38. CADE
CHAPTER 38
CADE
I don’t know how I manage to sleep in Hope’s childhood bed. Not only is it way too small, half of my legs below the knee dangle out and at some point in the night, I almost roll over to the floor. But also, I keep catching glimpses in my sleep of what Hope and I could’ve ended up doing on her bed if her dad hadn’t come home. I wish I could say that I’m a gentleman and would’ve restrained myself even without her dad in the picture, but I don’t know. There’s a visceral need for her that I’ve never felt before. Things would’ve turned dangerous if she’d let me.
My cellphone alarm goes off at five something and my groaning echoes in the quiet. I was getting to the good part in the dream. Reality is so drastically worse because she’s not in my arms.
Sighing, I toss an arm over my face. Hope’s not the only one who will have issues acting normal at work. For one, Lucky and Kim will look at us once and their clever, sneaky little brains will immediately deduce what’s up. But just like them, there are other guys in the team and staff who may notice. Especially because it’ll be impossible to hide that she makes me salivate.
“Pull your shit together, Starr,” I whisper to myself and run my hands down my face. With a not so friendly slap to my cheeks, I finally force myself to get up and fix the bed.
We did explain to her dad—who told me to call him Humberto—that I was gonna have to leave criminally early, but I still don’t put on my shoes and trod on the floors as softly as I possibly can.
That’s until I open the bedroom door and the smell of coffee hits me in the nose, followed by the sound of pots and pans in the kitchen. I perk up even more, wondering if it’s Hope. My rational brain reminds me that she went back to her place, where she lives with Winters and Mena, and it’s way too early for her to have driven back here.
Obviously, the one making breakfast is her dad. “Buenos días,” he tosses over his shoulder before focusing on the pan once more. It smells like scrambled eggs, bacon, and something else that I can’t identify but makes my stomach roar. “I hope you like arepas.”
I give the word a try but I’ve never sounded more Texan than until this moment.
The older man laughs. “Don’t even try again, son. You’re giving me secondhand embarrassment.”
“Sorry.” I cringe before bending down to put on my shoes. “Well, thank you so much for your hospitality. I’ll get out of your hair now.”
“Nonsense, what kind of host would I be if I don’t feed you?” He points at the stool by the counter. “Sit.”
“Yes, sir.” I do as I’m told. A second later I realize I’m being a terrible guest. “Um, sorry. Can I help you with anything?”
“Yes, with not pronouncing the word arepa in my presence again.” He laughs all by himself, and I don’t mind that it’s at my expense. His English is pretty damn awesome, whereas I only speak the one language with a very heavy accent. As his amusement ebbs, he straightens and asks, “Wait, any dietary restrictions?”
“None.”
“Good, good.”
Grabbing a plate, he preps something on it with his back to me. Last he heaps eggs and bacon on it. And when I say heaps I mean it, the man limps a little before setting a mountain of food before me.
I gape.
“That—” he points at the white, flat bread-looking-but-not-quite thing, “is an arepa. It’s made of cornflour and I filled it with cheese.”
My stomach throws off a creaking sound straight out of a horror movie. “Wow, thank you. This looks amazing.”
“Tuck in.” Grunting, he turns away and limps back to the kitchen to fix himself a plate.
I pick up a fork and ask, “Is your ankle doing better, sir?”
He snorts. “It’s just doing. I can’t wait to get back to the game—pickleball, though. Nothing professional.”
“But it’s important to you, right? Your daughter mentions her dad’s pickleball games all the time.”
“Does she?” He’s done fixing his plate and walks back around, relying on the full cast around his leg. I wait for any sign that he needs help, figuring that helping unprompted would tick him off. He has the same stubborn set to his face as his daughter.
Once he’s safely sitting beside me is when I finally put a forkful of food in my mouth. I don’t know what he put on these eggs, but the taste is better than any I’ve had before. I watch him pick up the bread-look-alike in his hand and I do the same.
“So, what’s going on between you and my daughter?”
I choke.
Calmly, he slides a glass of orange juice toward me. Ruthless.
The juice unfortunately helps loosen my throat way too quick, and I’m forced to answer a question I don’t have clarity on. “I’m not sure,” I admit.
As he chews, he watches my face like he’s looking for something. “But it’s not nothing. My daughter wouldn’t bring any random guy to my home, no matter how many stalkers are behind him.”
Right, she did fill him in on the reason to get his permission in the first place.
“I can’t speak for her,” I start carefully, “but I really like her.”
“Like her?”
“ Like like her,” I confirm.
“And does she know that?”
I drink some more of the juice, hoping it cools my face down because I really shouldn’t be thinking about how I essentially ate her mouth under his roof.
“I haven’t had the chance to tell her yet.”
He jerks back in surprise. “Then what the hell are you waiting for? I mean, I’m sure you’re a really popular guy, but no other woman can compare to my Hope.”
“I know that.” I nod in full agreement. “And I’m working on it.”
“Well hurry, before a better guy snaps her up.” He takes a gigantic bite out of his arepa after voicing my new biggest fear. He then speaks with his mouth full, “And just so we’re clear, if you hurt her I’ll hurt you back.” Basically, kicking me while I’m already down.
But he’s not wrong at all. “Understood,” I say and grab a strip of bacon.
“Coffee?”
“Please let me get it.”
He nods and points with his mouth at the pot of coffee. After bringing two mugs for him and for me, we settle into a pleasant quiet as we finish our plates. I insist in loading the dishwasher and letting him rest, and he shares that even though he can’t play right now, he still goes to hang out with his retired friends while they play and then catch lunch together.
