Chapter 17
Jasper
Awave of energy hit me as I headed to Evie’s from the station, eager to see her and my boy. My siblings, my cousin, and even the guys at the station, gave me a lot of shit about this arrangement, but I was happy, and the last thing I wanted was less time with my son.
Vincent might be asleep, but that just meant I had an excuse to hang with Evie.
It was hard not to think about her, especially during long shifts. Her body haunted me. Memories of our night together, while hazy from the maple whiskey shots, were burned into my brain. Her curves, her confidence, her passion.
She’d ruined me.
I couldn’t even look at other women. I had no desire to text any of my hookups or even flirt with tourists at the Drip Line. The thought of bringing her cold brew and seeing that sleepy smile got me up in the morning.
I wanted to talk to her, make her laugh and smile.
And more. There was no denying that. My hands ached to touch her. To tug on that thick hair until her neck was exposed. I wanted to run my teeth down her earlobe and feel her shiver in my arms.
For now, though, I’d settle for any time she was willing to give me.
I knocked softly, knowing Vincent should be asleep, and she answered quickly, her eyes tired but her lips tipped up in a small smile.
“I brought you a late birthday present,” I said. “Heads up.” Gently, I tossed it to her.
She caught it easily, her eyes widening. “You got this for me?”
“Yeah. I noticed you didn’t have a ball, and I know how much you like pink. You’ve got to teach Vincent to play someday. Show him your moves. He’s damn lucky to have such a badass mama.”
She looked down at her feet. “I have no moves anymore.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “Grab your shoes.”
She scrutinized me for a long moment, then flicked on the exterior lights. A few minutes later, she stepped out, wearing sneakers and a hoodie, and tossed the ball to me.
I dribbled up the driveway and shot. The ball bounced off the rim before falling through the net.
Lunging, I snagged it before it could bounce away. “Come on. Your turn.” I stepped in front of her and eased the baby monitor from around her neck, where it hung on a string, breathing in the scent of her.
“See.” I pointed at the screen, where Vincent was asleep in his crib, binkie in place.
The war raging in her head, the push and pull, was impossible to ignore. Every time we were alone, this happened. Like she was afraid to let her guard down around me. Like she didn’t want to risk having fun with me.
“Come on. A little shoot around,” I said, dribbling between my legs. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I could get pregnant again,” she deadpanned.
I laughed, my chest loosening.
But hell if the idea of impregnating her again, on purpose, didn’t make my blood heat. That was a reaction I’d have to unpack later.
With a jut of my chin, I passed her the ball. She shot from the grass, making the move look easy.
“Damn.”
She cocked a brow. “I told you I was good.”
“Noted.”
We passed and dribbled, each taking shots. And yeah, she was good. I was a lot taller, but she shot so well it didn’t matter. Out here like this, she was different. More confident and open.
So I took a chance.
“How are you feeling?” I shot and missed, then had to chase the ball onto the front lawn.
She checked the monitor, then set it on the hood of my car. “I’m okay. It’s weird. I’m excited to go back to work but terrified of leaving Vincent.”
She shifted on her feet, as if debating whether to keep talking.
I gave her a minute. I’d learned with my sisters that sometimes the best thing I could do was be quiet.
“I’ve only been a mom for three months, but it already feels like my entire being has shifted.” She sighed. “It’s hard to remember my life before Vincent. But at the same time, I miss that version of myself. You know?”
The tightness returned to my chest. “I feel the same way.”
“You do?”
“Not the mom stuff, obviously, but it’s hard to remember my life before Vincent.” I raked a hand through my hair. “That version of me is fading away. I don’t want the same things anymore. I don’t think I even like the same things.”
She tipped her head and studied me. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
Wincing, I shrugged. “Sorry.”
She waved off the apology. “No, I’m impressed.
I thought it was just me. I feel like I exist on a totally different plane of reality.
And honestly, part of me is excited to go back to the office.
I miss it. And they’ve been so flexible and kind, giving me a part-time schedule and plenty of work-from-home hours. ”
“But?”
“But can I still do my job?” she asked, her brows knitted. “Will I be good at it? Does professional Evie still exist?”
I took a step closer, wanting to touch her, to comfort her.
But I didn’t know the rules here. Did any even exist? Or was I just stumbling along without a playbook?
Taking a chance, I reached out and brushed her shoulder.
“You’re going to be great. I saw you in that virtual meeting the other day.
I was blown away by how articulate you were.
You were locked in, even while rocking Vincent with your foot.
