Page 60 of Praising the Pitcher

She looks down, cupping her hands together before nodding and lifting her gaze back to me. “Yeah, I’m …” Her voice trails off, and it’s like she remembers it’s me. That she can tell me anything. I hope she knows that anyway.

“The holidays were my mom’s favorite time,” she whispers, her voice cracking at the end before she lifts a hand toward the wall of items. “Every Christmas while she was alive, she would surprise me with a snow globe.” She smiles sadly, nodding toward the wall of them. “She always said they were from Santa—even when I was old enough not to believe anymore.”

I look at her again before I take in the dozens of delicately crafted snow globes. Despite the times her dad has brought her down, the look in her eyes right now is different. Less broken, maybe. But more … sad.

Her mom sounds like the complete opposite of what her father is, and I wonder how different her life would have turned out if her mom didn’t die from cancer and was still here. Would she even be with Cal still? I hope not because that man is a nightmare. I’m sad Gigi has no family she talks to, but I’m proud of her for putting boundaries in place too.

That fucker doesn’t deserve access to his daughter after he’s been so awful and torn her down so much.

I can’t take how sad she is, and I step closer, holding my arms out.

Her eyes widen, and she chews on her lip. As much as she does that, I’m surprised it’s not raw all the time. Whether she’s nervous, shy, turned on when she’s reading her books, or embarrassed, that’s her tell. The chewing of her lip.

And to be honest, it makes me weak to see because I wish it was my teeth sinking into her plump, red lips and not her own.

“What are you doing?” she asks, knowing damn well what I’m about to do.

After losing her mom, I don’t think Gigi’s life had much warmth or hugging in it. Her dad seems like a cold man to me, and now, Gigi doesn’t seem comfortable with affection.

That’s not going to stop me though. Especially when I can see how down she is.

“Giving you a hug, obviously,” I murmur as my arms wrap around her body and I pull her tightly to my chest. “Sorry it’s a hard time for you right now.”

I can’t help but breathe in her sweet citrus scent, and I wonder if it’s a spray she uses or a lotion because I swear, she always smells good enough to eat.

Literally …

It doesn’t happen all at once, and for at least thirty seconds, her body stays stiff. Eventually though, her limbs relax and she melts against me. Her cheek presses to my chest, and I can feel her breathing. She doesn’t realize it, but I needed this from her just as much as she needed it from me. I’ve missed her so fucking much, even though she was never even mine.

“Thank you,” she barely murmurs.

“Anytime, Smoke.” I don’t just say the words; I really mean them. I’d do this all day, every day, if she needed me to.

Putting her back together when she’s falling apart has become something I cherish, not wanting to share it with anyone else.

Especially not my teammate.

I don’t know how long we stand here like this, but I know multiple people pass by us. I feel their stares, but I ignore them, letting them squeeze between our bodies and the aisle to get whatever it is they’re looking for. Her eyes stay closed, and I don’t rush her into letting go of me.

Eventually, and all too soon, she wiggles around and looks up at me.

Her bright blue eyes stare into mine. The blue is surrounded with the darkest black line circling around, making the blue look even lighter than it is. I haven’t spent a lot of time staring into people’s eyes, but I find it hard to believe anyone else’s are this breathtaking.

She’s quiet, and as we look at each other, both unmoving, it’s like a whole new level of comfort I’ve never experienced. We’ve never kissed, never touched in any sexual or romantic way. Yet I feel like I’m closer to her right now than I’ve ever been with another woman.

It’s like I can hear her thoughts and feel her emotions. And for a guy like me, who really isn’t that deep … this feels as bottomless as the ocean.

Every second that passes, I know I’m getting myself more tangled up in Gigi—which is the last thing I should be doing, but just like the times before, I can’t help myself.

Her plump lips part as she brings in a small breath of air.

“I’m okay now,” she says, flashing me the smallest smile, yet I know it’s genuine and not forced. “Thank you, Noah.”

I wish I could tell her thank you for letting me be this guy right now. The one who makes her smile again. But that would come off weird, I’m sure.

“Hey, I’m always down for a hug.” I try to lighten the mood. “Consider this guy a hugging machine.”

It’s so easy when I’m around her. Since my ex, most women I’ve spent time with are just there to try to fill an ever-present void. When I’m around Gigi, there is no void, and even though it’s been weeks since I’ve hooked up with anyone in any capacity, I have no interest to.