Chapter 2 #2
“It’s Brooks. Keep an eye on these two,” I say, pointing toward my now-lazy boys as they hang off the edge of the sofa with their heads upside down. My dad points to his eyes, then to them, making a fierce face as if he’s the cop and they’re the bad guys. They giggle. I giggle, too.
“If he’s hungry, invite him in,” my mom says from the kitchen.
She’s making a roast, and the house smells of beef stock and cooked carrots.
My mouth is watering. It’s nice to have another cook in the house, honestly.
Brandon always preferred to order in, and when my sister Renleigh and Dad were living here alone, they counted on me dropping in to cook a few times a week.
Turns out, though, I like being fed without slaving over a stove.
“I’m sure he’s got things to do,” I say, waving her idea off. I don’t need this to turn into anything beyond a business relationship.
I know how my dad is with ballplayers. He was one. If we get Brooks in this house, suddenly he’ll be dropping by for drinks and making himself comfortable. And then I’m going to start getting ideas about him. It’s better to keep the few fantasies I’ve had about the man tucked deep in my head.
“Hey, sorry I’m a little late,” he says as I sweep the door open wide.
And of course he’s wearing a tight, sleeveless shirt and shorts that sit on those handlebar muscles that frame his sides.
I don’t even know what those fuckers are called, but at a quick glance, I can’t help but figure they’re made for gripping.
I shake my head and right my gaze, hopefully before he catches me gawking.
“You’re fine. My mom was just making dinner. You’re invited, but that’s because she’s nosy, so . . .” I wave my hand, urging him to say no while my mom hollers from behind me.
“I made plenty, Brooks. You’re welcome to stay.” I glance over my shoulder and shoot her a glare.
“I’m pretty zonked, actually. How was Holly today? She’s been good for the sisters down at—”
“You’ve been taking her to the sisters at Countryside, huh?” I sway Holly in my arms as I hand her over to Brooks. He picks up my movement naturally and continues to rock her. She doesn’t stir a peep. He’s better at this than he thinks.
“Out of desperation, really. They don’t get a lot of babies at the preschool, so they were pretty excited to have her. But their hours don’t exactly jive with a baseball schedule.” His gaze flickers up to me, but only briefly before dropping back to his daughter’s angelic face.
“I bet not. If you run into one of them, I maybe wouldn’t mention I’m her nanny now. They’ll triple bless her and warn you to run,” I say through a chuckle.
“Oh, I doubt that,” Brooks says, his eyes lifting and his gaze sticking to mine a little longer this time. His crooked smile strikes a tender nerve in my chest, and my cheeks heat.
“She’s not kidding,” my dad says, ruining my moment. I was rather enjoying being admired, even if it’s meaningless and brief. It’s something I shouldn’t indulge in. Brooks glances over my shoulder, toward my dad, so I brace myself for the truth.
I am a bad girl. And not in the sexy way I’d prefer all single men to assume moving forward. Bad, as in, name on the chalk board, as well as a police report or two.
“They kicked her out . . . of Sunday school,” he whispers loudly. It’s not even really a whisper when he does that. His damn speech is getting better, so I can’t hope Brooks doesn’t hear him clearly. He’s clear as a goddamn bell.
“What does a kid have to do to get kicked out of that?” The twitch in Brooks’s lip as his gaze flits to me strikes that nerve again, and this time the heat in my cheeks spills down my back.
“I’m not going to stand here for this,” I say, walking away from the doorway and heading to the kitchen table where I have Holly’s bag of extra diapers and formula packed and ready to go.
“For starters, she blew her nose . . . on Sister Mary’s skirt,” my dad says.
“That’s not so bad,” Brooks says, giving me a sideways look.
I may as well be the one to break it to him.
“I was twelve,” I clarify.
His mouth hangs open for a beat before he begins to quake with silent laughter.
I shake my head and roll my eyes as I scoop up Holly’s carrier and bring it to the door, along with her bag.
“She picked on me. And I don’t care what these two tell you, she had it out for me and maybe deserved it a little.”
She totally didn’t.
Nobody deserves the hell I gave that woman.
I was young, and my parents were sort of splitting up, so I started acting out.
Plus, adolescence was a bitch. I got curves early, and boys are dicks.
I got sent to the timeout corner for putting gum in her hair.
I did that because she took my soda away from me, which I snuck into the youth room after lunch, and promptly spilled on the new carpet.
“And then this devil-child cut Sister Mary’s shoelaces off with her craft sisters. Then cut a hole in the back of her skirt, right about . . . here,” my mom says, rounding the corner as she draws a line along her own buttocks.
I sigh loudly.
“What can I say? I failed at Jesusing.”
“Ha! That’s an understatement,” my dad coughs out.
I roll my eyes until my gaze meets Brooks again, and his amused smirk is both irritating and alluring. I have to get him out of here.
“I’ll come to your place tomorrow. Lest these two get me fired by revealing all my secrets.” His hand wraps around half of mine as he takes the diaper bag from me, and we both utter an awkward, “Sorry.”
“I don’t know. I kind of like hearing your secrets,” he says.
My eyes dart to his just in time to catch them flicker. I don’t think he meant to say that out loud. And if he did, he probably shouldn’t. I don’t even know his story, at least not completely. Neither of us should be flirting.
I clear my throat and take a half step back while he kneels to tuck Holly into the carrier.
“So, seven tomorrow? You report at eight, am I right?” You don’t grow up in Sweetwater without having the Mavericks practice schedule memorized.
“Yeah, seven is good,” he says as he stands, lifting the carrier to his side.
When our gazes meet again, I struggle to maintain eye contact, and I know my flustered behavior is obvious to everyone in this room except the people under four.
Thankfully, I manage to keep my mouth shut and don’t drag this exchange out any longer, simply smiling tightly and nodding as Brooks heads out the door.
I close it behind him, but not before taking in the full view of his broad shoulders and the flex of his bare shoulder blades as he jogs down the porch steps and brick path.
Thankfully, my dad is invested in the seventh inning of the Rangers game, so I’m spared the teasing I normally expect from him. But Mom is another story.
“Just remember, you’re a single woman now. That?” She nods toward the closed door. “You’re allowed.”
I lift my brows, as if to brush her off, but her words sink in. She has a point. But just because I’m allowed doesn’t mean I should.