Chapter 15
[Bolan]
Our opening spring training run includes a three-game series with the Agitators, Chicago’s crosstown rivals, and ends in a losing streak. The black, white, and green are as mean as their mascot, a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Tomorrow, we start a new series.
After admitting how important Ruthie’s presence at the game is to me, there’s been a little shift between us. Nothing tectonic, but a swing, nonetheless. She didn’t hole up in the back bedroom but lingered while I gave Tulane a bath and read to her before putting her down for bed.
When Ruthie plops down on the couch while I watch the replay of another spring training game from the recliner, I’m thrilled. We don’t talk until I ask her about working at Imperial Sports Management.
“How’d you end up working as a sports agent if you wanted to be a teacher?”
“You remember that?” Those dark eyes sparkle in the glow of the television set from her seat on the couch. Her eyes are like the cosmos, a mystery of darkness with the hint of stars in them.
Sitting in the recliner, my feet are propped up, head tipped back but turned in her direction. I might need to get one of these chairs for my new place.
“I remember lots of things about you, flower.” I wink.
Her eyes only momentarily flare at my flirtatious memory. Her responding smile is weak. “Clifton wanted me to work for his dad. He thought it was a good idea.”
I adjust the chair to sit upright and lean heavily on the armrest. “Why?” Every story I hear about my cousin makes me dislike him a little more.
Ruthie shrugs. “I’m quiet. Shy even. He thought it would bring me out of my shell.” She scoffs. “Teaching wasn’t glamorous to him. When we graduated college and he was recruited to play for a national football team, he thought it’d be cool for his wife to work in the industry.”
What the fuck? “First, you can be whoever you want to be, Ruthie. For you. Teacher. Sports agent. Hell, a belly dancer.”
She snorts.
“Your profession should reflect your passion, and it isn’t being a sports agent.” I recall how adamant she was not to be assigned to me, and something told me it had very little to do with me. Ruthie didn’t want to be an agent, as she told Jared.
“Also, I wouldn’t call you shy, flower.” I stare directly at her, recalling a woman a little thorny upon first meeting, but still sweet. She didn’t seem shy when she kissed me like her life depended on it. Nor when she spread her knees, allowing my head to drop between them.
“Maybe a bit reserved.” I choose my words wisely when I’m not really a smart guy. “But that’s not a bad thing. You’re cautious.” And I’m willing to wait, like I already told her. I tap my temple. “A thinker.”
She’s definitely smarter than me, but also thoughtful. The calendar on my fridge says so. So does the stock of chocolate milk in said fridge. And she came to my games.
“And just what the fuck about wanting his wife in the industry? You see how Valdez responded to you yesterday? You’re fucking hot, Ruthie.”
Her eyes widen at the strength of my voice. Her skin flushes pink at the compliment.
“That blonde hair is like honey to most men. Plus, you’ve got those doe-eyes looking all innocent and sweet.
” I hum, dragging my gaze around her face.
“I’m going to have to disagree with Cliff on this one, and if I had a say, which I don’t .
. . ” I pause to level my eyes on hers. “The last place I’d want my wife working is in the industry where horny, egotistical assholes exist. Athletes can be sharks. ” Circling a beauty like her.
I pause again, realizing that’s exactly where my wife does work. “If you don’t want to be a sports agent, if you don’t want to work for Jared anymore, quit. I got you, Ruthie.” I pat my chest.
I’m financially sound, and she’ll be financially well-off once our contract is up in a year. “If it’s about money—”
She softly lifts her hand and shakes her head. “It isn’t about money.”
“Then what is it about? Why are you still with them?”
Her shoulders drop. “Because they’re family. They’ve been good to me.”
“Do you feel obligated to them? Nylah and Jared adore you, and if they truly love you, they aren’t going to be upset that you want to leave their company.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“Yeah, Ruthie. It is.” We stare at each other a long minute, the tension between us building.
She breaks away first, narrowing her eyes at the television, but I’m certain she isn’t watching it. “Nylah and Jared are like second parents to me. Better parents than my own. I don’t want to disappoint them. And I’m not actually an agent. I’m an assistant.”
She glances back at me. “I don’t know why Jared called me your agent. I sucked at being one.”
