Page 12 of Home Run Fiancé
Her gaze darts to our hands and then to my face and then back to her menu. “O-oh. Well then, I guess I’ll go with the rack of lamb. Can’t tell you the last time I had lamb.”
I nod, not really caring what she orders. If she wanted a cheeseburger, I’d say go for it.
“So, tell me about these bracelets.” I release her hand just long enough to finger the silver bracelets that run up her entire forearm. “Do you set off metal detectors with them?”
She looks at me much like my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Wilkerson, did when I thought I was being funny. “I know you’re more into athletics and dirty uniforms, but some of us like to keep up with fashion.”
I put my hand on my chest. “Who, me? I’m all about fashion. Have you seen the suits we wear for press conferences? I have a tailor on call keeping me in the very latest of fashion.”
She giggles and I see a bit more of the young girl from two weeks ago. “Oh, your tailor, huh? If you didn’t have him or her dressing you, what would you wear?”
I think about it and decide to be truthful, even though I’ll be proving her point with my answer. “Probably old jeans and a T-shirt. Or maybe my gray sweatpants and socks.” I shrug. “You just can’t beat that comfort.”
Her smile grows, taking her from beautiful to straight-up angelic. The candlelight is playing tricks on me, making this business dinner appear more romantic than I anticipated. Doesn’t help that she’s wittier than I expected too. I’ve never been the type of guy to fall for a woman on looks alone. I like women who make me think, keep me guessing, and challenge me in many respects. Rhys is turning out to be far more like my exact “type” than I thought. Which is bad. Very bad.
“Fashion and comfort are rarely said in the same sentence. I hear you though. When I’m not feeling it, I like to lounge around in a big hoodie sweatshirt I’ve had for years. It’s so soft it feels like I’m walking around with a blanket on me. And have you ever felt the inside of a pair of Uggs?” Her eyes widened. “It’s like walking around in slippers all day. They’re awesome!”
Our waiter interrupts our discourse on clothing, which is probably a good thing as I was just about to ask if I could see her in her Uggs and sweatshirt. That kind of thing isn’t part of our contract. Three dates, a ring, get transferred to Texas. That’s it.
By the time our dinner is served, grilled fish and broccoli for me, a huge rack of lamb and risotto for Rhys, we’ve shared the usual first-date stuff. Her favorite color is purple, she can’t say no to pizza, and her car, a VW Bug, may be a little old, but she loves it.
“Okay, here’s a big one. Do you like sports?”
She chews her bite and then answers, looking a bit sheepish. “Um, no. Not really. Sports have never been my thing. Plus it seems so weird to be cheering on grown men playing with a ball.”
I grab my chest dramatically. “Woman. It takes years of dedicated practice to hone a skill like throwing or hitting a ball. A level of skill like that is an art form. Playing games has been part of civilization as far back as the earliest crude paintings on the side of a cave wall. Competition is a healthy part of a functioning society.”
Rhys cringes. “Wow. Sorry to tear your heart out like that. And thank you for the impassioned speech, but I just don’t care for sports. Simple as that.”
There’s just something so wrong with her not liking sports. I can’t let it go.
“Have you ever been to a baseball game? Sat in the stands? Watched the players up close. Felt the energy in the stadium. Cheered together with thousands of fans?”
She shakes her head slowly. “Can’t say I have.”
I nod, mind made up. “Third date. You, me, and a baseball game, followed by dinner. I can’t let you go through life without catching one live game. Whaddya say?”
She dabs at her mouth with the napkin. “Sure, I’m always open to try new things.”
I feel like a load has been lifted off my shoulders. Jake Kersh, singlehandedly saving baseball one lukewarm fan at a time.
We stand up to head to the door and I’d like to think we’re both reluctant to go home. My hand settles low on her back, enjoying having an excuse to touch her. I lean down even closer to whisper a warning.
“When we head out there, just remember you like trying new things, okay?”
Her head whips to the side, trying to see me.
“What do you mean?” she hisses back.
“Just follow my lead.”
I open the door and instantly the cameras start flashing. I keep my arm around her shoulders, holding her mostly tucked into my side away from their prying lenses. The valet pulls my SUV up to the curb and tosses me the keys. I slip him a folded-up twenty and walk around to the passenger’s side to open Rhys’s door.
Just before she’s about to step into the car, I pull her back into me and snake a hand into that silky mane of hair, cupping her jaw. Her eyes fly open wide a split second before I tip her head back and lay my lips on hers. She sucks in a breath and I use the surprise to deepen the kiss, just enough to satisfy the onlookers.
Everything spins. The lights, the sounds, the breeze whipping up in the night’s sky. It’s all a whirl of noise around us, not nearly enough to distract me from the most real fake kiss I’ve ever had. I want to grab her tight and press her against the car, against me. The fierce need that courses through my body is what jerks me back.
Her lips are red and her eyes are glazed over. Neither of us say anything for a beat or two, just staring at each other in shock. Then a particularly close paparazzi snaps a pic and the flash blinds me, breaking the spell. Practically pushing her into the car, I get her door closed and rush over to my side.
