“If it’d been anyone else but me, probably. Me, she likes.” He had them at the McDonald’s drive-thru in less than five minutes, and they were halfway back when he caught the red and blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror. “Shit.”
Sam didn’t slow down in her consumption of her hot fudge sundae, scooping a huge dollop into her mouth, licking her lips in a way that nearly made him forget to pull over. “Probably you shouldn’t have been speeding,” she said as he turned off his engine.
He slid her a look as the officer came to the window, one hand on his gun, the other wielding a flashlight.
“License and registration, please,” he said. “Sir, do you know how fast you were going?”
“No,” Wade said.
“Thirty-five-ish,” Sam said helpfully from the passenger seat, “in a twenty-five zone.”
Wade turned and gave her a long look.
She smiled, and he had to shake his head. Now she smiled at him like that. Nice.
“She’s right,” the officer told him. “Thirty-five in a twenty-five.”
Sam gave Wade the I-told-you-so look.
“License and registration,” the officer said again.
Wade blew out a breath. He’d left his wallet in the hotel room. He’d borrowed keys and a twenty from Matt’s brother. This was not going to go well. He flashed a quick, apologetic smile to the cop. “You’re not going to believe this, hell even I don’t believe it, but I forgot my license back at my room at the Laguna Rey Resort.”
The cop gave him an unimpressed look, then slowly narrowed his gaze. “Wait a minute. Do I know you?”
Wade smiled in relief. Once in a while fame really did pay.
“I do know you,” the cop said. “Hey, you’re big in my house.”
Okay, so maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Wade reached into the glove box for the registration and handed it over.
The officer glanced at it and then handed it back without going to his vehicle to run it. He was smiling now. “Ah, man, this is my lucky day. My wife was pissed at me this morning, but an autograph from you will make it all better.”
“Absolutely.” Wade was perfectly willing to sign his John Hancock on a piece of paper instead of at the bottom of a speeding violation. He searched the car and came up with a pad of paper and a pen in the console. “How should I sign it?”
“If you could say ‘To Leslie,’” the cop said. “‘With love, Matthew McConaughey.’ ”
Sam snorted softly as Wade went still.
“She loves you, man. You still play the bongos in the buff?”
Wade slid his eyes to Sam, who rolled her lips into her mouth to keep from bursting out with laughter. He gave her the death-glare and looked down at the paper in his hand. He’d written the “To Leslie with love” part. And with a sudden genuine smile, he signed “Matthew McConaughey” with a flourish. “I’ve cut back on the naked bongo playing.”
“Cool,” the officer said. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure,” Wade murmured as the officer walked away.
Sam gave him one beat of silence. Then she burst out laughing.
He stared at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh like that.”
She wiped a tear from her eyes and tried to collect herself. “I’m sorry. But Matthew McConaughey?”
“What? I look sort of like him.”
She laughed again, and Wade shook his head and drove them back to the resort, feeling irritated all over again. When they were back on the grass, heading toward the hotel doors, Sam put a hand on his arm. “Can I ask a question now?”
“I’ve been mistaken for him before, you know.”
“A different question.”
“No,” he said, knowing where she was going to go. “No other questions.”
“Do you really never go home?”
“Jesus.” He drew a deep breath. “Home? My home’s in Santa Barbara, Sam.”
“Are you in contact with him? Your dad?”
Yes. Monetary contact. Monetary payback for not being able to be the son John had apparently needed in order to not pickle his liver on a daily basis. “You’re harshing my ice-cream-sundae buzz.”
“I’m sure he’s getting up there in years but maybe we could bring him out for a game some time. Give him the VIP treatment.”
Uh-huh. Problem was, the old man would rather play cards than sit through a baseball game.
“He’d probably love it,” she said.
What John would love was conning everyone Wade knew out of their pocket change. “Stop.”
“But-”
“You know what, Sam? Mark puts up with nagging from Meg, but then again, she blows him every night, so…”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not nagging. I’m just saying that for the past three years we’ve done a special Father’s Day event. This year we’re having it at the Railroad Museum. Think of the positive, heart-warming press-”
“Jesus, Sam. Stop working and fucking drop it already. Please.”
And then, to be sure she did, he headed back inside.
Chapter 7
Slump? I ain’t in no slump. I just ain’t hitting.
– Yogi Berra
The rest of the rehearsal dinner passed without further provocation or argument, mostly because there were so many people who wanted to talk to Wade, many of them being gorgeous women, that Sam didn’t get the opportunity to irritate him more.
She supposed that was a bonus.
Afterwards, she went back to the suite while Wade stayed behind to help clean up and carry the presents to Meg and Mark’s suite. She offered to help, but he’d given her a quick “I’ve got it” and left her alone.
Which was fine. This was all just pretend, after all. And she had plenty to keep her occupied. She had work she could do. Hell, she always had work she could do, and calls to return. She’d missed a call from her father, her uncle, and her cousin, each of whom read her the riot act by the time she got back to them.
“Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone?” her father demanded.
After years of trying, they had come to a tenuously decent relationship. He’d agreed to let her run her own life without his interference, and she’d agreed to work for the Heat. She wasn’t sure why he stuck to his part of the deal, but for her, she worked for the Heat because she loved the job. And she’d like to think that her father got something out of it, too: the best publicist in the business-if she said so herself. She was happy there, or had been until the Jeremy bullshit last season. But lately she’d had a little seed of discontent in the back of her mind, and she found herself wondering if she’d be happier running her own PR firm when her contract with the Heat was over at the end of this season.
Her father had sensed her discontent and had commented several times that she needed to get over herself. To keep the peace, they rarely spoke. They got together at holidays, birthdays, and the occasional Heat team meeting that he made it to, but for the most part, he stayed on the other side of the country running the rest of his vast business empire. “Well, hello to you, Dad.”
“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t mean to bark.”
Yes, he had, but she could forgive him since he’d apologized. Another relatively new thing with him, which she knew he’d gotten from Wife Number Five. Or was it six? If he didn’t apologize quickly and sweetly, it cost him. Usually in diamonds, and not the kind on the baseball field. “I didn’t answer my phone,” she told him, “because I was at the rehearsal dinner.”
“Well, do me a damn favor, and be more available for the next few days. We need you to-”
“Wait. Stop right there,” she said firmly. One had to be firm with her father, or risk getting walked all over. “I’m still in the middle of the last favor you asked me to do. One thing at a time. Is it business-related? Because Gage is-”