Page 31 of Curveball (Tennessee Terrors #9)

Max

I’m settled in at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the sports news app open on my phone when Nat bounds down the back stairs.

“Hey, bug. You have everything packed for your trip?”

“It’s all set out, Daddy. I still have the rest of the day to finish, but I may need to buy another suitcase.

” She twirls her way to the coffee maker and pours herself a cup, then dances back to sit beside me.

“Only one more day of tutoring, then it’s seven whole days at the beach.

Nothing but sun, sand, and cute boys in board shorts.

” She lets out one of those feminine dreamy sighs, and then laughs when I scowl at her.

I stand, pocket my phone, and drop a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I’m going to have to give Dilly special instructions not to let you out of her sight.”

“Ha! Like she’s not going to be right beside me the whole time.”

I’d like to think she’s joking, but she’s probably right .

“I’m going to have to send along a bodyguard, then,” I tease, and ruffle her hair. It’s still messy from sleep, but she is always beautiful to me. I’ll miss her while she’s gone—scouting for boys in board shorts. Fuck .

An unbidden thought rushes my brain—they’ve been doing that so much lately—that I want to know what Palmer’s curls look like when she’s fresh from bed. From sleep. From sex. Jesus .

I turn to escape the room, and my thoughts, but pause. “I don’t need to be to the ballpark for a while, so I can give you a ride whenever you want.”

She pops up from her chair and rinses her mug in the sink.

Thanks, Daddy, but Palmer’s coming to pick me up. I thought you had a day game today, so she said she could help.”

“Nope, that’s tomorrow. You know, after you’ve already left—off having fun with your grandmother and neither of you here to cheer me on.”

Natalie laughs out loud and moves closer to condescendingly pat my cheek.

“Aww, poor Daddy. Like none of your other thousands of superfans will be screaming your name as soon as you take the mound.”

“That’s my girl. Never let me get away with a thing.”

“’Kay, I have to get ready. Listen for Palmer, will you? She should be here soon.”

Sure enough, an alarm chimes from the gate a few minutes later. Good, Palmer’s code must still be activated, because the monitor shows that she’s driven through it and is nearly to the house. I walk out to meet her and catch her before she has a chance to get out of her car.

She whirs her window down and she places her palm on the open frame.

“Good morning,” I say. “I hear you got roped into being transport today. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Dylan has some project he’s messing around with for the photo club at school and he needed to be there early, so I already dropped him off.”

I lower my hand to the top of hers and let my thumb graze her flesh. I want kiss her, but?—

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, then— fuck it —move my palm to the side of her face, lean in, and plant my mouth firmly on hers.

There’s no misunderstanding my intention—I want more of this woman—and her lips are smiling beneath mine.

They spread wide, tip up at the edges, part so I can dip my tongue in for an even sweeter taste.

“ Mmm , coffee,” she murmurs into my mouth before pulling back. The look in her eyes is pure longing, but whether it’s for me or for coffee, I’m not sure. But then, she complains, “I was in a rush this morning and haven’t had any yet.”

Ah. Coffee. It’s coffee.

My hand is still on her face, and she reaches up to cover it with her palm. She doesn’t use it to push me away, just rests it there. It’s us, together. Content in the moment.

“My smartass kid needed a few more minutes. Come in and have some,” I invite.

She pulls her hand down and her movement makes my hand drop away. I rest both palms on the window frame. She shakes her head slightly, a flash of regret in her expression before her eyes twinkle and she shares a light chuckle.

“I shouldn’t. Not today. That will definitely make us late.”

I nod. “Tomorrow, then,” and my words hold a note more serious than I intend. But now that the idea is planted, sharing that first cup with her in the morning seems . . . necessary.

Lighten up, Murphy.

“But she’s leaving tomorrow, right?”

Jesus, where is my head?

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. So, no coffee tomorrow. Thanks for driving her today, though.”

“Hey, you already thanked me. And I don’t mind, at all. I told her to let me know if she needs help after she gets back from her trip.”

“She’s looking forward to it. Her trip, that is. Something about boys in board shorts. Lord help me.”

“Lord help Adele,” she adds, and we both laugh.

And . . . now I’m out here, standing beside her car, and our conversation is lagging. There are so many things I’d ask her about if we had more time than we do and I knew we wouldn’t be interrupted.

Has she heard from Alejandro Lopez again?

Has she missed seeing me the way I’ve missed her?

Can I take her out . . . to dinner, maybe? To Lower Broadway for the music?

Will she stay through the night so I can fuck her till it’s time for morning coffee?

Gunnar’s party might be fun. I want her to relax and enjoy herself. I don’t want it to be overwhelming for her, with so many people she doesn’t know.

