Page 27 of Pitcher Perfect

I wasn’t close enough to keep an eye on my dad anymore. He was a proud man and wouldn’t openly tell me his problems unless he had no other choice. I hoped he would find a new job soon and that I had the willpower not to break down and ask him about the layoffs. I was the child, not the parent, and he had the right to his privacy. I hoped I could hold out.

The knock at my door startled me from my worries.Fuck.I’d gotten so in my head, I’d lost track of time. I jumped up from the couch and looked down at myself. I had planned to change and freshen up before he arrived.Double fuck.

There I stood, wearing an old college T-shirt with food oil stains I’d never bothered degreasing. Somuch for the romantic dinner idea.Blowing out a breath, I walked over and opened the door.

Austin stood smiling and looking cute as hell in a snug blue Henley that made his eyes impossibly brighter. “I come bearing beer.” He held up a cloth grocery bag.

“Welcome.” I stepped back and gestured for him to come in.

His smile dimmed. “You okay?”

The question startled me. I wasn’t used to people picking up on it when something was off with me, let alone caring enough to ask me about it. When my mom was sick, I’d become an expert at masking negative emotions so she didn’t worry about me. She had enough to think about. It was like all of that had culminated on the day of her funeral when I’d gotten my first migraine and had nearly missed it.

I ran my hand through my hair and scratched at a stain on my shirt. “Sorry. I’m a mess.”

Austin gave me a quick once-over. “If this is you as a mess, I don’t know if I could handle you at your best.”

His compliment sent a lick of heat up my spine, which helped diffuse some of the stress.

“I intended to change, but I lost track of time.” I looked back at my phone then caught Austin following my gaze.

His expression softened, but he didn’t press. “You look great, but if you’d feel better freshening up, I can entertain myself for a bit.”

“Yeah? That would be great, actually.” He looked so nice and smelled amazing. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening trying to subtly sniff my pits since I’d put in a long day of running errands, cleaning my apartment, buying food, and meal prepping.Did he stop by his place to freshen up?The thought sent my stomach swirling.

“Don’t mind me. I’ll just be snooping.” He grinned then walked over to study a painting above my couch of the Portland skyline with Mount Hood dominating the background.

“That’s reassuring. If you find my handcuffs and whips, just ignore them. But if you find the tiny remote for the soundbar, holler. I lost it recently.”

Austin laughed. “Got it. And don’t worry. I’m not going to yuck anyone’s yum.”

I licked my lips. “On that note.” I escaped before I did something stupid, like asking if he preferred to whip or be whipped.

At lightning speed, I refreshed my deodorant, changed into a clean black V-neck shirt, and spritzed a little cologne. Short of taking a shower and leaving him alone for too long, it was the best I could do. The cologne might have been an obvious move, but I didn’t care.

When I walked back to my living room, I found Austin squatting in front of my short wine rack on the floor and studying a bottle of wine in his hands. The position framed his fantastic ass perfectly in his tight, dark jeans.

“Fan of red?”

He looked over his shoulder at me. “Not as much as beer, but I enjoy it. Sometimes nothing beats a glass of Cabernet.”

“Mm. I love a good Cabernet. I got that bottle while attending a college friend’s wedding in Napa.”

“It looks delicious.” Austin replaced the bottle and picked up another one.

“I got that one when I went to Chicago last year. I visited some wineries in southern Illinois. Surprisingly good ones.”

“Do all your bottles have a travel story?”

“I guess so. Food is my favorite souvenir. I have some great spice blends from my trip to New Orleans.”

Austin put the bottle away and stood. His gaze wandered over my torso. I knew the slim fit accentuated my chest and showed a hint of my bicep tattoo. Austin’s attention lingered on it. I could’ve sworn my skin heated at the spot. All I wanted to do was close the distance and ask if he liked what he saw, but I stayed rooted to the spot.Not the time.

“I’d love to go there and visit a few breweries on my list.”

“Are you a foodie tourist too?” I walked over to the bag he’d placed on my kitchen counter. “All these need to be refrigerated, or should anything be left out?”

“Fridge is great, thanks.” He walked over and stood on the other side of the counter that divided my kitchen from the small dining area and living room.

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