Page 56 of Burn the Wild

“Comes with the territory.” His heated gaze rakes over me and I shiver. “Dancin’ on bar tops isn’t something I see every day.”

A smile tips my lips. “Free show. Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckles. After a second, his eyes drop, and I follow where they’ve landed. “This you?” I read the jersey upside down. “The Phoenix Renegades?”

He nods.

“You were a pitcher?” I ask. The extent of my baseball knowledge includes singing the national anthem at Chase Field early in my career. I bet Ford’s the real deal. He has charisma, an aura about him that screamsstar.

“Yeah.” A proud smile blooms on his face. “I fell in love with it when I was eight years old. I wasn’t a first-round draft pick, but I proved them wrong when I was named best pitcher in the league in my first year.”

I smile. “So humble.”

A bright grin tips his lips. “Fucking love of my life.” He looks at Mouse, perched on an empty chair between us, and reaches out to ruffle her fur. “Next is this damn cat.”

I prop my chin in my palm. “What was your favorite part?”

“Just being on the mound. Tuning everything out, like it was made for me.”

That’s how I feel about singing. Not performing, not the crowds—the music. The way it lives in me, through me.

I swallow a bite of egg. “When did you stop playing?”

“Damn near eight years ago.” Bitterness and regret taint his previously easygoing voice. “Came out with a bad shoulder and a whole lot of headaches.”

The happiness on his handsome face dims. There’s something grim in his amber eyes, something he’s holding back.

Ford chuckles. “Now I’m shoveling cowshit on a ranch and that’s what life’s all about.”

“You make it sound so easy to have a simple life,” I muse.

“It is easy, honey.” He leans in, his hand almost brushing mine. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know.” Shaking my head, I peer down at the eggs. “This is delicious,” I say. The eggs have cheese on them, a little spice, and the bacon is crisp and garlicky.

He gives me a strange look, like he’s realizing something. “One thing I can cook is breakfast.”

I take my time eating when what I really want to do is shovel it all into my mouth. Gavin would kill me. At the thought, I set my fork down.

Ford sips his coffee. Gives me a long look, like he’s slowly piecing things together. “What’s with this? You drink too much, and you eat too little.”

I’ve already blabbed my life story, so I might as well be honest. “I can’t gain weight.”

His expression turns fierce. “Who the fuck told you that?”

“My manager.”

Ford appears bothered by the statement. “This is the same guy who turned off your cards?”

I flinch. When someone else says it, it seems so simple. So obvious. So awful.

Flexing a fist, Ford asks, “What did you say your manager’s name was?”

“I didn’t. Gavin Cross.”I sigh. “He manages everything.” Embarrassment pushes down my shoulders. “Where I go. What I wear. Who I date.”

Now Ford looks annoyed. Interested. “Who do you date?”

“No one,” I mumble. Warmth spreads inside of me.

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