I don’t think twice and turn up the brightness on my phone to get a better look.
“Oh, yeah. Well, that.” She tries to discreetly wipe both cheeks, as if she can rub her natural blush away. “As I was saying before, we ditched—I mean, I made an executive decision to take a break from her prior engagementbecauseyour lovely daughter said she was too tired and would much rather get home in time to watch her father play against Los Angeles.” She nods in a triumphant manner, having gained back that confidence as she spoke.
I’m so entranced by her that I almost forget to give her a hard time.
Almost.
“So what’s the answer, Isabella? Do you or do you not watch me play?”
I must be certifiably insane.
Because there is no reason under the goddamn sun for me to be messing with Isabella this way. It seems like the physical distance from her has made me bolder, and much, much stupider. The clear boundary I’ve kept between us is slowly blurring, and while I can clearly see it happening, I can’t deny that having her full attention on me feels nice. Like I could talk to her for hours, just to see the many hidden facets of Ms. Isabella Morales.
She huffs, and I swear if I had a full body shot of her, I would put money on the possibility that she may have even stomped at my line of questioning. “Yes, I watched the gametodaybecause that’s what Anna wanted to do. She’s your daughter and she misses you, so of course I joined her on the couch as you pulverized that Velázquez guy.” She takes a frustrated breath. “But no, Mateo, I don’t watch you play, aside from today. Because I don’t watch baseball… at least not anymore.”
Well, shit.
Now I feel like a dick. All that teasing to get her to admit to watching me, as if my sick ego needed some kind of validation that I’m not the only one secretly losing my mind over here when it comes to our tense relationship, just to inadvertently step in it. Massively.
Of course she doesn’t watch baseball. Why would she after what my world has put her through?
I obviously took it too far, and we are much better suited to continue standing behind the very clear boundary line I initially had carved in stone for us. The apology is on the tip of my tongue, but it seems like she’s not finished talking.
She looks off camera, and I’m glad she is. It makes it easier to stare at her beauty while simultaneously hiding my guilt overteasing her. “Although I will say that it was nice to watch a game for the first time in years. It used to be such a big part of my life.” She turns back to the phone. “I grew up on baseball. I’m Dominican, for God’s sake.” She chuckles slightly, warming me from the inside out. “I let that part of me go a while ago. And I guess it was nice to finally get a tiny piece of that back. For one game. Even if you were sloppy during the third and fourth innings. Though I guess you still put on a decent show, right, Anna?”
Her blinding smile is back, and while it’s not aimed at me, it is directed at the piece of my heart that lives outside my body, which only hits me harder.
Hell, this woman will be the death of me.
Just when I think I have her figured out, she surprises me. I’m not a fan of surprises, but I am becoming a big fan of hers.
I watch the girls as they continue to laugh at my expense.
The fact that I’m still dripping wet and standing by myself at a hotel pool doesn’t even faze me, because I’m too lost in them.
As much as I enjoyed riling Isabella up, I decide then and there that I would much rather see her smile, just like this.
And although I know it’s a bad idea to keep her on longer than her one-week trial, I convince myself that there would be no harm in helping her fall in love with baseball again. And I’m going to do it by getting her to come to one of my games.
It’s the least I can do with the way she dotes on and advocates for my daughter. And sure, deep down I know I can’t keep her on as the nanny for good—God knows my willpower wouldn’t survive it—but Anna deserves to have Isabella in her life. Their growing bond is clear as day, and I would never do anything to jeopardize it.
They deserve to have each other, even if I can’t be a part of that equation.
With my mind focused on a new direction, one in which I’m not fantasizing about my daughter’s nanny, I break up their cackling and set my plan in motion.
I make a note to text my pilot after I hang up and let him know that I need him to fuel the jet, because I want to fly out on a red eye instead of flying back with the team tomorrow morning.
I sleep better on my own plane anyway.
“Hey, Isa, I’ve made an executive decision of my own.”
seventeen
Mateo leaves us ona cliffhanger.
He won’t tell me what he has planned, and the mischievous glint in his eye has me slightly concerned.
It seems like every day, I’m getting to see different pieces of the man who used to be as personable as a brick wall. I hate to admit that it gives me a little thrill each time, knowing that I get to see a part of him that the public has no access to.
