"Let me be here for you, Soren."
My eyes narrowed. "Trust me, you don't want to be here for me."
"You of all people should know not to tell me what I want."
Well, fuck. She had me there. I couldn't mask my surprise when she thrust a hand into the tub and laced one of her hands through mine.
"And frankly," she said, squeezing my hand. "If you think I'm going to leave you here to wallow in the tub, then you don't know shit from honey butter."
This time, when I laughed, there was no pain. Just unexplainable, unimaginable warmth.
"There's that dirty mouth I love."
I pulled our connected hands out of the water, resting them on the side of the tub.
"Okay," I told her. "But I'm a shit patient, just so you know."
Her pink lips curved. Clarke carried her smile around like a weapon, one that killed on sight and left behind a bright red hue.
"I can work with that."
For the next seven minutes, we stayed just like that. With her kneeling on the bathroom floor, fingers laced through mine, sitting in comfortable silence. When the alarm went off on my phone, she helped me out the tub, bundling me up in a towel like a hug. A warm, fluffy, lavender-scented hug.
She didn't baby me or wait on me hand and foot. I didn't expect her to. I was a grown fucking man, and she was the woman I was sleeping with, not my parent or housekeeper. No, she let me have my space, which was exactly what I wanted. What Ineeded.
While I took my time drying off and throwing on a fresh pair of sweats, she ordered us room service. It was all so natural, so routine. Like we had done this day after day for years. She didn't judge me when I turned onRuPaul's Drag Race,my go-to comfort show. She didn't balk when I folded my pizza in half, stuffed it full of Caesar salad, and ate the whole thing like one giant taco. And later, when we crawled under the bedsheets and she nuzzled into the crook of my arm because I kept the room almost as arctic as my ice baths, I couldn't help but think that that felt natural, too.
And for the first time in a long time, that didn't scare me.
Clarke
Soren was on fire today. I didn't even bother trying to contain my ear-splitting smile as I watched him round the bases for the second time. Two home runs, one double, and one single.
I'm sleeping with him!my inner slut screamed. And as of a few days ago, that was true.
Soren and I were actuallysleepingtogether. We'd spent every night together since his injury, alternating between his room and mine. Matty and Dani didn't mind. Soren, on the other hand, had almost lost his mind when Matty accidentally walked in on me getting out of the shower. Needless to say, we'd been staying in my and Dani's room ever since.
We were six innings into our afternoon matchup against Austin, and things weren't looking good . . . for them. At this rate, it wouldn't surprise me if they called the game an inning or two early—which, apparently, was a thing at Spring Training. And an early night wouldn't be the worst thing ever.
Dani and I, along with Pink, who had practically become our shadow these last few weeks, wanted to take a Scottsdale public art bike tour. It ran daily at eleven a.m. and four p.m., which made things a bit sticky, what with our game schedule. Maybe today would finally be our day.
The guys in the dugout hooted and hollered as Soren coasted around third base. That cheeky grin I'd come to know and love—especially from between my thighs—spread across his face when his eyes met mine.
Maybe he'd be up for another kind of ride tonight. Heat pooled between my legs just thinking about it.
“That's it, Sinclair!" a feminine voice shouted just steps from my left, shocking me out of my fantasy. "Show 'em what you're made of, Uncle-sorus!"
An attractive brunette was bent over the fence, cupping her hands around her mouth. The best way to describe her style was "grandma chic." From her bejeweled headband to the crocheted "granny square" and electric blue cowboy boots, it was safe to say that this woman looked more out of place at a baseball game than I did. And yet, she oozed confidence.
I'd admit it, my first reaction was a twinge of jealousy. Only for a second or two, though. When she removed her cat-eye sunglasses, though, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She was the spitting image of Soren. Same stormy gray eyes. Same sideways smile. They even had the same mole just above their left eyebrow.
"It's okay," she said when she caught me staring at her. "He's used to this by now. Soren's my baby brother."
"You must be Shelby!" I rushed over to her.
Shelby was the oldest of Soren's two sisters, and based on the way he had described her, likeDolly Parton meets Penny Lane from 'Almost Famous,'I knew this had to be her.Soren wasn't a man of many words, but one subject he never ran out ofsteam discussing was his family. He had nothing but wonderful things to say about his mom, his grandma, his sisters, and their children. It didn't surprise me one bit that he'd come from a family of matriarchs. They had raised one hell of a man.
"Soren's told me all about you."
