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Kelly laughed and traced another line across his lip. “You know I’m falling in love with you, too, Priceman.”

“I know,” he whispered, and slipped a hand inside her robe.

“Hey,” she said, curling her arms around his neck and glancing uneasily at his house.

“Marie is off today and no one else is around,” he said, pausing to kiss her throat. “Except maybe”—he kissed the top of one breast—“a couple of squirrels.” He moved to the other breast. “But pay no attention to them—I pay them well to keep their mouths shut.”

Well. If he was
paying
them. She sighed as he untied her bathing top with his teeth and lowered her onto the chaise. His hand drifted down, sliding in between her legs. “Tell me again what you’re going to say about me when you do your pilot test.”

“That Parker Price is the sexiest guy in all of baseball.”

“That’s a great start,” he said, and kissed her.

They made wild love on that chaise, crying out with abandon, completely in sync with one another and their blossoming relationship. They spent the entire weekend sequestered in his mansion, taking no phone calls, letting no one in—except the delivery guy, of course, who kept them in food and booze and made a tidy little sum in tips for his discretion.

They romped about Parker’s huge house, talking about how many kids could live comfortably in that house, at how improbable it was that they were actually together, talking about anything and everything.

But when Sunday night came, their little retreat from the world ended when Kelly headed back to the city. “I’m gonna miss you,” Parker said, wrapping her in a bear hug before they walked out to the car. “We’re leaving for San Francisco tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Kelly sighed, and pushed his hair from his forehead. “But it’s just a few days.”

“As long as I know you’ll be here when I get back Friday. What if I swing by your place when we get in?”

“That would be great,” Kelly said, rising up on her toes to kiss him once more. “I’ll make you something very special.”

They left it that way, both reluctant to part, both eager to be together again.

But in the middle of that week, while Parker was hitting balls out of the park and performing a double play that one sportscaster said was an impossible feat, Kelly got a call from Dan Brown at ESPN, who told her they wanted to fly her out to L.A. to get a makeover fit for television and do some tests on a few segments.

Kelly’s heart started to pound like a drum as he spoke. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said. “We’ll do a pilot segment, and if everything goes well and it gets picked up, we’d put you on the air right around October, in time for the World Series. So are you interested?”

Was he insane? Was she
interested
? “Yes!” Kelly cried, pumping her fist. “Yes, yes,
yes
!”

Kelly was waiting for Parker when he got in from San Francisco. Her apartment was swathed in candles, the tiny table had been set for two, and a bottle of wine was open and airing.

Nice ambiance, but he didn’t need it, because Kelly was wearing a little red halter-top dress that hugged all her curves, and that was all the mood-setting he needed. He gathered her up in his arms, kissed her hard as he swung her around, then put her down on her feet again. “Do you know how much I missed you?” he asked, pushing her hair from her face.

“Well . . . I think the four bazillion phones calls were a pretty good indication,” she said, and lifted her face to kiss him. “Come on, I made spinach lasagna, and I found this great wine—”

He caught her before she could slip away and kissed her again as his hands slid down her back to her hips.

“Parker, come on.” Kelly laughed and playfully pushed him away. “The meal is ready, and I want to tell you something.”

“So tell me,” he murmured against her skin.

“No. I have to have your full, undivided attention.”

“You’ve got my attention. Every fiber, every cell is focused on you, baby.”

“Parker.”

He sighed, dropped his hands from her body. “Okay. I’m here,” he said, his gaze still skimming her body.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“I’d love one,” he said, and walked into the living room to give her a little space. He glanced around as she poured the wine. “The place looks great,” he said, nodding at all the candles. “Very romantic.”

“I hoped you would think so,” she said, handing him a glass of wine. “I want this to be a very romantic evening,” she added as she sat on the couch. He followed her, touched his glass to hers, and sipped.

“Sorry about that last game,” she said softly.

Parker shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. It’ll all even out by the end of the season. If we keep up the pace, we ought to be in the running for the pennant. If not, someone ought to line us up and shoot us.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to
that
,” Kelly laughed.

