a U-turn to the door on the left.
He looked around the dimly lit room with its plush coral comforter, teak bedroom set, and array of throw pillows. “Nice room.” He lowered her to the bed and tucked her in like a dad, making tears come to her eyes. Her emotions always shimmered close to the surface when she was ill. That must explain why such a simple gesture touched her so.
Her head sank into the pillow, and her eyes closed in gratitude. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” His grin flashed bright, and even in her misery, she was struck by how damn handsome he was. “Where’s your cell phone?”
Did he want to make a call or something? Who cared? The bed felt so good on her aching body. “I think it’s charging in the kitchen,” she muttered sleepily.
“Mmm-kay.” He disappeared. She struggled to stay awake. She shouldn’t go to sleep with him wandering around in her house, but she was exhausted, and apparently she trusted him, whether that made sense or not. As she was on the verge of drifting off, he reappeared.
He placed her cell on her bedside table. “Your phone. I programmed my number into it. You need anything, give me a call. Sit up.”
Her eyes opened wide at his commanding tone. He stretched out a palm with a few pills on it. “Advil. This will help your aches and pains.” He handed her an open bottle of water. “Drink it down.”
She followed his instructions, impressed despite herself. Who knew Tom was a nurturer? “Wow, you’re like a pro at this.”
“Puking’s no fun. I ought to know. I had way too many hangovers when I first came into the majors.”
“But not anymore?” Was he a reformed party boy, despite his rep?
“Not as many, that’s for sure. Too old for that crap.” He sat on the edge of the mattress and took the bottle from her after she took the pills. “If you can’t quit throwing up, you ought to go to the ER. How many times have you thrown up?”
She sank back down into her pillow. “Um, not sure. Three? Four, maybe?” Too many, that was for sure.
“Eh, well. Puking is like orgasms. After the first couple, you tend to lose count.”
She simply let her eyes drift shut. “I wouldn’t know,” she mumbled.
As she slid into a netherworld of exhaustion, she could have sworn she heard him say, “That’s a terrible shame.”
Chapter Nine
“You’ve got to be kidding me. A tuxedo?” Tom stared at Sarah through his screen door. “In this town? What the hell?”
“Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry. He had a feeling she was enjoying this. “Dad has his standards. He throws a team party at the All-Star break and all team personnel are required to attend. Black tie for the gentlemen, formal dress for the ladies. I can recommend a local rental shop if you didn’t bring your tux.”
“No, thanks. I’m not wearing something the homecoming king wore to the prom last year and puked in.” She rolled her eyes at his snobbery, but she didn’t argue. “I’ve got something at my house in Chicago. I’ll have the housekeeper ship it to me. When did you say this thing is again?”
He pushed the door wide and came out to sit on the front porch swing. She took a small patio chair opposite him.
She had a look that he imagined a therapist would wear when dealing with a particularly demented patient, or maybe the expression a nursery school teacher used on the biggest brat in day care.
“Tuesday night. There are three Thrashers on the All-Star team this year. They’ll travel to Dayton on Wednesday morning after the party, and the big game is Thursday. Sorry, you didn’t make the cutoff in time to qualify for the team.”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t care about the minor league All-Star game. All he cared about was the inevitable day he got called back up to the majors. It would happen soon. He could feel it. Its nearness was making him ansty.
He stretched one arm along the back of the porch swing, and his shirt pulled tight across his chest. He caught
He looked around the dimly lit room with its plush coral comforter, teak bedroom set, and array of throw pillows. “Nice room.” He lowered her to the bed and tucked her in like a dad, making tears come to her eyes. Her emotions always shimmered close to the surface when she was ill. That must explain why such a simple gesture touched her so.
Her head sank into the pillow, and her eyes closed in gratitude. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” His grin flashed bright, and even in her misery, she was struck by how damn handsome he was. “Where’s your cell phone?”
Did he want to make a call or something? Who cared? The bed felt so good on her aching body. “I think it’s charging in the kitchen,” she muttered sleepily.
“Mmm-kay.” He disappeared. She struggled to stay awake. She shouldn’t go to sleep with him wandering around in her house, but she was exhausted, and apparently she trusted him, whether that made sense or not. As she was on the verge of drifting off, he reappeared.
He placed her cell on her bedside table. “Your phone. I programmed my number into it. You need anything, give me a call. Sit up.”
Her eyes opened wide at his commanding tone. He stretched out a palm with a few pills on it. “Advil. This will help your aches and pains.” He handed her an open bottle of water. “Drink it down.”
She followed his instructions, impressed despite herself. Who knew Tom was a nurturer? “Wow, you’re like a pro at this.”
“Puking’s no fun. I ought to know. I had way too many hangovers when I first came into the majors.”
“But not anymore?” Was he a reformed party boy, despite his rep?
“Not as many, that’s for sure. Too old for that crap.” He sat on the edge of the mattress and took the bottle from her after she took the pills. “If you can’t quit throwing up, you ought to go to the ER. How many times have you thrown up?”
She sank back down into her pillow. “Um, not sure. Three? Four, maybe?” Too many, that was for sure.
“Eh, well. Puking is like orgasms. After the first couple, you tend to lose count.”
She simply let her eyes drift shut. “I wouldn’t know,” she mumbled.
As she slid into a netherworld of exhaustion, she could have sworn she heard him say, “That’s a terrible shame.”
Chapter Nine
“You’ve got to be kidding me. A tuxedo?” Tom stared at Sarah through his screen door. “In this town? What the hell?”
“Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry. He had a feeling she was enjoying this. “Dad has his standards. He throws a team party at the All-Star break and all team personnel are required to attend. Black tie for the gentlemen, formal dress for the ladies. I can recommend a local rental shop if you didn’t bring your tux.”
“No, thanks. I’m not wearing something the homecoming king wore to the prom last year and puked in.” She rolled her eyes at his snobbery, but she didn’t argue. “I’ve got something at my house in Chicago. I’ll have the housekeeper ship it to me. When did you say this thing is again?”
He pushed the door wide and came out to sit on the front porch swing. She took a small patio chair opposite him.
She had a look that he imagined a therapist would wear when dealing with a particularly demented patient, or maybe the expression a nursery school teacher used on the biggest brat in day care.
“Tuesday night. There are three Thrashers on the All-Star team this year. They’ll travel to Dayton on Wednesday morning after the party, and the big game is Thursday. Sorry, you didn’t make the cutoff in time to qualify for the team.”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t care about the minor league All-Star game. All he cared about was the inevitable day he got called back up to the majors. It would happen soon. He could feel it. Its nearness was making him ansty.
He stretched one arm along the back of the porch swing, and his shirt pulled tight across his chest. He caught
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