Chapter 20
[Cadence]
When I close the door to Ford’s bedroom, I lean against the barrier a second, tipping back my head, fighting a grin.
Ford Sylver is so easy to rile up and so cute when his ears turn pink, or his face flushes.
Lowering my head, I step away from the door and observe his room.
The place is rather non-descript. An average extended-stay rental space with a king size bed and matching side tables plus a large dresser.
On the stand beside the bed is a charger and a black and white photograph of his three girls in a silver frame.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I pick up the frame and stare at the photo.
June is sitting on Zelle’s lap. Winnie sits beside them, head tipped and leaning on her older sister’s shoulder.
Poor Zelle has a weight of worries on those shoulders.
Concerns for her dad. Conflicted emotions about her mother.
I worry I’ve added to the pressure by suggesting big sisters learn things and teach younger siblings.
Enya put that kind of stress on herself, trying to take care of me, trying to keep me out of trouble. But trouble and I go hand in hand.
With that thought, I set down the frame and pull my phone from my bag.
As I suspected, the screen lights up with notification after notification.
The only calls that concern me are from Lana.
She’s more of an I-can-tackle-this-on-my-own manager than someone who would call me with every little issue, so seeing four calls from her and a few anxious text messages has me contacting her immediately.
“Cadence?”
“What’s up?” I casually ask. There are less than a handful of people who have access to this number. I’m the only one to ever answer it.
“Where are you?” She takes a deep breath and exhales. “Not that every step you take is my business, but I got a call from the hotel that you hadn’t checked in. They mentioned in that call how a Mr. Burt Chimneysweep was inquiring about a Mary Poppins in the hotel.”
“Evan?” My throat thickens as I whisper-choke his name.
While the pseudonyms were not terribly original, many actors and actresses are known to check into hotels under aliases that are fictitious character names.
Evan liked the idea of being the chimney sweep in a famous nanny tale.
He had numerous sexual innuendos about pipes and channels that I once considered humorous and now wish I’d never heard.
I shiver at the reminder Evan once touched me in private places.
His sudden appearance in this random location is a serious red-flag.
“What is Evan doing in Scottsdale?” The question comes out shakier than I expected when I intended to sound harsh, reprimanding even. I do not want him near me. I also wouldn’t want him to learn I’m concerned about him being in the area. I never want him to know I’m growing afraid.
A heavy pause follows my question before Lana says, “I suspect he came to see you.”
“How does he even know I’m here?”
Lana laughs bitterly. “How does anyone know anything these days? Social media.”
I sit with the thought a second, realizing that anyone with a phone might have snapped a photo of me today at the ballgame.
“How is Ford?” The shift in her tone suggests she’s smiling. Lana heard about my escapades during Enya’s wedding weekend. She also knows Ford, as a center fielder for the Chicago Anchors, is now family of sorts.
But not the kind to sneak into a bedroom where I’ll sleep.
I sigh and chew my lower lip. “He’s good.
” The breathiness gives away how I really feel.
I like him. A lot. And I adore his girls.
Tonight was fun and unique. I can’t remember the last time I went to a man’s house for dinner.
A pizza dinner no less. And then just hung out like a normal person might, although being normal is all perspective.
Still, being with Ford and his girls had accomplished my mission.
I was able to get out of my head and pretend.
But pretending was dangerous and just like I’d believed in things Evan said, I couldn’t project ideas about what Ford didn’t say.
We were friends. And family by association.
“But let’s get back to Evan. What happened at the hotel?”
“Registration called me after the inquiry because you hadn’t checked in and they were confirming you would still be staying there. They also wished to know how to proceed with the chimneysweep-wannabe who was lingering in the lobby.”
I’m about to ask what Lana said but she continues. “I told them you’d still be a guest under the name Tatia Quack.”
A laugh bursts out. “Good one, Lana.”
“I was concerned you’d go to check in before I reached you, though, and find Mary Poppins wasn’t on the registry.
Or that you’d run into Evan before you crossed the lobby.
I told the desk that security should usher Mr. Burt out.
They could even state that Mary Poppins would not be staying at their hotel, which wouldn’t be a complete lie.
” Lana is a treasure for her quick thinking.
“Either way, I’m safe from being a fake nanny and staying in that hotel. I’ll be staying here tonight.”
“Oh, and where is here?” Her salacious tone is followed by a giggle. Lana is a romantic, but she can also be a realist. She’s the formula I need within my new company.
“I’m at Ford’s,” I whisper as if breaking a code of silence or sneaking into someone’s home. As I tell Lana my location, a soft knock occurs on the bedroom door.
“I’ve got to go,” I whisper again.
“But you’ll still make your flight in the morning? We have the announcement.”
“I’ll be there.”
We say a quick goodbye before I hang up and rush toward the door. Opening it, Ford stands outside with his arms stretched wide. Each hand holding onto the edge of the frame.
“Forget something?” I quip.
“I need a pillow. And I wanted to suggest you could sleep in one of my T-shirts.”
I’m still wearing the shirt I purchased at the game. His hat is safely tucked into my tote as I shook out my hair before coming here.
Ford doesn’t move from his position, holding onto that door frame like he’s restraining himself when I want him to lose control.
For one night, I want to just be a girl who is attracted to a boy, for reasons she can’t explain.
“Let me get you a pillow.” My voice is low, the sound strange before I move toward the bed and lean forward to retrieve a set of pillows from the four against the headboard.
Only when I turn back around, I collide with Ford who has entered the room and stands directly behind me.
The pillows between us are a layer of cushioning I wish wasn’t present.
Ford takes the pillows from me. The backs of his fingers brushing my inner forearms as he does and an electric sizzle runs up my arms, jump starting my heart.
