“That sounds lovely.” Mags squeezes his forearm. “I love a man who can pull his weight in the kitchen. What’s your specialty?”
“Um.” The tips of Tenny’s ears turn pink as he rubs the back of his neck. “Pasta and store-bought sauce. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a chef.”
An odd burst of affection ribbons its way through my ribs, seeing Tenny’s rare moment of humility. He’s always so confident on the field or in interviews that it’s almost grating.
I softly bump my shoulder to his. “We can stop by the store and get some garlic bread, fresh basil to liven up the sauce, and a salad to round it out.”
Tenny’s grateful gaze makes my heart do a little flip. “Thanks, babe.”
Instead of marching off toward my rental, I end up smiling back. The waning Arizona sun cradles his masculine jaw in soft pinks and corals, like it too loves the texture of his facial hair. I haven’t realized the moment has stretched so long until Mags’s stomach growls—loudly.
She laughs while patting her flat stomach under her flowy dress. “Probably should have taken Mallory up on her hot dog offer at the bottom of the eighth. I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
Tenny shifts his duffel bag to the other shoulder before offering my grandmother his elbow. “Then let’s get you fed.”
We’re a dozen feet from my car when Tenny stops mid-stride, frowning.
“What?”
“You didn’t get your tire fixed? It’s been weeks, Alex. That’s dangerous.”
It’s stupid that hearing my name instead of one of his ridiculous nicknames feels like a sharp jab in the side.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, dropping my grandmother’s arm to fish in his pocket for his phone. “Give me your keys.”
“What?” I cross my arms. “No.”
“Give me your keys, cupcake. I’m fixing this for you,” he tells me while pulling up a number from his contacts.
“Absolutely not.”
Tenny’s ice-blue gaze crashes with my narrowed one as he pushes into my space. “You had the chance to fix it yourself, pumpkin. Now it’s my responsibility.”
“No.”
Mags makes apsshnoise, and I nearly jump, having forgotten she’s standing beside us. “Stop being so stubborn, and let your boyfriend take care of it.”
“Yeah, muffin. Letyour boyfriendtake care of this.”
The smirk curling his mouth is equal parts annoying and alluring.
I tilt my chin up. “Only if you stop calling me food names.”
“You got it, sunshine,” he says, slipping a hand into my purse and snatching the keys before I can protest. “Stay right here. I don’t want Mags to have to walk any farther.”
Then Tenny sprints toward the players’ parking area, phone pressed to his ear.
Twenty minutes later, after a comfortable ride in Tenny’s oversized rental truck, during which he and Mags kept up a lively conversation, he parks beside a small grocery store.
“I’ll stay here if that’s okay with you two,” Mags says.
“Are you feeling okay? We can head back to the hotel and order takeout if you’d rather.”
Mags swats at me from the passenger seat. “Stop trying to keep this gem from me. I’d just rather relax here and listen to music while you shop.”
“I’ll get you a snack to tide you over. What would you prefer—nuts, a granola bar, some fruit?”
