Page 43 of Home Sweet Home

“Don’t make me come back there,” Evie said with her meanest glare before turning back and settling down into her seat.

“‘Don’t make me come back there’?” West said, barely containing his laughter. “What’s next? ‘Stay off my lawn’?”

Evie crossed her arms over her chest and tried her best to look angry, but she couldn’t manage it. A smile worked its way onto her face. “Shut up.”

“Before I forget,” West said. “Della wanted me to tell you your cookies were a hit. The ladies asked who baked them.”

“They’re just cookies.”

“They’re damn good. Better than my favorite bakery in LA.”

Evie gave him a look. “You’re just saying that.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Peach.”

She felt the lightest pressure, like the air brushing up against the skin of her thigh, except it was warm. When she looked down, she saw his hand resting there, just below the hem of her cutoffs. A current pulsed through her, spreading from where he’d touched her, and lodged itself low in her stomach.

West’s eyes followed Evie’s, widening when he saw what she was looking at. He pulled his hand away, shaking his head. “Sorry. I—”

The bus jolted to a stop, and Evie put her hands out to stop herself from slamming against the seat. “Jesus Christ.”

“Sick,” Freddy smirked from the back of the bus. “Do a donut, Arlene.”

Arlene glared at him in the rearview mirror, and all the warmth drained from Freddy’s face.

Once the bus parked, West got up and held out his arm. “Ladies first.”

“She’s a worse driver than you,” Evie said, her voice low.

He leaned in close, and his words were hot on her neck, every inch between them one too many. “Now that’s just mean.”

“Back in a few hours,” Evie said as she stepped off the bus.

Arlene either didn’t hear her or didn’t care and was already thumbing through a copy ofSoap Opera Weekly.

In the parking lot, Rich was sitting in his red convertible with the top down, sunglasses perched on his nose as he typed something on his phone at lightning speed. He barely looked up, even though the boys were loud as they hopped off the bus, and when he finally did, he sighed. Annoyance crossed his face as he got out of his car and starting walking toward them.

“As you know,” Rich started when he got to them, “the piece from theTimesdidn’t gain as much traction as we’d hoped. But as usual, I handled it.”

“Hello to you, too, Rich,” Evie said.

“Handled how?” West asked.

“ESPN is going to be here today. Regina Banks, the reporter, did a piece on Mark Hanover after his…” Rich paused, searching for the right word. “Ordeal. It was instrumental in getting him back in the game. With as little friction as possible.”

“So be on my best behavior,” West said.

Rich nodded. “Precisely.”

Evie glanced toward the field, where she could see the home team was already out on the grass, tossing balls back and forth. “We should get going.”

They started walking. Bend’s baseball field was situated at the back of the high school building. Evie had been there once or twice during her own high school days for quiz bowls.

“Nike has been difficult,” Rich said in a low voice, one that Evie was pretty sure was meant to be quiet enough that she wouldn’t hear. “But I’m keeping them in a holding pattern. We really need this article.”

“Nike?” Evie asked.

“They sponsor West,” Rich said. “West wears their gear. The unwashed masses buy Nike.”

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