grinned, told them, “Brody Jones is retiring. Shoulder damage. Kason Rhodes went back through my college records, noticed I’d played shortstop for two years before moving to outfield. That I’d won the Brooks Wallace Award, Shortstop of the Year, determined by the College Baseball Foundation.” A release of breath. “I always liked short. The spine of infield action. I’m fast. Good arm. Kason offered me the position. I’m suiting up in the majors.”
Lori whooped, jumped on Dean, wrapping her legs around his hips. Relieved laughter and lots of kisses. They slowly broke apart. Dean received heartfelt congratulations from Stevie, Twyla, and George. Joe gave him a short nod of approval, then stepped back.
He went in search of his rottie. He found Turbo and Etta in the Toy Room, surrounded by tennis balls, Kongs, Nylabones, Frisbees, and stuffed socks. They chewed together on opposite ends of a tug rope. Etta had brought him to heel. His once-manic dog was now mannered. Tamed. Content.
Stevie came up behind him. Curved her arm about his waist. Leaned into his side. “Turbo will be glad Dean made the team.”
“My boy would’ve missed Etta if Dean had returned to Roanoke.”
“The dogs will continue to see each other here, and then back in Richmond. A happy ending. Not only for them, but for Lori and Dean, too.”
“Dean.” He ran his hand down his face. “A Rogue. Blows my mind. A total mental explosion.”
“It’s been a life-changing couple of weeks. Twyla and George. You and me.”
“Meant to be is meant to be.”
“I think so, too.”
Turbo yawned, nudged Etta. The two dogs left the Toy Room for the kitchen. Joe grinned. “Inner clocks. It’s dinnertime.”
“I thought to make tacos for us,” Stevie offered. “Cupcakes for dessert.”
“Can we start with dessert?”
“If you like.”
“I like.”
He kissed her then, tasted her sweetness long before the cupcake. Dessert had nothing on Stevie. She was his favorite flavor. Forever.