Chapter 8

"And it's really not a problem for you?"

"Go on home already." Emma shut the car door. "Your son is waiting for his mom. We can go out for drinks another time. I need my beauty sleep anyway."

Not that it would help any, considering that tomorrow night, she would be surrounded by a thousand fashion model types.

Milla rolled down her window. "Tell me once again that I was right."

Emma scowled at her.

"Say it."

"You were right. It was fun."

"There you go! I'm always right. You should know that, after twenty-eight years of being my sister." Milla threw her a kiss through the open window, before leaving the parking space with an elegant maneuver.

The big lot was blocked by a long line of cars wanting out, and Emma didn't feel like getting in line, so she took a twenty-minute stroll around the stadium grounds instead, waiting for it to empty out.

Only when she saw that most people had left, she got into the car and entered her new home address into the GPS. She was tired and exhausted. She had conquered the jetlag by now, but never got her eight hours of solid sleep at night. Too much novelty and excitement.

She turned the key. The engine sounded as if it was on crack.

That was impossible! It was a company car; she had received it only yesterday.

She turned the key again.

The engine stuttered its apology and went dead.

***

"Good game, Carter."

"You're back, man."

"If you go on hitting balls like that, nobody will care about your terrible taste in women."

"I have good taste."

Someone snorted. Maybe they all did. "Why don't you stick with your curveballs!"

He sighed and sat down on the bench. He had given an interview, gallantly ignoring any allusion to the magazine article, speaking only about the game, not about his father's wedding. Now most of the other players were already dressed and ready to leave.

"I hope it stays like this. It's no fun playing with a sissy," Dexter said and grinned at Luke, before slipping out of the changing room.

"I hope so, too," Luke murmured, more to himself than to his teammates.

There was hardly anyone left in the room, and Luke had changed into his regular clothes again as well, when his phone rang and caller ID told him it was Wes.

Luke's mood was still so good that the thought of another lecture didn't daunt him.

"Hey, Wes," he said as he slipped into his coat.

"Awesome game, Luke," his friend greeted him.

Why was he so calm?

"Should I be worried that you're not yelling at me?"

"Do you want me to yell that you delivered a great game? Would that be more reassuring?"

Yes, it probably would.

"Don't be offended, but tell me why you're really calling. You'd never pick up the phone just to congratulate me."

"Of course not. If I called every time you strike, I'd have no more time for the other stuff."

"Is it about the article?"

"Let's forget about the article for now. The scribblers have you in their sights; that's not your fault." The day was getting weirder by the minute. Luke didn't know that his friend possessed such clear-sightedness.

"No, it's about the charity event tomorrow. I wanted to check whether I need to take care of the tux for you, or whether you've gotten one already."

Luke stared at his locker and shut its door mechanically, before clearing his throat. "Charity event?"

Silence.

"Tell me you're kidding me."

Luke ran a hand through his wet hair and frowned. Charity event. Didn't ring a bell. "I don't know anything about a charity event."

"What is wrong with you?" Wes flared. "I gave you the tickets months ago!"

Luke opened his wallet and found two folded tickets, which turned out to be for the ‘Delphies Bowling Charity Gala to fight bone cancer.'

"Right. I have them." He nodded. "I thought you gave me coupons for McDonalds."

"Luke, don't make me come by your house and pee on your doormat."

"I simply forgot about it, Wes."

"I put it in your calendar!"

"Oh, so that's what CG means."

"Yes, that's what it means."

"I see." Luke shook his head, debating. "I'm not sure I should attend that."

"You're not sure?"The voice of his agent rose in disbelief. "It's not up for debate, Luke! You're going there, and I'm ready to send the dogs after you if you're not sure. You need to show your face and let them snap loads of pictures, comprende? Because if you don't, the papers will say you don't care about bone cancer!"

"Jesus, Wes." Luke grinned. "You're too irritable. Didn't I teach you anything? Don't get stressed, I'm not paying you to play my chaperone."

There was silence for a second, and Luke could picture the face his friend was wearing now. "Listen to me, smartass," Wes finally hissed, "you will be there. Alone or with arm candy, I don't care. I'd prefer if you didn't bring anyone. Who knows what you will pick up before tomorrow night. Today's article really wasn't the best publicity for your taste in women, and there's no need to stoke these fires, comprende?"

"Fine. I'm going alone." Luke was more than fed up with everyone reproaching him for his taste in women. If he went alone tomorrow, at least that wouldn't happen again.

"Great. I'll be there as well, as will your father and his fiancée, so please don't make a scene."

Now that was going to be a fantastic night, he thought sarcastically. "I'll do my best. You know me though; I'm really fond of drama."

"Yes, I know you, and no matter how much you say you detest drama, you somehow always manage to generate some."

No, he did not! It was the women who did it, throwing themselves at him as if he was a football, and they were at their own private Superbowl. But he didn't want to argue that issue any further right now. "See you tomorrow, Wes."

"See you, Luke. And it really was an awesome game."

He hung up, and Luke shouldered his bag.