“T-shirts are in the second drawer.” His voice is quiet, the tone rugged.
I slip by him in the narrow space and open the drawer he mentioned, rifling through the tees when a long, strong arm comes around me, plucking a shirt in his fist. With my back to Ford’s chest, I can almost feel his heartbeat thundering along my spine.
Can he hear mine? The drumming in my ears suddenly sounds too loud.
I’m also inundated by his leather and fresh cut grass scent and the heat of his body is like sunshine on a perfect Arizona day.
I want to melt into that warmth. Could he keep me safe?
“Don’t be snooping through my things,” he teases, his voice close to my hair, tickling my ear.
His warning is almost an invitation to scavenge through everything.
Only, I want to respect Ford’s privacy like he’s been respectful of me.
He’s not treating me too much like a superstar and he took my scorn earlier when I told him to apologize to his daughter.
He’s let me invade his home and insert myself into their nightly routine, and he’ll never know the night was the balm I needed before a huge bandage is ripped off and a relationship severed.
The thought brings me to images of Evan, pacing a hotel lobby, expecting to see me. My body stiffens.
“Hey. You okay?” Ford places his hand on my shoulder, his thumb massaging into my skin, and I want to melt into his touch.
I glance over my shoulder at him, wishing I could tell him the truth. Wanting to tell him everything. How Evan hurt me. How his recent actions are starting to scare me. I wish Ford could kiss away all that prickles and aches inside me.
“I’m good,” I lie, sounding exactly like Ford.
He watches me a moment longer, like he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t pressure me, either. Instead, he wishes me goodnight once more and leaves the room.
I could leave the door open, suggesting he return, but instead, I shut it and take another deep breath. I’m safe tonight. Evan would never find me here. I still have hours to be free before my world implodes.
+ + +
Sometime during the night, a hand comes to my shoulder, and I jolt awake.
“Ford?” I breathe heavily. “Are you okay?”
“That couch is shit for sleeping and my shoulder is screaming.”
I sit upright and take in Ford’s form in the dark bedroom. He’s wearing dark boxer briefs, and nothing else. His body is insane, and nothing I haven’t seen as I undressed him on that drunken night when we’d first met. Still, he’s so close and he smells so good. My pulse stumbles a beat.
“We can trade,” I groggily state, flipping back the sheet and blanket covering me.
The ones awash in Ford’s leather and fresh grass scent, which overwhelmed my senses as I drifted off to sleep, imagining Ford was holding me.
The strange comfort—his bed, his sheets, his scent—had me slipping into unconscious bliss faster than I ever thought I could knowing Evan was near.
I stand but Ford catches my hip.
“Or you could stay?”
Blurry eyed, I blink at him. “Why, Ford Sylver, are you asking me to sleep with you?”
He shrugs, tightening his hold on the pillows tucked underneath his other arm. “Wouldn’t be the first time we slept together.”
An obnoxious honk escapes my nose and I cover my mouth, as the sharp sound in the quiet condo could potentially wake the girls.
“Did you just snort?” He bites his lip, fighting a laugh.
“I was quacking.”
Ford lets loose a quiet chuckle, while shaking his head. “Get in bed, Cadence.”
He has no idea the effect that tone, those words, and the touch of his hand has on me. I not only scramble back to the bed, I want so much more from him in it.
But I understand his shoulder hurts and an athletic man like him needs his sleep.
Once I’m settled beneath the sheets, Ford rounds to the other side of the bed, tugs back the top layer and builds a pillow wall between us.
After he folds down to the mattress, he lays on his side and drapes his arm over the support.
“I can’t lay on my back. The pain radiates along my neck. If I lay on my right side without support, my left arm dangles at an angle that makes it feel like it could tear off me.”
“Ouch,” I whisper, facing him.
“Sleeping on my injured shoulder is the only way I feel comfort but even then, a constant tingling down my arm happens, so back to sleeping on my right, hitching my arm over pillows like this works best.”
“You should probably get that checked out,” I chide.
“You sound like my coach. And the team trainer.” Ford is a quiet a second. “But I can’t be injured again. I had some issues with my arm last season. Physical therapy helped. I just need to start the exercises again.”
A few stretches don’t sound like they’ll fix his level of pain, but I didn’t know anything about being a professional athlete.
I worked out and stayed in shape for dancing on stage which is often compared to the level of athleticism a professional athlete exerts, but still, Ford’s ache sounds serious.
“Promise me you’ll get that checked, Ford.”
“On it, TQ.”
I softly smile, unable to see his face in the dark room.
“Disappointed I won’t be able to spoon you?” Ford teases.
However, my response is a bit more serious. “I’m more of a knife and fork girl.”
“Knife and fork?” Ford’s chuckle is subtle.
“You know, to signal a meal is finished, you slide the knife between the fork tines. That’s how I like to sleep. Face to face, bodies entangled.” I didn’t need to be cradled. I wanted to be cuddled. I wanted to inhale the scent of my partner and feel his heart pulse beneath my hands on his chest.
It’d been so long since I’ve slept in that position, I’ve forgotten how it feels.
“Hmm,” Ford replies, the vibration sleepy, but I’m suddenly wide awake, wondering how his mouth might feel making the same sound between my legs. Discreetly, I rub my thighs together, hoping to dispel the sudden pulsing at my core.
I stretch my hand across the mattress, hovering at the edge of the pillow wall between us, and whisper, “You’re going be okay, Ford.”
Ford’s fingertips brush the tips of mine as if he was searching for me. When our fingertips touch, Ford wedges his fingers between mine and tightens his hold. Like the tines on a fork, spearing fresh fruit.
And I drift back to sleep imagining I’m a pineapple, Ford’s favorite.