“That’s not going to happen, but I promise I’ll tell you if it is.”
I pull up Rich’s information in my contacts and open our text thread. Even though he won’t take my money, we check in monthly. It’s mostly me asking if he’s heard anything or if anyone’s come forward with information, and him gently letting me down. The Miami police have kept the case open as long as there’s still hope that Rich might find something, mostly as a favor to him for his many years of service before he left the department.
I hold the phone so Delilah can see what I’m texting.
Cruz:
Hey Rich. I’ve gotten a few calls from a number in
St. Louis that I don’t recognize. They haven’t left any messages.
Can you look into it for me?
Hopefully, that will give Delilah some peace of mind, so she isn’t worrying about me. I fucking hate that an unknown number, from a city that holds some of my worst memories, is completely derailing our morning. It’s the first time we have woken up together since we admitted that there’s more to our relationship than just being friends.
This is not how I envisioned it would go.
Eager to salvage what we have left, I slide my hands up the oversized shirt Delilah has on, gripping her hips before I lean forward and pepper her neck with kisses—because she always knows exactly what I need, she lets me distract myself by reaching for the hem of my shirt and pulling it over her head in one quick motion. If I thought she looked good next to me in bed with messy hair, swollen lips, and only my shirt draped over her, it’s nothing compared to this—her naked, in my lap, first thing in the morning. She’s the most beautiful distraction I have ever seen.
After a few minutes of heated kisses and my hands tracing over every square inch of her skin, she slides her hand between us, slipping it into the front of my briefs.
“Mhmmm, you don’t have to do that.” I hiss when her fist wraps around me.
“Actually, I do. You got to spoil me last night, and now it’s my turn.”
I let my upper body fall back against the headboard and watch as her perfect tits bounce up and down with each stroke of her hand. It’s enough to make me forget my name, along with all the anxiety I was feeling earlier. At least, for now.
Chapter 26
Meet Jarrett
Flashback - 3.5 Years Earlier
Pressing my back flat against the bench, I extend my shaking arms, holding the bar above my chest when my phone vibrates against the bench from the pocket of my shorts. Racking the weight, I sit up, answering immediately when I see my brother’s name light up the screen.
“Hey, Rett, how’s San Diego?” I swipe my discarded shirt across my forehead, soaking up the sweat rolling off me from my workout, out of the corner of my eye I see one of my teammates walk into the St. Louis Commanders weight room.
“The sun is shining, the bikinis are tiny, and I get paid to throw baseballs. Life doesn’t get much better than that.” He sounds every bit the southern boy our mom raised. The accent tells me he’s relaxed, but that’s Jarrett. My younger brother loves life and the only thing he takes seriously is his baseball game and being a momma’s boy.
“You’re soaking up those west coast vibes, aren’t you? If you were a state, you’d be California.” The waves lap in the background, and I can picture him lounging on the beach—his brown hair flopping to the side like it always does, with his favorite pair of obnoxiously bright, pit vipers perched on his nose. Giving him the perfect cover to check out the ladies walking by. Not that Jarrett would let them just walk by—he’s never met a girl he doesn’t want to flirt with.
“Maybe when I get called up, we can negotiate a trade to the golden state. I bet I could find a pretty little thing to teach me how to surf.”
“I don’t doubt you could. Let’s focus on getting you to the show before we aim for a dual trade and finding you a surf instructor.” I tilt my head to Colby Miller, our closing pitcher, as he slips his headphones over his ears and heads for the free weights.
Miller was a top prospect coming out of college, but he hasn’t adjusted to the spotlight well. After a promising rookie season two years ago, he’s spent more time in the tabloid headlines than the sports highlights.
Like many young rookies, he’d let his game suffer and opted to overindulge in the fame that comes with being in the spotlight. But I’m glad to see him here working. The team needs him, and if he doesn’t turn things around this season, he’ll be looking at a trade or being sent down.
“I’ll be there right beside you soon. Well, not right beside you because I’ll be center stage taking down batters and making your job boring.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you over the sound of a big-ass paycheck hitting my account. You have one job out there. How hard can that be? Throw the ball hard. Come talk to me when you are pulling back game-changing grand slams from the wall and making throws to home.” My damp curls fall over my forehead, and I push them back, catching Miller glaring at me in the mirror while he lifts.
“No thanks, man. I’ll keep saving games when you all fuck it up.” I hear muffled voices from his end of the line, followed by his husky laugh. “Good luck at your game tonight, bro. A friend just showed up. I’ll text you later.” There’s a high-pitched squeal that makes me pull the phone away from my ear.
“Same to you. Have fun with yourfriendand wrap it up.” I shake my head when he disconnects the call. When I look up, Miller is still giving me the stink eye in the mirror.
What an asshole.
