“I appreciate the food, but you know you don’t have to cook for me. I have premade meals in the freezer.” It’s clearly the wrong thing to say, as her face falls slightly, and I scramble to recover. “Not that I don’t like it. I do. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to.” Good fucking God, now I’m the one being awkward. What is it about her that makes me all mushy and shit? I know if I don’t get it together, she’s gonna realize I like her more than I should. And that…can’t happen.
“You’re giving me a place to stay, the least I can do is cook. Besides, I like feeling useful. I like doing things for other people.”
“When’s the last time you let someone do something for you?” The question is out there before I can overthink it. But goddamn it, I want to know. And I wantherto know it’s okay to just let someone else take care of things for once.
She bites her lower lip, and it takes all of my restraint not to reach over and free it. But after a few seconds, her answer is exactly what I was hoping to hear.
“When I let you bring me here.”
“Good answer,” I say gruffly. Then I set the bowls of salad on the plates and pick both up, needing to do something before I get stupid and kiss her. “Now let’s go watch this show of yours.”
Chapter eighteen
Sadie
“Tell me again, what’s an RBI?” I ask Willow as she leads me through a maze of hallways in the depths of the stadium complex. My head is brimming with baseball facts and statistics that, hopefully, I don’t get mixed up. When I asked Maverick to teach me the basics so I didn’t look like a fool at the game today, he initially tried to tell me it didn’t matter. But I disagreed. If the world thinks we’ve been dating for a while now, it stands to reason that I should know something about the sport.
So last night, we ordered pizza, and he walked me through the basics of the game.
But now that I’m here without him since he’s spending the game in the dugout with his team, I’m wishing I had started learning this stuff a long time ago. Even without him by my side, I know everyone will be watching me closely. My reactions, my enthusiasm, all of it on display.
“RBI stands for run batted in. It’s when a player makes it home from another player’s hit.”
“Okay, and —”
“Sadie, girl, you need to relax! No one will be quizzing you on baseball facts, I promise.”
Her gentle smile is probably meant to be reassuring, but all I can do is worry that she’s questioning my freak-out.
“Right. Of course. I know.” I force a smile that seems to do the trick as we resume walking to our seats. When she first invited me to attend, I assumed she meant we’d sit in the stands like everyone else. Then she explained she was taking the day off to watch the game with her boyfriend’s family. Which, apparently, means sitting in a reserved area right beside the dugout.
My pulse speeds up when I see the packed stadium full of Tridents fans and the cameras everywhere, from their internal marketing team and the local media covering the game. Then my heart races when my gaze lands on the men out on the field. I find number 17 in an instant, the same number emblazoned across my back. This is the first game where Maverick’s out on the field for warm-up, even though he won’t be playing. There was no mistaking his outright joy when he came home last night and told me he’d be out there today.
For a brief second, I thought he might hug me, he was so excited. Over the last while that I’ve been staying at his place, it’s been impossible not to notice how the small touches have increased. The graze of his fingers against mine when I pass him something, shoulders bumping together in the kitchen when we’re both in there. And it’s not just that. He’s started making me coffee every morning, somehow getting the cream and sugar ratio absolutely perfect every time. When I’m working, he’ll bring me over a fresh glass of water without asking. My shampoo was running low, but before I could get out to buy somemore, a brand-new bottle appeared. Those moments, when I can almost fool myself into thinking his actions could mean somethingmore, are becoming harder to ignore.
I know it’s crazy, and impossible, and a terrible idea. But God, I wish it was real. That I had a man treat me the way he does, not because of an arrangement, or appearances, but because they truly cared about me. Wanted me.
But he didn’t hug me.
And it’s not real. My feelings might be, but they will never go anywhere.
We reach our seats, and Willow introduces me to Ronan’s mother and his daughter. As their conversation flows around me, I let myself watch Maverick. He looks good, too good, in that uniform. The pants cupping his butt, the jersey looking like he was born to wear it. He seems relaxed, too. The most relaxed I think I’ve ever seen him. It’s obvious, to me at least, that this is where he belongs. Out there, playing ball. Empathy floods me as I realize how difficult it must have been for him these last several weeks, not playing.
Whoever it is he’s throwing the ball back and forth with says something, and his head turns, his gaze meeting mine. I tentatively lift my hand in a small wave, then snatch it down immediately, feeling silly. Until he lifts his and gives me a rare smile.
“No freaking way, did Mav just smile at you?” Willow gasps, grabbing my arm. “Good Lord, I didn’t think he knew how to do that.”
She’s teasing. I know this. But a burst of protectiveness shoots through me anyway.
“Just because he’s not the most outgoing guy doesn’t mean he doesn’t smile.”
Willow’s eyebrows raise nearly to her hairline. “Okay, down girl. I didn’t mean any offense.” Her head tilts to the side. “I know there’s a good guy underneath the bad boy exterior. The whole team does. It’s why he’s still here. Because even when his reckless choices land him in trouble, we believe in him and want nothing more than to help him. It’s why my uncle is so happy you’re in the picture.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I really want the answer.
Willow waves at Ronan on the field, a huge grin on her face before she turns to me to reply. “I don’t know exactly. But I think it’s because he wanted Mav to have something, or someone, to ground him, and help him remember that good things exist in life. I don’t know the details of his past, but I’m assuming it wasn’t great. And when you don’t have a great past, you need something really great to keep you moving forward. You’re that something great for Mav.”
My heart is cracking in two at Willow’s words. She’s right, I know she’s right, even though I also don’t know the details of who Maverick King is and where he came from. But I can tell there are broken parts of him, damaged pieces from his childhood that he hides from everyone. And I can tell, despite all that, he’s a man worthy of love and happiness if he could just believe that for himself.