He loved the sound of her laugh and smiled, admiring her. How did he get so lucky? How did he end up with such a beautiful woman who wasn’t into him for fame or money or any reason other than she wanted to be with him?

“You’ve got Arizona next and St. Louis right after that,” she commented.

“Yep. Three days in town and then we’re on the road for about ten days.” He didn’t want to even think of it. Summer months were tough, constantly on a ball field somewhere, constantly away from the people he loved, and now, away from Kelly. He couldn’t stand it some days. “Are you okay with that?” he asked her. “The long absences?”

“Sure!” she said brightly. “I know its part of the deal. And as a matter of fact . . .” She suddenly put her wineglass aside and faced him. “I have some great news, Parker. It looks like I’m going to be gone for a while, too.”

In spite of his chuckle, Parker felt the first pinprick of trepidation. “How is it great news that you are going to be gone? Where are you going?”

She was smiling so broadly and gripping her hands so tightly that he had the impression she was fighting to keep from floating away. “Actually . . . I am going to L.A.”

She waited a moment to see his reaction. But it took Parker a moment to connect the dots, and even then, he could only blink.

“Parker! I am going to L.A. to be tested for an ESPN talk show!” With a shriek of pure joy, she fell backward, her arms high above her head.

“Oh, God,” he said, genuinely surprised and proud of her. “Kelly, that is fantastic!” He set aside his wine, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up to kiss her. “That’s awesome! I am so damn proud of you, baby.”

“
Thank
you,” she said, beaming. “Parker, I am so excited I can hardly stand it. I can’t
wait
! I’m going to be on ESPN with my own talk show! I mean, assuming everything goes all right and it tests out okay and they like the segments I tape and I don’t come across as a big dork. Can you believe it? I have dreamed of this for years!”

“Of course I can believe it. You’re smart as hell and witty and gorgeous to boot. You’re the best,” he said, meaning it. “So how long will you be gone?”

“Two or three weeks. Maybe longer. I’m not sure.”

Maybe longer . . . that pinprick of panic was beginning to spread into a real fissure. Parker was happy for Kelly, of course he was, terribly happy . . . but . . .
but she was his lucky charm.

“I guess I should ask them exactly how long. Guido and the
producers of
Sports Day
decided I should just tell my listeners I’m going on vacation and have a couple of rotating guest hosts sit in. That way, if ESPN doesn’t like the show, or doesn’t pick it up for very long, I have a place to land. Isn’t that
nice
of them?” she chirped, and patted Parker on the chest before popping up off the couch.

She went into the kitchen and started bustling around, gathering lasagna and salad. “I know you must be hungry. I don’t know what to wear.”

“What?” he asked, confused.

Kelly’s laugh was bright and vibrant and reverberated in the apartment. “The two statements are not related,” she said, giggling. “I mean, I don’t know what to wear for the tests. Should I go casual? Or formal? Maybe a hip look?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said, having no clue how a hip or casual look would differ. He got up and walked into the kitchen to help her. “So . . . after you do this testing, you’re definitely coming back, right?”

“Of course!’ she cried, and paused to put her hand to his face and kiss him. “If I get the show, I will be taping in Connecticut. If I don’t, I will be back in New York. Don’t worry, Parker. I’m definitely coming back,” she said sweetly. “Come on. This lasagna has been sitting around too long.”

Parker made himself eat, but he’d lost his appetite. He wasn’t sure why he had such a bad sense of foreboding, but he did—a feeling that was based on absolutely nothing and bordered on highly selfish. Nevertheless, he couldn’t seem to shake it.

And as the evening progressed, nothing could make it go away. Not fabulous love-making, not Kelly’s show the next day, not batting practice where he was knocking them out of the park. He just couldn’t shake that quiet, persistent unease that he couldn’t be the same without her.

And when he left a few days later, bound for St. Louis and then Houston, he held a bubbly Kelly tightly to him, reluctant to let go,
because if he did, he feared everything he’d only just found would be lost. But Kelly laughingly assured him, “It’s okay, Parker. Everything is going to be just fine.”

