36. CADE
CHAPTER 36
CADE
I ’m maybe two miles away from home when a call connects to my sound system. Rolling to a stop at a red light, I check the screen and my body reacts even before my mind can process. It’s embarrassing, really, and I even clear my throat trying to act all macho when there’s actually no one here to witness this. But my heart rate skyrockets, my skin heats up to the point where my clothes feel uncomfortable, and a goofy grin takes over my face.
Pressing the call button, I say, “Hey, darlin’. Miss me already?”
Please say yes, because I will turn right around .
“Pfff.” As she recovers, the light turns green and I keep driving. “It’s just that I’m still worried about what you said earlier.”
“What did I say?” My brain was in knots while we were alone in my truck, stuck in the real life version of so close yet so far.
“That you’re dreading going home.”
I cringe hard, wishing to turn smaller and smaller until I disappear. “Uh, yeah. Maybe I exaggerated.”
“I don’t think you did,” she says softly, skewering me with her concern. I have to put a paw against my mouth to keep back the wounded animal sound that wants to come out. “So anyway,” she continues, louder, “I’m going to keep you company on the phone until you make it home safe.”
“How chivalrous of you,” I joke even though I’m stunned by her offer.
“Lady in shining armor and all that, right?”
Shit, she has no idea what she’s doing to me.
I’ve never had anyone genuinely worry about me so much, let alone a woman I’m so damn attracted to. Most people have wanted something from me—for me to be a quiet and good boy, or for me to play well, or my money, or just a good time—but here’s Hope, willing to wrestle stalkers from me.
I sigh. “I feel like I’m not fulfilling my role as a guy too well.”
“If I had a stalker who broke into my workplace to grope me you’d probably get worried too.”
“Worried?” The question comes out with a hell of an emphasis. “You’re wrong, Hope. I wouldn’t be worried.”
“No?” She sounds almost disappointed.
“I’d be freaking feral. And I wouldn’t stop until I found who was harassing you to take care of them.”
She gives a light laugh. “Atta boy. But anyway, it shouldn’t surprise you that I’m the same. I’m a tomboy after all.”
“Listen, I have no issue with this role allocation.” And who cares about the tomboy label? I’m convinced that everyone who assigned it to her was just intimidated by the fact that she’s strong physically and mentally, and that it’s just part of what makes her so wildly beautiful that it’s intimidating.
My mind plucks the memory of the first time I saw her. We were all lined up around the clubhouse while she was introduced by Steve, Beau, and Charlie Cox, the owner. She stood firm, almost soldier like, feet apart and holding her hands behind her. And she glared at each of us in turn while Beau warned us about what would happen if any of them acted disrespectful to the team’s first female trainer. But there was no need, each stare down she did established a very clear or else , and fortunately the vast majority of our lineup was made of smart guys. No one would dare mess with a woman with the energy of a wild animal.
It’s why lightly teasing her is so fun. Nothing like someone who can dish it back to keep things entertaining.
“Good,” she says with finality. “Anyway, how far are you?”
“Pulling into my street now, two blocks from my house.”
“Good thing you live in a bunker, huh?” She pauses. “Actually, how come you built your house that way? Have you been stalked before?”
“Technically no,” I mumble, uncomfortable not by her questions but by the memories. “It’s just—I was always under scrutiny growing up, by adults waiting for me to screw up or by other judgy kids. And I just didn’t want to live like that anymore.”
“How does that work with baseball now, though?”
“It’s different. That attention I genuinely enjoy. It’s how I get to show people I’m worth a damn.”
“Cade… you’re worth a damn even if you weren’t a professional pitcher.”
My voice is kinda choked up as I speak. “Careful, darlin’. You’re gonna make me swoon here.” Too late, though, pretty sure I’m in the Hope Garcia fan club forever.
She splutters. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—Ahem.”
I bite my lip and release it to grin. It’s even better if it came naturally out of her, and not in a flirty way. She cares about me and likes what she sees, and I’m almost high from this feeling, from the hope I have that when I ask her out, she might really say yes.
