Chapter 33 #2
Trinity clears her throat. “On that note, I should get this little one home.”
She lifts Mirabelle and kisses her cheek. “Great game, Snakes.”
“That’s One-Eyed Snakes, darlin’,” Petty says.
I smack him in the stomach with the back of my hand. He chuckles harder.
“You should come out with us, Trin,” Hutch offers.
I stall, glancing from him to her. I should have asked her first.
With her eyes on me, she slowly shakes her head. “Nah. We’ve intruded enough on your night.”
I step closer to her. “It was no intrusion.” I liked them being here. Knowing they were watching me, rooting for me, even if it was only an old guys’ baseball team.
I cup the side of her neck and run my thumb up the front of her throat. Fuck, she’s so pretty.
She shrugs. “It’s time for bed for Mirabelle, anyway.”
Going to sound selfish, but when Mirabelle sleeps, it might be a favorite part of my day because I have Trinity all to myself. And I should be heading home to take advantage of that time.
“I’ll come home, too.”
“What?” Tate snaps somewhere behind us. “No. Stay out with the guys.”
All heads turn in his direction, surprise smacking me the hardest. This is new, and I’m almost suspicious of his intentions.
Trinity arches a brow in shock as well.
“Hey, sis.” He acknowledged his sister earlier, wiggling his fingers at his new niece. Tate isn’t a fan of little kids. He’s used to dealing with teenagers at the high school level.
“Hey,” she addresses him in return, narrowing her eyes at his sudden pleasantness toward me before she turns to face me. “Go. Have fun with your boys.”
She pats my chest, but before she pulls away her hand, I capture it and tug her toward me. Letting her feel how my pulse beats for her. Even with Mirabelle between us, I lay a kiss on Trin. One with tongue and heart and heat. Promises of what will come later.
Throats clear near us. Someone chuckles.
“That’s still my sister,” Tate grumbles.
I don’t fucking care. Let them watch me love my wife.
When Trinity pulls back, her eyes are stunned, twinkling in the low light. I should go home with her, but I also don’t want to turn down this olive branch from Tate.
Trinity slowly shakes her head, like she’s erasing some thought, and settles Mirabelle in the stroller.
“Let me help you.” I set my hand on the handle, but Trinity gently brushes it aside, wedging herself between me and the stroller. Her back hits my front, and I groan.
“I got it. You enjoy your night.” She glances at me over her shoulder and winks. The teasing look sets its hooks. “Behave.”
With my hand over my heart, I pledge I wouldn’t dare dream of stepping out of line.
“As long as I can misbehave with you later,” I tease, leaning in so only she can hear me.
She chuckles and shakes her head again, before walking away, giving that ass an extra wiggle as I watch her retreat.
When I turn back toward the guys, I feel ten feet tall, and they stare at me like my head is actually in the clouds. I’m grinning like a loon.
“Man, you’ve always had it so bad for her,” Hutch says, smiling almost as big as me.
“What love songs are written about,” Petty adds, grasping my shoulder and jostling me.
“Did you really call yourself Daddy?” Marshall questions, tilting his head in disbelief. Or maybe it’s disgust. He’s a sworn bachelor after having raised his sister.
“Daddy?” Tate chokes. “Fuck no.” Still, he stares at me, reality slowly registering. If I’m married to his sister, and she adopts Mirabelle, then I could be Mirabelle’s dad.
“Aw, fuck.” Tate whistles.
I’ll gladly take on any role Trinity allows me, but I correct all of them. “Darty. I said Darty.”
“Still sounds like Farty.” Petty laughs.
“It almost sounds like Daddy, though,” Marshall adds, watching me.
It sure does.
“First round is on Daddy,” Petty says, still holding onto my shoulder.
Yeah, Daddy’s got the first round.
He won the game, and his girls saw it.
As we collect our gear, I end up near Tate. “Hey, man, thanks for the invitation to join you guys for beers.”
Tate lifts his head, his tone tight. “You always join us for beers.”
“Yeah, but the invitation came from you.”
He hitches his bat bag over his shoulder. “Look, don’t make it weird. You’re part of the team. The team goes out for beers afterward.”
I have more to say, but I bite back the words. Instead, I change topics as we start walking away from the bench. “You went a little hard on the ump tonight.”
Tate got into it with Prudence a second time. Marshall intercepted Tate that round. I was kind of in awe at how she stood her ground with him. The way he came in a little too hot the second time. He’d never harm a woman, but he can be a hothead. I’ve seen him break hearts.
“She doesn’t know baseball. She’s into band,” he scoffs.
“Got something against band kids,” Petty adds from in front of us.
“Of course not, it’s just—”
“It’s just what?” Petty stops short, lowering the bat he had lazily lifted against his shoulder, like he’s ready to defend the honor of musicians at any level.
“Nothing,” Tate counters, continuing to walk toward the parking lot.
“Didn’t look like nothing to me,” Petty comments, situating the bat at his shoulder again.
“Just drop it,” Tate grumbles over his shoulder, walking a little faster.
Petty glances at me, but I shrug, not having a clue what’s going on. He wiggles his brows, mischievousness lighting his eyes.
“Into band, huh? Think I’ll ask her out then.”
Tate drops his bag and rounds on Petty. “The fuck you will.”
“The fuck does it matter to you?” Petty stands toe to toe with Tate.
“She’s just . . . Pete’s little sister.” Tate’s nostrils flare.
“So?” Petty doesn’t back down, smiling wider, teasing Tate, pushing him to the brink.
“Oh, right. I forgot.” Tate scoffs. “You’re into younger sisters.” He sneers in my direction next. “It must be a trait of those who leave.”
What the fuck?
Petty and I stare at Tate as he quickly turns, aggressively hoists his bat bag from the ground, and stalks toward his truck.
I glance back at Petty, wondering what the hell Tate meant about sisters and leaving, but also realizing that the olive branch I thought Tate offered me was still fragile.
And suddenly snapped in half.