Page 89 of A Wild Card Kiss
I chuckle. “How about I throw in some Frank Sinatra and Eric Clapton, and we can call it a day?”
She lifts the sugar from the bag, shakes her hips, and gives me an approving hum. “We’ll get along just fine, sir,” she says, still playing with the accent.
“Darling, we always have.” I hit Shuffle on some tunes, and Ed Sheeran’s tones fill my home, making Katie happy, judging from the twinkle in her eyes. Then I drop the accent and say something that’s a little bit hard. “Hey, Katie.”
“Yeah?”
I square my shoulders. “I don’t introduce women to my daughter. It’s just not something I’ve done.” I swallow roughly as I lay the truth on the line like she did in the store.
I want her to know that this thing between us is becoming much more for me.
More than I expected.
More than it’s supposed to.
It’s turning into something that feels a little inevitable.
She receives my words like a beautiful pass, catching them with a smile and warm eyes. “I’m excited to meet Abby. She sounds amazing. And I’m glad you want me to meet her,” she says in a kind, inviting tone that underlines, black-Sharpie style, why I like her so much.
She’s open and honest and caring and fun.
“She is amazing, and so are you,” I say, and it feels like a weight off my shoulders. I’m glad I put that out there.
Maybe we’re a lot inevitable, Katie and me.
My hands twitch. The desire to touch her, to pull her into my arms, rockets higher in me. I’m eager for all the next things with her.
Is there any way to have them?
I keep my hands to myself as I measure the sugar and butter.
Sure, we have terrible timing, but the timing doesn’t always have to be bad, does it? Her contract with the team can’t last forever.
Maybe dating is like a recipe. Maybe it’s monkey bread. It takes time for all the ingredients to come together just right.
As I pour the sugar into a bowl, I stop and hit end on the song. Turn to meet her gaze. “Katie, I have this idea. Call me crazy.”
“Crazy,” she says playfully.
I step closer to her. “What if…”
She laughs softly, clearly liking things so far. “What if…?”
I go for it, run like hell with a brand-new plan. “What if we agree to date at the end of the season when your classes with the team end? I know it’s a couple of months away, but I’m not seeing anyone else, and I’m notgoingto see anyone else. You’re the woman I want, and these last few weeks have only solidified that more. I don’t want to let you get away. I want to lock you up as my date,” I say, putting that out there and hoping she likes the plan too. I sure do. It feels like theonlyanswer to thewhat can we doquestion.
Her smile is radiant. Her hand flies to her chest, and her eyes well up with something like…joy.
“I want that, Harlan. I do. Truly, I do.” But her smile disappears in a heartbeat, replaced by resignation. “The trouble is, the team has already said it plans to renew the contract.”
Chapter 29
Harlan
I’m sadder than the time we lost the championship game five years ago.
I thought I’d erased that awful memory, but it comes roaring back right now. I felt like shit the day we lost by a field goal to Baltimore, erasing our Super Bowl chances.
Now, I feel worse.