The underground parking garage was almost completely empty when he got to his Audi A8 – he didn't need a status symbol, but there was nothing wrong with a nice, sleek car. It had been a good day, and Luke got in feeling that nothing could top his home run. But when he started the engine and drove past the visitor parking lot, he suddenly thought that his verdict might have been premature: There was a single car left in the lot, and a familiar-looking woman was raving ad kicking at it.

***

"I hate American cars, I hate them!" Emma kicked a tire and beat her fists on the front hood. "Why won't you start? You stupid piece of junk!"

She had called a towing service and a taxi, but in both cases, the clerk had told her it might be a while before they had gotten through the busy traffic.

Headlights were coming her way, and Emma raised her head, hopeful. But when she shaded her eyes with her hand, squinting against the bright lights, she had to admit that the car was a little too fancy for a taxi. And her idea of a taxi driver was very different from the man who got out of the Audi.

Oh God. Her treacherous heart was already dancing a polka again, and her attempts at willing her blood to stay out of her cheeks was futile.

Her throat was dry as she crossed her arms and leaned against her car.

"You look familiar," Luke grinned and shut the door of his car.

Emma's smile was a little forced. "I bet you say that to all of the women you've slept with."

He shook his head in mock seriousness. "No, I don't. Sometimes I prefer to ask: Haven't we met before?"

Emma snorted. "So I'm supposed to feel honored that you still recognize me?"

"I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you on the screen," he admitted with a shrug. "I thought I had only imagined it was you … but when I heard you scream at your poor car, I knew it was you. I remember your screams very well."

Emma blushed violently. Dear God, this guy drove her crazy – but she'd rather drop dead than let him see that. "The engine is lazy, doesn't want to run. So I'm kind of stuck here."

"Have you called a tow truck yet?"

"No, I'm hoping that Santa will ride by and let me borrow his reindeer." That had come out a smidgen more sullen than she'd intended.

But Luke was standing there, talking as if they'd met only last night in the bar, to play a round of pool. How could he be so casual? Or was that simply a baseball player thing? Were they all experts at turning an awkward situation into something positive? Or was Luke maybe so drunk that his embarrassment radar had gone to sleep? Emma hoped it wasn't the latter, since he was still driving.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he asked, ignoring her sarcasm.

"I watched a baseball game."

Luke laughed. "Oh, really?! I'd be more curious to hear why you came all the way to the US to do that?"

Why was he curious at all?

"I'm working here for a few months," she explained, wishing that the corner of her mouth would stop twitching nervously.

"Ah, I see … and then you thought, why not spend your day stalking your one-night stand from last year?"

Arrogant egomaniac!

"Apart from the fact that you forgot to tell me what it really is you do, I didn't even want to come here today. I'm not interested in baseball. My sister dragged me here – seeing you in a ridiculous pair of pants wasn't exactly at the top of my wish list."

His grin widened. Apparently he wasn't just immune against embarrassment, but also against insults. "Has anyone ever told you that you start offending random people when you feel awkward?"

"Random? No, I certainly don't pick on random people. I focus on people who sort of deserve it."

"Now you're really insulting me! Sort of? Of course I fully deserve it! Nevertheless I'd like to play your shining knight. Need a ride?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm still waiting for the tow truck, and I've already called a taxi, but thanks anyway."

Half an hour in a car with this man? No way! Emma wanted to avoid stressful situations at the moment.

"That might take ages. When did you call them?"

"A few minutes ago. They'll get here soon, won't they?"

Luke buried a hand in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and typed a few numbers.

"Hey, Larry, this is Luke. Yeah, thanks, the game went really well, I know. Listen, can you send a tow truck to the stadium … visitor parking? Yes, I know traffic is hell right now, but you're the fastest. Thank you. It's the silver Ford. Yes, just tow it, repair it, and deliver it to …" He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Emma.

"Uh … 12, Paddington Road," she said. "Philadelphia."

"You got that? Yeah, great. Let me know if your youngest would like to sit in the VIP lounge again, okay? Alright, bye." Luke hung up, grinned at Emma, and nodded in the direction of his car. "It's all taken care of, get in."

"But what about the taxi?"

"What about it? The driver won't demolish your car, just because he finds an empty lot."

"But that's impolite!"

"We're in the States, honey. That's the way it goes."

He got in behind the wheel, and Emma resigned herself to getting her purse from her car, leaving the key in the ignition, and getting into his car.

Luke had already entered her address into his GPS. "Why aren't you wearing a jersey?"

"Why would I?"

"To show your support for the team."

She shrugged and stared straight ahead, while he pulled out of the parking lot. "What? Just because I slept with a baseball player by accident, doesn't necessarily mean I'm a fan of his team."

He laughed out loud and turned onto Columbus Boulevard. "By accident?"

"I didn't know you were a baseball player!"

"And if you'd known? Would that have changed anything?"

"Of course it would! I wouldn't have slept with you at all. I'm not a stupid groupie."

"No, you certainly aren't stupid … but as for the groupie part: You slept with me. And I'm famous. So technically that means …"

"You didn't tell me you were famous!" she flared. "How was I supposed to know that?"

