by Jen Doyle
“What makes you think I wasn’t ready before?” she asked.
He leaned back and put his arms out along the back of the booth, all casual and unconcerned, as if this wasn’t one of the most important conversations of his life.
Well, for him it wasn’t.
“Mostly because you told Fitz you weren’t ready?” he said with a grin.
Lola had told that to Fitz, one of her best friends, not Fitz, who headed up the foundation that had purchased all the land to build Baseball City. Unfortunately, they were one and the same, as Lola well knew, both then and now. “I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, not that I wasn’t ready.”
To Nate’s credit, he didn’t comment on the petulance in her tone. She appreciated that and attempted to remove it entirely. It was not actually her house and she needed to remember that. She was lucky Nate was the person he was and, therefore, was even entertaining this conversation. Hell, as unhappy as she was about the Jack Oxford situation, the fact that Nate had someone working on the house spoke volumes.
Someone who should not be allowed to be out in public without a shirt on, but still. “What exactly do we talk about?”
After a moment of looking at her, probably to see if she was serious, Nate leaned forward. “You tell me your terms, I tell you my terms, and we work it out.”
“I don’t have to convince you to sell it to me?” she asked before she could think twice. She really hadn’t expected that; she expected she’d need to fight for it.
This time his smile was warm. “We both know that house is yours, Lola.”
His words brought tears to her eyes. She looked down at the table and clasped her hands together. “It will take some time for me to get my house ready to put on the market,” she said, not realizing her voice had broken until she felt his hand close over hers.
“I’m not some bank, Lo. I don’t need you to sell your house first. You can take as long as you want.”
She pulled her hand away and snapped, “I changed your diapers, Nathan Hawkins. I am not some charity case.”
Knowing Nate, she shouldn’t have been surprised at the flash of anger on his face. “Just once,” he muttered, “I would love for someone to take what I want to give them.”
Yes, she knew how much trouble his family gave him whenever he tried to give them what they considered lavish gifts. Even though his justification was that their support had helped get him to where he was today. Lola was on their side. She had no interest in a handout.
Before Lola could give him a “no” of her own, he leaned forward. “First of all, you’re only two years older than I am. You weren’t old enough to change my diapers.”
Well, okay. That was most likely true, although she had been a very helpful child. “Two and a half years,” she corrected, “and I was very accomplished at that age.”
Glaring at her, Nate went on. “You were the first one to hand me a baseball glove.”
“Because I needed someone to pitch to me and Deke wouldn’t do it,” she answered, having an idea of where this was going but no idea of how to counter it.
Ignoring her statement, he added, “You kept Jules and me sane when our dad left.”
Lola looked down at the table. He’d been four; she and Jules almost seven. But she could still remember the way she’d pick Nate up when he would cry, and how she’d make him play Barbies with her and Jules until he was so mad he couldn’t remember why he’d been crying in the first place.
“And you were the first girl who ever kissed me.”
That brought her head up. “I was not!” she exclaimed, loudly enough for the people in the nearby booths to look over at them.
He grinned. Pointed to his cheek. “Right here. When I was twelve. I thought I was all cool and suave leaning in for that kiss, and you shut me down. Told me I was too young for you.”
Cheeks flushed, she hissed, “Because you’re practically my brother.”
“Exactly,” he said, leaning back, confident and cocky. “Exactly my point.”
Goddamn him. “Now I see how you got Dorie to agree to marry you after only three weeks.”
“I wish it had been that easy.” His eyes went to the door, no doubt in search of his fiancée.
“Baby story hour,” Lola said of the woman who also happened to be the town’s librarian.
Nate looked up at her with a smile in his eyes. “Her favorite.” Then the smile faded. “How about we don’t make this ridiculous. I don’t need your money, but, like every other freaking person in my life, you won’t let me just give it to you. So how about this: get it assessed; figure out what the actual value is. Then take however long you need to pay for it. We can have the attorneys draw up papers to map it all out. In the meantime, you manage the property. Decide what you want done, tell me how you want to do it. If you want to work with the architect for the Academy, let me know. But it’s all you. However you want.”
It took Lola a full minute to compose herself enough to answer. Her money, her terms. She’d never fully allowed herself to think about this, afraid of what the answer would be and, yes, maybe a little bit afraid of what it would truly mean to move forward. To leave the house she’d shared with Dave; the home where they’d created their family. Looking down at her hands and keeping her voice carefully controlled, she said, “Give me a couple days and I’ll let you know about the architect. And I need some time to figure out the money.”
Of course, there was the other thing, the one she had no idea what to do with. But she’d never been one to hold back. “Why are you letting him stay?” Meaning Jack Oxford, of course.
After a hard stare, Nate looked down at his beer, taking a few moments before looking back up at her and then away. “I honestly don’t know. He’s not a bad guy, Lola. What he did...” Nate shook his head. “I just—”
But before he could finish the thought, the bells over the front door chimed, and both Nate and Lola looked up as it opened and the man himself walked in behind the last woman on earth he should be walking in with.
