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“Fifteen, if we’re lucky.” He’s in front of me. Unbuckling the straps of my overalls and sliding them down, my tank top too. Sliding his hands into my back pockets, curling them around mine andlifting. Setting me on the nearest flat surface—an old desk? A crate?—and guiding my arms around his neck, his wrapping around my waist. Doing it all so quickly, so smoothly, I barely register it’s happening until it’s done. “Feeling lucky?”
Does he— “Oh myGod.” I shove him away, trying to decide whether I’m mortified or amused. “I did not tell you to meet me here for aquickie.”
Although, when he stoops to press kisses along my sternum, I start to re-evaluate. “No?”
I gasp when wet lips close around my nipple and tug. “No.”
His smirk is like a brand, as tangible as the teeth scraping my skin. “You sure about that?”
Stay strong, Sunday. Remember the speech. Remember you’re in a barely-standing hut about a hundred feet from a field that’s about to be occupied with a whole lot of people.
With Herculean effort, I set my hands on Cass’ shoulders and push. “I wanted to talk about practice.”
With a noise suspiciously close to a whine, Cass relents. With some arduous effort of his own, he redresses me and himself—the latter inspires just the tiniest bit of regret. “What about it?”
Great question. What was I gonna say again? Something about baseball? And my child?Right. “August is going to apologize to the other kids for what happened.”
“Okay.” Cass waits a moment before cocking his head. “Was that it?”
No, but it was the easy part. “I’m not gonna come to practice for a while.”
“What?” Hands land on my hips as a large body fits itself between my legs. “Why?”
“I think me being here just riles everyone up, y’know? Kristal only acts like she does because she doesn’t like me, so maybe if I stop coming, she’ll stop too.”
Genuine distress furrows Cass’ brow. “But I like you being here.”
Oh, the urge to fold like a cheap suit and say ‘okay, fine, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll keep coming.’“I do too. Or at least I did. Not when it causes so much drama. I just…” I blow out a breath. “I’m tired of all the shit-talk. I hate how it gets to August, and I know it must affect you and your job—”
“Baby,” Cass cuts me off with an exasperated sigh, the shake of his head almost reprimanding. “I don’t give a fuck about my job.”
Baby. I’m so busy swooning, I almost forget to reply. “You don’t like coaching?”
“I like it just fine. Like it a lot more when you’re watching me.”
“I don’t watchyou.”
“I think you burned a hole in my back pocket once.”
“Shutup.”
When I try to shove him away, Cass catches me by the wrists, holding both of them in one large hand and gripping my chin with the other, tilting it upright, making me look right in his eyes as he says, “If you really don’t wanna come anymore, that’s fine. I’ll survive,” he adds with a wink before sobering. “But if you’re staying away because you think you’re doing me or August a favor, you’re wrong. We like you here. I like you watching me—which I notice, by the way, because I’m watching you back.”
Every last one of my nerve endings sing.
“Kristal acts like she does because she’s jealous. You are beautiful and your son is incredible and you have astunninglyattractive boyfriend—”
“—fake boyfriend.” That distinction seems extra important now.
His lips thin. “Fakeboyfriend,” he corrects before continuing. “She is nothing compared to you. The way she acts is not your fault, and no one thinks it is. I’m sorry I let it get this bad.”
Apologies—another newly discovered kink of mine. I’m weak for them. Rendered defenseless, mushy and pliant, but not completely agreeable; I still find it in me to say, “You didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly. I should've called her out on it a while ago.”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
Wrong, his furrowed expression disagrees.Very wrong. “You are my responsibility. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
