“It’s well-known fan lore.”
“Ah.” I don’t know why, but Molly knowing that itches under my skin.
“You don’t like that?”
“This is going to sound funny for someone who has spent his entire career in the limelight, but I’m not a big fan of being perceived.”
She laughs. “That is funny, yes.”
“But as you say, baseball is entertainment. We must give the people what they want.”
“You never thought about just coaching Little League instead?” Her eyes sparkle as she hands me a taco. “Eat this. It’s so good.”
It’s even better because she’s touched it. I lick my fingers when I finish. “I think most people coach Little League because their kids are playing.”
“Move to Wyoming. Coach Silas’s teamin a few years.”
“His dad will do that.”
“You could do it together.”
I frown. “So eager to get a different coach at the Outlaws, are you?”
She’s undeterred. “I won’t be there in a few years, anyway.”
“No?”
She shakes her head. “I like this job, don’t get me wrong—please don’t get me wrong. But Florida isn’t for me, not forever. It’s weird to wear shorts all year round. And I want to…”
When her cheeks turn pink and she trails off, I lean in. Instead of grilling her, I examine the platter and pick my favorite taco. “Try this one.”
She takes it, our fingers brushing, and then she carefully eats it in five neat, slow bites. I count each one, watching her fingers and her lips, and then her lips around her fingers as she chases the slightly messy drips at the end.
My cock thickens and pulses, straining the limits of my jeans.
God damn it, what I would give to feel those lips anywhere on my body.
“You want what?” I prompt.
She shakes her head, her mouth still working.
“I told you about my divorce. Come on. Share a secret life dream with me, Molly. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
The pink deepens, but her eyes lift, and she holds my gaze. “I want a family. I want kids and a white picket fence. When I was in school and Istarted to really explore what it would mean to work in theater and the performing arts, versus going into media and marketing… this path just seemed to make more sense for working for a few years, then meeting the right guy, getting…”
“Married,” I prompt again. Because fucking hell. I get it now.
She doesn’t want a divorce from a famous baseball coach to mar this perfect future she has. She doesn’t want to meet the right guy in a few years and have to explain that yeah, she was married for a hot second, and now she gets alimony from someone old enough to be her dad.
She makes a face and grabs another taco. “Here.”
I take it from her.
“Nothing wrong with wanting to wait for the right person,” I say gruffly.
“Too late for that.” Her lower lip comes out, and it’s almost a pout.
“So a divorce isn’t a part of that life plan.”
