Page 15 of Hot Shot

“For what it’s worth,Ithink you’re doing a brilliant job,” she says. “You start your very first teaching job in little more than a week, yourdreamjob. So many lovely things are happening. Remember when you first arrived? You had nothing.”

“Arguably, I still have nothing.”

“That’s not true. Drink your coffee.”

I roll my eyes like a child and take a sip as she continues.

“Two months ago, you had no car, no things, no job, and look at all you’ve done. You have a truck?—”

“That your boyfriend gave me.” I hate that I’m pouting, but I am. Just a little.

She gives me a look, her lips flat and head cocked. “He had three cars in the driveway, and you and I both know he only ever wants to drive the Scout,” she says before continuing with her pep talk. “You were hired at the elementary school, and have had the best time all summer preparing your class and lesson plans. And wouldn’t you call it a bit of fate that first grade—your favorite grade—had an opening?”

“That’s true,” I admit, my pout now stretched to a small smile.

“You only had your clothes and things left over from Davis, which you were loath to use, so we went to Nashville and bought younewthings.”

“Youbought me new things. My sugar mama.”

“And you didn’t even have to have sex with me.” When I giggle, she adds, “It was purely selfish, darling. I can’t stand to see you sad. Plus, it means I can ask you to get dressed and come to the game with me, and you can’t say no.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Diabolical. Remy is rubbing off on you.”

“He does that.” She waggles her brows as she stands.

“Gross,” I deadpan.

“Go take a shower and let’s grab a bite at the diner before the game, shall we?” She makes her way around the island and presses a kiss to my hair. “Whew. Yes, a shower would be good. You smell like the bottom of a barbecue pit.”

“In some places, that would be considered the highest of compliments.”

With a pat on my shoulder, Jessa says, “Yes, dear, but not here.” She’s gathering up her purse and Remy’s keys. “Text me when you’re on your way and I’ll meet you at the diner.”

“You’re driving the Scout?”

“It’s nearly impossible to reach the pedals, but yes. Remy left for practice with Wilder—we weren’t sure what you’d want to do about the game.”

“Funny, since you didn’t give me much of a choice.”

She shrugs. “Sugar mama privileges. Wear that pretty little pink dress I bought you. It makes your tits look incredible.”

And I did, but only because she was right.

CHAPTER 5

SNOOZER

WILDER

The heat curls around me like a blanket, and I lean against the wooden back of the Ramblers’ dugout a couple hours later, exhausted.

It’s the same old field I’ve been playing at since high school, and our little rec league fills the stands every game. The team is mostly made of guys I played with back then, including Remy, though I think he’ll be gone soon enough, if Jessa can convince him to try out for the minors. Hell, even my twin sister is part of the league as one of the assistant coaches, otherwise coaching the girls’ high school team. She’s in the first base coach’s box, giving Ash instructions behind her hand. Shelby’s hair is lighter than mine and a little more on the red side, but our eyes are the same shade of amber that we share with our mom. In fact, everybody says she looks just like Mom, but I barely remember her, she died when we were so young. I can kind of see it in pictures, if I can stop seeing Shelby as a brace-faced twelve-year-old instead of an adult.

Dad’s in the stands too, his old baseball hat sun bleached and skin leathered from a lifetime of fishing and cigarettes and ball games. Maybe a million between me and Shelby. I swear I’ve seen him clean shaven, but somehow he’s always wearing a five-day beard. If he wasn’t working, he’d make just about every game, even now. Hated when I was at school and in LA, despite flying him out when I could convince him. He’s a simple man, and things like digital boarding passes and Los Angeles traffic seemed to turn him off more than the prospect of watching my games on TV.

Honestly, I couldn’t say I blame him.

A yawn leaves me blinking slow.

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