I grab her hands and give them a squeeze. “Thank you, Poppy.”
“That must have been some dream,” she jokes as we walk through the concourse.
“You know that joke, ‘what’s the difference between a golf ball and the g-spot’?”
“I can’t believe you remember that joke, it was one of the first ones I told you after we met.” Poppy laughs. “My one hope for all womankind is that we condition men to spend as much time looking for the g-spot as they do for a golf ball.”
“It always stuck with me. Brad was a golfer, but couldn’t find my g-spot with the help of a caddy.”
She nods knowingly. “Good riddance.”
“Dream Cruz had absolutely no problem finding the right buttons to push,” I tell her quietly as we approach our section.
Down on the field, Cruz is warming up with Dom, one of the Bandits outfielders. When we find our row, I set my beer down in the cup holder and bring my thumb and pointer finger to my mouth, letting out a high pitched whistle that makes Poppy cover her ears.
Cruz smiles but continues warming up, throwing the ball to Dom a few more times before they huddle up. Dom tilts his head to where Poppy and I are sitting, and Cruz shakes his head, looking irritated at the rookie. Dom throws his hands up in defeat and heads back toward the dugout.
Scanning the stands to find me, Cruz grins and jogs over to the wall. He crooks his finger at me, and I respond with an eye roll. Even with me leaning over the railing, he’s still a solid four feet below me. Pushing my anxiety about the dream aside, I plaster on a smile, hoping it hides how awkward I feel. The last thing I want is for Cruz to pick up on the fact that something is wrong. He’s relentless when it comes to getting me to spill my guts. If he catches wind of the fact that I’m feeling anything but our ordinary friendly vibes, he’ll drag the whole embarrassing story out of me before I even realize what’s happened.
“Hey there, Slugger.” My hair is down, which is a rare treat. I gather it up and pull it to the side, so it hangs in a curtain on the side of my head. “Are you and the rookie having a disagreement tonight?”
“He’s just being Dom, but I set him straight.” Cruz grins up at me. “Are you still coming over after the game tonight? I thought we could stay in and watch a movie?”
When he gives me that hopeful look, his full lips turning up and making his tempting dimples pop against bronze skin, I stand no chance. I nod, my whole elaborate plan of avoiding him going out the window.
“Good. Wait for me after the game.”
The way he’s looking at me causes a flashback to the image of him crowding me against the wall. The words,“Mine, Delilah”reverberate through me, and I feel a heat crawl up my chest, coloring my cheeks pink. His throwing hand disappears into the back pocket of his pants and he fishes something out. It’s a caramel, my stress candy. With a smirk, he tosses it to me in the stands.
“Okay.” All my resolve to run away crumbling at my feet as I clap my hands around the treat.
“Oh, and Delilah, you look incredible tonight. I like your hair down like that. See you after the game, Hermosa.”
I bite my lower lip. I have always loved when he speaks Spanish to me and not just because it makes his accent stand out more. It makes me feel special. The only other time I’ve heard him speak it is when he’s talking to his parents. But after the dream, those words hit differently. Landing somewhere a little further south than they usually do.
“Hey Cruz, good luck tonight!” I shout as he heads back toward the dugout. His steps falter and he looks over his shoulder, throwing me a playful wink. Oh, shit. Welp, there goes any hopes of me making it through the game with dry panties.
Chapter 8
Movie Night
Present
Delilah might think she’s hiding her panic, but her expressive face gives her away. It also doesn’t hurt that I know her better than anyone.
I hope she packed chapstick because she’s gonna need it the way she was nibbling her lip raw earlier. She seems freaked out and I wish she would just tell me what’s got her so worked up so I could fix it. Maybe she’s feeling the way things have shifted between us since the gala? I know I have. But if I’m being honest it’s been that way for me for much longer.
When Hendrix and I stepped out of the locker room, she was an adorable twitchy mess, babbling about movie night to Poppy who was clearly engrossed in Hen. Somehow, the two of them ended up getting invited to join us.
Now, we are all back at my place, bellies full of pizza and watchingAvengers. Delilah’s relaxed enough that she is no longer sitting stiffly on the couch next to me, but tucked into the crook of my arm, relaxing with a margarita.
Her eyes keep fluttering shut before they fly back open, but it’s a losing battle. Looks like everyone will crash here instead of making the walk back to their respective apartments. And, based on the way Poppy and Hen are tangled up, he’s not letting her out of his sight tonight.
When the credits on the movie start rolling, Deliliah is sleeping hard enough that every once in a while she sighs or hums softly like she’s dreaming. Across from us, Hendrix and Poppy are stretched out. Her leg is thrown over his hip and they’re asleep facing each other, looking like a full-blown couple instead of new friends.
I slide my arm under Delilah’s legs and shift her to my lap. Standing from the couch, I adjust her in my arms so she’s tight against my chest, and make my way through the dark apartment to my bedroom.
When I lay Delilah down on my bed, she stirs, but her eyes stay closed. I pull the blanket up and soak in the sight of her in my bed. I should just walk away, but I can’t stop myself from dropping a kiss on her forehead. She looks so fucking beautiful like this.
