Page 29 of Curveball (Tennessee Terrors #9)

Palmer

Natalie appears at my classroom door after I dismiss my students for the day and I’m tidying my desk to go home. It’s only the first day of summer classes, so the mess is still pretty well contained.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say to her as she crosses the threshold and moves closer to my desk. “Everything okay?”

“Um, yeah. I wanted to say hello, and um, remind you I’ll be leaving soon.”

That’s sweet of her, but it’s not information I need. She’s not in any of my classes till fall term.

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Well, on Thursday, but yeah. Dilly and I are going to the beach.”

So, maybe she’s just reminding me?

“Right. I heard you were going there. Adele can get around on the sand?”

“She’s supposed to take it easy with her cast, but she can walk a little. She loaded up her e-reader and we reserved one of those cabanas for the week.”

She’s squirming, and as soon as her eyes meet mine, she darts her gaze away. There’s more she’s not telling me, but what could it be?

“Is there something you want to ask me?”

She takes a deep inhale and sighs it out.

“Well, um, yeah.” When I keep my steady gaze on her uncertain features, she finally comes out with, “I’m still working with the readers from the grade school till we leave for vacation, but I talked to Mr. Grady this morning, and he said I can tutor the incoming freshmen in the library too, after I get back. ”

“That sounds like a great plan. Can you use those hours toward what you owe the school for your probation?”

She blows out a deep breath and her shoulders fall from where she had them tensed around her ears. She gives me a tentative smile.

“You don’t mind?”

“Natalie, why on earth would I mind?”

Teenagers. No matter how much time I spend with them, can I understand any of them? No. The answer is no.

“Well, I thought you might think it’s not fair, since Dylan still has to work at Daddy’s fundraiser to get his hours, but I won’t be there.”

I hitch my backpack onto my shoulder and move closer to her. Partly because I want to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and partly because I’ll be that much closer to out the door once she’s gone.

“Sweetheart, that’s kind and thoughtful of you to be aware of other people’s feelings, but I think Dylan is actually looking forward to the event. Do you know how many ball players will be there?”

She chuckles as if this hadn’t already occurred to her, but then, she’s accustomed to her dad hanging out with pro athletes. It’s who he works with every day. It’s who he is.

“Ms. Sloan, do you think I could get a ride today? My dad brought me, but Chelsea Jones needed more help with reading than I planned, so he’s already at the field.”

Aha! We finally get to the reason for today’s impromptu visit, and I’m glad I can be available for her.

“Of course, kiddo, it’s your lucky day. I’m just on my way out.” And to confirm my point, I usher her out the door and lock it behind us before we weave our way through the school building on our way to the teachers’ parking lot.

“Do you need a ride tomorrow, too, or what about after you get back from vacation? Will Dilly be driving by then? I don’t mind chauffeuring you, if you need it.”

It’s been a few weeks since Adele broke her ankle, and I’ve lost track of when she’s supposed to be fully mobile and driving again.

“I’m not sure, but I’ll ask my dad and one of us can let you know. After Sunday, he’ll have home games for, like, a whole week.”

Natalie and I spend the ride to her house talking about their vacation plans—when they’re leaving, the house they rent every year, their favorite places to eat.

I have a momentary twinge of . . . of what? Guilt? Concern?

Are we doing the right thing by not telling them?

Max and I decided not to make an announcement to anyone except Alejandro. Okay, I decided, and with a good deal of coaxing, Max finally agreed to go along with the plan.

This man, he’s a lot. And special . . . to me.

But he has friends and connections I don’t know but who may have had dealings with Alex.

How can I put him in the middle of that?

And then, there’s the whole mess with Alejandro.

. . who definitely won’t be privy to the “fakeness” of this engagement.

He’ll be told only what he needs to know to get him out of our damn lives, once and for all.

But a whole week with Max? Nervousness—or maybe eager excitement—assails my body, and my gaze sweeps up to check the clock on the dash.

Twelve thirty. Before anything else happens, I need a minute to check in with my best friend.

There is too much going on in my life right now.

Too many big emotions. And I want to hear more about the hot hockey jock she once kicked out of her life.

There’s only one solution for all our troubles, and it’s definitely alcohol.

And even though I’m driving, I shoot her a quick text.

Me: Happy hour is necessary. Meet me?

