Page 104
Story: Room 4 Rent
The second half or “last half” of an inning, during which the home team bats, derived from its position in the line score.
SYDNEY
What do I wear? Slutty? Conservative? Fuck, I don’t know.
I decide on the Angels sweatshirt Cason sent me along with a pair of skinny jeans and tennis shoes. Simple is always better, in my opinion.
Tatum wears her usual crazy attire. Dress, cowgirl hat, and boots. Over the dress, she throws on her Angels shirt. “How me look?”
I smile down at her as we get into the van to head to the airport. “You look adorable.”
“I miss our boy so much.” She grins, her cheeks pink with excitement. “I can’t wait to see hims.”
I lift her into the van. “Me too.” I haven’t seen him in person in thirty-nine days, and it’s been torture. Even with our late-night naughty FaceTime calls. If I ever had a doubt on how I felt about Cason, our time away has put all that to rest, and I’m basically obsessed with him. I watch every game, follow him on Instagram just waiting for updates and stalk his location on my phone. That’s right. He set up location tracking on my phone so I’d always know where he was. To be fair, I did the same and it’s a whole new level of trust I didn’t know I wanted until I had it.
I’d say Tatum is too, judging by the way she doesn’t stop talking about him on the way to the airport. “Do you think hims remember me?”
“I’m sure he will. He loves you.”
Her cheeks flush. “I love hims.”
Life looks a lot different for Tatum and me now. Not only do I have a shop in Scottsdale again, I’m—hold your breath on this one—sharing a space with Remi.
Did your eyes bug out? Oh, believe me, when the offer came about, I did too. Remember when I told her to do something great with the life-insurance money?
She did. She opened up her own child’s boutique inspired by my daughter’s gypsy personality. Let’s just say Tatum spends most of her time at work with me, modeling all the clothes—in the same space as my art.
My head may have had a plan for my life, but my heart wants something different. And that’s fine too. That’s what I’ve been telling myself these last few months.
And this is one time I should listen to it since guys like Cason Reins don’t come around very often.
I DON’T REMEMBERmuch about the game—other than a million bathroom breaks and Tatum trying bites of everything at the concession stands. Cason pitches four innings with five strikeouts and makes history. First game in the major leagues, and guess who officially breaks the major league world record for the fastest pitch thrown in a game?
Cason Jarrett Reins. 105.9 miles per hour.
It’s hours after the game before we’re able to see him, and his first words to me as Tatum sleeps in my arms are “Do you believe me now?”
“I got my proof, didn’t I?” Tears roll down my cheeks, and I practically drop my sleeping daughter at the sight of his beautiful face. Thankfully, no mullet or mustache.
He takes Tatum into his arms, sighing as he holds her head gently. “Fuck, I missed you both so much.”
She doesn’t wake up but wraps her arms around his neck.
I reach out and touch my hand to his stomach. He sucks in a breath, his lips clamped together, his jaw firm but his eyes carry so much love. “Not as much as I missed you,” I tell him, watchful of the players exiting the clubhouse. I’m nervous how he’s going to act with all these people around us.
To my surprise, he reacts in true Cason fashion. No hesitation.
Yanking me forward and to his side, his lips press to mine. It’s gentle at first, then his mouth opens to mine and that overpowering urge he provokes inside me takes over. Pulling back, I’m reminded that Tatum is asleep in his arms. He smells like soap and cedar and makes my damn knees weak. “See? I can’t even control myself. I missed you more.”
“I’m barely hanging on here,” he says with a laugh against my lips, nibbling on my lower lip. “But before I show you how much I’ve missed you, I’m starving.”
“I imagine you are.”
We end up going to a late dinner, where Tatum wakes up. She talks constantly to Cason. I swear, I can’t get a word in with her and her boy.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Naturally, through dinner, he’s recognized by half a dozen people congratulating him on his first major league appearance. My heart bursts when a younger woman approaches for an autograph, and he kindly gives her one.
SYDNEY
What do I wear? Slutty? Conservative? Fuck, I don’t know.
I decide on the Angels sweatshirt Cason sent me along with a pair of skinny jeans and tennis shoes. Simple is always better, in my opinion.
Tatum wears her usual crazy attire. Dress, cowgirl hat, and boots. Over the dress, she throws on her Angels shirt. “How me look?”
I smile down at her as we get into the van to head to the airport. “You look adorable.”
“I miss our boy so much.” She grins, her cheeks pink with excitement. “I can’t wait to see hims.”
I lift her into the van. “Me too.” I haven’t seen him in person in thirty-nine days, and it’s been torture. Even with our late-night naughty FaceTime calls. If I ever had a doubt on how I felt about Cason, our time away has put all that to rest, and I’m basically obsessed with him. I watch every game, follow him on Instagram just waiting for updates and stalk his location on my phone. That’s right. He set up location tracking on my phone so I’d always know where he was. To be fair, I did the same and it’s a whole new level of trust I didn’t know I wanted until I had it.
I’d say Tatum is too, judging by the way she doesn’t stop talking about him on the way to the airport. “Do you think hims remember me?”
“I’m sure he will. He loves you.”
Her cheeks flush. “I love hims.”
Life looks a lot different for Tatum and me now. Not only do I have a shop in Scottsdale again, I’m—hold your breath on this one—sharing a space with Remi.
Did your eyes bug out? Oh, believe me, when the offer came about, I did too. Remember when I told her to do something great with the life-insurance money?
She did. She opened up her own child’s boutique inspired by my daughter’s gypsy personality. Let’s just say Tatum spends most of her time at work with me, modeling all the clothes—in the same space as my art.
My head may have had a plan for my life, but my heart wants something different. And that’s fine too. That’s what I’ve been telling myself these last few months.
And this is one time I should listen to it since guys like Cason Reins don’t come around very often.
I DON’T REMEMBERmuch about the game—other than a million bathroom breaks and Tatum trying bites of everything at the concession stands. Cason pitches four innings with five strikeouts and makes history. First game in the major leagues, and guess who officially breaks the major league world record for the fastest pitch thrown in a game?
Cason Jarrett Reins. 105.9 miles per hour.
It’s hours after the game before we’re able to see him, and his first words to me as Tatum sleeps in my arms are “Do you believe me now?”
“I got my proof, didn’t I?” Tears roll down my cheeks, and I practically drop my sleeping daughter at the sight of his beautiful face. Thankfully, no mullet or mustache.
He takes Tatum into his arms, sighing as he holds her head gently. “Fuck, I missed you both so much.”
She doesn’t wake up but wraps her arms around his neck.
I reach out and touch my hand to his stomach. He sucks in a breath, his lips clamped together, his jaw firm but his eyes carry so much love. “Not as much as I missed you,” I tell him, watchful of the players exiting the clubhouse. I’m nervous how he’s going to act with all these people around us.
To my surprise, he reacts in true Cason fashion. No hesitation.
Yanking me forward and to his side, his lips press to mine. It’s gentle at first, then his mouth opens to mine and that overpowering urge he provokes inside me takes over. Pulling back, I’m reminded that Tatum is asleep in his arms. He smells like soap and cedar and makes my damn knees weak. “See? I can’t even control myself. I missed you more.”
“I’m barely hanging on here,” he says with a laugh against my lips, nibbling on my lower lip. “But before I show you how much I’ve missed you, I’m starving.”
“I imagine you are.”
We end up going to a late dinner, where Tatum wakes up. She talks constantly to Cason. I swear, I can’t get a word in with her and her boy.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Naturally, through dinner, he’s recognized by half a dozen people congratulating him on his first major league appearance. My heart bursts when a younger woman approaches for an autograph, and he kindly gives her one.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108