Slow Heat

Tag pretended not to see, and Wade leaned close and spoke in his ear. “Do you remember what I said before?”

“That you like Aunt Sam?”

Sam’s brow arched so far it vanished into her long side-swept bangs.

“After that,” Wade said dryly, with a heavy dose of “thanks a lot, buddy” mixed in. “About taking whatever you want without asking.”

Tag’s cheeks pinkened, but he played mute, keeping his gaze down yet again.

Wade waited until Tag couldn’t stand it and caved, meeting his eyes. Wade held out his hand, palm up.

Tag sighed and pulled out a can of tobacco.

Sam sucked in a breath. “What do you need with that?”

“My dad lets me chew sometimes.”

“He does not,” she said certainly.

“I can call him. Can I?”

Sam removed the tobacco from Tag’s hands and set it back on the shelf. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think he can talk right now.”

Trying to be tough but failing, Tag nodded.

Wade bent and looked into his eyes. “Don’t forget. Call me anytime.” He straightened and exchanged a look with Sam, whose eyes softened, surprising him. Warming him.

“Tag,” she said quietly. “We’ll figure it all out, I promise. Say good-bye to your partner-in-crime here.”

“Bye,” Tag said to Wade. “I hope you get traded to the Bucks.”

Wade raised an amused brow as Sam started to lead Tag away. He caught Sam and reeled her in, putting his mouth to her ear. “That goes for you, too, Princess. Call me anytime, day or night.”

She started to roll her eyes, then went stock-still when, with his back blocking her from view, he very lightly scraped his teeth over her earlobe. He wasn’t sure why except he couldn’t help himself. Her breath hitched, a very satisfying response, and he then kissed the spot before letting go of her. He watched her hurry to catch up with Tag, picturing the next few hours in her world, wondering as he did who he felt the most sorry for: her, or the kid…

Chapter 15

It ain’t over till it’s over.

– Yogi Berra

Sam glanced over at Tag as they hit Highway 1. He was eyeing the interior of her car with surprise.

She drove a standard Honda Accord, which she liked for its value and gas mileage, plus the sunroof always made her feel like she was doing more to enjoy herself than she really was. “What?” she asked him.

“Is your real car in the shop or something?”

“No, why?”

“I thought when you were in the big show, you got whatever you want.”

“I’m not in the big show. I just work for the big show.”

“Grandpa and dad have Beemers.”

Sam slid him a look. “I like this car.”

“It’s just like Grandma’s.”

“Your mom’s mom? You see her a lot?”

“Just at Christmas. She makes me kiss her.” He shuddered.

“This can’t be an old lady’s car, if that’s what you’re inferring. I’m only twenty-nine.” Thirty in three weeks, but who was counting?

His mouth hung open. “Does dad know how old you are?”

“Hey, he’s only one year younger than me.”

“His girlfriend is twenty-two. He says twenty-two is perfect.”

She sighed, and Tag fell back into silence. She glanced at him. “You still want ice cream?”

He lifted a shoulder indifferently. “If you do.”

“What do you want?”

“To go home.”

A one-two kidney shot. Sam exited the highway and drove through downtown. It was evening now, which meant that the streets were loaded with UCSB students looking for fun, tourists looking for bars, and the occasional poor schmuck like her just trying to get home from a long day at the office.

They passed outdoor paseos, beautifully landscaped plazas, brick-lined sidewalks in front of local specialty shops, and world-class shopping. She turned off the main drag and down one of the myriad multi-use avenues. Here there were sidewalk cafes mixed with little boutiques, bookstores, and unique specialty shops. She lived in one of four refurbished condos over an art gallery. Parking was always a bitch but today, since karma had already laughed at her, she was rewarded with a spot only one block down. “Okay,” she said to Tag, turning off the engine, reaching for his bag. “We’re here.”

He took his bag from her, either to be a little gentleman, or because he didn’t want her to touch his stuff any more than he seemed to want her to touch him. He eyed the little Italian restaurant on the corner. The chef was in the window tossing a large round of dough in the air. “You live at a pizza joint?”

“Nope.”

“Oh,” he said with disappointment.

Because she figured he was hungry, she led him inside to put in an order.

The place was filled to overflowing with a crowd ranging from starving college students all sharing one pie and one check to the upscale, ritzy shoppers with their fancy shopping bags at their feet.

Ernie was behind the counter. Rumor had it he was good in both the kitchen and the bedroom, but Sam could only attest to the kitchen part. He made the best Italian food anywhere, he and his dark hair and matching dark, dreamy eyes, with the smile that could melt bones at a hundred feet. He was her age, a few inches taller than her five foot six, and built like a boxer. They spent several evenings together a month, but unfortunately he wasn’t her type.

Actually, more accurately, she wasn’t his type, in that she didn’t have a penis.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, smiling at her. “What’ll it be tonight?”

Sam turned to Tag. “What’ll it be?”

Tag looked startled to be asked, and he played with the baseball cap on his head uneasily. “What do you want?” he asked Sam.

Did no one ever ask his opinion? “I’d love to have your favorite tonight, whatever that is.”

He gave that some very serious thought, his brow furrowed like an old man. “Pepperoni, extra cheese.”

“Nice choice,” Ernie said.

Sam thought about the calories and mentally groaned but smiled at Tag, who was still looking like he was thinking too hard. “Is your bag heavy? Let me-”

“Girls aren’t supposed to carry stuff for boys.”

So Jeremy had taught his son how to treat a woman, but not how to be a kid. Sam looked into Tag’s far too solemn eyes and damn if she didn’t see past the delinquent-in-the-making and completely melt. She arranged for delivery, then led Tag out of the place. On the crowded sidewalk, a group of college students passed by them. Five females, all dressed like it was Halloween at Victoria’s Secret.

Tag’s neck nearly snapped as he tried to keep them in his sight. “Holy cow,” he whispered. “Do they walk around like that all the time?”

“It’s a college town,” she said, barely suppressing the urge to cover his eyes. She led him across the street to the art gallery. By sheer bad timing, the window display had changed from the gorgeous oils of the different