Page 39 of Wild Hit
Audrey turns a side eye my way and I raise my hands. “I’m not the one who taught her to hate pink.”
She narrows those striking green eyes like she doesn’t quite believe me, before returning her focus on my kid. “I think pink is for everyone who likes it, and I like it a lot.”
My ever sharp daughter says, “Really? But I’ve never seen you wear pink. You’re usually with something green.” Here she points at Audrey’s outfit.
I’m not the right guy to wax poetic about clothes, but I kinda regret it at this moment. It would probably make my assessment feel more factual than thirsty. But the truth is that Audrey’s wearing some kind of strappy top that is very tight against herverygenerous curves, but also leaves a gap before the matching skirt begins. The fact that the outfit has massive yellow lemons with crowns of green leaves on a white background doesn’t minimize how stunning she looks.
I remain a silent, tongue tied buffoon as Audrey volleys back with, “That’s because it’s my favorite color, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like other colors.”
It only stands to reason that her favorite color would be the shade of her eyes. No other compares.
“Prove it.” Marty tips her chin up, eyes twinkling like she’s challenging an equal.
And then to my surprise, Audrey Winters-not-Cox responds in kind. “Fine.” She lifts one shoulder. “Let’s go find me the pinkest outfit to ever exist.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
With each escalation they sound more and more amused. They stomp away in mock outrage, leaving me behind on the same spot by the girl’s clothing section.
My heart thumps painfully, working way harder than it did last year when I won MVP of the league.
I place a hand on my chest and it does nothing to slow down the beat.
“Estoy en problemas,” I tell myself under my breath.
But it’s fine. This makes sense. I haven’t let a woman into my life since Marty’s mom. I’ve been really busy raising Martyand sustaining a career that can secure her future. None of that has changed, and the only reason why this woman has made her way in is because our lives simply overlap. We’re neighbors and coworkers of sorts. We see each other everyday. Neither of us are making any extra effort here, like people who are dating would. I’m just confusing the closeness for attraction. Or rather, I’m confusing how closeandhot she is for something more.
She deserves better than that. The second she catches me drooling over her like a dog, she’s going to rightfully freak out and kick me out of her way. And that would hurt Marty, who is making a new friend in our neighbor.
So I stuff my hands in mySPORTYjoggers and trail behind them, sticking around so they know I’m not abandoning them, but not really participating now that I’ve figured out what my place in this dynamic is. We’re doing all of this for them, not for my hormones—rampant as much as the asshats are.
“How’s this?” Marty pulls out a dress almost as long as she is, holding the hanger up high. “You should try it on.”
I can tell by the twitch in Audrey’s eyebrow that this isn’t her thing, but she’s not going to back down from a ten-year-old’s challenge. She grabs it. “If it fits me, you’ll have to try something that matches.”
“Deal.” Marty offers her hand and they shake on it.
In turn, I shake my head, fighting back a smile.
Audrey marches into a changing room and slides the curtain shut. Only then does Marty acknowledge my existence by grabbing my hand and dragging me back to the girl’s area. “C’mon, Dad. We need to find me something that matches.”
I bark an abrupt laugh. “Wow.”
“What?”
“You didn’t need to do all of this to allow yourself to wear pink, mi niña,” I tell her, grinning.
She presses her lips into an arch and says nothing.
My daughter, the master manipulator, ladies and gents.
I’m not very helpful after that, though. Finding pink clothes is easy, but something that doesn’t make her gag? Now that’s the real challenge.
“This?” I ask, showing her a fluffy sleeved top.
Marty opens her mouth and points at her throat.
