AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I nod.
“Just want you to know the option is there.”
“I do.”
“I want you to know I’m serious.”
“I do.”
“I want you to buy those pants ‘cause they look really,reallygood.”
The comment catches me off-guard, as does my ensuing laughter. “Yeah?”
Cass groans lowly, face set in the fake version of an expression I remember way too vividly as he rakes his gaze over me. “Oh yeah.”
I’m fucked, I realize with no small amount of panic. When he makes that face, when he looks at me like that, I am so fuckingfuckedbecause something foolish driven entirely by hormones rears its head and says,make him do it again.
Which is why when he plucks something else from the obscene pile and chucks it my way, I try it on without objection.
26
CASS
Best moneyI’ve ever spent.
I’m trying to not be a leering creep butJesus. Sunday looksgood. I knew that romper was a good idea. She swore up and down she didn’t need it, she’d never wear it, but this is the third time this week the dark gray material has made an appearance. Third time I’ve caught myself staring across a parking lot or a field or, in this case, the park serving as the location for this weekend’s Select tournament, distracted by bare legs and thin straps and the soft swell you can only see when she turns the right way, when she absently presses a hand to her stomach.
So cool. Only way to describe it. The actual physical proof that my kid is right there isso fucking cool.I spend a large portion of my day fighting the urge to pull up that photo of Sunday cradling her bump and just stare at it like a fool. The same way I’m staring at her right now.
“You’re gawking.”
Pulling my gaze from where Sunday sits on the sidelines, I quirk a brow at the man teasing me. “I’m allowed.”
Ben’s dumbass smile glints in the spring sunlight. “Hm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Spit it out, Coach.”
“I just think you’re adorable.”
I tut playfully. “I have a girlfriend, Benny boy.”
He ignores my joke. “You need one of those t-shirts. Y’know, one of the ‘I heart New York’ ones except it says ‘I heart Sunday Lane.”
A groan sounds from beside me. “You can’t wear that.”
Ben leans forward to grin at the eleven-year-old beside me, who’s grimace is visible through the cage of his helmet. “Why not?”
August grumbles, “‘S embarrassing.”
“We can get you one too, Gus. ‘I love my mom.” Ben winks at me. “Yours can say ‘I love his mom too.’”
August groans again. “Stop.”
“Leave him alone.” I cuff my fellow coach upside the head, my free hand grasping August’s shoulder and squeezing. “He’s got a game to win. Let him focus.”
