Page 47 of Teasing

Maybe I’ll give in for an actual regular season game. Starters don’t get much game time during preseason. They can’t risk us getting hurt. We rarely play more than a series or two, and then they pull us for the backups. Preseason is for second and third string. If I’m going to let her come to one of my games at some point, it’s at least going to be one where I play.

“So can I go?” She reaches over and grabs a banana out of the bowl. “Please? I’ll be real good. I promise. And Emmie can come with me. Camden plays on your team too. She said he’s her brother.” She takes a bite of the banana and kicks her legs out, nearly nailing me in the balls. “Did you know that? That he’s her brother, and he’s on your team? Mimi didn’t know that.”

Oh, baby girl. Your grandmother most certainly knew.

My mother has been the executive vice president of player development for the Kings for over a decade. She’s been in charge of the salary cap for even longer. Eleanor Kingston Beneventi knows every stat of every player to ever step foot on the field wearing Kings black and gold. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever known, even if she doesn’t flaunt it.

Preseason is for the Camden Monroes.

The guys who’ll barely touch the field during the regular season.

I turn Rosie’s legs to one side and move the other way. It’s too early for a junk shot. “I do know Camden is Emmie’s brother, sweets. But you can’t come to my game this week. It’s away.”

She looks disappointed for a half second, then takes another bite of the banana. “Can I stay here with Emmie?”

“For my game?” Emmie and I hadn’t planned for that this week because I knew Mom wanted to take Rosie. “I can check with her, but she might have plans.”

“I’ll be her plans.” My kid beams, and I laugh. I hope she never loses this kind of self-confidence. I’m convinced you can’t teach this. I’m also convinced Rosie will rule the world one day.

“I’ll see what I can do, okay?” I hope she uses her powers for good instead of evil when that day comes, or we may all just be screwed.

When I come downstairs after my shower, Emmie is standing in my kitchen with Rosie on a stool next to her. Her hair is pulled back, and her smile is beautiful. Their matching aprons are back on, and the pair of them are washing the whisk of a pink KitchenAid mixer. Whatever they’ve already got in the oven smells delicious, and I’m going to blame the knot growing in my stomach on that and not at the sight of them together. I ignore the tug in my chest. “Ladies...” I step closer. “When did we get a pink mixer?”

I drop a kiss on Rosie’s head and press my palm quickly to the small of Emmie’s back before removing it just as fast, but I still catch the quick intake of breath at the contact.

Mine. Even if she’s not ready to admit it yet.

“You didn’t.” She turns that dazzling smile on me, and any lingering concern about her throwing up a wall between us after Saturday night vanishes. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her see what I do when I look at her. “I do. I brought it over with me. We’re making blueberry muffins.”

“Smells great, ladies,”Ryker tells the girls as he walks into the room.

“We made plenty, Uncle Ryker.”Rosie beams with pride, then licks a spoon covered in batter.

“Hey.” I tug on Emmie’s hand and pull her into the other room. “How was yoga?”

She plants her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “Pretty sure I caught you watching, Mav.”

“Had to make sure Jamie was keeping his hands to himself,” I murmur as I lean in closer, pulled into her orbit. “Has Rosie hit you up about my game yet?”

“Oh yeah.” She bites down on her lip. “As soon as I walked in the door.”

“You don’t have to stay with her. My parents offered to have her spend the night with them.”

“It’s not a problem. I was just going to watch the game on television that night anyway. So I sleep here instead of my house. No biggie.”

It might not be healthy the way I want this woman sleeping in my house.

In my bed.

I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and the golden flecks in her eyes appear almost molten. Yeah... the woman belongs in my room. Just not until she’s ready. And she’s not ready. Not yet. “We’ve got a guest room?—”

“I figured...” A pretty flush claws its way up her neck. “I mean, I didn’t think?—”

“No. Of course not.” What the hell is wrong with me? “The game’s in Buffalo. We’ll be leaving Wednesday afternoon, and we’ll be back late Thursday night. You sure that works for you?”

She steps into me, and my hands move to the back of her head, forcing her to look up. “We’ll have fun, and I’ll text you the whole time. You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

And the funny thing is, I’m not worried.

---