I’m close enough to hear the catch in her breath and glimpse the heat flare in her eyes. Her gaze drops to my mouth, and I’m battling the urge to lower my head and taste that soft gasp for myself.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” she whispers. Shaking her head, she clears her throat, and continues, “Well, I came to find you—”
“How did you?” I interrupt, frowning.
“I called Jude, and he told me to look for you here.” My frown deepens, but she waves a hand. “Don’t worry, he’s not suspicious about…about…”
“Us fucking?” I supply.
A tinge of red slashes across her cheekbones, almost concealing her freckles. But her chin notches up. “Yes,” she says softly. “About us fucking.”
Damn. Hearingthatword onherlips. It’s like she reached into my jeans, wrapped her fingers around my dick, and gave it a good, hard pump. And that the color in her face only deepens, makes it even sexier, hotter.One night. One night. The reminder tracks through my mind, but the leash on my control and will when it comes to her is ragged, tenuous.
“Anyway.” She crosses her arms. Then drops them. Then looses a little, low chuckle. The laughter holds a bit of self-deprecation, and once more that nervousness emanates from her. “So, listen. I won tickets to a Cubs game a couple of weeks ago. They’re playing the Nationals, and the seats are right behind the dugout. V and Shana could care less about baseball, and Jude and Simon had plans. That leaves you. Since I’m not going alone, you’ve been nominated to tag along with me.”
Stunned, I stare at her. “We’re going to a Cubs’ game?” I repeat. A fist of emotion lodges in my throat, which, logically, I get is an overreaction to someone offering to take you to a ballgame, but…
Baseball, games… It had been our thing—my dad’s and mine. Jude and Simon hadn’t cared for the sport, so it’d become my special time with my father. Where the usually quiet, reserved man who worked nearly sixty hours a week would loosen up, relax, and become a boisterous, laughing, often obnoxious fan. And I’d felt special because he’d been that way with me.
I blink, bringing myself back to the present and away from one of the happiest times of my past.
“I need you to follow me back to my apartment,” Eden continues, already heading back to her car that I now notice is parked behind mine.
“What?” I ask.
“Move your ass, Knox. Daylight’s wasting.” She glances over her shoulder at me, giving me a shy, slightly self-conscious smile that punches into my chest, grabs my heart, and squeezes it.
It’s a thing of pure beauty. And, it’s for me.
Does it make me an asshole that a fierce, greedy satisfaction howls within me? Maybe. Probably. But damn, it feels good. It makes me feel…like hers. Even if only for this brief moment.
And this brief moment has me walking after her.
A half hour later, a vise grip squeezes the fuck out of my chest at the sight of the people already congregated under the world-renowned, huge, red-and-white sign that readsWrigley Field Home of Chicago Cubs.
“The game starts at one-thirty, and it’s already one, so we’re good on time,” she says, staring out her window.
Good. I’m afraid of what’s on my face. What it reveals.
“Since this is my first game, I intend to milk the whole experience—hot dogs, beer, foam finger. I might even pull a Miley Cyrus with that finger if I have enough beer.” She snickers, but I remain focused on the road and maneuvering through the thick, Sunday game traffic and into the parking lot.
Once I find a space and park, she hops out, but I’m slower and quieter as we walk the couple of blocks to the stadium. The last time I stood outside this place was with my father years ago. Sixteen years, to be exact.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the warm May breeze on my face and arms. Can still smell the Irish Spring soap he used as long as I could remember. Can still hear his deep, gravel-rough voice griping about the Cubs’ chances against the Cincinnati Reds.
I haven’t been able to bring myself to attend another game. Not without him. And now, here I stand, with Eden.
“Hey.” A soft, delicate hand curves around my bicep. “You okay?” Worry darkens her eyes, a frown drawing her eyebrows into a shallow V. “So, I have a confession to make. I didn’t win the tickets; I bought them, and I didn’t offer them to anyone else. You were my first and only choice. But is this”—she waved a hand toward the stadium—“all right? I’ve noticed that you always stop and look at that picture of you and your dad at the house. Jude mentioned you hadn’t been to a game in a long time, so I thought, maybe…” Her voice trails off. “Did I fuck up?” When I don’t immediately answer—can’timmediately answer—she tips her head back, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, Knox. I overstepped. I just thought this might help us not be so strained around each other, and that it might be fun for you since it’d been so long—”
I ignore the part about things being weird between us to grab her and yank her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her—holding her so close and so hard, I’m probably causing her some discomfort, but I can’t let go.
Not that she’s trying to get away. Her arms close around me. Tight. Burying my face in her hair, I inhale her sweet, summer-and-peaches scent. Savor the feel of her breasts and thighs against mine, and the soft puff of her breath over my chest.
“No,” I rasp. “It’s fine. I’m—” I break off, clear my throat. After a moment, I continue. “Until now, I didn’t realize how much I wanted to go to a game. Dad and I…”
I trail off, unable to voice what the games meant to me. I’d expected sadness after the shock of her surprise wore off. But instead, the sadness is tempered by the joy of those memories. Instead of the heartache I feared, and that kept from away from Wrigley for so long, there’s a certain…comfort. And I owe that to Eden. Coming here with her—her—has softened the blow, made it pliable like melted wax, and has allowed my memories of Dad in, leaving the sorrow behind.
Lifting my head, I cup her jaw, tilt her chin up with the pad of my thumb.
