Chapter 20
[Ruthie]
Bolan is quick to find a babysitter for Tulane. To my surprise, it’s Ruby, Ford Sylver’s nanny. He isn’t going out like the rest of his teammates and Ruby is available.
I’ve told Bolan a few times he really doesn’t have to include me tonight, even though Cyrus asked me directly to attend.
“Stop,” he eventually says as we clean up the kitchen after dinner. “I love to dance. This will be fun.”
I am not much of a dancer. The last time I danced was with him and before that, I can’t remember.
“You can hardly walk across a flat surface without tripping,” I tease him, chuckling at how often this big, sturdy man is a little unsteady.
He kicks up his heel behind him like he’s reacting to a first kiss and laughs. “These flippers are hard to flip some days, but dancing is different. There’s no structure. You just let loose.”
He does the White-man’s overbite and sways his hips, snapping his fingers to imitate his skills.
I laugh. I don’t know if everyone would agree there isn’t structure to dancing but who am I to argue with him. Plus, he’s very excited about the prospect of going out.
Which worries me that I’m holding him back. Having a wife might be cramping his style of hitting on random woman and having one-night stands. Then again, he’s been home every night after his games, hanging out with Tulane and me.
Slowly, Bolan stops dancing. “I can almost hear the gears clicking in your head. What are you thinking?” His shoulders droop while his brows pinch. “We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”
Disappointment fills his rugged voice.
“No. No, I want to go. It’s just—” I wasn’t certain how to explain myself, without making me sound needy, or him sound seedy.
Bolan steps closer to me and cups my shoulders. “Look. Let’s go for a little while. If you’re uncomfortable for any reason, we can leave.” His eyes scan my face. “Tonight’s a green, Ruthie. You’re safe with me.”
My eyes widen, but then soften. Being safe is half the problem. The good half . . . where I feel comfortable with Bolan. The bad half—I’m tired of playing life safe. I want that moment of reckless red back.
Instead of admitting the truth, I nod.
Bolan releases my shoulders and claps once. “Yes. Now get dressed, beautiful.”
When I enter the living room forty minutes later, Bolan is seated in the recliner. I swear he loves that chair. Tulane is in the corner of the room that’s become her play center with buckets of toys and books.
Bolan’s attention shifts from the television to me as I exit the hallway and quickly turns back for the game on the set.
Then his head snaps back in my direction, and his feet kick down on the lifted portion of the chair. He slowly stands, keeping his eyes on me while rubbing his hands down his dark-wash jeans. He’s also wearing a plain short-sleeve, button-down that makes him look like a cowboy-wannabe.
“Holy shit, Ruthie. You’re a fucking knockout.”
My cheeks heat at the compliment while I press a finger to my lips and glance at Tulane. “Little ears,” I admonish before swiping my hands over my hips. “Am I underdressed? He said line dancing.”
“You want to stay home and get undressed? Because that’s what I heard. That’s what I want,” he rambles, letting those safe eyes of his shift to dangerous as his gaze roams down my body. The appraisal heats my face again but another place on me is hot and bothered as well.
“Bolan.” I chuckle, assuming he’s joking with me. He wants to go out. He wants to be with his team, his new friends, and in the time it took me to get ready, I’m excited to go out as well. I love Tulane but I need some adult conversation.
He digs his teeth into his lower lip and steps closer to me. “Seriously, Ruthie. You steal my breath. White looks good on you.”
I glance down at the fitted cropped top that leaves a sliver of skin exposed above my high-rise jeans. The collar fits tight to my throat while the shirt is sleeveless.
“White?” I chuckle. “Really?”
“White means commitment.” His tone turns serious, forcing my gaze to meet his again. “You wore white when we got married, and I swear I could breathe for the first time in a year.” He exhales as if emphasizing his statement. “Maybe the first time ever.”
“Bolan,” I whisper. All the compliments.
All the comments. If I wasn’t careful, being safe was going to get reckless, even dangerous like those eyes of his, because I could fall for him.
The man I’m learning he is, not the college guy who kissed me or the clumsy yet cocky man who entered a ballroom.
The thought reminds me that I still haven’t told him we’d met once upon a time. Some days, I think the secret will never matter. Other days, I know secrets are the devil and I should just tell him.
When a sharp rap on the front door turns both our heads, my thoughts scatter. Tonight is not about the past. Tonight is for the present and living in it.
Bolan opens the door for Ruby and gives her a quick rundown of phone numbers and medical information for Tulane.