If you can multitask like that, I doubt there’s much you can’t do. ”
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. A tell, I’d recently learned, when I surprised her. Before I could process my small victory, she stole the ball from my hands and dribbled toward the net.
“One on one,” she declared, doing a perfect layup. “Clear it at the big crack over there.”
With a smile, she passed me the ball. She enjoyed this. Competition.
That was one thing we had in common.
“First to ten,” she said.
I stood in the spot she’d pointed out, grinning. “I’m not going to hold back.”
“I’d hate you if you did.” She spread her arms wide to defend me, her eyes fiery.
Boundaries established, I inbounded. Right away, she crossed me, throwing an arm out and hitting me in the chest.
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Aggressive.”
“It’s my house,” she said, effortlessly going for another layup.
“So you play prison rules?” I asked. Damn, it felt good to spar with her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She winked, then shot a three from the edge of the driveway, sinking it easily.
From there, she only continued to dominate. I’d had no idea how distracting she’d be while playing.
When she shoved her ass into me while dribbling around me.
When her tits brushed my arm while she defended me.
What I thought would be a friendly way to blow off steam was winding me up in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
“How’d you learn to shoot like that?” I asked when I got control of the ball again.
“My dad,” she said, her face flushed from exertion. “He’s an asshole, but I was the tallest of his three daughters, so we spent every weekend in the driveway. He really wanted a son.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said, trying to fake her out.
Naturally, she could read me. With far too much ease, she stole the ball and cleared it to the crack.
Shit, I was going to embarrass myself.
“He’d disagree,” she said. “My parents have been divorced a long time, and they’re both remarried. They do not, on principle, agree on anything, except that I’m a disappointment.”
I came to an abrupt halt, frowning at her, remembering all the painful stories she’d shared the other night. These people were monsters, and I’d love nothing more than to tell them that.
“You could never be a disappointment. I know parental scars run deep, but I want you to hear me right now.”
She froze and we stared at each other for a moment.
“You are magnificent,” I said. “Beautiful and brilliant and so fucking capable. Maybe you’ve made some mistakes along the way, just like the rest of us, but you are so far from a disappointment.”
She blinked at me, the outdoor lights casting part of her face in shadow. “I… Um.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” I said firmly.
I resumed dribbling, and she came at me hard.
“It took a long time—plus a lot of therapy and a move to rural Vermont—to convince myself that their opinions were bullshit, but yeah.” She gestured to her body.
“My mom has always been horrified by my size and my inability to find a suitable husband. And my dad? He took issue with my size too, plus, in his mind, I wasn’t smart enough or good enough at sports to deserve his attention.
I was nothing more than the ordinary middle child. ”
My brain struggled to process all the information she was sharing and figure out how to respond in a way that wouldn’t shut her down. Evie was usually a tightly closed book. But she was talking. To me. Again.
The other night had not been a fluke or hormones. We were building trust.
Fucking patience. It was so goddamn annoying but usually did the trick. I mentally gave my dad a high-five.
Finally, I held her gaze and said, “Nothing about you is ordinary.”
Then I went for a jump shot. The ball bounced off the rim several times before finally going through the net.
“Seven-two.” She snagged the ball. “And you don’t have to say that.”
My stomach twisted at the uncertainty in her tone. “But it’s the truth.”
A huff escaped her. “I don’t want your pity.”
I stole the ball from her hands and stood directly in front of her.
In the dim light of the driveway, her face glowed. She looked more beautiful than ever.
“I don’t pity you,” I gritted out. “I respect you. There’s a big fucking difference.”
She looked up at me, those dark eyes searching for a lie, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I stepped even closer, the move making her tilt her head back. She was tall, but she only came up to my chin.
Her lips parted slightly, as if she was surprised by how close we were.
We weren’t touching, but we were close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her body.
It was delicious, this feeling of being close to her, but not close enough.
I wasn’t sure there was a such thing as close enough.
“Jasper,” she said, her voice a whisper.
I ran my thumb along her jaw and tipped her chin up. “You are incredible,” I said, zeroing in on her mouth.
That mouth.
God, it haunted me.
I needed it more than I needed to breathe.
I had to taste her. Had to feel her lips on mine.
The world fell away as I angled in. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away as I pressed my mouth to hers in a gentle kiss.
The baby monitor crackled, and a heartbeat later, Vincent cried out.
We sprung apart, both darting for the video monitor on the hood of my car.
In a matter of seconds, Vincent was screaming bloody murder.
She clutched the device to her chest and peered up at me, still breathing hard, her face flushed. “I gotta go.”
Then she was gone, jogging toward the house without looking back.
Leaving me holding a pink basketball and wondering what the hell had just happened.