He honestly wanted to believe her. He honestly tried to believe her.

The first couple weeks she was in L.A., Kelly woke up every morning and pinched herself. And though she left a trail of bruises, she kept doing it because she couldn’t imagine what in the hell she’d ever done to deserve this fabulous new life.

First came her makeover: new haircut by Frankie Petronova,
the
hairdresser to the stars; thread lift on her brows to make her green eyes really pop; and microdermabrasion to rid her face of a couple freckles, which were not, apparently, what America wanted to see in their talk show hosts.
Plus
she was presented a hip new wardrobe from all the best designers, put together just for her by Melania Chenowith, the woman who dressed anyone who was anyone in Hollywood.

And last but not least, she got shoes.
Shoes
! Boxes and boxes of really cool high-heeled shoes to go with each outfit, even though there was no plan for the viewing audience to see her feet. But
she’d
see them, because every day she would look down at those puppies and sigh with happiness.

Kelly O’Shay had died and gone to heaven. This was heaven, the stuff of dreams. The pilot tests went great—of course they did—with the makeover and the clothes, she was practically singing her way through it, dishing the upcoming football season so well she had the crew laughing. Better yet, she had a couple of past greats to interview: Troy Aikman and Joe Montana, two very charming men who made some fun predictions and laughed at her jokes.

It just didn’t get any better than that: sitting in a studio behind a desk, wearing
haute couture
with a fab new ’do, and having Troy Aikman and Joe Montana laugh at your jokes.

Frankly, the only thing missing from the fairy tale was Parker. She wished he could be here, could see her fabulous new look and watch her work.

As it was, she hardly ever spoke to him. With the time difference and the Mets’ grueling season, it was difficult to catch each other on the phone. When they did connect, she told him everything—how great everyone was, how fabulous the show was going to be, how fun it was to talk to two football greats, how they were hoping to move her to Connecticut in a few days to tape some segments they would have ready to go if ESPN picked up her show.

“That’s great,” Parker would say, listening attentively as he always did and seeming excited right along with her. “But when are you coming home?”

It was a good question and one Kelly had no answer for. They had sent the pilot segment to Connecticut, and her agent and ESPN management told her to sit tight—they’d tell her something in the next few days.

When the call finally came—ESPN wanted six segments for the fall—Kelly was ecstatic. Unfortunately, she had no one to celebrate the news with. Her mom and sister were on the East Coast, and while they were supportive and wanted this for her, neither could take time from their jobs to come out. Parker was on the road again. So she had a split of champagne by herself, packed her bags,
and flew to Bristol, Connecticut, where they put her up in a tiny corporate apartment, and got to work on her show.

Kelly was so busy writing and working with the producers that she didn’t know they’d begun to air teasers for her show. Nor did she know that Parker was hitting another slump. She’d come home at night completely exhausted and go straight to bed. In the mornings, she got up with the dawn, tried at least to get a run in, and then returned to the studio. She was disconnected from everything in the here and now, connected only with her future.

In those rare moments she actually had time to phone Parker, she could never seem to reach him. She figured he was traveling and resting between games and thought little of it, but she missed talking to him very much. She assumed he would call her in a few days to tell her how much he missed her and needed to see her, too. Of that, she was confident.

Parker was on the road a lot, but he wasn’t resting. He was pacing every floor he could find, trying to stay away from TV and trying to figure out what was really in his head. Both things were difficult to achieve, because with twenty-eight guys on the active roster, someone was sure to be tuned into ESPN, and he’d be forced to endure the agony of hearing it all over again.

He just couldn’t seem to think. He just couldn’t seem to
breathe.

The teasers ESPN ran for Kelly’s upcoming talk show were all about him. He still couldn’t wrap his heart and mind around the idea that Kelly had done this, couldn’t believe she would use him so blatantly just to get a gig. He began to question if he’d ever meant anything to her, or if he was nothing but a stepping-stone on her way up the ladder.