Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hayes
The Uber drops us off at the park. Easton and Decker insisted on coming with me, saying that they’re like family too. Whatever.
“So, are we just not gonna talk about how you had your tongue down her throat the other day?” Easton asks for the millionth time.
Mental note. Easton and secrets don’t mix.
We follow the signs to the baseball fields, passing a shit-ton of soccer fields. “No, we’re not.”
“Didn’t look very fake to me,” Easton says.
“And you’re going to keep your mouth shut about it. It’s not happening again.”
He puts up both hands. “Shit, sorry. You two looked hot though. I mean, Deck, her leg was over his hip, and our boy here was grinding into her, his tongue so far down her throat I’m not sure she could breathe.”
“I don’t need or want the play-by-play,” Decker says, shaking his head. “Does Callie know?”
Easton blows out a breath. “Man, you need to worry about the rules a little less. Live a little.”
“No, she doesn’t know, and she won’t because it’s not happening again. Now let’s just find Lincoln’s team. I wanted to be here earlier, but you jackasses tagged along.” I shut down the conversation about my make-out session with Leighton, eager to see her in action.
She was so worried the other night. I didn’t want to overstep, but she asked for some help, so I showed her some things she could have the kids work on. Having her watching from the patio chair and me in the yard with Lincoln felt really nice, like we were a family.
“I give up. Where the fuck are the fields?” Easton throws his hands in the air. He’s a little pissy after going oh for three today at the plate.
“That sign says the baseball fields are this way. Let’s go.” I point at the sign, and we head in that direction.
We reach a hill, and when we crest the top, all three of us stop.
“Holy shit, there’s a million of them,” Decker says.
He’s right. Little yellow bodies, little red bodies, little green bodies all running around in organized chaos.
“Lincoln’s team has maroon jerseys,” I say, scanning the area.
“There.” Easton points.
“I think that’s red.” I pull off my ball cap and run my hand through my hair before fitting it back on my head.
“No, there.” Decker points.
“Are you color blind? That’s brown.” Easton crosses his arms.
I finally spot them mixed together with the orange team. Why are they playing a game when every other team is practicing in the outfields?
“There they are.” I point in their general direction. I lead the way and the guys follow.
“Some of these kids are really good,” Decker says.
“Hopefully, since she has their team in a game, she got some more advanced kids. It would make it easier for her,” I say.
As we approach the outfield, I overhear a couple of the dads talking.
“I don’t get it. Why doesn’t she just let Mike coach? They’re going to fall back this year now.”
Easton’s eyebrows raise, and Decker mouths, “What the fuck?”
I decide to slow my steps and lean against the fence line. “New coach, huh?” I ask, lowering my baseball hat.
Easton and Decker do the same, standing on either side of me.
None of the dads take their eyes off the field, so I’m pretty sure I don’t need the ball cap.
“Yeah, and she’s clearly never coached before. She’s got my kid in right field. He’s a third baseman.” The man shakes his head in disgust.
“And mine plays second, but she’s got him in as catcher. He hates playing catcher.”
“That’s a tough position,” Decker chimes in.
“Not as a professional, but at this age, yeah. Kids can’t throw strikes. Jack is going to be exhausted tonight. I’ll have to ice his legs.”
Easton laughs but masks it with a cough.
“Who’s your kid?” one of the dads asks.
I scan the field. “Second base.”
Right then, a kid hits the ball, and it goes right to Lincoln. He fields it and throws it to the first baseman, who misses the catch, so the runner is safe. I’m super proud of Lincoln, and I’m going to tell him it was a great play.
“That’s all me,” Easton brags.
“At least she got your kid’s position right,” the dad says. “Maybe we should vote her out or something?”
Easton puts his hand on my back. “I want a closer look, come on.”
It takes every ounce of my willpower to walk away from these dipshits who think their kids are preparing for the major leagues at nine years old.
As we walk along the fence line, the inning ends, and the guy at first goes over to Leighton. He almost looks as though he’s whispering, his arm around her back, resting on the top of the fence behind her.
“Oh shit, things are about to go down,” Easton says.
My jaw clenches, but Decker knocks his shoulder to mine and shakes his head. He’d probably die if I made a scene at rec baseball.
