She eyeballed her two best friends in exasperation. “You could have called so I could have at least worn a decent top.”
“Why the hell would we do that?” Tate asked.
She walked toward him, and Brody grinned because he knew she’d caved.
“If I come out of this top, I’m going to kill both of you,” she muttered.
Brody smirked down at her as they rounded the corner to duck into the dugout. “Honey, if you come out of that top, we’ll be your slaves for life. And so will the rest of the team, no doubt.”
The other firemen held up their hands to high-five Zoe as she made her way by. Tate tossed her an extra glove.
“Head to short, short stuff.”
“Kiss my ass,” she grumbled as she shoved past him onto the field.
She squinted as she trotted toward shortstop. Damn sun was killer today. Before she could turn around to take position, a cap settled roughly over her head, and a firm hand shoved the brim over her eyes.
She tipped the bill back up to see Brody slap her on the ass as he walked past to left field.
“Thanks,” she called.
She repositioned the cap until she was satisfied with the result, and she took position as the first batter came up.
The first three innings went quick. Lots of fun and laughter and plenty of horseplay. It was obvious neither team took the competition very seriously. Until one of the paramedics bet the firemen’s team captain a case of beer that the paramedics would wipe the field with the firemen in the last three innings.
“Oh it’s fucking on,” Mike Sanders growled as the firemen returned to the dugout at the bottom of the sixth inning.
The score was tied four to four, and the firemen had last bat. They only needed one run. The problem? Zoe was up in the batting order.
No pressure. None at all.
“Come on, Zoe,” Matt Langston called as she selected her bat.
“Just get on base, darlin’,” A. J. Spinelli said. “We’ll bring you home.”
Brody and Tate walked out of the dugout with her, and they flanked her as she stood in the on-deck circle waiting for the catcher for the paramedics to come out of his dugout.
“Right field’s weak, and they’re playing you shallow, Zoe,” Tate murmured. “Sail it over his head and you’ve got a double at least.”
She fidgeted, transferring the bat from hand to hand. “Shit, guys, you know how long it’s been since I played?”
Brody put his hand on her shoulder. “You can do it. Oh, and show a little more cleavage. They’ll be too busy staring at your tits to watch the ball.”
“Asshole.”
Tate snickered. “He’d be the first one out of the dugout to throw a shirt over you if you had a wardrobe malfunction, and you know it. Unlike me, who’d get an eyeful and
then
throw something over you.”
“What a pal,” she muttered.
“Batter up!”
Brody patted her on the ass. “Come on, Zoe girl. You can do this. Piece of cake.”
She drew her shoulders up, then let them fall as she walked toward the plate. Oh well, it was only a case of beer, right? Only she’d known the fire crew to murder for less. This was all Chase’s fault for not being here. He was their strongest bat by far. And he had a competitive streak that bordered on vicious. The firemen would have never gotten away with fucking around in the first three innings if Chase had been there hounding them.
She fouled the first one back, which was just as well. She hadn’t liked her swing and had been too indecisive. She turned inward just a bit and lined up, ready for the second pitch. Tate was right. They were playing her shallow, and the right fielder was a hefty guy who would never have the speed to run back for something over his head.
The pitch came in perfect. Slightly low and down the middle. She connected with a sweet smacking noise, and the ball drilled hard over the right fielder’s head. She took off running, trying to ignore the way she bounced in her tank top. She’d wanted to look good and show off her tan. She hadn’t planned on exerting herself.
She toed first base and shot to second, determined to get at least a double. When she got to second, Tate, the third base coach, held her up.
She stopped and bent over to catch her breath while the firemen and their bleachers cheered loudly.
“Come see me, sweetheart!” Tate called from third base.
She held up her thumb, and the dugout roared in approval.
Matt Langston was up next and flied out to center. His team-mates groaned and ribbed him as he returned to the bench. Mike Sanders was up next and hit a hard ball between third and shortstop into left field, enabling Zoe to get to third while Mike held up at first.
