The Devil in Denim (9 page)

Still, looking at Shelly, Alex could understand the urge to brand her as belonging to someone. She was a knockout, if you liked the cool blond type. Which he didn’t.

“Ms. Finch,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.” He nodded at Ollie. “Shields. And you’re Hana Tuckerson,” he added to Hana.

She fixed him a look that told him she wasn’t any more susceptible to his charms than Maggie. “You do your homework.”

“Not homework. Every other picture of Brett shows him with you.”

“You follow the Saints?” Hana asked.

“Ever since I was tall enough to play catch,” he said easily. He saw Maggie’s eyes widen. “My dad and my grandpa were both Saints fans. I had a halo jersey before I could toddle.”

Ollie let go of Maggie, handed her the bag of beer, and came across the room to shake his hand. The grip was a shade too hard but Alex responded with equal pressure. “What brings you to Maggie’s, Mr. Winters?”

“Call me Alex.”

“We usually call the owner
Mister,
” Ollie said. “Tom liked it that way.”

“Even outside office hours?”

“Are we outside office hours?” Ollie’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I figured you and Maggie must be talking business.”

Implying that there was no other possible reason that Maggie might want to talk to him? As “keep your hands off” warnings went, it wasn’t the most subtle he’d ever received. And even though he didn’t mix business with pleasure, he didn’t feel inclined to put Ollie Shields’s mind at rest on that particular issue.

“Let’s keep things casual for now. Tom Jameson’s got thirty years on me and Mal and Lucas.”

“Got that right,” Ollie muttered.

“How about some beer, Ollie?” Maggie said, her expression somewhat concerned as she looked at them.

“I should be going,” Alex said.

“Good id—”

“Don’t be silly,” Shelly said, cutting Maggie off. “You both must be hungry and there’s plenty of pizza … You eat pizza, don’t you, Mr. Winters?”

“Yes, I eat pizza.”

“And it’s dinnertime,” Shelly said brightly. “Seems like a perfect opportunity for us to get to know you.”

Behind her, Maggie looked appalled. He knew how she felt. This was exactly the sort of thing that he’d wanted her assistance with, but he’d kind of hoped to ease into meeting the players and their families. And to do it with Lucas and Mal along to share some of the joy of convincing the team that the three of them weren’t evil suits out to destroy the Saints and everything they stood for. Still, he couldn’t waste an opportunity when it presented itself. Particularly, he realized, when staying meant that he wouldn’t be leaving Maggie alone with Ollie Shields.

“Sounds good to me,” he said. He crossed to Maggie and relieved her of the beer bag. He carried it over to the counter and pulled out the six-packs. “Who wants a beer?”

“Me,” said Shelly.

“And me,” said Hana. She looked like she was enjoying herself. Which was more than he could say for Maggie. Who was standing next to Ollie—who’d looped his arm around her shoulders again—looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Maggie?” he asked, as he opened the first two bottles. “Beer?”

“Um, sure.”

“Okay. Glasses, ladies?”

“Not for beer and pizza,” Hana said. “Glasses only make for more washing up.”

“Fair enough.” Though he doubted any of the three of them did much washing up. They’d have dishwashers for that, and most likely, cleaners. He handed out the beers to the women and offered one to Ollie who took it and held it, not letting go of Maggie.

Alex ignored the gesture.

“Pizza,” Hana said, holding out the boxes she held. “Shelly, you get napkins.” She deposited the boxes on the long kitchen table and flipped them open one by one. The smell of cheese and dough and garlic made Alex’s stomach rumble. He’d eaten something for lunch but it was a distant memory. The day had sped past and he still had more work to do when he got back home … taking care of his other businesses.

He took a swig of his beer and turned to the table, holding out a chair for Shelly as she came over to the table with a handful of napkins and a pizza cutter.

Maggie seemed to realize that she should be playing hostess, ducked out from Ollie’s arm once more, and crossed to the big double-door fridge, pulling out Parmesan and a big bottle of mineral water.

Ollie took the chair opposite Alex’s. Shelly and Hana had taken up positions on either side of Alex, thwarting his vague hope that at least he might get to sit next to Maggie. Maggie looked at the four of them and then took the chair next to Ollie’s.

“So what kind did you get?” she asked Hana.

“Pepperoni with olives, veggie, and loaded,” Hana replied promptly. “The middle one’s the vegetarian.” She helped herself to a slice. To Alex’s surprise, Ollie took a vegetarian as well.

