Page 116 of Wild Pitch
“Well, no but?—”
“No buts, we both definitely wanted that.”
“Well yes, but?—”
His eyes sparkle. “I said no buts.”
Mierda, qué bello es. This man is completely unreal. I can’t believe he just made out with me and in my childhood bedroom.
“Fine, no buts.” I sigh in almost dreamy way. “I’m just struggling right now.”
He tucks his tongue against his cheek. “With what?”
“With the fact that I don’t know how I’ll stop myself from wanting to kiss you every time I see you now, and I’m not sure that’s what you had in mind with this.” I bite my lip.
We both know exactly what I’m asking. Was this just a one off, a consequence of being alone after a night of adrenaline? If so, then I’m really gonna have a shit time seeing him at work from now on, because that’s not how I feel. Not for a second. This kiss fed the crush I have for him to turn it into a monster that’s oppressing my chest and making it hard to breathe.
Cade’s lips make a little smacking sound as they part to speak, but that’s when the sound of jingling keys at the front door reach us.
Our eyes widen. If my dad had arrived some five minutes ago he would’ve caught his baby daughter all but wrapped around a random guy, eating his face in her room. I’d have been in need of moving to a different continent after that.
“Um, your shirt,” Cade whispers.
I look down at myself. The fabric’s twisted around my torso and risen over one hip. As I fix it, I tell him, “Yours too.”
He straightens out his clothes. “Is my hair okay?”
“One second.” I reach for him, and Cade bends lower without any prompting. I ignore how his eyes pin on my face, using my fingers as a comb through his soft hair to fix it. “There.”
Swallowing hard, I move back to inspect him. The blush has gone down on his face, and if Dad doesn’t pay any attention to Cade’s mouth he’ll never guess what we were up to.
Good timing, because Dad calls, “Hope? Is the baseball player here already?”
“Yes, Dad! We’re coming,” I respond loudly.
“After you.” Cade tips his head at the door.
I turn to lead the way but right before I’m out of the door, I pause and glance back. The sneaky little jerk is watching my ass like he has a permit to do so. His eyes rise to mine and rather than looking chagrinned, he smirks.
I almost trip. I have to hold myself against the door frame so I don’t waste all the money my dad invested in my orthodontics as a kid. Casting one last glare at the man behind me, I finally step out into the hallway.
CHAPTER 38
CADE
Idon’t know how I manage to sleep in Hope’s childhood bed. Not only is it way too small, half of my legs below the knee dangle out and at some point in the night, I almost roll over to the floor. But also, I keep catching glimpses in my sleep of what Hope and I could’ve ended up doing on her bed if her dad hadn’t come home. I wish I could say that I’m a gentleman and would’ve restrained myself even without her dad in the picture, but I don’t know. There’s a visceral need for her that I’ve never felt before. Things would’ve turned dangerous if she’d let me.
My cellphone alarm goes off at five something and my groaning echoes in the quiet. I was getting to the good part in the dream. Reality is so drastically worse because she’s not in my arms.
Sighing, I toss an arm over my face. Hope’s not the only one who will have issues acting normal at work. For one, Lucky and Kim will look at us once and their clever, sneaky little brains will immediately deduce what’s up. But just like them, there are other guys in the team and staff who may notice. Especially because it’ll be impossible to hide that she makes me salivate.
“Pull your shit together, Starr,” I whisper to myself and run my hands down my face. With a not so friendly slap to my cheeks, I finally force myself to get up and fix the bed.
We did explain to her dad—who told me to call him Humberto—that I was gonna have to leave criminally early, but I still don’t put on my shoes and trod on the floors as softly as I possibly can.
That’s until I open the bedroom door and the smell of coffee hits me in the nose, followed by the sound of pots and pans in the kitchen. I perk up even more, wondering if it’s Hope. My rational brain reminds me that she went back to her place, where she lives with Winters and Mena, and it’s way too early for her to have driven back here.
Obviously, the one making breakfast is her dad. “Buenos días,” he tosses over his shoulder before focusing on the pan once more. It smells like scrambled eggs, bacon, and something else that I can’t identify but makes my stomach roar. “I hope you like arepas.”
