Page 17 of Bad Ball Hitter

“Small world, huh?” Drake’s chuckle is forced, his attempt at nonchalance almost convincing. He runs a hand over his face, a telltale sign of his discomfort that only I would catch.

“Very small,” I echo, folding my arms across my chest, the cotton fabric of my sleep shirt soft under my fingers.

“Mama Lila, when are you going to make the pancakes?” Jake’s voice pierces the tension, a familiar comfort. I glance towards him, his small frame leaning against the doorframe, a stuffed dinosaur clutched in his hand.

“I’m on it.” I heat the griddle and grab the batter.

“Mama Lila?” Drake repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed on Jake. The question is there, unspoken but clear as day. Why does he call me by name?

“It’s a weird dynamic,” Miranda pipes up and grabs Drake’s arm—his tattooed, sexy arm—and steers him toward the kitchen table. She gives me a piercing look before smiling back at Drake. “If you don’t want pancakes, I can make something else.”

I want to scoff. Miranda can’t make a cup of coffee, let alone anything that requires actual cooking. Instead, I focus on flipping pancakes, on the sizzle and pop of batter hitting the hot griddle.

“No, pancakes are fine,” Drake responds, his gaze still locked onto mine. I feel it like a physical touch, a caress across my skin that sends shivers down my spine. “That is if it’s not an imposition.”

I laugh lightly and point towards Jake, who’s currently fascinated by a new toy commercial. “I don’t know. Jake’s the pancake monster here, not me.”

Drake cracks a smile and laughs; his infectious laughter has always brightened up any room he’s in. “Some things never change.”

“Mama Lila,” Jake calls from the living room, pulling my attention back to him. “Can I have extra syrup?”

“Of course,” I respond with a soft smile, my heart swelling at the innocence in his voice. His childlike joy over such simple things is contagious.

Miranda makes a noncommittal sound from behind her cup of coffee. She’s watching us closely, but Drake seems oblivious to it all. He’s too busy staring at me.

“Drake,” Miranda calls out, breaking through their conversation. Annoyance laces her voice, and I can’t help but smirk at the situation. “You promised I’d get tickets to the game tonight. I just loved sitting with the WAGs yesterday.”

Wife and girlfriend section.

A stabbing pain pierces through my heart. Of course, he would get her tickets in that section. We used to joke about being in the WAG section in high school. He said he would set me up with the other wives and girlfriends. I told him I was a bleacher girl.

And I was.

I enjoyed capturing the experience with the genuine fans of the game, which is why my best friend Darci went with me to watch all of his high school games.

My heart constricts at her memory, but I remain focused on the task rather than indulge in that story.

Drake’s eyes flicker over to Miranda before returning to mine, something akin to irritation flashing across them. “Sure, if that’s what you want.” He tilts his head. “Would you and Jake like to go?”

“I can’t,” I say as Jake squeals. I hold back a grunt of irritation. “Sorry, buddy. But we have your friend’s party later.” Thank goodness.

“Maybe another time, then,” Drake says, much to Miranda’s annoyance. He smiles, trying to look nonchalant, but he can’t hide an undercurrent of disappointment lacing his words. It’s a direct hit to my already fragile walls. I do miss watching him play, but there’s no way my heart could withstand that.

I throw all my focus into the pancakes, the comforting rhythm of cooking a welcome distraction from the mounting tension in the room. This will be one hell of a long season if they plan on staying together. I better learn to deal with it, considering I have nowhere else to go.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lila

“But I want ice cream now.” The little whine in Jake’s voice makes me smile, but those pleading brown eyes make me almost cave. If I weren’t so exhausted, I would.

“Let’s go on Saturday when we can enjoy it.” I dig around my purse for the apartment key. “Work wasn’t so fun today.”

“But Jared says they get ice cream after supper every day.” He leans in closer, eyes widening. “Every day.”

“It’d be cheaper to buy a gallon from the store.”

“That’s not custard.”

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