Throwing Heat: A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

one.
    And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Men were the root of all the problems in her life.
    Thinking over the past three years of her life kept her occupied as she made her way through late-night Denver traffic. Once she pulled into the driveway to Peter’s house she felt the tension of the day melt from her shoulders. Not that she’d ever tell him, but she loved his home. It was big and private, with huge trees and a great swimming pool.
    More than that, it was homey. Which was decidedly odd for a guy like Kowalskin.
    Speaking of . . . he wasn’t back yet.
    Noticing the lack of his obnoxious canary yellow FJ Cruiser in the oversized garage, Leslie drove her Mini in and parked. His metallic blue Ducati was there, but he never left it in the long-term parking at the airport. One of these days she was totally going to swipe it and take it for a cruise through the mountains. Yeah, one of these days soon. No doubt the aspens up in the park were stunning now that it was October.
    That was one of the things she liked best about living in Colorado. The change of the seasons. In Miami there was only hot and less hot.
    Once inside, Leslie changed out of her work clothes and pulled on a simple pale blue cotton cami and a pair of boy-cut printed panties. Briefly she considered throwing on a pair of pants, then dismissed the thought as the call of the refrigerator lured her and her stomach growled. God, when was the last time she’d eaten?
    It must have been around eleven that morning, she thought as she padded down the plush carpeted stairs. No wonder she was ravenous.
    Entering the large kitchen, Leslie flicked on the light over the center island as she made for the fridge. Inside were the remains of her dinner from the night before, and that shredded beef chimichanga was all hers. With any luck the guacamole hadn’t already gone all brown. It just didn’t taste the same after it had.
    Feeling the urge to sing, Leslie began humming an Amy Winehouse tune and swung the door to the fridge wide. Instead of the typical single guy’s fridge with beer and an expired carton of milk, Pete’s was super well stocked with fresh produce and fancy cheese. A bottle of expensive chardonnay chilled on the door and a small pile of Honeycrisp apples filled one of the bottom drawers, making her smile. Quality food was so nice.
    Mentally tagging a fat Honeycrisp as hers, she leaned into the icebox in search of her to-go box from the restaurant just as she hit the song’s chorus. Feeling it, her mouth opened and the words belted out as she shifted celery aside, perusing the middle shelf. “They tried to make me go to rehab. I said, no, no, no.”
    She was really into it by the time she’d spotted her leftovers way in the back, which always happened with music. It was a part of her, filled her up. She loved singing.
    Shoving aside a container of organic Greek yogurt, she grabbed the to-go box. “He’s tried to make me go to rehab, but I won’t go, go, go.”
    “Are you trying to kill me, girl?”
    Leslie jumped and rapped her head against the fridge hard enough to see stars. “Shit!”
    One hand holding the leftover box, the other rubbing the rapidly forming knot on her head, she spun around to find Peter standing behind her with his duffle still on his shoulder. “Damn it, Peter. Why’d you have to go and sneak up on me? I nearly knocked myself out.”
    Something is his pale eyes flickered to life as he stared at her, a lazy half grin on his lips. “I woulda had you covered, sweets. I know CPR.”
    Her head stung like a bitch. “Well that’s a relief.” He’d probably just use it as an excuse to shove his tongue down her throat.
    Noticing where his gaze was lingering, Leslie was about to make a snarky comment when he said, “You seem to be missing your pants.”
    “Are my panties too much for you to handle?” She sounded tough, but the truth of it was she felt very self-conscious with Peter staring at her bare legs. Not