The vibration of my phone is soft, yet impossibly loud against the kitchen counter. I lean back, cursing Piper for arriving with the car at this exact moment.
A small, pained sob dies in my throat when Sean drops my hands. But then he pulls me into his arms and kisses my temple. Is it a show of affection or simple friendliness?
“Have a safe trip, Boss. I’ll see you Sunday when you get home.”
I hold him tight, wishing I could stay here all day. “Thanks, Captain. See you soon.”
Sean waves at me from the landing as I climb into the back of the sleek black town car, where Scottie’s already sitting, latte in hand. I wave at Sean as the car pulls out, even though I know he can’t see me.
“You look flushed. Did your husband give you a nice kiss goodbye?”
“Hush,” I tell her and hold up my tumbler. “He made me a smoothie.”
“He packed you lunch? That man is smitten.”
“You and I both know that man is a helper.”
“You’re hardly a damsel in distress.”
“I’m theultimatedamsel in distress. A fish out of water inhistown? Get the man his white armor,” I say, although it’s not how I really feel.
Is it?
“You don’t believe that,” Scottie says.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you two are crushing on each other. Hard,” she says. I take a drink from my smoothie, and she smirks. “Exhibit A.”
“I repeat: hush.”
We’re about to turn on the freeway when I see a sports store, and an idea hits me.
“Hey, Scottie, I need a jersey waiting for me in Nashville. Think you can make it happen?”
I tell her exactly what I’m thinking, and she smiles.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KAYLA
Ican see the Outlaws’ stadium from a mile away.
Or at least a few blocks.
The car is stopped at a light, and I get my first full look at the stadium in the middle of downtown, all shiny with towering banners flapping in the breeze. A stream of fans is already filing in, even though first pitch is two hours away.
Two hours away!
And I hate how cool it looks.
A part of me can tell already that it’s a little too perfect, a little overly manicured—like someone built a ballpark inside a Porsche showroom. But still. It’s a far cry from the Mudflaps' stadium, where the concession stand was patched with duct tape until we renovated over the winter. Our stadium is a work in progress, but this place looks like a dream.
A dream with Aldridge’s fingerprints all over it.
That’s what we call a nightmare, remember?