Speaking of my bunker of a house, there are a few cars parked by my sidewalk and one is almost blocking my garage entry, forcing me to slow down to measure well. But then I catch some movement from inside that car from the corner of my eye. Someone’s there, and they just lowered themselves so I wouldn’t see them.
Instinct kicks in. Instead of pulling in, I reverse and click the button to shut down my garage door right just as it was starting to rise.
“Uhh, Hope?”
“Yes?” She squeaks out, probably still embarrassed.
“I think the stalker’s outside my house.”
Her sharp inhale echoes in the quiet of my car. “Crap.”
“I’m driving away,” I say in a clipped tone. “No way I’m going in.”
“Good call. Are you being followed?”
I check the rearview mirror and sag in relief. There are no cars behind me, but I’m still not far away enough that it’s impossible to catch up.
“Not right now.”
“Keep driving and don’t disconnect the call, but give me a second.” Some rustling is followed by tapping sounds. While she does whatever she needs, I take the winding way out of my neighborhood, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror for any weird signs. I almost forget that the call is still connected until Hope talks once more. “All right, I cleared it with my dad. He’s good with you staying the night at his place.”
“Huh?”
“I mean it’s not like you can circle the whole night waiting for the stalker to leave, right? And the other option would be to call the police.”
“No thanks to both of those.”
“I figured. Do you remember how to get to Dad’s place?”
“I think so.”
A different kind of noise comes from her end of the call, and it takes me a second to realize it’s the engine of her car. “What are you doing?” I ask, confused.
“I’m going to meet you there because Dad is out with his pickleball buddies. Man can’t play because he’s injured but he sure can go out for drinks with them, huh?” I can picture her shaking her head right now.
I tense at the first sign of a car behind me, until it passes me and turns left and I see that it was a SUV, and not the sedan that was parked outside my house.
Hope’s voice keeps my shit together as I drive down to the neighborhood between Audubon Park and the less affluent areas of Baldwin Park where her dad lives. I get there first and park by the curb of her childhood home, a bungalow with blue shiplap and white trim, an oak tree sprouting from the backyard and palms lining the front.
My eyes are trained on the rearview mirror until another car drives into the street, but it has distinct round headlights and I know it’s Hope. Turning off my engine, I get out of my truck to wait for her. She stops right behind me, barely leaving enough clearance for her dad to pull into his driveway later.
Hope jumps out of her car, leaving the door open as she marches up to me. She stops right in front of me, grabbing my arms and inspecting me. “Are you okay?”
My lips twitch. “I’m fine.”
Then she rises to her tippy toes and grabs my face until my lips pucker out. “How about in here?”
“Eh. It’ll be fine.” Especially now that she’s here. I grab her wrists and she allows me to remove her hands. “Did you see anything weird behind you?”
“No. You?” I shake my head and Hope presses her lips tight. “Cade, you do know this means you won’t be able to leave it alone and hope it goes away by itself, right?”
“I know. I’ll figure it out,” I whisper.
“Sooner rather than later, okay?” She worries her lip and I feel it in every fiber of my being.
Of course, that’s when I notice I still have her wrists in my hands and that she hasn’t pulled away. Would it spook her if I slide my hands down to hers, if I sneak my fingers between hers?
Probably. Especially considering how stiff she was all through dinner earlier. So I let her go for now.
I clear my throat. “Right. Yes.”
She jerks a nod. “Then, follow me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her ponytail swishes as she strides to close her car. I wait just down the steps while she unlocks the front door of her dad’s house and flips on the lights. It’s really strange because nothing about tonight has gone the way I thought it would—dinner wasn’t just the two of us, I certainly wasn’t expecting the stalker to come back, and yet here we are. Alone anyway.
She shuts the front door behind me and I have to consciously remind myself to freaking behave.
My eyes travel around the living room, with the comfy brown furniture, potted plants, and picture frames hanging on every wall depicting the family history. Some of them are crooked and rather than looking shabby, it gives me the feeling that those are the favorite pics, the ones her dad or maybe Hope herself love on with their hands.
