Trouble was, the two of them were combustible when they were in the same room. It hadn’t always been like that. Though that was probably more because she hadn’t known he’d existed, rather than their personalities changing all that much. Being the age of Rory’s youngest sister, Natalie, automatically took him off Rory’s radar. But she’d always been on his.
And then there’d been the night last year when he’d found her, drunk as a skunk, at The Willow Tree. She’d gone to surprise her then-husband for their anniversary and instead found him balls deep in his assistant. She and Nash had shared more than just a bottle of Grey Goose that evening. She’d opened up to him, let down her walls more than he’d ever seen. And in doing so, they’d more than just gotten along—they’dconnected. And he’d soaked up every ounce of it.
And then the next day, it was like it’d all been a dream.
He snapped back to the present as Rory licked her bottom lip—no doubt an unconscious gesture—and stared at his chest while he grew hard as stone behind his zipper. “Tick-tock, princess,” he said, his voice gruff with restraint. “What’ll it be?”
With a huff and a gorgeous flush to her cheeks, she turned sharp eyes on him, snatched his shirt from his hand, and spun on her heels to stomp off down the hall.
“Hurry up, now,” he called. “You don’t wanna be late.”
Her growl was drowned out by his answering laugh. He knew baiting her was a bad idea. Nothing could ever come of this back-and-forth between them. Because she was a scorned, still-mourning divorcée, and he was the pain-in-the-ass, immature prick who made her daily life a living hell.
So instead, he’d get them both worked up, and then he’d walk away. He’d have to, just like every other day. Because it’d be a cold day in hell before there was a future for him—Mr. High School Dropout—and the reigning princess of Havenbrook.
Rory never went out in public looking less than perfect. Hell, even during labor with both her girls, she could’ve posed for a photo shoot. Just last year, she’d been sick as a dog with a temperature of 102, hacking up a lung and feeling like death warmed over. Instead of shuffling into the pharmacy with bed head while wearing her pajamas, she’d gotten dressed, done her hair, and put on makeup just so she could get some meds. Never mind the fact that she should’ve been able to count on her no-good, lying, cheating, scumbag of a husband to do it for her.
But if her decade of marriage was good for anything, it had been to teach her she couldn’t count on anyone but herself. Except…well, she couldn’t exactly say that anymore, now could she? Not after today. Not after Nash King had literally given her the shirt off his back when she’d been in a pinch.
She glanced down at the too-big piece of cotton hanging off her body. It smelled like pine and sawdust and rain and…man. Sweet Lord, it smelled like a man. One who worked with his hands and his body instead of sitting behind a desk all day, shuffling papers and answering phone calls and banging his assistant.
As she breathed in Nash’s intoxicating scent, she tried not to remember him standing in front of her bare-chested. All those muscles dipping and curving and rippling, the light sprinkling of hair on his chest, the tattoos that ran down both defined arms. She’d never before been remotely interested in tattoos, and now she found herself daydreaming about what it’d be like to trace them. With her tongue.
Of course, she knew he was handsome. Anyone with two working eyeballs could see that. What, with his floppy not-quite-blond-but-not-quite-brown hair and that scruff and that incessant smirk he always shot her and that chuckle that went straight to her nipples. And, yeah, okay, so she was attracted to him. So what? It wasn’t any different from being attracted to the models on Instagram her sisters insisted on showing her. They were all unattainable, so what did it matter?
“Get your head in the game, y’all!” Her daddy barked the order to the rest of the team.
Bland murmurs of acknowledgment went on around Rory as she shifted on the opposite side of the outfield, tugging up the neck of her—Nash’s—shirt again. It must’ve looked ridiculous, continually hanging off one of her shoulders and showcasing the strap of her ivory bra. Downright indecent, and she should’ve been ashamed of herself, going out in public looking like that. But she hadn’t had a choice, now had she? Nash had been right—if she’d have been late to the game, it would’ve reflected poorly not only on her, but on her family, and she’d already done enough of that today by skipping out on all the festivities up to this point.
That’d been the only reason she’d reluctantly taken his proffered shirt and slipped it over her head like it had been a lifeline. She’d knotted it at the base of her spine so it didn’t look like she was wearing a garbage sack, but she wasn’t sure she’d been all that successful.
She hated that she didn’t look her best when so many eyes were on her. If she couldn’t hide away in her house, she’d at least wanted to come looking impeccable, with an unflappable, practiced smile on her face, and show everyone she was fine. She wasfine. Rory Haven was unbreakable, and her no-good ex certainly hadn’t managed to finally make her crack.
“Quit tuggin’ at your shirt, Rory, and focus!” Mac yelled. “Finn’s up, and you know he’s sendin’ the ball straight to you.”
Of course he was. Because Rory played baseball about as well as she gutted a fish, and he knew it. Everyone knew it, and yet her daddy—Havenbrook’s mayor, instigator of this damned baseball game, and all-around pain in her ass, though she’d never dream of sayingthataloud—forced them to do this year in and year out. Last year’s game had been the first in her memory where they’d lost. Not because they’d suddenly had a bad year, but because a new team hadn’t been afraid of Richard Haven’s wrath and had actually played with the intention of winning and not throwing the game. The very team they were up against now.
Heaven help them all if they lost again this year.
Her daddy stood at first base, his belly pouring over the front of his khaki shorts, his face red in reaction to the heat. “C’mon now, eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize, y’all!”
Only the ingrained manners she’d been brought up with stopped her from rolling her eyes in her father’s direction. Instead, she called back to Mac, “If you’re so worried about it, why don’t you come on over here, then?”
Mac shot her a look that said she was clueless. “Obviously… I’m gonna haul ass as soon as his bat hits the ball.”
“Y’all quit fightin’ out there!” Will called over her shoulder from second base. “He’ll prey on your weaknesses.”
Rory didn’t doubt that. If anyone would tell the truth about Finn, it’d be Will. Since he and her sister had gotten back together last year, he’d filled the void in Rory’s life of annoying younger brother. Always picking. Always prodding. Always irritating the hell out of her. But damn if she didn’t have a fondness for him. There was no denying exactly how good he was for Will, and Rory’d never begrudge her sister happiness. She and her sisters might’ve had a tumultuous relationship for most of their lives, but Rory was trying damn hard to rectify that now because she was getting really tired of fighting her life battles all on her own.
Rory was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize Finn had hit the ball until Mac barreled toward her full force, yelling for her to get out of the way. She didn’t move fast enough, though, which meant Mac couldn’t get to the ball. Rory squeaked and covered her face with a mitt-encased hand while Mac cussed a blue streak at her. The ball dropped several yards behind Rory, and Mac hustled to it, picking it up and turning toward the infield to throw it to second base. Except she froze. Just stood there—her arm pulled back, ball at the ready to launch, her mouth agape.
“Mac! What in heaven’s name is wrong with—” Rory turned to glance over her shoulder toward the infield and stopped short when she saw exactly what held Mac’s attention.
Will stood on second base, her baseball mitt forgotten at her feet, her hands clasped over her mouth. And Finn was down on one knee in front of her, holding a small black box out between them.
“Holy shit,” Mac said, coming up to stand next to Rory.
Holy shit was right. A proposal wasn’t all that unexpected. Finn and Willow had lost so much time—years—that it made sense they wouldn’t want to lose any more, despite that they’d only officially been a couple again for about a year. But in all that time, Finn hadn’t made it any secret that he wanted Will, would do anything at all for her, and he’d done everything in his power to show her exactly that. He’d named his business after her, for heaven’s sake.