“Hey, you want to come to tonight’s game? I know, you have school in the morning, and it’s not even my turn in the rotation, but you can meet some of the wives, and, you know, I’ll be there .” I sound like an eager teen, asking my crush on a first date.

I’m okay with that.

That is, until that damn regret shows up on her face again, along with a slow negative shake of her head that makes her beautiful wild curls sway.

“Wish I could, really. Dylan’s leaving tomorrow too, for his camping trip. And if I don’t help him pack, he’ll end up taking twelve T-shirts, one pair of socks, and no underwear at all.”

That motherhood thing again. She’s really good at it.

“Camping, huh? Sounds like fun.”

“Fun? I hope so, for him, at least. It seems like one of those rite of passage things boys should do, so . . . I’ll send him off with this friend and his family, and I’ll try to keep myself busy until Tuesday, so I don’t worry he’s gotten himself eaten by a bear.”

“Wait, he’s not coming home until Tuesday?”

She nods silently, a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

“I’ve got a three-day trip over the weekend but we both won’t have kids after I get home?”

“The baseball gods are good, right?”

I lean in and smack her lips again, just because I want to.

“I’m sure we’ll figure out a way to keep you occupied.”

The door slams and Nat thunders down the brick steps that lead from the front porch.

“The thought did occur.”

Heavy military-style boots clomp across the driveway, the passenger side car door swings open, and a backpack is tossed to the floor.

I lean in close, my invitation intended for one special person.

“Start by coming to my game tomorrow afternoon. I’ll leave you a pass.”

Nat slumps into the leather passenger seat with a heaved sigh. “Sorry it took so long. I thought I turned my flat iron on but I didn’t, at first, and then, I couldn’t get my bangs right, and . . .”

I tune out my daughter and focus on Palmer’s response.

She winks. “That sounds like a good start.”

She winks.

That night, I come in from the bullpen barely damp with sweat, my pants hardly smudged, and find a waiting text when I pull my phone from my locker.

The message is from Palmer, and she must have sent it not long ago, right after the end of this game.

It’s surprising, and . . . confusing. I’m not sure what to do with it.

Palmer Girl: Cookies or a cupcake?

I stare at the words on the screen for too many minutes, deciphering their meaning.

Is she going to make me dessert?

Or, is she flirting?

There’s subcontext here, right?

Or . . . maybe she just wants to know which I prefer.

Jesus, Murphy, have you forgotten how to communicate with a woman?

I shoot off a reply, and have instant regrets.

Fuck, did I do that right?

Will she think I’m flirting back?

Does she want that?

Now that my totally dumbass remark is in her messages inbox, I realize what I should have written.

I want her cookies.

And I want this fun little game she started to continue.

Maybe I wasn’t lame, after all, because she does show up at my game.

I wonder what her reaction was when she realized the ticket I left for her was in the WAGS section.

But when the national anthem has been sung and the players retire to their dugouts, I step to the mound with my walkout song blaring over the loudspeakers and the fans chanting my name—and search for her in the seats reserved for friends and family of the team.

She’s there in one of the nearer rows, sitting beside Evan’s girl, Christy, a beer in one hand, nachos in the other, and wearing a replica home jersey, white with black trim. She sees me eyeing her and hops up and spins so I see the back.

My fucking jersey . My fucking number .

My heart beats in double time until I get it under control. She’s been to my game before; I’ve seen her watching me from the stands, so having her attend as one of the fans shouldn’t be such a big deal. But knowing she’s here because I invited her— because I want her here —I am pumped. Let’s go!

After six innings, I just want this goddamn game behind me.

Tripp has already made the trek to the mound twice to calm my sorry ass down, Eddie joined him once, and now, Declan is on his way out.

After a decent first two innings, the last four have been downright embarrassing.

No matter what I say I’ll change, what promises I make to do better, I’m useless tonight, and it’s his job as manager to yank me from the game.

I wish he could have pulled me an inning ago, before that rookie from New York got a big fat piece of my change-up and emptied the bases.

I climb from the mound and meet him in the dirt. He twists his neck, his head on a swivel until he spots Palmer leaning forward, her focus on us. He lets his gaze rest there, on her.

“Hey, Murph, it’s kind of a clusterfuck out here. You got something on your mind other than baseball?”

Fucking Declan. He’s not pulling any punches tonight, not when the gap in the score is this wide. Not when Diesel’s been speed dating all night. It’s my fucking job to shut hitters down, not give them a fast pass to first base.

Tonight’s been my least successful appearance in a game since I got called up, and the press is going to rip me a new one in the media room. I’m known for being focused. In the zone. Fucking Mighty Max Murphy. But yeah, today, I just might have something else on my mind.