* * *
Jack knew he was in trouble the second he saw Dorie walking down the sidewalk toward him. She knew it, too, if her sudden stop was any indication.
With a shrug and grim smile, he kept his pace as she resumed hers. They met under the awning of the bar. “Meeting up with Nate?” he asked.
She gave a curt nod. “Running late.”
And he was running early. Not because he was on edge or anything. He reached past Dorie for the door and opened it, gesturing for her to go ahead.
Yeah, definitely fucked. He just had no idea how much until he followed Dorie in and looked up to see Lola sitting in a booth along the back wall with Nate, both of them staring.
He stopped short, every one of the raunchy dreams he’d had over the past few nights roaring back into his consciousness. They weren’t about Lola, he’d been trying to tell himself. They were just because he hadn’t had sex since Courtney had told him she was pregnant and having Lola pressed up against him had his body awakening after spending the last year in hibernation. He’d spent most of last night sitting at the bar of his hotel, thinking it was time to get out there again. Blow off some of this steam with a woman who wasn’t one of Nate’s closest friends. He’d been bored out of his skull despite there being some kind of convention for dancers and gymnasts. Seriously. But not one of the women there had even caught his eye. One look at Lola, on the other hand, and the dick he’d had perfect control of for twenty years suddenly had a life of its own.
Three things happened in quick succession: he swore, Dorie laughed, and Nate’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.
The worst part was that, despite being the world’s foremost expert in keeping his emotions from showing on his face—hell, in avoiding emotions entirely—Jack knew he looked as guilty as hell. He fe
lt guilty as hell, but it had nothing to do with Dorie, and Jack sure as hell hoped Nate would believe that. Having it be about Lola, however, wouldn’t go over well either. Calling up all his skills, Jack made sure his expression was neutral, thanked God he’d worn his long-ish barn coat and that his shirt was already untucked underneath it, and followed Dorie to the booth.
“Nate,” he nodded. “Ms. McIntire.”
Damn woman’s eyebrow arched at his attempt to keep things polite and impersonal, and the little control he did still have shattered. Thankfully, he still had on his coat. He dropped down into the seat next to her and only then unzipped it. But he was far too distracted. She smelled like flowers. He wanted to run his hands through her hair to see if it was as soft as it looked. To put his mouth to her skin and see if she tasted as sweet in real life as she had in his dreams. He was tempted enough that he seriously considered standing right back up and getting out of here before he did something truly stupid.
It took Nate clearing his throat—an obvious, Really?—for Jack’s attention to snap back to the task at hand, which was to not get himself killed. Looking up and across at Nate, Jack sat back and gave a slight shake of his head. He was not going to make problems for Nate here. No way in hell. If he had to cut off his pitching arm he’d do it. Uh, figuratively.
Nate’s eyes barely flickered, but his message came through clear as day: You better fucking not.
“I’m sorry,” Lola said, even just those small traces of a smile completely gone, although it appeared she was as unhappy with Nate this time as she was with him. Still, it was Jack she directed her anger toward. “Did he just call a play?”
Uh... “What?” Even though he was still in the #1 position on Nate’s shit list, Jack found himself glancing up for help.
None there whatsoever. Dorie just snorted.
“He called a play, didn’t he?” Lola’s cheeks flushed with irritation, something that happened a lot around him. As Jack opened his mouth to deny it, she leaned toward him, almost close enough for him to touch. He was used to players coming at him, had no problem avoiding the flinch. It was the urge to lean just a little bit forward and kiss her that was throwing him.
“Uh-uh,” she snapped. “I know a call when I see it. Who do you think taught him how to catch?” She jerked her head toward Nate.
She played ball? He only just caught himself from saying he’d play pitcher and catcher anytime she wanted. For one thing, Nate was why he was here, not Lola. For another, her thoughts weren’t mirroring his at all, as indicated by her looking away from him without so much as a second thought and turning to Nate instead. “And what call was it, exactly? Because it seems to me that you were calling him off me, which would piss me off immensely. Feel free to talk to Deke about that.”
Deke, who was across the room and had been watching them closely, rolled his eyes as he put a tray of drinks together. He gave Nate one of those, Nothing I can do here shrugs.
Nate sat back, his arm going across the back of the booth behind Dorie as he watched Lola.
Undeterred, Lola continued, “I will tell you what I told Deke. I’m—”
“—The president of the Kick Jack Oxford Out of Inspiration Fan Club,” Jack said at the same time she said it. He knew it had to be said and he knew he had no right to have an issue with it. He just really wished there wasn’t a reason she had to tell everyone and their brother.
That said, Jack had no interest in getting entangled in anything. Even on Jack’s best days, he was rarely interested in anything beyond a good, hard fuck. Despite his attraction to Lola, there was no way he’d say or do anything to break the highly delicate olive branch Nate had extended.
After another glare in his direction, Lola turned her head back to Nate and said, “However...”
There was a however?
“You don’t need to tell me to keep my distance,” she continued. “You know my loyalty is to you and always will be.” She leaned forward to focus only on Nate, her eyes full of fire. “But you don’t get to warn anyone away from me.”
