When It Hooks You (It #1) by Nicki Elson

guy, it would’ve sounded like a line, but Adam had said it without an accompanying leer or wolfish grin. It was a simple statement, elegant and sincere, like him. “Where are we going?”
    “You said non-touristy. Therefore, we won’t be boarding the northbound train to Wrigley Field. We’re going to the Southside, baby. The Cubs might be Chicago’s lovable losers, but the White Sox are Chicago’s loveable winners.” She gave him a wink, and he responded with a grin. “Who’s your team?” she asked. “Orioles?”
    “I don’t follow baseball, actually.”
    “Oh. Would you rather do something else?”
    “No, no. I asked you to make the plans and this is certainly something I’d never do on my own. Let’s see what these White Sox are all about,” he said as a train rattled toward them.
    Once settled in their seats, Trish asked, “So what’s keeping you in Chicago this weekend?”
    “I’ve got a meeting in Cleveland on Monday. Rather than pinball around, it was either spend the weekend there or spend it here.”
    “Glad you chose here.” She smiled.
    “We’ll see how I feel about that after this baseball game.” His hazel eyes lit with a teasing spark.
    On impulse, Trish reached over to wrap her hand around the back of his. He stiffened. After a moment he relaxed and spread his fingers enough for hers to slip between. Yet he still didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the contact, giving her the impression he hadn’t had his hand held in a very long time.
    They arrived at their stop and walked to the main gate of U.S. Cellular Field. She directed him to a monument celebrating the 2005 Chicago White Sox championship. “See? Winners.”
    Adam stepped closer to the sculpture, his eyes roving the graphics. “It’s so strange to me.”
    “Baseball?”
    “No. The local pride that surrounds any professional sports team. You’ve clearly thrown in your lot with this lot, and while I find your loyalty admirable, I don’t understand it. It’s only a business, isn’t it? It’s not like every member of the team is a native son of Chicago or even the Midwest. They’re people who excel at what they do and were recruited by the business that’s the Chicago White Sox. Yet locals flock around them like they’re some kind of brethren rather than employees doing their jobs.” He continued staring at the monument, either not aware of or simply not bothered by irritated glances from baseball fans scattered nearby.
    “I already bought the tickets online,” Trish said, more amused by this off-the-wall observation than offended, “but I’ll offer one more time—do you want to ditch the game and do something else?”
    Leisurely, his gaze meandered over to her, combing up her body and resting on her face. The longer he looked, the more heated his iridescent irises seemed to become, as if an unfed hunger burned within them. He gave his head a small shake, bringing the temperature down to a simmer. “Let’s go in,” he said. “We’re already here.”
    “Okay then.” Trish swallowed, buying herself a moment to recompose after his sultry examination.
    He stepped next to her, tickling his hand down the inside of her forearm to thread his fingers through hers. The stiffness she’d felt in his touch on the train was gone, though she still felt a hint of hesitation. Trish held onto him through the turnstiles and all the way to the beer stand, where she reached into her bag. “I’ll get the first round.”
    He clamped his hand around her wrist to stop her. “You bought the tickets. Concessions are on me.” He bought their drinks, and they wove through the throng, crossing the massive concrete oasis to emerge back into glaring sunlight. It seemed brighter and hotter inside the fishbowl of the stadium than it had been outside of it. Adam pulled on his mirrored aviators when they reached the bottom of the steps that led to their seats.
    “Good idea.” Trish maneuvered her pink tortoise-shell shades onto