“So, this is it.” Her hands smack against her thighs. “It’s not a McMansion but this is where I grew up with my dad and an annoying older brother.”
I smile. “It’s a great home.”
“Wait till you hear the creaky pipes,” she says, but her eyes are bright as she guides me to the kitchen. “Kitchen should be pretty well stocked, but don’t let me catch your hands in the Cheetos bag.”
“Stay away from the Cheetos, gotcha. Is beer okay?”
She slides an openly unfriendly look at me before manhandling me toward the hallway. “Here’s the bathroom. You’ll have to share with Dad but I suppose you’re used to worse.”
“Did you have to share growing up?”
“Oh yes.” Her voice darkens. “Don’t reming me, it was a tough and very stinky time.”
That makes me chuckle. No wonder she doesn’t give a shit about what guys do or don’t do in the clubhouse. She grew up knowing the absolutely foul smells that come out of men. Almost makes me want to check my armpits to confirm I washed them well.
Opening another door, she declares, “And here’s my bedroom. It’s better that you stay here and not my brother’s because I visit more often, so I know the sheets are clean.”
My eyebrows rise. “Wow, so I’ll have the privilege of seeing where you grew up?”
“There are no dolls inside, if that’s what you’re expecting.”
She lets me through and flips on a switch that turns on the light and the overhead fan. The walls are a pastel blue, furniture also brown in contrast to the yellow bedding. But just like in the living room, her walls are littered with snapshots of her life and also posters of… muscle groups, of course.
“Were you a muscle nerd since childhood?”
“Yes.” Her expression is grumpy, cheeks pinking. “It didn’t exactly make me too popular in school.”
“Nerd.”
“Jock,” she spits right back out.
“Fair.” I tuck my hands in my pockets and glance around at the pictures, spotting a few that no doubt are from elementary. I can’t help but smiling at one where she’s in pigtails and a toothy grin with a gap. But then I keep perusing until I land on one tacked on the wall above her desk.
Bypassing her, I march to it and remove it from the wall, setting the tack down to inspect it. “So this is the douchebag?”
“What?”
“Your ex.” I flip the pic to her, knowing it shows her kissing some blond guy’s cheek while he smiles for the camera.
A million emotions flash through her face. Surprise. Disgust. Embarrassment. Some other more unpleasant ones too.
She makes a grab for it. “Give me that.”
“No, I want to inspect it.”
“Cade.” She glares as I lift the picture well above my head where she has no chance of reaching it. “I’m not above getting a step ladder.”
I shrug. “I’d just move out of reach again.” Looking up, I try to inspect the guy’s face as if that could tell me what she even saw in him. But all I glean is that he’s some random surfer-dude looking type and she’s way too stunning beside him, her hair about her bare shoulder, except for what looks like a strappy swimsuit. Makes me grind my molars. “What did you even see in this guy? He doesn’t seem any special.”
Huffing, she takes a step away that allows me to lower the picture. She folds her arms and glares at it. “I don’t know. I guess it was the fact that he was the only guy eager to kiss me.”
“Wait, what?”
Her dark eyes lift to mine. “What do you mean what?”
“Only—” I shake my head. “So you’ve only ever kissed this asshole here?”
Like magic, red rises up her throat and to her forehead, and she avoids my eyes.
“As you’re well aware, I haven’t had a line of guys fighting to make out with me.” She rolls her eyes but by the way her arms tighten around her, I know this really hurts her.
Slowly, I release air between my lips and toss the damn picture to the desk. Facing her again, I say, “Then let’s change that.”
“Change what?” Her eyebrows tighten.
This is it, the go big or go home moment. The moment we see if this turns into a home run or an out for me.
“Let me show you that all of that is bullshit.” I make a point of looking at her lips. What happens subconsciously is that it makes me run my tongue across mine. Lifting my eyes to hers again, I say, “Let me kiss you, Hope.”