Page 17 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

MIGUEL

“ T his. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. My. Life!” Marty exclaims, punctuating every word before taking a bite out of her ice cream.

Yes, a bite.

I watch fascinated at this strange little creature I call my daughter. “Wow, I’ve created a monster.”

“I would say she’s perfectly well adjusted,” Audrey counters, licking her ice cream cone like a civilized person.

Welp, I too am a monster I guess, because I definitely shouldn’t be paying any attention to the pink of her tongue as it carries chocolate ice cream into her mouth. I lower my focus on the sad fruit cup in my hands, stabbing a chunk of strawberry with more violence than necessary.

Audrey continues, not noticing my pause. “If any of my parents had pulled me out of school on a normal day and taken me to the ice cream parlor, I’d probably feel differently about them.”

There’s something weird in her voice, like she’s trying to make light of something that really isn’t.

Usually when people do this, they’re torn between wanting to share and not being pried into.

And if dealing with a certain Logan Kim has taught me anything, it’s that the best course of action is to wait until they’re ready to share.

I play along by turning to Marty. “Is my bribe working? Am I your fave dad at last?”

“You’re my only dad, Dad,” she responds unironically, taking another bite out of the ice cream. How does that not make her teeth hurt? Who is she?

“I guess this is the only trophy you win for participation.” Audrey’s lips draw into a wide smile that shares all her pearly whites, and for the first time I notice that her two front teeth are slightly longer than the rest. There’s something so charming about it that I can’t stop staring.

“What? Do I have something between my teeth?”

To save face, I point vaguely at her and say, “Yeah, a little something—there. You got it.” The only thing she got is my full attention, damn it.

So, it turns out this attraction wasn’t a sudden one-off the other night. I am a red-blooded straight guy who is into this woman. But the sky is blue and the grass is green—who wouldn’t be into her?

She’s smart—enough to teach my daughter math.

She’s kind—also enough to agree to this absurd plan, just so my daughter can hold her head high at school.

And she’s gorgeous. We’re talking head-turning, double-take-inducing type of gorgeous.

The guy behind the counter can’t stop staring, and a woman who came in earlier also ogled Audrey like she was seeing a celebrity.

My presence and Marty’s hasn’t deterred attention, because we’re obviously not a real family and it shows, even though we’re about to start faking it.

“Anyway,” I announce, remembering the point of this little gathering.

“Now that Marty will be able to attend the tea party, we have to get serious about how this is going to work. I’m all ears for your ideas, ladies.

” I lean back on my chair, folding my arms and glancing at them to pass on the figurative microphone.

Marty looks at Audrey. “Should I start calling you Mom?”

The blonde chokes on her ice cream.

I snort, but still reach for the napkins on the table to pass her one out of the goodness of my heart.

“Well, how else are my classmates going to think I’m normal?” my kid asks, missing the giant sized irony of her statement. It dries my amusement up and the balloon of guilt that permanently resides in my chest swells up again. It had been quite deflated while I basked in my success this afternoon.

“Normal is overrated,” Audrey says in between coughs into the napkin. She wipes her mouth and reaches for my water bottle. I let her, clearly she needs it more than I do. “But maybe let’s keep that for when we’re in front of other people, okay?”

“Fine.”

Audrey turns to me. “I have a ring that is going to work perfectly for the ruse.”

“A ring…” I trail off, my mind gunning it at full speed like I’m trying to score on a wild hit that has low chance of success, just to reach her point. “You mean an engagement ring.”

“Yes.” She motions at her left hand. “It’s a gold band with a green sapphire. No one needs to know it’s part of a jewelry set that my brother gave me for Christmas once.”

“You have a brother?” Marty wonders. “Should we get him on board with the plan?”

Audrey’s lips twitch but don’t form a full smile. “He would’ve been so on board.”

Before I can form an apology in my mouth, my daughter continues like nothing’s amiss. “And there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Audrey asks absentmindedly as she takes another lick of ice cream.

I’m displeased to report that my reason decides to make itself absent again thanks to that.

Marty checks out her surroundings, leans closer to her new partner in crime, and lowers her voice. “I heard that the mean girls wear matching outfits with their moms. Can we do that too?”

Audrey smacks the table in mock outrage. “Rather than doing it too, we’re going to do it better. Let’s go shopping!”

*

And this is how I find myself in the middle of a thrift store when normally I’d be training at the Orlando Wild facilities on a day off. I scratch the back of my head, confused but not upset about this turn of events.

Marty pulls out a garment from a rack, showing it to Audrey. “How’s this?”

It reminds me of the goth tutu I once had to wear when one of her loose teeth hurt her so bad that she wouldn’t stop crying, and I didn’t know what else to do to cheer her up but dress up as a too buff, goth tooth fairy.

“Very stylish,” the woman responds as she runs her fingers over the transparent folds of the skirt. They have something shiny on them, some kind of glitter. “I’m thinking this would look great with something pink.”

“Ugh, pink is for girls,” my daughter says like this is a personal affront.

Audrey turns a side eye my way and I raise my hands. “I’m not the one who taught her to hate pink.”

She narrows those striking green eyes like she doesn’t quite believe me, before returning her focus on my kid. “I think pink is for everyone who likes it, and I like it a lot.”

My ever sharp daughter says, “Really? But I’ve never seen you wear pink. You’re usually with something green.” Here she points at Audrey’s outfit.

