Miller last year would have said winning. He had a singular focus on the end of the season and winning the World Series.
He got everything he wanted. Everything he would have said was important.
But now, the me sitting here in this chair, missing a piece of himself because it died?
He thought it was one thing, but it turns out it’s another.
All he had to do was look hard enough, and he’d see this sunshine and hear this voice just above the surface of the water that says all he needed to do was kick and kick and kick to break through so he could breathe the very real oxygen that exists in this new world, all because it’s a world where she exists now, too.
Ren
He’s obviously very attractive.
Obviously—he was named sexiest shortstop last year.
The words burn across every inch of my skin when I see him standing there, waiting in the lobby of his building.
Hair damp from the shower, pushed off his face, save for that one piece that can never seem to behave. The cut of stubble carving along his jaw. The full lips that tip into a crooked grin when he sees me. His shoulders stretch under the white T-shirt that makes the navy of his eyes even starker from here. The swell of rounded biceps popping against skin bronzed from the sun, the ropes of muscle traipsing down his arms to the back of his hands, the maps of veins trailing along them, and his strong fingers tapping against the spine of our shared trophy.
I can really see, not at all objectively, for the first time, why a magazine might have named him the sexiest shortstop. They could have named him the sexiest anything, really.
More magazines should have, actually. He should be in theJournal of Vertebrate Paleontology. He should be in reputable journals everywhere.
Miller extends his arm, holding Victor out to me, dangling almost carelessly from his fingertips, and I try to blink away the way I start to wonder about how those fingers might feel carelessly moving down my skin.
“Our kid.” He raises his brows. “As promised.”
“Thank you.” I nod primly, shoving the trophy into my tote bag, trying to tamp down the tightening in my stomach with it.
Miller cocks his head. “I need him back, though. I leave again Friday.”
“Okay, we can do the divorced parent pass off in a parking lot somewhere,” I say, folding my arms across my chest so he doesn’t see the flush creeping over the neckline of my tank top.
“You have a car?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Do you?”
“Uh, yeah.” His smile turns sheepish, and he tries to shrug it off, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. But all that does is pull his T-shirt up, just the tiniest bit, and I can see a ridge of abdominal muscle kissing the waist of his shorts.
“Miller.” I narrow my eyes, tipping forward on the balls of my feet. “How many cars do you have?”
“A few.”
“Are they stupid?”
“A few are, yeah.” A blush shades his cheeks, and he tugs at his hair. “But uh, Matty liked cars actually. His one indulgence. I have most of them.”
The line of my smile shifts from teasing to soft. “Are they here?”
Miller nods. “Some of them, yeah.”
“Can I see them?” I ask quietly before pointing towards the ceiling. “Maybe after I see your sweeping monstrosity. I haven’tforgotten about the sprawling, douchey King West penthouse above us, Miller.”
He rolls his neck, taking an exaggerated groan, but he’s smiling when he looks at me. “Aquarium closes at nine. You can, uh, come over after.”
“Traffic won’t be bad at that time. You can drive me home in one of your stupid cars.” I tap my fingers against my arms, tipping my head back towards the lobby doors. “We should get going.”
His eyes flash with amusement, and the corner of his mouth kicks up, but he’s uncharacteristically quiet on the short walk from his apartment to the aquarium.
