“Fucking look already!”
I cough out a laugh and look down at my bracelet. The breath stutters out of me. The band is a mix of black, brown, and various shades of blue with pops of yellow. And in the center, where the arrowhead design converges, sits a bronze sun pendant with a slightly textured surface. I turn it over slowly, my throat closing in on itself.
“I, um, tried to make it subtle. Earth tones, ya know? Wasn’t sure how vibrant you wanted to go, since you’re new to the whole bracelet thing. I used blue for your favorite color, and then the little bit of yellow as tribute to the sunshine you requested. And the sun pendant, obviously.” He lets out an uneasy laugh. “If you don’t like it, I can totally make you another one.”
My heart breaks at the uncertainty emanating from him. I see him: that small boy abandoned by his father, the one whose eyes are shining up at me, desperate to please, to do something worthy of approval.
I cup his face and crush my mouth to his. He grunts in surprise but quickly falls into the kiss. It’s quick and hard and packed with emotion. Like if I kiss him hard enough, I can get him to see what I see. It’s right there, beneath the crystal-clear water’s surface, beneath the soft waves glimmering with his light. The staggering truth.
He’s extraordinary.
I break away panting and roll my forehead against his. “I love it, Sunshine,” I whisper hoarsely. I pull back andlock onto his cerulean-blue gaze. “It’s perfect.”You’re perfect.I hold up my wrist. “Will you put it on me?”
One side of his mouth hitches up in a small smile, eyes back to bright. “Yeah.” His cheeks pinken lightly, and his attention falls to where he secures it around my wrist. “Glad you like it, Storm Cloud.” He peeks up at me before going back to tying it.
It takes everything in me not to scoop him into my arms and carry him to his bedroom. I have the intense urge to peel off his clothes and kiss every bare inch of his skin. Show him with every part of me how much I appreciate every part of him. But somehow, I hold back. Later.
He laces our fingers and then tugs me toward the stove. “Come on. I have to stir the chili.”
When he lifts the lid, a wave of mouthwatering, smoky and savory heat wafts up to me. I moan. “Want. Now.”
“Easy on the sex noises, JJ. Don’t be a damn tease.” He flashes a dimple at me and goes back to stirring. “We’ll do chili with all the fixings while we watch the Jetties tonight. It’s a crowd favorite with our crew, and it’s even safe for East’s diet. I make it beanless and with lean ground turkey.” His gaze shoots to mine. “But I promise it’s still delicious. Don’t let the healthy fool you.”
“Hell yeah,” East calls out. “Shane makes a mean meat soup!”
“I really think we shouldnotcall it meat soup,” Frankie says. “All I can picture is a penis gumbo when you say that, and just no. No.”
Shane chuckles. “It’s still got like an hour to simmer. I was going to make some fresh guac and heat up some queso for us to snack on beforehand. Want to help?”
If it means I get to spend time with him—be close to him—I’d literally do anything. “Put me to work, Chef.”
Shane and I work around each other in the kitchen, him barking out orders and tossing me cooking tips. At one point he even pulls the classiclet me show you how to do thatmove—and steps in behind me, arms slipping around my waist, guiding my hands over the chopping knife. Was it cheesy as all hell? Yes. But you wanna know what? I really fucking love cheese.
He knows his way around a kitchen, and it’s really damn attractive—confident, capable. And the domesticity of the two of us working together like that had me picturing things. Future things. I haven’t let myself imagine anything for my future except baseball. Why bother when it’s so uncertain? I’ve seen how precarious life is. I don’t need to set myself up for that kind of devastation again.
But as we settle in the living room and gather around a coffee table covered edge-to-edge in chili toppings, the laughter starts. The teasing. The casual back and forth of people so familiar and at ease with each other they’re like family. And I think maybe, in this case, it’s worth the risk.
The fall will be that much harder if it ends. But when I catch those blue eyes watching me across the coffee table, a mischievous glint sparkling back at me, there’s only one possibility: I have to try.
He tosses a jalapeño at me, and I duck out of the way with a laugh.
I’ll risk the strikeout for a chance at a home run.
Shane’s foot brushes against mine under the table, and he shoots me a soft smile.
Because not swinging at all always hurts so much worse.
THIRTY-TWO
SHANE
Jed and Ifall into a comfortable routine. We room together at away games and take full advantage of having short stints basically living together, a glorious combination of orgasms and falling asleep cuddled up together. The second beds in our hotel rooms go untouched. And when we’re home, Jed’s at our place more often than not. He’s settled into the crew seamlessly. Kind of like he’s meant to be there with us.
We haven’t discussed the “R” or “B” words yet. I’m hesitant to say anything because the woo-woo part of me thinks saying it out loud will jinx how perfect everything has been.
My gaze follows the baseball on the TV soaring into the stands. I drop my head on Jed's shoulder and groan. “I can’t watch this.”
We’re catching the end of the Jetties’ game. Our game started an hour earlier than the Jetties, and Araujo fuckingdominatedon the mound—complete-game shutout, no walks, nine ks, only three hits. We cooled down, showered, and stillmade it back to the townhouse before the Jetties finished playing.
