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“You gonna stand there all day?” One of the servers asked from behind me.
Startled, my cheeks warmed up a touch. “Hey, whatever keeps me looking busy.”
She chuckled, rolling her eyes as she swatted me in the chest. Her fingers lingered. “You’re impossible, Remy Winfield.”
“Oh, I know it. Just ask my mama—she’s been telling me so for years.”
I left her at the terminal, watching Jessa out of the corner of my eye as I refilled drinks and got everybody caught up with what they needed. I might have eavesdropped a little on hearing Henry’s name in the same sentence as the words Africa and orphans. No wonder she was all moony over him. Hell, with that kind of resumé and that face, I might have given him a shot. And I didn’t even swing that direction. He was a catch, and right up her alley. British and everything.
Bet his house was clean, too.
Once I had the wine, I made my way back to their table, uncorking and pouring out while they talked. Henry was in the middle of a story about how they were building compounds for orphaned kids that reclaimed water and ran on solar panels. They even had a school and provided the kids clothes and everything.
I then decided that Henry Howard was an asshole for making the rest of us look bad.
I made it to Jessa last, poured her a glass that was a little more than her share. Wanting nothing more than to interrupt, I leaned in to get close enough to whisper. “You look like a zebra.”
She turned her head so fast, our lips almost connected. We froze there for a heartbeat, neither of us breathing.
“And I suppose you think yourself a lion?” Her warm, sweet breath licked my lips.
I stayed put, savoring her eyes on my mouth. “Maybe so. But I dunno how anybody’s supposed to catch you in that dress.”
A little laugh bubbled out of her, but she remembered herself, clearing her throat and wiping her face flat when she noticed everyone was looking.
Gotcha. I smirked, lit up by the fact.
I couldn’t have told you exactly why she’d sparked a mission in me the second I first saw her. Maybe it was the way she smelled, or the little curves at the corners of her lips. Maybe it was the challenge. Henry didn’t help matters.
Maybe I just wanted to win her over.
I wondered if my mouth would help me or hurt me.
All I knew was that her little smile meant I had a shot and two weeks to make it. Plenty of time to get to know one another well and fully, and on many, many surfaces. Not enough time for anything more. No expectations. Just a good time, and afterward, she’d fly a million miles away.
Without Henry Howard.
I had fourteen days at my disposal and I was heading into battle with an arsenal of maneuvers to convince her I was worth a shot.
And I bet I’d have to use every one.
7
out of the park
REMY
The crack of a bat against a ball was one of my three favorite sounds, right alongside the hiss of a freshly opened beer and the satisfied sigh of a woman. And when that sound of wood meeting leather was my own doing, it somehow sounded all the sweeter.
The connection reverberated up my arms, my swing coming to a natural close as I watched the softball sail across the field and hit the fence with a thunk. But before I could finish admiring my handiwork, Coach pitched another.
Crack. Sail. Thunk.
“Gimme a challenge, wouldya, Gray?”
Coach scowled and pitched again.
Crack. Sail. But no thunk—this one kept on going, landing somewhere beyond the fence.