If I had any concerns about leaving Tulane for the first time, I’m put at ease because Tulane seems to remember Ruby.
She walks right up to the older woman and hands her a plastic toy cow.
As if we aren’t even in the room, Ruby leads Tulane to the scattered toys on the floor and folds down to play with her.
Bolan and I meet eyes, and he shrugs. “Guess we’ll be going.”
He steps over to Tulane and picks her up, pressing kisses all over her face before finally landing one on her nose. “I love you, Tulip. Bed at eight. No parties,” he teases.
Everything in me wants to tell Tulane the same thing. That I love her as well and promise her we’ll be home later. She won’t ever have to worry if we’ll be back.
Instead, I silently think my thoughts and give Tulane an extra squeeze before pressing a kiss on her cheek. “Be good, baby girl.”
Bolan offers Ruby a thank you for her time and I give her a final smile before we exit.
Once we leave the apartment, Bolan places his hand on my lower back, leading me to the staircase.
“You’re so good with her,” he states, as he’s told me many times.
“I adore her,” I state, afraid to admit my true feelings.
Bolan thunders down the stairs but I take my time in low heeled booties which causes him to stop and pause on the landing in the stairwell. He glances up at me again and those eyes shift once more.
“Ruthie, I—” He swallows like he’s trying to contain words. His shoulders lower when I stop one step up from him. “I just want to thank you again for all you’re doing for us.”
Something tells me that wasn’t what he was going to say, especially when he glances away but takes my hand giving it a squeeze.
“Let’s just have fun tonight, yeah?” I reply.
“Yeah.”
+ + +
Gus Mackers is a country-western themed bar with a tall stage overlooking a large dance floor and comfortable sitting areas made for groups of patrons. Dining tables are on the opposite side of a square bar that divides the dancing area from a restaurant. A band plays live music.
And the place is packed for a weeknight in early March.
“Tourists,” Cyrus explains after waving Bolan and I over to a set of couches in an L-shape with a low, square table in front of it.
“Baseball lovers,” another team member corrects before Cyrus introduces me to everyone, eventually landing on the only other woman in the group.
“This is Lacey.” He waves toward a woman with sleek black hair and a welcoming face who pats the space beside her.
“Come sit by me. Us girls gotta stick together with this bunch.”
Bolan’s hand has been on my back, the heat of his fingers finding that sliver of exposed skin. For a second, it feels like his palm stiffens, like he doesn’t want me to sit by this Lacey person, but then he says, “Lacey is Cyrus’s wife.”
I turn my head from Bolan to Lacey, questioning why Cyrus didn’t introduce her as such.
Ignoring my thoughts, I accept what Lacey said.
Us girls need to stick together. So, I round the table and take the space she patted on the couch.
Bolan remains standing, chatting with Cyrus and another teammate.
“Welcome to the club.” She lifts her glass toward me and notices my empty hands. “And we need to get you a drink. Pronto.”
As if hearing Lacey’s comment, the waitress arrives. I open my mouth to order when Bolan points in my direction and says, “She’ll have a gin and tonic.”
“Actually.” I point at myself. “I’ll have a margarita. Classic. On the rocks. With salt.”
“Damn, girl. Way to put him in his place,” Lacey chuckles, nudging me with her elbow.
Bolan blinks, and then turns back toward the waitress. His pouty lip expresses my order is my order.
“Actually, I’m not offended,” I admit to Lacey, finding small pleasure in Bolan remembering fine details. Like my toenail polish color. And one of my favorite drinks. “We met over gin and tonics.”
Not the truth. Not exactly a lie.
Lacey shifts in her seat. “Do tell. Everyone’s been wondering about the elusive Adler.”
“Elusive?” I snort. No one seems more like an open book than Bolan.
“Cyrus says he’s quiet. Focused. Driven. But a great team motivator. He isn’t getting into the drama on the team with Romero.” Lacey nods in the direction of another set of couches on the opposite side of the dance floor.
Romero Valdez and a collection of additional players are gathered there.
“Didn’t take them for line dancers,” Lacey mutters to herself.
“Why not?”
“Think clubbin’ is more their scene.” Lacey keeps her eyes on the other group. “Don’t know why they are here.”
“Team bonding,” I suggest positively.
Lacey chuckles. “I’ve never heard of a team more divided. I don’t know how Anchors’ management could keep him on the team after what he did to Ford.”
I heard about the scandal. The situation was one reason Bolan needed a wife. The Anchors only wanted a family man.