Page 16 of Passed Ball

I shrug. I'm not okay with how things went down--how things continue to be--but there's not much I can do about it.

Instead of explaining my very complicated feelings, I point to the bag. This is more caffeine and sugar than even I need.

"One for you and one for Vivi. Plus some treats, in case you need to earn some brownie points."

"Does everyone know she hates me?"

"Hate's a strong word . . . lacks patience might be more accurate." Tapping her finger against her chin she pulls the bag back before I can take it, adding two cookies. "In case your third impression fails as badly as your first two."

"Your husband's a gossip," I tease, taking the bag from her before she can add in her famous sticky buns. I'm not that hopeless.

I don't think.

Chapter 6

Vivienne

There's a DILF staring at me with sad eyes for the second time this week, and it makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest. It's like the universe knows my weakness and is exploiting it. I can't help the way it pulls at my people-pleasing heartstrings.

He's standing in my office doorway looking so . . . wholesome. Like he's genuinely trying to make up for everything that's gone wrong between us, and that's part of the problem.

"Xavier," I greet him, keeping it cool. My attention flicks to the stroller, the two coffees, and the bag from Buns & Rose. If he's going to interrupt my workday, at least he didn't come empty-handed.

"Hey, Vivi." His voice is gravelly, like it's been raked over the coals. It's probably how he sounds first thing in the morning. Damn it. Even tired and sad, he's attractive. I hate that it makes me want to fix everything for him.

"Murphy told me to stop by and sign some things for the gala auction." Xavier ducks his head looking almost . . . embarrassed. "I guess I missed out the other night when I rushed home to relieve Mia from watching Holland."

A wave of guilt ripples through me. He's still without a nanny--no wonder he's tired. How long can this go on?

Tenley's face flashes in my mind--the way she lit up when she was talking about her time with Holland. Even though it was short, the little girl made an impact on my niece.

I force the mask I've perfected over the years into place, keeping it professional, but not letting him see the cracks in my resolve to keep him at a distance. "Over there," I say, pointing to the table with the papers. "I'll grab you a Sharpie and some pens."

My resistance is slipping, and I hate that it feels so natural.

It takes longer than expected to find Sharpies. The container at the front desk is empty, so I head to the supply closet. Distracted by my phone, I almost walk into the doorframe as I return to my office. But it's not the door that stops me.

Perhaps it's Tenley's recent push for me to date, but I'm suddenly questioning why I'm drawn to Xavier. He stands with his back to me, bent over the stroller, feeding his daughter. The softness in his voice as he whispers to her melts me, and the sight of him--ruggedly handsome with red hair sticking up from the beanie he was wearing--makes it clear he's completely devoted to Holland.

What a way to be loved, I think.

But standing here, watching Xavier, feels wrong. My neck prickles uncomfortably with my reaction to him. It's unlike anything I've felt before. Normally, I can shut my emotions down and focus, but with him around, everything blurs.

As much as I hate to admit it, Tenley was right: I need to get laid. Well and quickly.

And he looks like just the man for the job.

My vagina needs to calm down and stop shouting. I'm the one in charge here.

For some asinine reason, I cross my legs, like he might actually hear my wicked subconscious. "Sorry about that," I say, like I haven't been lurking. "The markers went missing. I had to go track some down."

Excellent, now I'm rambling, which I don't do.

He looks over his shoulder and his lips curve, giving me the sense that he knows how off-balance I am right now. It annoys me to no end that he's having this effect on me right now. I don't like feeling flustered and out of control, especially not at work.

"That's okay. I've got nowhere else to be . . ."

He pauses long enough for me to cut in. "Can I get you a chair?" I'm not sure if he was done, but I'm so desperate to keep things moving that I don't care all that much if my social etiquette is borderline rude, so I settle for professionally accommodating.

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