Page 61 of Houston, We Have a Problem
I force myself to respond. It isn’t easy. “Where did you get this? Don’t answer that. I don’t care.”
I can’t help myself. I move in until we’re practically sharing the same breaths, though she doesn’t seem to be breathing at all. My fingers shakily trace the eye black on her cheeks beneath the frames of her glasses, and I’m so tempted to pull her hat from her head to give me room to kiss her that my fingers are on the brim before I remember we have company. I adjust the hat instead, pretending to angle it just right. I need to take things slow. If I want to allow myself the chance to really trust this woman, I can’t jump in before I’m ready.
I need to say something, anything, but the only thing I manage is, “You look…”
Her cheeks burn red. I love the way I can so easily see her blush because the only makeup she wears is some mascara and a pink lip gloss that looks a little too tempting. If anyone is real, Darcy is. She really has nothing to hide.
I can’t believe how quickly I distrusted her.
“Houston?” she whispers. Her eyes haven’t left mine even once since I moved in.
The space between us is practically nonexistent now. “Yeah?”
“Are you wearing tights?”
If there’s a better way to kill a mood, I haven’t seen it. I glance down, once again self-conscious about how much of me she can see. Only my arms are bare, but that doesn’t mean this smooth fabric isn’t hugging every bit of me.
Let me just say: thank goodness for tutus.
I clear my throat. “They’re more comfortable than they look.”
“That was my line,” Jordan says with a laugh. He’s sitting on the porch railing and watching us like he’s having the time of his life. The only thing he’s missing is the popcorn. He points at me and then touches his mouth. “You got a little drool there, bud.”
I’m going to kill him.
By some miracle, Darcy laughs at his joke and then says, “Looking good, Jordan.”
She didn’t sayIlook good. Why does that bug me so much?
There’s enough laughter in Jordan’s eyes that I’m tempted to punch him. He must see my growing tension because he claps his hands together and hops to his feet. “So, are we going to a party or what? I’m driving.”
“I’mdriving,” I growl, if only because having the wheel in my hands will help me keep them to myself. Between Darcy in my uniform and Jordan laughing at my expense, my hands are itching to do a lot of things right now.
As Jordan hands over his keys, he leans in close. “If only you could see your face, man. You’re totally gone. Have fun tonight.”
The sight of Darcy wearing my jersey isn’t exactly solving any of my problems, especially after that phone call with Roundy while I was at lunch today. He’s putting on the pressure to make a decision—I don’t blame him—and I thought I’d pretty much decided that it would be best if I called it quits now and savedmyself the humiliation of barely being able to play next season. But seeing Darcy with my name on her back has me picturing her in the stands of every home game, cheering me on until the game ends and I can run up and kiss her for the world to see.
I think something might be wrong with me if that’s what I’m picturing after less than two weeks of knowing this woman. But when I pull open the passenger door of Jordan’s truck and watch Darcy hop inside and give me a warm smile, I’m pretty sure I don’t care that this might be crazy.
If ever there was someone made for me, I think Darcy might be it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Darcy
“You know,” I say, speakinginto the silence that has only been broken up occasionally by Jordan humming snippets of songs in the back seat. “At this rate, it’s going to be November by the time we make it to your brother’s house.”
Houston’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I’m not going that slow.”
I have to lean closer to see the speedometer, and he tenses at my nearness. I know it was mean to wear the baseball uniform, but when I was trying to come up with a costume, I couldn’t stop imagining the look on his face. And let me tell you, Houston exceeded my expectations. I thought he was going to fall over or maybe just kiss me with reckless abandon, and oh how I wanted to dive right into that. I’m not sure what held him back, but it was probably a good thing he has better self-control than I do.
“You’re going ten under the speed limit,” I point out.
Jordan groans. “This is why I should have driven! You’re going to have to face your fate sooner than later, and you are rocking that tutu. Besides, what’s the point of you being up there if you’re not even going to hold her hand, huh?”
Thank you, Jordan!
Houston growls a little, but then he meets my eye for a second, silently asking permission. Considering I’m usually the one making the first contact, the respect he’s showing by giving me a chance to refuse has me melting in my seat.
