Page 31 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

MIGUEL

I ’ve never been more annoyed in my whole damn life than at this moment, as I walk into some bougie place with Audrey holding my arm.

That’s not the problem, though. I’m fully decked in a form fitting suit that won’t let me find a quiet corner to do a thousand quick pushups so I can get rid of all this energy coursing through my veins like hot lava.

Audrey looks absolutely mouthwatering. Enough that when she climbed down the stairs with my daughter, I felt something sharp, visceral, and primal that I’ve never felt before.

The need to make her mine—ours.

I could picture it so clearly, Audrey helping Marty with math on the kitchen counter, while I make us a quick breakfast before Consuelo arrives and we have to go to work.

The three of us sitting under a tree at a pretty park, having a picnic and chatting about our plans.

Marty walking to her school event with a real new mom, and not a fake one.

Audrey waking up in my arms, eyes sleepy but smiling. And naked, because why not?

I’m going to have such a miserable night if I let my head keep running rampant.

“Are you ready?” she asks softly beside me.

For all that? Hell yeah. More than ready. I need it.

Eso no, pendejo , a voice that sounds suspiciously like my dad says in my head.

“Yes,” I respond, hanging by the last thread of civility in me. “And you?”

“I’m having a real life case of the sunk cost fallacy.”

“The what?” I do a double take at her.

Her glassy eyes stay scanning the attendees ahead of us as she explains, “You know when you’ve invested too much into something that you know is a complete mess, and you convince yourself to not give up when you probably should?”

“Yeah…” In fact, the one case that comes to mind about that was a year of trying to make a family with a newborn baby, and a biological mother who knew that wasn’t her calling. How does that relate to this situation, though?

Maybe this clever woman can clearly see the question in my face, because she stops to face me. “This thing we’re doing? Wild. Telenovela like. Very K-Drama.”

“What’s a K-Drama?”

“A South Korean telenovela,” she says without missing a beat.

“Ahh.”

“But we’re still forging ahead, aren’t we?”

I bob my head. “Sure are. Unless you’re having cold feet.”

“Surprisingly, I’m not.” Her eyebrows rise. “What about you? We can put a stop to this the second you’re uncomfortable.”

Me, uncomfortable next to her? Nah. Enjoying it a bit too much to be considered proper, actually.

“I’m good,” I say. But I’m not. I’ll force myself to be, though.

Blondie nods like we’re about to walk into battle, and steers me by the arm to the middle of the fray.

My lips can’t stop twitching. I want to laugh.

Her pretty hair swings the opposite way her hips go, and it’s a shame that the skirt opens up from her waist and doesn’t let me catch the contour of her body.

Her legs look absolutely incredible, though, and I bet they’d look even better wrapped around my?—

“Hi, Dad,” she says in a shockingly cutting tone that snaps me out of my dangerous fantasies.

I kinda wish I’d been paying more attention to my surroundings so I could prepare myself psychologically for what I’m about to do, but here goes nothing. I slide my arm around Audrey’s waist, nestling her against my side in an unmistakably possessive way.

The world doesn’t stop spinning. No one stops and stares. Charlie Cox sure takes notice, though.

He turns away from a conversation mid sentence, and scans us from the top of our heads to our feet. On the return, his eyes stop at his daughter’s hands, which she has elegantly clasped in front of her.

Even I can see the glint of her rings from the corner of my eye.

Showtime, huh?

“What is this?” The team owner faces us, holding very tight to a glass of something that looks like whiskey. His eyes, same color as his daughter’s but completely cold and distant, zero in on my face. “Don’t tell me that this is what I’m thinking it is.”

Audrey and I exchange a glance. It’s interesting to see a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, when I also feel it on the inside.

This really is like a telenovela, after all.

Finally, I get into character and announce in the most obnoxious way, “Mr. Cox, may I present to you my wife, Audrey Machado?”

Okay, someone’s gasping nearby now. Thank you for being such an excellent unpaid extra.

Wait, why is Audrey staring at me like this is the most shocking thing I’ve ever done, and not breaking a swing speed record or something like that?

But then she gets with the program. Her expression softens into a smile that hits me in the chest like a donkey’s kick, and she leans her head on my right peck like it belongs there.