Nate, who knew exactly what Jack’s history with women was, gave him what looked like a blank stare. Jack knew better, of course, and even now with the distance between them, he could read every thought going through Nate’s head. He knew how much it bothered Nate that his own sisters refused to allow him to play protector. Jack figured it was worse when he had no claim whatsoever, as Lola had just made clear.
But the last thing Jack expected him to do was say, “You’re the biggest ball-buster I know, Lola, and I can honestly say there has never been anyone whose balls are more deserving of being busted.” He gave a grim smile. “I hope you give him hell.”
Jack didn’t blame him one bit. Nor was he surprise when Nate turned back to him and met his gaze again, sending a warning Jack could read loud and clear: Yes, I’m handing you some rope to climb out of that chasm of a hole you dug. But do anything to hurt any one of my friends, starting with Lola, and don’t for one second think I won’t hang you with it.
This time Jack nodded. Ever-so-slightly, because he was taking that ball-buster thing literally and even if he’d stayed away from women for the past year and a half, he had no interest in it becoming an irreversible situation. He knew exactly what was at stake, and he didn’t want to make the same mess of things here as he had in Chicago.
For that reason alone he should have kept his eyes off Dorie, but Nate’s eyes gravitated there and so did Jack’s. Courtney would never have sat back and let that all play out. She would have been in Lola’s face and in Jack’s, protecting Nate’s interests at all costs. And Nate would have let her because he’d at some point ceased to care about anything other than the next game. Dorie had obviously played a huge role in bringing him back to where he belonged.
It gave Jack hope. Not for himself—he had no illusions about his own future; that kind of partnership wasn’t in the cards for him. But it was what Nate had wanted all along and now it was what Nate had. No matter what happened over these next few weeks of training, at least Jack would be able to leave here knowing Nate was okay—truly and deep down okay—despite what Jack had done to him.
Dorie nodded as she slid out of the booth. “Later.” She gave a little wave to Jack and Lola. With a smile, Nate slid out after her. Standing up and taking her hand, he said to Jack, “Come by the house this afternoon. I’ll show you the gym. We can start tomorrow.” To Lola, he said, “Have your people call my people so we can get it all figured out.”
After they’d made their way over to the bar, Jack turned to Lola. “Figure what out?”
She looked down at the table in front of her, not answering right away. “I guess I just bought a house.”
Highly aware of how closely they were sitting together—not to mention her brother’s not-at-all covert awareness of that fact from across the room—Jack figured he should probably move to the other side of the booth. Didn’t do it, but figured he should. “So I guess that means you’re my new boss.”
And God help him, the thought of her telling him exactly what she wanted got his juices flowing. From the way she quickly looked up and then away made him think that maybe she was thinking a little bit along the same lines after all.
Thinking it and regretting it immediately.
And now he did stand up, needing to be as far away from her as possible. “How do you want to do this?”
It took her a few seconds and a quick shake of her head to say, “Right. Let’s do a walk through tomorrow morning. Nine a.m.?”
“You got it,” Jack replied. “See you then.” Without as much as a look back, he turned on his heel and got the hell out of dodge.
Chapter Six
At precisely 9:00 a.m. the next morning Lola was sitting in her car outside the farmhouse.
At 9:04, she was still sitting there, a jumble of thoughts, non
e of them productive or good.
She finally got herself moving when Jack came around from the back and leaned against the side of the house, his arms folded in front of his chest as he watched her. “Glad to see you’re wearing a shirt,” she said, slamming the car door shut and walking toward him.
He smiled and a huge thrum went through her, proving just how bad an idea this arrangement was. “I’ll state for the record that if you ever choose to declare a no-shirts-while-working day,” he said, “I’m all for it.”
She didn’t for a second believe him. He’d been Nate’s best friend since his rookie season; Silas’s favorite player. She’d watched him on and off the field for years and even though she’d already succumbed to it twice she knew that low drawl and easy smile went along with the part he played. He used them on everyone from the grandmothers whose programs he signed to the reporters who interviewed him. Up until this last year, at least.
She resisted rolling her eyes as she replied, “I’ll state for the record it’s unlikely to happen.”
“Well, then, I sure hope you weren’t spending all that time in the car thinking about the clothes I did or didn’t have on,” he answered.
Unfortunately, that was exactly what she’d been thinking about. Or, rather, him in various states of undress, her in the same, and how hot and hard he would feel against her. In danger of giving in, she went with the surefire way to shut that conversation down. “I was thinking about my husband, if you’d truly like to know.”
“About him not wearing a shirt?”
A laugh escaped...and Lola froze.
Dave was a conversation stopper. He was revered in this town—as he should be. He’d been a hero through and through. Army Ranger, highly decorated, with a core of honor and courage so deep all he needed to do was walk down the street and the whole town would collectively sigh in relief, knowing that men like him were out there on the front lines. No one joked about him. No one, not even Deke, who had more stories about Dave than Lola did.
