Page 43 of Hot Shot

“Is Trent okay?”

“He’s fine,” I answer. “Everything’s fine,” I add, not knowing why.

She nods. Stands for a second. Then launches herself at Cass, throwing her arms around Cass’s neck.

Cass catches her, eyes darting to mine in surprise as she hugs the little girl tight, rubbing her back.

My insides come unraveled at the sight.

When Cricket finally lets her go, Cass stands, grabbing her hand and talking to her as they head back toward the house.

I lean against the tree, my coat hanging on my forearm and hands in my pockets. Cricket looks back and waves at me before they walk inside.

I wave back, filled with too many emotions. But I don’t venture back inside, instead walking around to the front where I wait for Cass. Silently, we start for the truck.

“What happened?” she asks after a moment.

I sigh. “We were able to calm him down once Cricket was gone. Thanks for that.”

“Of course. What’s his deal?”

“I guess he thought he was Cricket’s dad.” I shake my head. “Ashley used to talk about him. They fought all the time, were always on the outs.”

“Cricket said they were friends and that he slept over sometimes. Sometimes he lived there. Is he…dangerous?”

After considering, I answer, “I don’t think so, just mourning and drunk. I thought it was best we left so he can grieve with the Wilsons…they’re practically family, I’d figure. He didn’t just lose Ashley—he lost Cricket too. Did he scare her?”

“A little I think. But she’s okay. God, I wanted to take her with us when she said she didn’t want to go back inside.”

“Me too.”

“She said she wanted to play rec ball but doesn’t have any gear. Think you could do something about that?”

My heart pops off like firecrackers. “Fuck yeah I can.”

She chuckles. “I figured.”

When we reach the truck, I follow her to her door, opening it for her.

“Thank you,” she says shyly, but because of the angle of the truck, she struggles to get in without flashing me.

Careful of every place I touch her, I grip her waist to help her up and in, then step up onto the running board and grab her seatbelt. When I lean across and click it into place, I haven’t touched her, but this is somehow more intimate, our faces so close I can feel her shallow breath. If I turned my head, we’d be in the perfect position to kiss.

Instead, I back out and step into the ditch, wondering if the truck dumped her out when she opened the door.

“Next time, tell me when I park like an asshole.”

She chuckles, and I stand there for a second, looking up at her. The skirt of her dress is hiked up a little, exposing more of her thigh than she probably intends.

When she sees where I’m looking, her cheeks flush. “I know we’ve been all holding hands today and playing house, but I feel like I should remind you again, it’s just for show.”

“I know.”

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t look like you know.”

“Sorry,wife. That’s just my face.”

She somehow stiffens and softens at the same time. “You shouldn’t call me that.”

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