“We’ve only got one out, so stay put on the fly,” Tate reminded her. “Anything out of the infield, get your ass home.”
Brody went up to bat and Zoe mentally cheered. He’d get her home, no doubt.
He let the first pitch go by only to get ribbing from the opposing team. The second went off his bat with a solid crack and Zoe took off, head down.
“Slide! Slide!”
She vaguely heard Tate hollering behind her, and she lined up for her slide. The catcher stood in front of the plate, his glove out to make the catch.
It all happened so fast she still wasn’t sure what the hell happened. One minute she was about to slide, the next the catcher initiated a flying tackle, nailing her in the jaw with his glove.
They both went flying. The catcher landed on top of her, knocking the breath from her chest. Her foot skidded across the plate and through the buzz in her ear, she heard, “She’s safe! Catcher dropped the ball!”
She tried to get up, but the damn catcher was still struggling on top of her. Then suddenly he was yanked up by an irate Brody.
“What the fuck, man?”
Brody shoved him back until he hit the fence, and suddenly Tate was there, every bit as angry as Brody.
“There was no call for that shit,” Tate bellowed. “This is a friendly goddamn game. You could have seriously injured her. You don’t tackle a woman like that.”
The dugouts emptied, and the firemen and paramedics alike pulled Brody and Tate off the catcher. Tate knelt on the ground, his green eyes worried as he ran his hands over her body.
“You okay, Zoe? You hurt anywhere?”
“I’m good,” she wheezed. “Seriously. Just need to catch my breath.”
“Son of a bitch,” Brody bit out. “I’m going to kick his dumb ass for that stunt. What did he think this was, a freaking wrestling match?”
“Help me up and quit planning the poor guy’s funeral.”
She extended her hand up, but Tate curled his arms underneath her and lifted.
Several of the paramedics came over to ask her if she was okay, and she waved them off. “I’m fine. Really. Put me down, Tate.”
He let her slide down until she was on her own two feet again. Mercifully she could draw a full breath now even if her head was spinning.
“Christ, Zoe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, I swear.”
She looked up to see the very contrite catcher standing in front of her, his glove still on.
“It’s okay, Mac. Really. I’m okay. And hey, we won. You dropped the ball.”
“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. He reached over and ruffled her hair, which earned him a growl from Brody. “Sorry, kiddo. I forgot you weren’t one of the guys.”
She smiled and nodded, then promptly groaned at the pain that splintered her skull.
Tate swore. “Come on, Zoe. We need to get you home and get some ice on that head.”
“And miss the beer?” she asked in mock horror.
“I’ll make Brody buy a six-pack on his way home.”
“Why do I get stuck buying the beer?” Brody protested.
“I hate to remind you but it’s your turn to cook too,” Zoe said.
Brody looked at them with a hopeful expression. “I don’t suppose you guys are up for a grilled cheese?”
Both Zoe and Tate eyed him balefully.
“No? Damn. All right, all right. I’ll make a run by the grocery store and meet you guys at home.”
Tate squeezed her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll follow you home if you think you’re okay to drive.”
She looked at him in exasperation. “Tate, I’m fine. Let’s go. I look like I’ve gone three rounds and lost.” Then she looked down at her tank top that was most definitely not covering everything it should. “Shit. Did I flash everyone?”
“Huh? Sorry, baby. I wasn’t looking at your tits. I was too worried about other parts of your body.”
“I’m strangely insulted by that.”
He laughed and smacked her ass. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Zoe pulled up in front of Tate and got out of her car. Not waiting
for him to catch up, she headed into the house, anxious for a shower to wash off the layer of dirt caked to her body.
Fifteen minutes later, she walked into the living room in a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt to find Tate waiting for her with an ice pack.
“I’m good, Tate.”
He ignored her and sat next to her on the couch, tilting the bag of ice over her head. After a few seconds he removed it and then started thumbing through her hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Wanted to make sure you weren’t bleeding or something.”
“And?”
“No blood, but you have a hell of a lump.”
