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His mother was a porn star—yeah, that was still shocking to me. I mean, who could say that they had a porn star as a mother?
He was likely one of the best third basemen in the history of baseball—and he had a better batting average than ninety percent of the baseball league.—Or so I’d read on the Internet.
The one and only thing I could say that I knew about him, other than what he’d just shared with me, was Renata.
He had a sister—and the only reason I knew that little tidbit was because his sister had been the one to call while he’d been in the hospital. Well, technically I guess I knew that she was deaf, too.
But that was it.
I didn’t know his favorite color. I didn’t know why he slept with his feet facing the headboard—that one had thrown me the first night I’d checked on him and found feet where I’d assumed his head would be. I didn’t know his passcode for his alarm, either.
Every morning after that first two nights I’d stayed with him, he had had to disarm the alarm and allow me to come in. He wouldn’t even put me in as a temporary user.
Sighing in frustration at how little I knew the man—despite him employing me for the last ten days—I went to work frying up bacon.
Then served the obstinate man in his chair before going into his laundry room and taking care of the week’s worth of laundry he had accumulating.
The entire rest of the day, however, I wondered if I was in over my head when it came to Rhys Rivera.
But I didn’t have to wonder very long.
I knew it six weeks later.Chapter 12I’m somewhere between a donut and a juice cleanse.
-Henley to Rhys
Henley
Six weeks, three days, one hour, and thirty-seven minutes later
I was in lust with my employer.
There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
He was also annoying the shit out of me right that very moment.
“You were released just barely five minutes ago.” I paused. “And not to run, but to walk. You had a traumatic brain injury, Rhys.”
Rhys looked at me over his left arm, which was straightened out in front of him while he drove himself to the baseball field.
And not the professional one. The kid one that the young teenagers played on during baseball season.
Apparently, it was on the ‘South Side’ as he dubbed it, and rarely used.
It also, I realized about five minutes later, had no upkeep whatsoever when the field wasn’t in use.
The grass was up to my knees, and the only thing I could see was weeds. There were no defined lines where the bases were. There were also no bases.
Did that stop Rhys from stepping up to the plate? No.
“Drag that thing right there,” he pointed to a Tetris-game-like-type piece that had netting stretched over bars. “It’s for you to stand behind.”
I shrugged and drug it to where he’d indicated, then waited for my next order.
I didn’t bother to tell him that he shouldn’t be hitting baseballs. He’d only ignore me.
Honestly, I wasn’t really sure why I’d agreed to be his personal assistant/nurse. He was well on his way to recovery at this point, and the only thing that I could possibly help him with was little things that a housekeeper could do.
“Toss me one. As hard as you can throw it,” he ordered.
I did, and it fell about three feet shy of the plate where he was standing.
“Scoot up and try again.”
I moved the netting thing up, then tossed another ball—this one with some heat on it.
He didn’t swing at it.
“That was perfect!” I cried.
He grunted. “One more.”
I threw the next pitch, and he swung, easily hitting the ball so hard and fast that it was out of the field moments later.
“I think you got lucky,” I teased.
He rolled his eyes. “I think you need to practice tossing some more balls,” he countered.
I found myself grinning despite not really wanting to throw him balls.
He’d been partially released by Bradley only that morning, and that was only to begin with a light amount of exercise. I wasn’t sure that hitting baseballs was included in that, but I had a feeling that we wouldn’t be changing Rhys’ mind any time soon.
“One more,” he ordered.
I threw him another one and barely got behind the screen in time to avoid taking a ball to the face.
“Holy shit!” I cried out, my hand going to my heart. “You almost took my face off with that one.”
“We need to get you a glove. That one would’ve been an out,” he teased.
I didn’t see how. That one had come past me so fast that I hadn’t even seen it coming.
Literally, the first thing I would’ve known after waking up from passing out was that my face was gone.
