Perfect Pitch by Mindy Klasky Page A

tonight.”
    “I shouldn’t keep you, then.” There. She sounded all prim and proper again. The perfect Summer Queen.  
    Unbidden, he thought of the raunchy dialog balloon one of his teammates had scrawled on that goddamn photo. For just a heartbeat, he wondered what Sam would say if he made that proposition.
    Instead, he nodded toward her purse, toward her phone. “You’ll keep in touch?”
    He saw her interest kindle at the last word, watched her consider some double entendre. He tried not to feel disappointed when she settled for leaning in, for brushing a quick kiss against his cheek. “I just might do that,” she said with a smile. And then she collected her purse, and he showed her to the door.
    Damn. He’d have to take another shower before he headed to the park. A cold one, this time.

CHAPTER 5

    The first night, Saturday, she called him just before she got ready for bed. She’d had the game on in the background as she put together materials for the next week’s Musicall sessions. The Rockets had beat Chicago by an easy three runs.
    The phone rang four times before it rolled over to voice mail. “Hi,” she said, wrinkling her nose at how stupid her voice sounded. “It’s me. I hoped I could catch you right after the game. Have a good night!”
    She hung up and immediately wished she’d said something else. Something funny. Or sexy. Or even just a comment to let him know that she’d watched the game.
    This was ridiculous. She was acting like she was in high school. She climbed into bed, pretended to read for half an hour, and finally turned out the light, disgusted with her brain’s insistence at replaying the bubble-headed message she’d left.
    Her ringing phone woke her from a dream. She scrambled for the device before her eyes were open, before she’d fully realized DJ wasn’t in bed beside her, that he wasn’t tracing the line of her ribs with his tongue. “Hello?” she gasped.
    “I woke you.” His voice matched the tones he’d used in her dream—low, warm, like he was telling her a secret.
    “No!” she said, pushing herself to sit up against her pillow. “I mean, I was up. Um, I was dreaming.”
    He chuckled. “I shouldn’t have called. But I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. Didn’t want to take the chance of missing you.”
    Her belly thrummed at his possessive note. She pulled her covers up close under her chin. “I’m glad you called.”
    “What were you dreaming?” His voice was so soft, so suggestive. It was like he could reach inside her head, could read the images that had played out there, in living color. Like he could plant new ideas, ones she’d never dreamed before.
    She shook her head, feeling herself blush from head to toe, even if no one was there to see her squirm. “I’m not going there.”
    He laughed.
    “Seriously,” she said, waking a little more. “Tell me about your day. What’s it like in Chicago?”
    She felt his hesitation more than heard it. She imagined him leaning back in the upholstered chair of some anonymous hotel room, his hair glinting in a pool of light that was a shade or two too dim. He’d slipped off his shoes the instant he got to the room. He’d taken off his shirt, too, and an easy smile spread across his lips as he considered cajoling her, trying to get her to play his game. But she pictured him remembering what he’d said at Artie’s. He’d take his sign from her.  
    He almost swallowed his resigned sigh before he said, “It’s still cold here. Winter cold. There’s a chance it’ll snow tonight.”
    “I love snow!”
    “Yeah, it would be great if I was on a ski vacation.”
    She laughed. “My mother used to take me for ice cream the first snowfall every year, no matter where we lived. We had a whole tradition—double scoops, one chocolate and one vanilla, both rolled in jimmies. Then we’d go to a movie theater and watch the last show of the day, no matter how late it started. We’d sit in the exact middle