I’m not the right guy to wax poetic about clothes, but I kinda regret it at this moment.

It would probably make my assessment feel more factual than thirsty.

But the truth is that Audrey’s wearing some kind of strappy top that is very tight against her very generous curves, but also leaves a gap before the matching skirt begins.

The fact that the outfit has massive yellow lemons with crowns of green leaves on a white background doesn’t minimize how stunning she looks.

I remain a silent, tongue tied buffoon as Audrey volleys back with, “That’s because it’s my favorite color, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like other colors.”

It only stands to reason that her favorite color would be the shade of her eyes. No other compares.

“Prove it.” Marty tips her chin up, eyes twinkling like she’s challenging an equal.

And then to my surprise, Audrey Winters-not-Cox responds in kind. “Fine.” She lifts one shoulder. “Let’s go find me the pinkest outfit to ever exist.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

With each escalation they sound more and more amused. They stomp away in mock outrage, leaving me behind on the same spot by the girl’s clothing section.

My heart thumps painfully, working way harder than it did last year when I won MVP of the league.

I place a hand on my chest and it does nothing to slow down the beat.

“Estoy en problemas,” I tell myself under my breath.

But it’s fine. This makes sense. I haven’t let a woman into my life since Marty’s mom.

I’ve been really busy raising Marty and sustaining a career that can secure her future.

None of that has changed, and the only reason why this woman has made her way in is because our lives simply overlap.

We’re neighbors and coworkers of sorts. We see each other everyday.

Neither of us are making any extra effort here, like people who are dating would.

I’m just confusing the closeness for attraction.

Or rather, I’m confusing how close and hot she is for something more.

She deserves better than that. The second she catches me drooling over her like a dog, she’s going to rightfully freak out and kick me out of her way. And that would hurt Marty, who is making a new friend in our neighbor.

So I stuff my hands in my SPORTY joggers and trail behind them, sticking around so they know I’m not abandoning them, but not really participating now that I’ve figured out what my place in this dynamic is. We’re doing all of this for them, not for my hormones—rampant as much as the asshats are.

“How’s this?” Marty pulls out a dress almost as long as she is, holding the hanger up high. “You should try it on.”

I can tell by the twitch in Audrey’s eyebrow that this isn’t her thing, but she’s not going to back down from a ten-year-old’s challenge. She grabs it. “If it fits me, you’ll have to try something that matches.”

“Deal.” Marty offers her hand and they shake on it.

In turn, I shake my head, fighting back a smile.

Audrey marches into a changing room and slides the curtain shut. Only then does Marty acknowledge my existence by grabbing my hand and dragging me back to the girl’s area. “C’mon, Dad. We need to find me something that matches.”

I bark an abrupt laugh. “Wow.”

“What?”

“You didn’t need to do all of this to allow yourself to wear pink, mi nina,” I tell her, grinning.

She presses her lips into an arch and says nothing.

My daughter, the master manipulator, ladies and gents.

I’m not very helpful after that, though. Finding pink clothes is easy, but something that doesn’t make her gag? Now that’s the real challenge.

“This?” I ask, showing her a fluffy sleeved top.

Marty opens her mouth and points at her throat.

“Or this?” A pair of pink jeans.

“Dad, please. I don’t want to look like cowboy Barbie.”

“Excuse me,” a third voice says, and we turn to Audrey wearing what I’d normally define as a monstrosity—a hot pink dress with hanging flaps on the sides. I’m sure they have a name. “What’s wrong with looking like cowboy Barbie?” She motions at herself.

I really have to bite my lips hard this time. Pretty sure no one would appreciate to be laughed at in these circumstances. And the warning look she tosses my way tells me as much.

“On second thought,” Marty says like it’s no biggie. “Maybe that dress really wasn’t for you.”

That does it. I explode in the most unhinged laughter—great guffaws that bend me over and burn my eyes, giving my jaw the workout of a lifetime.

It takes them dropping me off in the men’s section to calm my outburst down to sporadic giggles.

They don’t show me whatever they get after that, but they’re both pleased as punch on the drive back home.

It tells me that whatever they picked is going to cause waves at the school event.

My chest is about bursting as we get out of the car, even as we say goodbye to our neighbor, because I hadn’t seen my daughter this happy in… ages.

She grabs my hand again and looks up at me like I’m no longer her enemy. “Today was the best day.”

I let myself smile down at her with all the joy I feel, and my free hand reaches up to wrap around the pendant of my necklace, which I usually only do when I’m nervous.

And I realize that I am—I’m afraid that this moment will end. That this joy won’t last.

Like the worst sort of prophet, I freaking bring the end of the calm with that thought alone, because suddenly there’s a clear “what the shit?” coming from next door.

Normally I’d try to shield Marty’s ears from the spicy language that I’d otherwise use in the locker room without a problem, but there’s enough alarm in the three words that a different instinct kicks in.

“Audrey?” I call out in the quiet of the dimming evening.

The woman reappears in our field of vision, huffing, her eyes wide as she pushes her golden hair away from her face. “I—I can’t get into my house. Someone has changed the lock.”

My head jerks back, as if punched.

What the shit, indeed. Who would do that?

I don’t know if I’ve said it aloud, because Audrey hisses and says, “I know exactly who did this,” and reaches for the phone in her pocket.