Page 48 of Strike Zone

“Research purposes?” He laughs and places the phone on the vanity.

“Will you just deal with that please?” I point towards the phone. He’s so infuriating sometimes.

He puts the caller on speakerphone. Good, I want to give them a piece of my mind. I was too nice before.

“Are you there?” he asks.

“Who was yelling at me?” a woman on the other end of the line asks. She sounds older. Really, lady? Get a life.

“Mama, that was birdie,” he says, grinning at me.

“Your mom?” I ask aghast. “I’m going to shave your mustache off while you sleep. I would keep one eye open if I were you,” I warn.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, smoothing his mustache down with his hand.

“Watch me.” I snag the phone. “Ma’am.”

“Please. Call me Faith.”

“Oh, okay. Faith, I want to apologize. Wyatt said he had a stalker and I let my instincts take over. Taking charge seems to be my default setting. He led me to believe he was in danger.” I glare at him.

“Honey, I’m not mad. You stuck up for my boy. Not very many people would do that. It’s my fault I’m afraid. I call him from random numbers hoping he’ll pick up the phone.”

“I do pick up the phone, Mama.”

“Not every time,” she grumbles. “I’m glad he has someone like you on his side.”

“It was the right thing to do. I would do it again,” I say honestly, with a quick glance to Wyatt. The razor stills in his hand momentarily before continuing to shave away the last twenty-four hours of stubble.

“It’s one of the many reasons Wyatt likes you so much.” Her words feel sincere, but I question their truth. I find it hard to believe he speaks to his mother about me. The red tint to his cheeks and ears makes me think he might have at least mentioned me once.

“Mama, did you need something?” Wyatt abruptly changes the subject.

“I hate to ask on your only weekend off.”

“What is it this time?”

“The planter broke down again. Colt is working on fixing it. I’m counting on it being ready by the time you get here. It will be all hands on deck to get the field prepped for planting. Birdie, that means you too.”

“Wren. My name is Wren.”

“She doesn’t like my nickname for her, Mama,” Wyatt informs her.

“She will one day. I’ll see you both in a few hours.”

“Bye, Mama.” Wyatt hangs up the phone. Then he wipes his face with a towel. His skin is smooth and free of hair except for his upper lip.

“You missed a spot.”

“Where?”

“Your entire mustache.” I tug on a few of the hairs on the corner.

He frowns. “You don’t like it?”

I briefly think of what it might feel like scraping against my inner thigh. “It’s growing on me better than it is on you. Maybe you should take care of it now. Save me the trouble of doing it later. Your stalker? Really, Wyatt? I just yelled at your Mama!”

“It’s fine. It’s something we’ll laugh about in ten years.” The statement makes my heart flutter. He’s probably saying that we will laugh about it as friends in ten years, but my heart hears it will be a funny story to tell our kids. “You really don’t like my mustache? It’s my good luck stache.”

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