Alex let Shelly choose next and then gestured to Maggie. “You first.”

She reached out and grabbed a slice from the third box. Loaded. A woman after his own heart. The look of bliss on her face when she folded the slice of pizza over and took a bite made his body tighten.

No
.

He didn’t date employees.

But still, he found his attention riveted as Maggie chewed, swallowed then licked her lips, her tongue pink against the deeper color of her lips.

He froze, his hand half stretched toward the pizza box.

“Problem?” Ollie drawled.

Alex shook himself out of his stupor, saw the warning in Ollie’s eyes, and grabbed for the pizza. “Nope. Just deciding what I wanted.”

“Sometimes the choice is difficult. Sometimes it’s easy.” Ollie’s voice held a warning rumble. That was his second warning. Strike two. But unless he was mistaken, Maggie and Ollie had been over a long time ago, which meant that Ollie didn’t get a say in what Maggie did or didn’t do.

“I know what I like,” Alex said. He liked Maggie Jameson, that was clear enough. At least the idiot caveman part of his brain did. But it had been a long time since he’d given the idiot caveman part voting rights on anything other than choice of beer or sports.

“Sometimes what we like isn’t good for us,” Ollie replied. He reached for another slice. “I like this pizza but you wouldn’t like my performance if I ate it every day. So I don’t eat it.”

“I like a man who’s got his priorities straight,” Alex said.

Maggie was watching the two of them again, her dark eyes following them like a tennis spectator. “Ollie’s very dedicated,” she said. “He’s got a—”

“Pretty sure Alex here knows my stats,” Ollie interrupted. “Don’t you, Alex?”

“Yup. Want to hear them?”

“I know them.”

“Want to hear mine?”

“Oh good grief,” Hana said. “There’s too much testosterone in this room as usual. Change of topic. I know. Shelly, how are the wedding plans coming along?”

Shelly wiped grease off her fingers and took a sip of beer before she answered. “Good, mostly.”

“When’s the wedding?” Alex asked. He should know when his team captain was getting married. But that hadn’t been in any of the briefing materials he’d been given so far.

“November,” Shelly said. “After the season.”

Hana gave a little eye roll. “As if there’s any other choice. Still, that means you’ve got nearly eleven months left.”

“Yep, but I want to get a lot of it settled before spring training,” Shelly said. “Once Hector gets his head in the game, getting him to make any wedding decisions will be like pulling teeth. Not to mention he’ll be in Florida and I’ll be stuck here in New York doing everything myself.”

“Wise woman,” Ollie said. “And heck, if you don’t like what he comes up with, you can change it during the season and he probably won’t remember by the time we’re done anyway.”

“I don’t think he cares that much. He wants somewhere warm, so we’re doing Hawaii.”

“Yay, vacation,” Hana said with a grin. “Let me guess, your colors will be blue, white, and yellow?”

Shelly waggled her beer. “Nope, won that argument. I’ve got a lifetime ahead of me to wear the Saints colors at every opportunity”—she slanted her big blue eyes at Alex—“at least, I hope I do. So at my wedding, I want my favorite colors. Don’t worry, Alex, there’ll be a lovely baseball-themed groom’s cake for the media to photograph. And I’ll come up with something cute for the favors. But I want pink roses and gardenias like my mom.”

“And have them you shall,” Maggie declared with a solemn expression. “Besides, Hector will do anything you ask, so it’s a nonissue.”

Alex lifted his eyebrows at Ollie at this. He’d met Hector Moreno this morning as well and the man was one big ball of Mexican-American testosterone. Loud. Competitive. Smart with it or he wouldn’t be team captain, but the kind of guy who liked to be in the lead. The sort of guy that Lucas’s family would approve of. The Angelos were big on ambition. And winning.

Ollie nodded at him. “Yep, it’s sad when the mighty fall.”

“You’re just jealous, Ollie Shields,” Hana said. “You wish you had a goddess like Shelly.”

“True,” Ollie said with a grin. “But she just won’t marry me. Besides, I’d look weird with pink roses and gardenias.”

“Plus you’d have to give up your fan club,” Maggie teased. “All those Shieldettes sobbing into their pillows every night. The whole city would flood.”

“There is that,” Ollie said, taking another slice. “So, really, me staying single is a matter of public safety.”