He stuck the bag back on her head and held it there while they sat on the couch. He reached for the remote with his other hand and turned on the TV.
“College football, bass fishing, or a movie?”
“Football,” she said. “LSU is playing this evening.”
“Don’t see your fixation with LSU,” he grumbled. “Have you no loyalty to Texas teams?”
“I might if they didn’t suck,” she said sweetly.
“Oh, damn, that hurt.”
She laughed and he grinned good-naturedly. Tate was a lot of fun. Laid back, playful. Sun-streaked, muddy blond hair that was more brown than blond in winter and more blond than brown during the summer. He had playful green eyes and a killer tan, and he lived in cutoff jeans and bare feet.
Brody, on the other hand, was dark-haired and smart-assed and could be surly as hell when provoked. He had his moody times when she, Tate, and Chase left him alone, but he was as good as gold, and the four of them had been friends a long time. He tended to be overprotective when it came to just about everyone he considered a friend or loved one. She teased him and called him a growly bear, and he took it in stride.
Fifteen minutes later, the bag had drooped precariously as the ice melted, and Brody walked in the door with a six-pack in one hand and two bags of groceries in the other.
“You okay, Zoe?” he called from the kitchen.
She could hear him rummaging around and then opening and shutting the fridge.
Tate took the bag off her head and felt her bump with his fingers again. “Looks like the swelling has stopped. Is it still hurting?”
“Nothing some ibuprofen won’t cure. I’m fine, Brody,” she called back to the kitchen.
“I’ll go get you some and see what Brody’s digging up for dinner. I don’t know about you but I’m starved,” Tate said as he got up.
After he left, she promptly commandeered the remote and went in search of her football game that Tate had conveniently forgot to tune in to.
It was kismet that Chase was gone and she was alone with Tate and Brody. Her idea had been percolating the entire day. While she was at work, it rolled around in her mind until she could literally see the scene as she’d set it. Now she just had to work up the courage to talk to Tate and Brody about it and hope they didn’t think she’d lost her mind.
Tate didn’t immediately return, which meant Brody had wrangled him into helping with dinner. Half an hour later, she was primed for kickoff when the guys walked in each holding a plate. Brody had two, and he set one of them down in front of her on the coffee table. Tate plunked the six-pack of beers down beside the plates, and they took seats on either side of her.
“Hey, this looks great,” she said as she sniffed appreciatively at the mound of pasta.
“I can cook,” Brody mumbled around a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, but we usually get burgers or hot dogs on your night,” she pointed out.
“You deserved a good meal. You won the game for us and took a hard-ass hit. That was fierce!”
“Ah, the things I do for beer.”
Tate laughed. “Girl after my own heart.”
They ate in silence, with Zoe stopping every once in a while to either cheer a good LSU play or yell at the referees over a bad call.
Afterward, Tate took the plates into the kitchen while Brody and Zoe kicked back on the couch. Nervousness scuttled around her belly, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t eaten so much.
She sipped at her beer and wondered the best way to broach the subject of her plan with Brody and Tate. It wasn’t that she had any problem with getting up in front of the guys and doing a topless dance. Fact was, it was a huge turn-on. Who knew she was such an exhibitionist? She was more worried that Brody and Tate would veto the idea before she could get it out of her mouth, and there was no way she’d go to anyone else for help with this kind of thing.
“Hey guys, I have a favor to ask.”
Both guys turned curiously in her direction. “Shoot,” Brody said.
“Well, you know Chase’s birthday is next week. I sort of have something planned. A surprise. But I need your help pulling this one off. It’s, um, unorthodox.”
Tate grinned. “I think I’m loving it already.”
She drew in a deep breath and plunged ahead. “He has this outrageous fantasy, and I want to give it to him.”
“Whoa. Define
outrageous
,” Brody said.
“Picture guys’ night out. Strip club. It’s him and the guys from the firehouse. This hot chick comes out and she’s shaking it. Only it’s me. Everyone’s staring and Chase is loving that I belong to him and that other guys are watching his girl.”