“It’s been a few years,” I say, swallowing down the sudden tightness in my throat. “It was hard. Honestly, sometimes it still is. I went into law strictly to try to fill the empty hole my brother left behind, but my heart just isn’t in it.”
“Is your heart in sports PR?” Roddy asks quietly, one brow raised.
I take a moment, looking out at the neon signs buzzing against the wood-paneled walls. “I thought so. But right now? I’m starting to wonder if I’m better built to fight big businesses trying to take over small towns.”
Roddy cackles, a spark of pride in his eyes.
“In that case, you really should meet my sister Winnie. And Sarah Blackwood—she’s my old high school coach’s wife, and she knows how to handle a megaphone. And an elected official or two. And the press. Actually, she might be your version of a rock star.”
My interest spikes instantly.
“I’m serious, Roddy. I want to help.”
I think, seeing that I’m sincerely invested, Roddy pulls out his phone as he eyes me. “Let me send Winnie a text. Tell her I’ve got someone who wants to jump into the trenches with us.”
He types a quick message, and his phone buzzes almost instantly.
“She says, ‘Great! The more, the merrier.’”
He starts typing a reply, but I quickly place my hand over his screen, stopping his thumbs. “Hold off on telling her it’s me just yet.”
Roddy’s brows furrow.
“Why’s that?”
“Jake told me his aunt is pretty fired up about my dad being involved in this deal,” I explain. “I’d rather ease her into things and earn her trust face-to-face before she sees the Hines name on her phone and she shuts me out.”
Roddy nods slowly, I sense, understanding.
“Smart. Tell you what . . . come over to Daisy’s house for a little backyard BBQ and a planning session Monday night, after the home stand wraps up. We’ll get everyone at the table.”
Jake slides back into the booth just in time to hear the invitation. He looks his dad dead in the eyes, then shifts his gaze to me, a lopsided, curious smirk on his lips.
“What’s this? Are you officially switching teams, Hines?”
I hold his gaze, my heart swelling with a strange sense of purpose I’ve never truly felt before.
“I was never on my father’s team, Jake. I’m on yours.”
Jake’s lips part, a faint smile turning up the corners, and my cheeks warm from what I fear was maybe an overshare. We haven’t really talked about feelings or what this is beyond, well, some pretty great sex and a magnetic attraction. But there’s something real here, something I feel every time any piece of his body brushes against mine. He grounds me. And I think I do the same for him.
Daisy returns to the table, balancing two steaming plates of burgers and fries. As she sets them down, Roddy looks up at her, and I catch the little spark that touches both of their eyes.
“Campbell is going to help us fight,” Roddy shares.
Daisy pauses, a knowing, amused look crossing her face as she glances at me. “Well, we’d better ease Winnie intothatidea first.”
We all burst into a collective laugh, the heavy tension from earlier completely evaporating into the warm, familiar atmosphere of the bar.
Jake and I finish our dinner, trading easy conversation with his parents, peppering him with praise for his great game. He’s bright red from the attention at one point, but it doesn’t stop the onslaught of our fandom, which continues until the plates are cleared.
Before I gather my phone and purse from the booth to leave, a slow, melodic country song filters through the bar’sspeakers. Jake slides out of the booth, extending his hand to me as he stands.
“Dance with me.”
It isn’t the fast-paced, foot-stomping kind of dance that usually rocks this joint. It’s slow and easy out on the dance floor, and to be honest, I could use a little time in his arms at a slower pace.
I let him lead me to the center of the room, and he pulls me into his frame, wrapping his strong arms securely around my waist as I tuck my head against his chest. We sway to the slow rhythm, his heart beating a steady, reassuring pulse against my cheek. The rest of the world completely fades away into the shadows of the bar.
