Perfect Pitch Read Online Free PDF Page A

Summer Queen. If things could go wrong, they would, and there was nothing like getting to a place early to settle the nerves and work out the details.
    She’d traded in her navy-blue T-shirt for the Thomas jersey they’d given her. Someone on the Rockets staff had been paying attention. The shirt fit as if it had been sewn especially for her.
    She’d warmed up in the private waiting room underneath the field, practicing scales and making sure her voice was ready for the challenge of The Star Spangled Banner. She’d brushed her hair one last time and checked her teeth for lipstick. She’d followed a runner down the tunnel, waiting at the edge of the sunlight for her moment to step into the stadium and sing.
    And she’d nearly melted into a puddle when DJ Thomas put his palm on her arm.
    The touch was one thing—it had ricocheted through her like wild lightning, adding a burst of adrenaline to nerves already sparking from her upcoming public appearance. But the heat of his hand had immediately plummeted her back into the steam of her morning shower. Standing there in the dark tunnel, her mind insisted on playing the most graphic of home movies against the back of her eyelids—one blink, and she was sprawled against the tiled wall, her body already surrendered to the oblivious ballplayer who stood before her.
    She knew her cheeks had flushed; she’d felt the telltale heat creep from her breasts to the roots of her hair. She could only hope DJ had interpreted her behavior as nerves about her singing.  
    He’d seemed gallant enough, when he’d offered her his arm. Of course, if the man had even a fraction of sensitivity in his fingers, he’d felt her trembling beside him. He’d been the model of politeness, though. He hadn’t said a word.
    But then he’d kissed her. Right there, in front of thirty thousand fans and the television-viewing public.  
    The crowd had loved it, of course. They’d cheered, even as her eyes widened in surprise. He’d grinned at her—a cocky, mischievous grin—and he’d stepped away with the slightest of bows toward the microphone. She’d looked at his lips, imagined what they might do if the two of them weren’t the center of everyone’s attention. She’d remembered what they’d done, at least in the private fantasy of her own shower.
    But somehow, her training had come through. She’d stood, proud and tall, in front of the microphone. She’d started the anthem strong and built to the highest note without hesitation. She’d smiled at the end of the song, waving to the crowd as they roared their approval, and she’d followed the Rockets staff member back to the tunnel, to the elevator, to the owner’s suite, all the while forbidding herself to think about DJ’s swagger as he crossed to the dugout, as he disappeared into a huddle of back-slapping baseball players.
    The third inning ended, and the Rockets trotted in from the diamond, seemingly happy with their two-run lead. Samantha sat back in her seat as a dark-haired woman settled next to her. “Anna Benson,” the newcomer said, offering a hand and completing a no-nonsense shake. “Thank you for coming out today.”
    “My pleasure,” Sam said automatically.
    “I’m sorry Gramps couldn’t be here to meet you in person. He’s been a little…under the weather.” A flash of worry darkened the woman’s sea-green eyes.  
    Sam almost reached out to pat her hand in automatic sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Gramps is…” She ended on an up-note, asking a question.
    “I’m sorry! I thought you knew!” The other woman’s smile was as warm as the sun streaming through the glass in front of them. “Marty Benson. Owner of the Rockets.”
    “Of course,” Sam exclaimed, mentally kicking herself for not putting two and two together on her own. “It’s nothing serious, I hope.”
    Again, that flash of worry, ghosting over the other woman’s cheekbones. She rallied quickly, though. “Nothing worth ruining a