I fucked this up.
“Renleigh, wait—” I rush in front of her and rest my back on the door. If she asks me to move out of her way, I will. But I have to at least make her ask. I have to fight for her a little bit. I like this girl. Shit, I like her a lot. Even the ragey side. It’s real. Renleigh might be the realest person I’ve ever met.
She doesn’t push. She also doesn’t speak. And those small signs encourage me. I tilt my head to one side and utter, “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head, dropping her bag to the floor.
“You’re right,” she says.
I swallow hard, glad her eyes are on me so she can see the shock on my face. I know I’m right, but I expected her to fly all the way back to Oklahoma before admitting that.
Her shoulders lift with a deep inhale, and she lifts her gaze to me as she breathes out.
“Fuck, you’re actually right. I mean . . . Iknowall of that. But also, what else am I going to do, you know? He’s my dad. I love my dad. I chose him, but also . . .I chose.”
I nod, slowly stepping away from the door. My hands wrap around her wrists, and I bring them up over my shoulders so I can hold her against me again. She’s not crying like she was before, but she seems just as spent and exhausted. A few hundred miles on a plane and a familial crisis can do that to a person.
“Who’s on the mound tomorrow?” she asks as she grabs hold of my T-shirt and we begin to sway.
“Thompson. It’s a rehab assignment, before he goes back to Texas. So, he’ll go the full game. Why?”
Her fingertips walk up higher, tapping against my chest as her head shifts and her gaze hits mine.
“Full game, huh? So, there’s no way you’ll have to go in?” Her voice is quieter than before.A whole lotquieter. And maybe . . . suggestive.
I shake my head slowly.
“Nope. My bullpen was two days ago. They wouldn’t let me throw if I gave them half my signing bonus,” I joke.
She chuckles, her hands now at the collar of my shirt and working their way to the back of my neck. Our mouths are inches apart, and our eyes are locked.
We are definitely fucking.
“No curfew for you, then. Like, you can be up late.” She tips her chin up, and her breath tickles against my lips. My tongue peeks out to taste it.
“As late as required.”
Her eyes flutter shut, and her hands sink into my hair as I close the space between us and cover her mouth with mine. I know what this is—it’s avoidance. She’s using me. She wants to feel good, even if it doesn’t last.
I can do that for her.
Chapter 14
Renleigh
I’m a basket case. An actual basket case.
Yet that doesn’t seem to scare Hunter off.
I suppose I should have bought into his reputation the first time we met. He proved then that he doesn’t back down from a challenge, and despite every attempt I’ve made to cut him loose, he keeps showing up. For me.
For now.
I know how these things work. You don’t grow up in Sweetwater and not learn a thing or two about dating a ballplayer. So many of the girls I went to high school with played this game, holding out hope for the pathetic pipe dreams on the other end. Land a dreamy ballplayer, become a baseball wife. Get the big house, the two-point-four kids, the fortune, travel, and easy life. And then get left alone half the year while your husband shuttles from city to city and sleeps with his side pieces.
No, thank you.
Maybe that’s what makes Hunter appealing . . .different. I met him before he experienced any of that; before he tasted the temptations. He’s still starry-eyed. Perhaps it’s because he’s good. Like,trulygreat. And I don’t mean like nice-guy good,though he does seem to have the gentleman thing figured out. I mean good as in talent. He’s the real deal.
