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team?”
    “Do you have any idea how much work I put into my show?”
    “GET OFF THE SIDEWALK!” a man bellowed at them. “You’re blocking foot traffic here!”
    Both Parker and Kelly looked at the outraged rotund man who was shouting at them. “Just move on, pal,” Kelly snapped.
    “He’s right. Let’s go to lunch. How about Italian?” Parker responded.
    Kelly gave a bark of laughter. “Now I know you’re out of your mind.”
    “Why? We obviously have something to discuss, and this isn’t the place to do it. Unless you know I’m right—”
    “That’s ridiculous!” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You really have lost your mind. Of course I’m not afraid you are right, because I know I’m right. And I don’t like Italian in the middle of the day, so let’s have sushi.”
    “I don’t like sushi ever. Let’s have Asian.”
    “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Too spicy. Chicken.”

    He thought a moment, then nodded. “I can agree to chicken. I know a great restaurant right around the corner—”
    “No,” she said instantly. “I know a great place—”
    “Jesus, will you just lead the way?” he demanded.
    Kelly led the way, all right, wondering why it was that men who typically thought they knew everything and women were just minions in their world to do their bidding, had to be so damn good-looking. It wasn’t fair. It threw everything off kilter and distorted the proper alignment of things.
    She was marching a few steps ahead of one prime example of a man who was too good-looking for his own good, who thought he could just waltz into her show and change it to whatever he wanted.
    When he put his hand protectively on the small of her back as they were jostled in a crowded cross walk, she was painfully aware of how close he was, and how good he smelled, and how dangerous that was.
    In the diner, which was loud and crowded and serving standard diner fare, they got the last booth. Well, Kelly got the last booth. Mr. Big Shot had to stop and sign a couple autographs. By the time he sauntered to his seat, she had read the entire menu, from the salad starters all the way down to liver and onions and back up again.
    Parker sat down, glanced at the menu, and then shut it and pushed it aside. “Salad. It’s the only thing a person can eat in a joint like this.”
    Weird. Kelly was thinking the exact same thing at the exact same moment. She glanced at him over the top of her stained menu, which she refused to put down. “What kind of salad?” she asked accusingly.
    He seemed to think that was a strange question but said, “Chicken Caesar.”
    “Augh!” she exclaimed and slapped the menu shut. “That’s what I was going to have!”
    “So have it,” he said with a shrug.
    That would defeat her determination to have nothing incommon with him. “No thanks,” she muttered and glanced at his hands. Those were some enormous hands. Enormous hands that were making her feel slightly flushed. Hello . . . flushed ? The last time she’d felt slightly flushed, she’d had mononucleosis.
    The waitress appeared, her ticket book out. “You know what you want, hon?” she asked Kelly.
    “Chicken Caesar and water with lemon, please.” Across from her, Parker lifted a brow.
    “Got it,” the waitress said. “And for you, sugar?”
    “Same,” he said.
    The waitress looked up as she reached for the menus and looked at Parker fully for the first time. Her eyes went wide, and she suddenly broke into a wreath of smiles. Oh great, time for more idol worship.
    “Hey, you’re that baseball player!” the waitress said.
    Parker smiled charmingly and shrugged a little. “I am.”
    “ Wow ,” the waitress said, beaming. “Can I have your autograph?”
    Across from him, Kelly rolled her eyes. But Parker calmly took the ticket book the waitress handed him and asked, “Who should I make it out to?”
    “Lucy. Like in I Love Lucy ,” as if he couldn’t get Lucy the first time. Parker started to