The scent of something sweet—apple, maybe—drifts to my nostrils, and I drag in as much as it takes to commit it to memory.

Her father spears me with flinty eyes. “You did not.”

Me, a top notch specimen of maturity, volley back a “did too.”

Audrey snorts hard into her hand. She recovers quickly, though. “Dad, I have to thank you for introducing me to Miguel. I know it’s been really fast but he really is the love of my life, and I know that you approve of him or you wouldn’t have introduced us, right?”

I haven’t dealt with this mogul a very long time, but I’d hazard a guess that the fact that he’s used to controlling the world around him with money or sheer presence, makes this moment more significant.

Because he turns into a statue that has lost the ability to use words, even though it’s clear he wants to use many vile ones.

Meanwhile, I’m staring at the top of Audrey’s head in awe. I mean, shit, I already knew that she’s smart. She can math and philosophize, a conversation with her is full of fun twists and turns, and I once heard that sarcasm is a marker of smart people—and she exercises it at a master level.

But to use her father’s own manipulative and threatening words from months ago against him?

This is some 3D chess shit. I feel both inadequate and turned on, and I can’t explain it.

Still taking advantage of the older man’s silence, she adds, “I’ll work with Karen on Monday to put out a statement that will include our kinship, which I believe will fulfill all of your conditions.”

Charlie Cox flaps his mouth open and closed. My body moves by instinct and I catch the glass slipping from his hand. After making sure he’s holding it again, I turn back to his daughter.

“Look, mi vida. That’s our song,” I bullshit about some random waltz that’s starting. I offer my hand to her. “Shall we?”

“Of course.” She sounds chipper than ever. When we’re away from her father, she asks, “What does mi vida mean?”

“Ehh, it’s just an endearment.” I’m sure she’ll find out sooner or later what it means, but I’ve already put my foot in my mouth enough times today. As we start dancing, I direct our conversation to the most important thing. “How do you feel after all that?”

“Electric.” Her eyes are wide enough that she could’ve been zapped, actually. “Deep down, I know there will be consequences, but I’m trying to ignore all that and focus on the present.”

“Good call.” There won’t be any consequences under my watch, though.

Something snags my attention over her head. Charlie Cox and the jackass who was his first choice for Audrey’s husband are watching us with zero reservation. In fact, people near them are starting to do the same.

Pulling her against me, I gently turn us around and whisper in her ear, “My six o’clock.”

Of course she knows what I’m talking about right away. Audrey leans to peek around and the way her expression hardens tells me she spotted the same thing I did. “Ugh,” she mutters.

“Ready?”

She looks back up at me, not getting it this time. “What for?”

“A big show.” I slide my hands down her bare arms slowly, like I have all the time in the world to explore her skin. She only glances down once I’ve reached her hands. “Remember our wedding night?” The corners of my mouth rise.

“Which part specifically?”

“The one where we danced real close,” I answer in a measured tone, more so for my own benefit. I’m working really hard at keeping it together. “I’m thinking it would be a quite scandalous thing to do around here.”

The same sort of mischievous smile comes to her face, and with that she’s waved off the dark cloud that briefly fell over her upon seeing the jackass. “But with a waltz? Really?”

“Oh yeah. Watch this.”

“Boy, those are famous last words—eek!”

I twirl her around and bring her back flush against me like I’m not afraid of dying tonight, and wrap my arms around her while still holding her hands.

A couple of dancing pairs nearby give us nasty looks, like how dare we disrespect their waltz culture.

What’s up with rich people and boring music, though?

Guess I should be glad, though. If this was reggaeton I’d be in serious trouble.

Audrey dances along, trusting me to twirl her around dramatically, and even through a theatrical dip. She’s all laughter, like freedom and irony have collided in her and she can’t contain the shrapnel. I’m happy to let it land on me, infecting me with laughter.

And maybe our antics inspire the live band to play something of this century, because suddenly it’s way less difficult to dance close and personal at the sound of a jolly classical rendition of Twist and Shout. Heck, even the stiff rich people are starting to liven up.

Maybe that’s why I don’t realize that this isn’t the happy ending moment, but the beginning of a fight that neither of us is really safe from.