Page 41 of Honey Pot

“Those issues predated the accident.” His voice was tight. That was a sore spot that I didn’t partially feel like digging my nails into just yet.

“And Mr. Cody’s shoulder?” I slipped in.

“Ms. Matthews.” Silas cleared his throat. “The health of my players is the end of the line for me. It means everything. As I’ve stated before, we're a family, and when one of us hurts, we all hurt. I suggest you don’t bring up the accident to the rest of the players. You won’t be met with the openness I’ve offered today.”

I was readjusting the lighting in the living room, stretched onto my toes, when Cael swooped in to help. Long fingers wrapped around mine to twist the screw tightly in place so the pole didn’t wiggle.

“Hi,” he whispered against my ear as I lowered back to the balls of my feet.

Memories tangled together from Hilly’s, flashes of his body pressed against mine that made me squeeze my thighs together as he pulled away and wandered around to the couch.

Cael looked good today. His hair was still damp, and little pieces of his natural blondness licked at his forehead. He shifted in his gray sweatpants, that hung low on his hips, and loose navy blue crop top that showed off his taut stomach. His muscles strained as he wrapped his sweaty arms across his chest. I was starting to think that Cael didn’t own a real shirt but, at that very moment, I was glad. His big blue eyes watched as I collected a few supplies from my bag and joined him in the sitting room. I sat on the couch across from him and counted to ten in my head.

My heart was racing.

A smirk formed on his face, and I knew I was done for.

“Are you okay, Ms. Matthews?” He asked, dragging the end of my name over his lips as he cocked his head to the side and stretched out his body. His shirt rose around his chest, forcing me to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to keep from making any illicit noises. “You seem flustered.”

“You seem sweaty,” I countered with a shaky tone, just doing my best to shield myself from the charming blows he hurled my way.

“I ran from the stadium. It clears my head.” Cael sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I can go shower if I smell,” he offered. “You can come with me and make sure I’m extra clean.”

“The camera is recording.” I pointed to the red light on the camera beside me.

“Good,” he said, sitting back, mischief twinkling in those ocean eyes as he got comfortable.

“The interview shouldn’t take long.” I ignored the excitement in his tone.

“Guess I’ll stay sweaty.” His tongue ran over his teeth as his smile grew.

“Baseball suits you, Mr. Cody.” I gave him a tight smile and, without warning, started. “Was it always your dream to play at college level?”

“No.” He shrugged. “Next question.”

“Then why play?” I asked.

There was no flicker of amusement on his features. I knew the answers to these questions because I was there. I knew how much he hated ball. Ryan had a habit of reminding Cael that if he hadn’t come along, Ryan would be further in his career. Like his son was a mistake that cost him a run at the major leagues. Every Sunday, we would watch hours of baseball, and Cael spent it outside with his mom in the backyard in the sun. But any chance Ryan had, he’d make a joke or mumble under his breath. It was never vicious, always teasing, but it made Cael indifferent to baseball. He never wanted to end up like his father.

And now look at him.

“I was bored.” Cael shrugged.

I pressed my lips together into a thin line and nodded. He was going to make this harder than I expected. “Alright,” I laughed under my breath.

Back to playing the game.

“Your father, Ryan Cody; the head coach of the Harbor Hornets grew up playing baseball. He was the star player on his high school team, married his high school sweetheart, and went on to have a decent career in the minor leagues until you were born,” I snapped, and Cael flinched, almost unnoticeable, but his eyes flickered from me to the floor and back again. “He went on to coach high school baseball until his sister, your aunt, called him with an opportunity to coach at a NCAA level.”

“Do you always give history lessons during your interviews?” His smirk faded.

“I’m just curious.” I shrugged. “Baseball seems to be a family affair and you joined a record-winning team because you werebored?”

He swallowed tightly, his shoulders rolling back as he sat forward again.

“There’s no one in the house,” he said, instead of answering me.

“Answer the question,” I urged him as heat licked at my neck.

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