Pree: Drinking on a school night. Teacher, I like it when you live on the edge.

Me: Sister, you don’t know the half of it.

Pree: I will by the end of the night!

Me: Rawr

I wake with a start later that afternoon, a crick in my neck from my position on the couch, an open hardback book on my lap, my phone pinging reminder notifications for a couple of messages that came in while I slept.

I didn’t mean to doze off, but yesterday’s time in the sun must have really zapped me.

Bad Boy: I’ll miss you tonight. I like seeing you in the stands even if I’m not on the mound.

We compared our upcoming weeks when I was with him yesterday.

His week is split—a few days playing at home, then road games through the weekend.

He seemed disappointed when I told him I’m teaching summer classes and can’t make the night games.

My schedule will be more flexible than during the regular semester, but late nights are still hard.

I double tap his comment to it, and scroll on to the next text.

Bad Boy: Come with me to a BBQ for Gunnar on Monday. Bring Dylan. And your swimsuit.

With my brain still fuzzy from sleep, it takes me a minute to remember that Gunnar is a teammate.

Barbecues with sports celebrities—this is a life I fled years ago; do I want it back?

Will they even allow me in? I lay on my back with my head propped on a throw pillow and the phone held above me in my extended arms while I type back my response.

Me: You telling me what to do, bad boy?

Bad Boy: Oh, Palmer Girl, you have no idea.

I snort laugh and clutch the phone to my chest. Long dormant butterflies wake up and stretch in my belly. I’ve been single for so long, and this thing I have going on with Max—sort of like dating but not really dating because our kids are always around—is fun. And confusing.

I didn’t mean to ruin everything when I shut him down yesterday. And then, later, I . . . panicked when he impulsively demanded I marry him. This is my life. I’m the one responsible for what happens. For putting out fires. For keeping my son safe. Who’s there for Dylan if it’s not me?

My conscience chooses now to pipe up in an annoying and bossy whisper.

But who’s there for you?

Who’s ever been there for you?

Well, hell. Just kick me when I’m down, why don’t you?

Max is there for me.

Yeah, Max is there. Making me remember how to feel like a woman with his hands on my body, sliding over my slick wet skin in the pool, and then over my wet, slick folds when we escaped upstairs.

That felt good. And hot. And then, so damn frustrating when my mind wouldn’t shut off.

Mike’s been my only action for so long. And I miss a long, hard, hot— real —cock.

Me: Dylan won’t be around. Going camping with a friend. Am I still invited?

Bad Boy: If I say yes, will I get to see you in your bikini again?

I could leave him on read and get on with my day, but this feels good—exciting—like flirting with a man who might be more than a crush. I feel a little bit wicked. A little bit like the woman I used to be when I was young and in love.

In love?

I am not in love. Not with Max.

Am I?

I don’t think so. Do I even know him well enough?

Not yet.

I grin to myself and indulge in a full body shimmy. Then, I lift my phone to type in a simple tease.

Me:

At four o’clock on the dot, I park at Unwind, our favorite place to enjoy an unhurried happy hour, and nearly skip to meet Priya at the hot pink entry door.

A flock of pink plastic flamingos dots the landscaping bed of flowering azaleas along the side of the building, the outdoor décor in keeping with the fun, casual atmosphere we’ve always loved about the place.

“Oh, my God, those shoes are cute ,” I say of the strappy summer sandals she’s matched with a short boat-neck dress as I approach her and give her a squeeze. The woman’s legs are enviable. “Your feet are a little caszh today, Ms Patel. Good for you.”

“Whatever.” She blows off my comment with a sassy grin.

“Right, whatever. I bet the rest of your closet is in an uproar about now. Oh, no, what’s the lady doing? Are we going sporty this season?”

The green shoes are a diversion from her usual, classic style, all dresses and matching heels, and I’ll get to the reason for this unexpected departure.

I’ve got plenty to unpack as well, once we’re seated.

And I want to hear all the tea about her new client.

The guy who’s actually not that new to her. At all.

“You’re such a dork.” She laughs and kicks out her leg to give her ankle a twirl. “I love the color.”

With that, she flings open the door and I brace myself to be accosted by the intense décor of shocking pink and brilliant turquoise. How can a person not be happy in an environment as cheerful as this? Plus, there’s the added bonus that men out trolling for a hookup usually steer clear.