“Remember,” he says at the door once I’m leaving. “You better treat my little girl like a gentleman or I’ll use my machete to leave you permanently walking funny.”
I’d laugh if it wasn’t so graphic. “You own a machete?”
“Two. How do you think those plantain trees at the front stay nice and pretty?”
Well, I guess they weren’t palms like I thought.
“Roger that,” I mumble, resisting the urge to bodily protect my threatened parts.
Humberto offers his hand and I shake it. He’s as strong as any young buck in the pros. “This time it’s not a threat: good luck making my daughter happy.”
“Um, thank you, sir.”
With a final nod, he dismisses me and goes back in his house. I stand for a moment, staring dazed at the brown door, until I manage to drag myself to my truck.
Halfway to my house is when it clicks that he basically gave me permission to pursue his daughter in between the open threats and over the hearty breakfast. I sag in my seat, because I have no intention of hurting Hope at all. I don’t know how the hell I’ll manage to turn myself into boyfriend material, but I will—for her I will. With just the same frenzied zeal that took me all the way to the starter pitcher position of a professional baseball team.
The first rays of sunlight are hitting the sky by the time I roll into my street. The sedan is gone, along with most of the cars in the street. I pull into my garage and dial Lou as I get out of my car.
“What?” he snaps. “I was in the middle of sleep, you absolute?—”
I interrupt him. “The stalker was outside my house last night. I had to spend the night somewhere else.” I walk into the house through the garage door, checking the vast space in case the stalker found the way to walk through walls. Nothing but silence greets me, both in my house and also on the line. “Lou?”
“You gotta press charges,” he spits out.
“I know, it’s why I’m calling. I need your help to start the process.”
“Right on. And maybe you should consider hiring security personnel for a while.”
I scrunch up my face. “What if I stay at a hotel for a while instead?”
“Or that. Call me again if something happens.” He grumbles, “Even if it’s in the middle of the night.”
“Wow, I appreciate the thought.”
“Lay off the sarcasm, kid.” While I chuckle, he asks, “Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Sure—and hey?”
“What?” he snaps again.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t get sappy again, it’s too early.” With that he disconnects the call.
I pocket my phone and hurry to my room. If it hadn’t been for the stalker, I would’ve come home to replace the stuff in my suitcase and duffel bag, dirty clothes for clean. We have a road trip this morning and a flight right after that, so I need to pack now. It’s why I had to get up so early.
My head spins with everything that’s happened in the past twenty four hours, but as I turn into a tornado in my room around the luggage I have splayed open on the floor, I choose to focus on the best parts. All of them are about Hope and what this turning point means for us.
One thing is for sure, I’m not going back to being her dating coach or just another player in the roster.
The coast is still clear once I drive out of my house, but I wait to make sure the garage door is fully closed before taking off. My eyes bounce all around the neighborhood because right around this time is when the stalker started following me around while jogging. I know home ownership is public records in the state of Florida, but I can’t help wondering if maybe the stalker lives nearby. Otherwise it’d feel even more unhinged for someone to drive a long way just to stalk some random guy.
I’ve never been more relieved to merge into heavy Orlando morning traffic than I do after leaving my neighborhood. The clock is ticking a bit too close to rendezvous time at the ballpark, and I’d really like to not get written off by Beau just when I’m starting to make a place for myself on the team.
“Whew,” I say once I’m the very last one to the bus, finding a spot next to Lucky. “Made it right in the nick of time.”
His eyebrows rise as he runs his eyes up and down my frame. “Bro, why are you wearing the same clothes as last night?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Is it juicy?”
I cut a sharp look at him. “Now would be a great time for you to choose maturity.”
“Bo-o-ring.” His eyes deviate to the front. “Oh, incoming.”
“Incoming wha…” I’m unable to get the last letter out when Hope climbs aboard, carrying the bags full of snacks and drinks. I know it’s part of her job but I hate how none of her coworkers pick up some of the slack.
I guess the good news is that her lips aren’t swollen anymore.
“Dude, wipe that look from your face if you don’t want anyone to figure out you were with her last night,” Lucky whispers to me.
“What look?”
He points at my face. “That starving man look.”
I duck my face because I have no defense. That’s exactly how I’m feeling right now.
Clearing my throat, I reach around and tap Kim’s arm, since he’s sitting by himself right in front of me. He twists toward the aisle and takes off his Beats headphones. “What?”
“Got a piece of paper and pen I can borrow?” I ask.
His face twists, probably about to tear me a new one for bothering him, when he reasons that the quickest way to go back to listening to his tunes is to simply do me the solid. Grunting, he disappears for a moment until his hand pokes out, offering a small notepad and a pencil.
“Thanks,” I chirp with exaggerated joy. It earns me a few choice words.
I rip a blank sheet out and jot down a quick note before returning the implements to Kim. Lucky watches in silence as I fold over the paper, and even as Hope finally reaches us to offer our snacks.
I admire her professionalism for keep a perfectly straight face as she hands over a little snack and drink pouch to Lucky, and then one to me. That is, until I grab her wrist. That finally makes her look down and meet my eye, and her breath hitches as I slide the folded up note into her hand. For a wild second I debate whether to bend over and kiss her hand, but that would get us in trouble.
Instead, I let my grip slide and release her. Her throat works with a heavy swallow and she moves on without further ado, carrying the note that says Let’s talk somewhere quiet when we can , and leaving me to remember the taste of the skin at the base of her neck.
Settling with his snackies, Lucky says, “I expect a full report of whatever happened.”
I lean back and close my eyes, eager to pick where my dreams left off instead.