Jade eyes her surroundings. A big rig is in front of us, and behind us there's a minivan. She cuts the wheel and shifts the Jeep into reverse. The minivan honks, and she mumbles something that sounds like "twatwaffle" but I don't dare ask with Coop in the car.
Her brow furrows as she shifts the car back into gear. "If this dude would move up just a foot, I could clear it," she says.
Coop stops the song playing, and Jade grinds her teeth. I turn my head to give him a look that says, turn it back on, but he yells, "Move bitch," and then I hear it. Fucking Ludacris.
Jade and I burst into laughter.
If I've learned anything in my life, it's that sometimes the best moments happen when you least expect them. And this is one of them. The three of us sing along, yelling the lyrics until finally the big rig inches forward.
I meet Jade's gaze over the center console and watch as she shifts her eyes to the curb separating us from the highway and then brings them back to me. I give her a subtle nod, and she turns the wheel, presses the gas, and takes the curb.
We catch a bit of air, and Coop laughs.
Jade grins and sticks her tongue out at me.
I snap a photo with my phone.
This is a side of her I doubt many people are lucky enough to see. I want to remember this day forever.
Chapter twenty-six
Jade
Iused to think those T-shirts and coffee mugs with sayings about needing vitamin sea were stupid. But I get it now. The ocean is healing. By the time we left the beach yesterday, I think we all felt a little lighter. Relaxed. Ready for anything life could throw at us.
A far cry from today.
We started with a tour of the stadium, and Coop got to run the bases. Then Mateo took us to his favorite museum. I know he was trying to appease my artistic side, and I appreciate the effort, but it was boring as fuck. After the museum we grabbed sushi and came home to get ready for Friendsgiving. It was a lot. I'm glad the day is over and we're heading back to Mateo's.
As soon as we step into the condo, my chest loosens, and I can breathe again. Which says everything about how Friendsgiving went considering how stuffy his condo is.
Coop enjoyed playing with some of the other player's kids, and everyone was friendly enough, but I still stuck out like a sore fucking thumb. From my hair, to my clothes, to my lack of baseball knowledge. And I fielded far too many questions about tattoos for my liking. Like I was a museum exhibit. Half of them had several tattoos of their own, so I don't get why it was such a hot topic. I don't think it was intentional, but it didn't make it any less uncomfortable.
Further confirmation I don't belong in Mateo's world, especially the one that exists outside Wilmont.
One thing surprised me though, something I didn't pick up on until tonight.
Mateo doesn't drink alcohol.
He drank soda and water all night. Even when everyone else drank beer and cocktails. Even I had a beer. Okay, and a low dose edible. But who could blame me? I needed to calm the voices of anxiety somehow.
"Do you take pain meds?" I ask, because I can't remember him ever opening a prescription bottle. Only ever ibuprofen. And after realizing he's sober, I find it oddly curious.
He holds a finger to his lips and closes the door to the bedroom where he's laid a sleeping Coop. I said I could do it, but his face argued. His sexy, take control face, that I hate to love.
"I haven't had anything stronger than an over-the-counter painkiller in fifteen years? Maybe twenty?" He drags his hand over the beard that's growing out again. He hasn't shaved since I picked on him for it.
"Not even after surgery?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"And alcohol?"
He raises a brow, pinching his lips as he closes some of the distance between us.
I swallow like the prey I am. My heart racing at how the tables have turned tonight.
"I don't remember. One day I ordered seltzer instead of a beer and realized I didn't need alcohol to have a good time, so why bother?"
