Various States of Undress by Laura Simcox

those.” Brett turned back to Georgia, an easy smile on his face. “Do you have a permanent marker?”
    â€œI think so.” She opened a desk drawer and handed him a Sharpie and a blank piece of paper. He winked up at her and turned around, his back brushing against her knees. She tried not to sigh, but a little one might have slipped out. How stereotypical of her. A gorgeous, complicated man was being super nice to a little kid, and she melts all over the place? Yeah. And she couldn’t help it.
    Brett propped the paper on his knee. “What do you want me to write, Ricky?”
    â€œUm . . . your friend, Brett Knox the Fox?” the boy suggested.
    Brett did as suggested. “There ya go.”
    â€œThanks. Can you come over and play later? I have trucks and a sword.”
    Simone let out a cough. “Ricky.”
    â€œCan you?” Ricky persisted. He looked at Brett with wide, hopeful eyes.
    Brett hesitated. “I have a game later, buddy. Otherwise, I would.”
    â€œOh.” Ricky took a step back, tears forming in his eyes. “See ya.” Without another word, he darted out of the room.
    Georgia’s brow wrinkled. Poor little guy. But what else was Brett supposed to have said?
    â€œSorry about that,” Simone offered. “He’s . . . his father isn’t around. Thanks for the autograph again.” With a sharp nod, she turned and walked away.
    â€œThat was really nice of you,” Georgia said. “It probably made his day.”
    â€œOr ruined it,” Brett muttered. He stood up and jammed his hands on his waist. “Shit.”
    â€œYou did the right thing, though. It’s not realistic to expect—”
    â€œKids that age with no daddies don’t understand realism, Georgia.” Brett let out a breath. “Anyway. Hope I was able to help you out with the pitching.”
    â€œOh, you did. I appreciate it.” Georgia realized that there wouldn’t be any more interviewing today. She touched his arm. “I’m not going to be a bit nervous tomorrow.”
    He gave her a smile. “Yeah, you will.”
    â€œYou’re right.” She laughed, swaying toward him a little bit.
    He laughed too, and the next thing she knew, he’d pulled her close and wrapped her in a hug, her face pressed against his chest. She drew a sharp breath, inhaling the scent of Tide, warm male, and a distinct chemical cheese smell. Before she could even think about what that was, he’d let her go. “See ya on the ball field.”
    â€œOkay.” She blinked up at him and then glanced at the front of his shirt. There was an orange smudge right in the middle.
    Brett touched her cheek. “Hey, how did you get—”
    â€œYou’ve got Cheetos on your shirt,” she said at nearly the same time.
    They stared at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.

Chapter Five
    O N THE F OURTH of July, Georgia stood in the tunnel next to the home dugout, her legs rubbery from the anxiety that had been building for hours. She was flanked by Monty Ballard and Fred Shipley, who were making small talk, but none of it registered. All four of her agents were present for the ceremonial first pitch, and Courtney had informed her that Secret Service would be everywhere in the stadium, but all Georgia needed to pay attention to was her regular crew. Georgia knew the open stadium filled to record capacity was a nightmare for them, but they’d reluctantly agreed to this event, just as she had.
    And they’d worked tirelessly all day preparing for the five-minute appearance. On the edges of the field—in front of both dugouts and behind home plate, Ernie, Stan, and Jim stood—all three men in Redbirds uniforms. Courtney, dressed in a WHAP polo shirt, guarded the field entrance to the tunnel. Next to her, WHAP’s camera operator turned and gave Georgia a thumbs-up. A few seconds later, a voice boomed an