Lincoln is up to bat, and I stand back from the other parents, so he doesn’t see us. I don’t want him any more nervous than he probably already is.
“What is he doing?” Easton asks.
“Did you tell him how to position his bat?” Decker turns his head to look at me.
“He’s nine. We’ve only ever worked on fielding and catching.” Even I bite my cheek.
Lincoln swings and misses. He’s pulling his head out, and his upright stance isn’t doing him any favors.
“We have to get our boy to the cages,” Easton says, crossing his arms.
“We’ll start with the tee,” Decker adds.
“And then soft toss,” I say.
Poor Lincoln strikes out with only three pitches, and some guy in a Perfect Game T-shirt says the game is over.
All the boys line up, and Leighton does too. The jackass talking to her earlier walks behind her, and if I see his eyes stray to her ass even once, I’m going to be over the fence.
We finally walk the rest of the way over, and Monroe spots us immediately.
“You came!” She jumps up from the blanket where she’s playing with another girl her age. A paperclip necklace swings around her neck as she runs over to us.
Lily stands and folds up her camping chair, not offering us a smile.
I squat and wait for Monroe to run into my arms, but she attaches herself to Decker’s legs instead, squeezing hard and closing her eyes.
“Damn, you’ve definitely been replaced.” Easton laughs and walks over to the dugout. He nods to the moms gawking at him as he passes by.
“Will you take me to the park, Decker?” Monroe asks, still wrapped around his legs.
“Sure, but I’m gonna need that necklace. It’s not safe to climb with that on.”
She takes it off right away. “It’s Paperclip Day.”
“Cool, another checkmark.” They high-five each other and take off.
Dickwad is talking Leighton’s ear off while she packs up the bag.
He’s head to toe in Prep Baseball Report gear, and I shake my head.
I detour through the dugout, the boys staring at me in awe, even though I don’t think they exactly know who I am.
I don’t have to explain that we play for the Colts, Easton’s doing enough of it for the three of us.
Once I’m on the field, Leighton catches sight of me, and the smile she gives me… shit, it’s one most men would dream about. It has to mean something. I understand her not being ready with everything she has going on, but no one smiles at someone like that if they don’t want more.
“Hey, babe.” I come alongside her, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her into me.
“Hey.” She steadies herself with a hand on my chest.
“This must be the boyfriend.” Dickhead holds his hand in front of me. He’s so arrogant that he’s yet to look me in the eye.
“You bragging about me, babe?” I kiss her cheek.
“I just said you played some baseball too.” She smiles wide, and I can assume from her tone and her comment how the conversation between the two of them went. “How was the game?”
“We won, and your man went two for three.”
Dickwad’s eyes snap up, and as recognition hits, his jaw falls open. “Your boyfriend is Hayes Carlisle?”
“Oh.” Leighton’s voice is syrupy sweet and drips with sarcasm. “Did I not mention that?”
He clears his throat. “I think you forgot that part.”
“Honey, this is Mike, but he likes to be referred to as Butter. You know, smooth as butter.”
I’m about ready to bust out laughing from her tone of voice.
“Mike is good,” he says, shifting in place.
I hold out my hand. “Pleasure.” We shake. “How did my girl do?”
“Great. She did great.”
“I told you you had nothing to worry about. That some helpful dad would volunteer to help. Thanks, Butter—”
“You can call me Mike…”
I ignore his response. “Excuse us, we need to get home and feed the kids.” I reach for the bag of equipment. “Let me get that.” I keep my arm around her waist and lead us away. “See you, Mike.”
“Yeah, bye.” His voice is distant.
I tap Leighton’s ass with the hopes he’s looking to make it very clear that she’s mine.
“What are you doing?” Leighton says under her breath.
“Just playing the part, babe.” I kiss her cheek. I’ll take any excuse I can get to be affectionate.
“All right then. When I come to a baseball game, I’ll grab you by the dick.”
I laugh. “Do you think you’d hear any complaints from me?”
She leans her head on my chest, and I tuck her in a little tighter. I’ll fake it until she believes there’s nothing fake about what’s happening between us.