“Oh Lord,” Maggie said. “You’re all front, Shields. You’d give it all up in a heartbeat if you met the right woman.”

“I couldn’t get her to marry me either,” Ollie said, his expression serious for a second.

Alex felt his fingers tighten around his beer bottle, then made them relax.

Maggie stuck out her tongue. “I wasn’t the right one for you. We would’ve strangled each other before our first anniversary. For starters, you don’t like anchovies. And you don’t appreciate zombie movies.”

“That’s because zombies blow. You can kill ’em with one good slug of a bat. Give me a good old alien invasion any day. More explosions.”

“If a zombie came after you, you’d drop your bat and run away,” Hana said, grinning at Ollie. “You’re just chicken about all the brains.”

“I like zombies,” Alex said.

“You do?” Maggie asked.

“Yep.
Evil Dead
is a classic.” He tipped his beer at Ollie.

Ollie scowled. “You probably like ballet too,”

“Actually, I do,” Alex said with a smile calculated to annoy. “I have a subscription to the ABT and the New York City Ballet.” He had them for corporate entertaining purposes but Ollie didn’t need to know that.

“I wouldn’t spread that around the locker room,” Ollie said.

“I’m sure I’ll survive if word gets out.”

“Yeah, Ollie. Some guys have taste,” Maggie said. Alex pricked up his ears. Did Maggie like ballet?

Ollie lowered his brows. “Yeah, but can they do Springsteen at karaoke? Or do that other thing you used to like?”

What other thing? Alex’s imagination supplied several rapid suggestions involving Maggie and a distinct lack of clothes and he nearly choked on his beer.

No
. He reined in the caveman again.

Maggie shook her head at Ollie. “The karaoke’s a point in your favor. But that other thing? You’d be surprised.”

Ollie clutched his heart. “Wounded. Crushed. Destroyed.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have been annoying at all,” Maggie said. “Anyway, weren’t we talking about Shelly and Hector’s wedding?”

“Yes, we were,” Hana said.

“It sounds great to me,” Alex said. “I love Hawaii. And pink roses.”

Shelly beamed at him and he smiled back. It was a start.

*   *   *

“That went well,” Alex said as he gathered up the empty beer bottles. He carried them over to where Maggie was shoving the equally empty pizza boxes into her recycling bin, thanking whatever deity wanted to listen for the fact that dinner was over and no one had come to blows.

Maggie looked up at him. He seemed perfectly relaxed, his tie loosened and his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing tanned wrists. Where had he gotten a tan at this time of year? He’d probably spent Christmas in Belize or somewhere exotic. It made her uncomfortably aware that she was pale and out of shape after the craziness of final exams, the usual round of end-of-season festivities, and too many European pastries before she’d gotten home for Christmas and New Year’s. She kept telling herself she’d get back to the gym any day now.

She’d been telling herself that for days now. But as she looked at Alex, the thought of her kickboxing class, or hell, even hitting the crap out of some balls at a batting cage, was appealing.

“It was okay,” she said. She held the bin open and he put the bottles on top of the boxes.

“They didn’t scalp me or try to tar and feather me,” he said. “I’m taking that as a good sign.”

It was a good sign. She’d felt Hana and Shelly thawing a little in Alex’s direction—Shelly more than Hana—as he asked them about their holiday plans and the wedding and skillfully steered the conversation away from baseball when they tried to pry about what might be happening to the team. Ollie had been less enthusiastic, but Maggie gathered that was partly worry about his job and partly his perpetual habit of disapproving of any single man who came within a hundred feet of her on a regular basis.

It was sweet sometimes but mostly it was kind of annoying. Ollie knew as well as she did that they weren’t getting back together, but that apparently didn’t mean that he was ever going to think that anyone else was good enough for her. Between him and her dad, it was surprising that she managed to date anyone, let alone sleep with them.

Not that she was thinking about doing that with Alex Winters. No sirree. No matter how nice his wrists were.

Damn
.

She shoved the bin closed and wandered back to the table, straightening chairs as an excuse to avoid looking at Alex.

How many beers had she had, exactly? Only two. Not enough to justify that kind of thought. Unless drinking beer tonight had somehow reactivated last night’s tequila. Which wasn’t scientifically possible. Was it?

Double damn
. She’d always been a sucker for good arms. That’s what happened when you grew up surrounded by ballplayers. You got spoiled by all the fine bodies on display.