I deflate. “No,” I say quietly. “I…thank you. For explaining. And for, well, yeah.”
He gives me a knowing smile. “You both deserve to be happy. And I know we’re all rootin’ for team Mork.”
“W-what?” I splutter. “Absolutely not, no way.”
Rhett just laughs, and I know it’s a done deal. “Take it up with Monty. He came up with it on the last night of spring training two years ago, after one too many shots of tequila.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have words with him,” I grumble. “Can we finish this damn assessment now?”
He gives an exaggerated groan and steps off the treadmill, onto the side boards, as he punches down the speed. “Fuck, yeah. I hate runnin’.”
“Then you shouldn’t have become a baseball player,” I replysarcastically as we move over to the mats where I’ll be testing his strength and flexibility.
Rhett turns his full force southern boy charm my way, and I can finally confirm it’s just as potent as expected.
“But darlin’, if I didn’t play ball, I’d be back home in Tennessee, workin’ on the family ranch, and then you’d miss me.”
I roll my eyes at his cocky — yet true — statement. “Okay, okay. Let’s get this over with so you can go and charm someone who cares.”
His hand goes to his chest, and Rhett tries to look wounded. “First, you want me to flirt with you, then you deny me when I do? There’s just no pleasin’ ya, Lark Miller.” He winks and my answering grin is automatic.
“You want to please me? Get going on your mobility assessment, and for the love of God, never repeat that nickname for me and Dan again.”
Chapter eighteen
Monty
“What do you mean, you’venevercut down your own Christmas tree?” Okay, fine, maybe I’m exaggerating the look of shock on my face just a little, but really? How has she been deprived of this experience for so long?
Lark just shrugs, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the cheesy decorations, the crackling fires, and everyone wandering around with smiles on their faces and handsaws under their arms.
Fuck, I love Christmas tree farms.
“We always had artificial trees. Three of them. Mom didn’t want the mess of a real tree.”
“The way you say that, so matter-of-fact, it makes me question your sanity, Birdie. Like a few pine needles on the floor was a good enough reason to never let your kid feel the joy of running through rows of Christmas trees, the thrill of hunting for the perfect one, and experience the flawless aroma of a fresh cut fir.”
If her eyes could roll any harder, I’m sure they would. “You’re the one who’s insane, Dan. There’s nothing wrong with artificialtrees.”
My hands clutch my chest. “You wound me.”
Lark ignores my antics, but she’s smiling. And that’s all I need. She lets me take her hand and lead her toward the wooden stall where we check in and get our dull handsaw. I take it in one hand from the young kid working. There’s no chance in hell I’m letting go of Lark. Not when it feels like fucking heaven just holding her hand.
It makes today feel like more than just two friends having fun together. It makes it feel like…a date.
How long have I fantasized about simple moments like this? Honestly, it probably makes me sound kinda creepy, imagining all the ways I wanted to be with Lark. Except, thanks to my complete lack of experience, very few of those ways were sexual. Most of them were things like this. Going through life, having fun together, the way we did as friends butmore.
And now thatmoreis reality. Holy fucking shit.
I guess I’m squeezing her hand kinda tightly because Lark leans into me with her shoulder. “Everything okay?”
I look down at her with a grin. “Everything is peachy keen, Birdie.”
She smiles back at me, and I start to loosen my grip, but then she tightens hers. “Good.”
Fuck, I love this woman.
I want to shout it out to everyone around me. The girl of my dreams, the only woman I’ve ever felt any sort of anything for is here with me. Holding my hand. Making me feel like the king of the entire goddamn universe.