"Oh, I simply have that famous vibe going. Seriously, why should I have told you? My job doesn't change my personality. And I didn't want you to judge me right off the bat."

Emma clucked her tongue. "I wouldn't have –"

"Says the woman who wouldn't want to be a groupie."

Emma opened her mouth and then closed it again. Finally she cleared her throat. "Fine. You may be right. I might have judged you. It's okay that you didn't tell me."

"I know."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "I was still shocked when I saw your bobblehead figurine."

He laughed again. "You recognized me as a bobblehead? It doesn't even look much like me."

"Yes, it does. It has exactly your butt …" She paused briefly. "Well, anyway. It looks a lot like you."

"It has my butt?" he grinned.

Why couldn't she stop herself from blurting out stuff like that? "You should focus on the road anyway."

For a few minutes, they just sat there in silence, while Luke maneuvered the car through the slow-flowing traffic. Several times, Emma opened her mouth to say something, but decided that sometimes it was better to keep your trap shut. She thought that was prudent.

When she opened and closed her mouth again for the fourth time, Luke snorted. "Jesus, you're driving me nuts! Either you finally say what you want to say, or I'll decide whether to warn you before I kick you out of the car, or not."

"Fine!" she flared, irritated by his impatience. "If you must know … I simply wondered … why you never called."

She could see him raise his eyebrows, as if he hadn't expected that. "I didn't have your number."

"Well, and whose fault is that?"

"What? Are you implying it's mine?"

"Of course it is. You never asked for my number."

Luke frowned in irritation and changed lanes. "I asked you if I could see you again."

Emma pouted. "That was a little cryptic though."

"That wasn't cryptic at all! If a man asks you if he can see you again, it's more than clear what he means!" he defended himself. "Your answer, on the other hand … You said: ‘I don't know. Can you?'"

"I was merely being honest. I didn't know!"

"You weren't being honest, you were deliberately mysterious, because you read in some magazine that men find that intriguing."

Emma laughed and put a hand over her eyes. "I did not, for Christ's sake! I don't even read magazines at all."

"Every woman reads magazines! That is the only reliable thing a man can know about you!"

"You know, it's about time you get an upgrade on your ideas about women, you chauvinist! I know nothing about celebrities, or who's going to win the Academy Awards, or who wears a designer dress best, trust me. All I read are books, shopping lists, and package inserts for pills. I wasn't scheming when I answered like that."

"Must have been your twisted feminine subconscious then."

Emma turned her head and gave him an impish smile. "Aha … so it was my mysterious strain that you found intriguing?"

His jaw tensed. "Nope. It was your breasts that intrigued me. The mysteriousness was merely … an extra incentive."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a man!"

"Yeah, I know. All the women I was with so far have confirmed that."

She groaned and banged her head against the dashboard. His ego was indestructible. That made it official: Diamond was no longer the hardest substance on earth!

"Even if you didn't have my number, you could still have dropped by the restaurant if you'd wanted to see me again. Or at my place."

Luke was silent for a while, staring at the dark road ahead, but then he nodded.

"I could have, yes," he admitted, and it was the first time this evening that he sounded really serious.

They were silent for the next five minutes or so, until Luke stopped in front of her house. But it wasn't the usual uncomfortable silence.

They had spent the last fifteen minutes insulting and goading each other, but Emma didn't feel bad at all. Maybe she should be concerned about that.

"Thank you," she said, playing with the strap of her purse, "for helping me with my car disaster."

"Oh, to hear those words from your mouth …"

His smile was genuine now.

"And if it helps: I never saw you as a groupie. You were my hot German affair."

He could actually be charming if he tried.

"Ah well," Emma sighed in an exaggerated fashion, before smiling at him, "every girl goes through that phase, don't they?"

She was about to shut the door, when he called her back.

"Hey, Emma. What do you think of bowling?"

"I'm very much against calling it a sport, but I enjoy being able to knock those ten wooden guys for a loop."

Luke grinned. "I should have phrased my question differently. Do you like to go bowling?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Why? Do you want me to beat you at that, too?"

"I won at table soccer."

"Come on, we both know that I let you win."

"So you finally admit it."

Emma laughed. "I didn't want to steal from you!"

"I didn't care about the money."

"I was actually talking about your masculinity."

Luke snorted. "Since I know I don't have to prove my masculinity to you anymore, I'm going to let that slide. Here." He pulled something from his wallet and handed it to her. It was a ticket. A ticket for the event she organized. "I have a spare one. That makes it easier for you to stalk me."

Emma took the ticket from him and pressed her lips together, to avoid bursting out laughing.

Was she supposed to tell him that he had just invited her to her own event, in a manner of speaking? No, she wouldn't. He hadn't told her that he was a famous baseball player either.

"Thank you. Maybe I'll even show up, Mr. Wichtig."

"You should. There's an open bar … and me in a tux." He gave her a last grin, before Emma shut the car door and he pulled away. She watched the taillights disappear down the road, and caught herself smiling. Maybe tomorrow night would be a great deal more interesting than she had thought.