I laugh, sharp and loud at the word choice. “I’m certain you didn’t suck, flower. You couldn’t suck at anything.” Then I dig my teeth into my lower lip. Well, I could think of a few ways she could put that term to proper use.
She laughs. Not full-on but soft and delicate. “Is your mind ever not thinking dirty thoughts?”
“I’m a guy. A twelve-year old at heart.” And I’m horny for my wife, but back to the conversation at hand. “I’m serious, though. Baby, if you want to still be a teacher, teach. Go back to school or whatever it takes and live life for you, Ruthie.”
Her expression slowly morphs from teasing me about a dirty mind to something close to crestfallen.
“But I’m not living my life, Bolan. I’m living yours.” Her eyes are soft, compassionate even, until they lower completely, dropping away from me.
Dammit. She’s right. She’s stuck with me, like she might have felt stuck with Cliff.
“Why’d you marry him? He sounds like a dick.
” The question is harsh, expressing my envy of a dead guy.
He had her first and he didn’t appreciate her quiet beauty, not shyness.
Her sensual strength. Then again, maybe she wasn’t with him like she is with me.
One could hope her eagerness, the way she kisses, is only about me.
“Don’t they warn you not to speak ill of the dead,” she counters, thorns prickling out of my flower again.
“What’s he going to do? Haunt me?” I make a spooky sound because I don’t believe in that shit, only Ruthie glances back at the television. That far-off look she sometimes gets in her eyes tells me he might haunt her.
“Hey.” I slide off the chair and walk on my knees over to her, stopping in front of her, so she’ll focus on me. I want her full attention, so I place my hands on her knees, spreading them to allow my wide body between them, and instantly noting how soft her skin is.
“I’m a dick sometimes, when I don’t mean to be.
He was your husband. You obviously loved him and it’s none of my business why.
” I’d still like to know what the attraction was.
How did a guy like him end up with a girl like her?
But then I could ask the same question about myself.
How did I get so lucky as to have her give up her life for a year to be with me? I’m no better than Cliff.
I lick my lips and swallow tightly. “If you want out of our agreement, Ruthie, I’ll make it happen.” I’ll let her go. I’m on the team. Surely, I’m proving myself useful to the Anchors and they’ll see me as a worthy player, with or without a wife.
“No.” She shakes her head, pulling her gaze from my hands on her knees to my face. “No, I don’t want you to let me go.”
She doesn’t want me to let her go? She wants to stay? My heart races, palms sweating on her kneecaps. Does she want me? Will she let me kiss her? So many thoughts collide, and as I don’t think before I act, I lean forward, wanting to steal another kiss from her, whether I’ve earned it yet or not.
I swear she leans toward me as well. Her floral and spice scent tickling my nose. Her eyes are on my lips and my gaze drops to her mouth. That puffy lower lip. The curve of the upper one. Her teeth nip at the corner and I can taste her before we’ve even connected.
Her slight inhale tickles the coarse hairs around my mouth. My beard needs a trim, but something tells me Ruthie likes the scruff. She certainly loved it between her thighs, and I want to dive between them again.
But first, I want to kiss her.
On my knees. Happy she wants to stay. Thrilled she’s giving me a chance.
I lift my hand for the side of her neck, wanting to pull her closer—
Tulane lets out a sharp cry.
Ruthie and I both turn out heads in the direction of the closed bedroom door.
While my heart is hammering, I’m holding my breath.
Please don’t cry again. Please don’t let her cry again, I pray.
But another sharp wail drifts from behind the door and Ruthie shifts, forcing me to fall back on my heels. My knees crack, catching up to kneeling on a tile floor.
“I’ll get her,” she says quietly. I want to hear disappointment in her voice. Swear I hear it, but I can’t be certain.
As Ruthie stands, her hips are eye level, and I stare after her. The hourglass shape of her. The sweet swell of her ass. The back of her toned legs.
She opens the door to Tulane’s room and disappears inside.
I bend forward, resting my forehead on the couch cushion where she just sat.
So close. So close to kissing her again.
Fear catches up to me. Fear she might never want my kiss again. Fear she feels trapped with me and the last thing I want to do is make her feel like she has to do anything she doesn’t want to do.
I want Ruthie to work where she wants, or not work at all, if that’s her jam. I’m happy to have her as my wife, and as a stepmom for Tulane. She doesn’t need Imperial Sports Management.
She has me.
I want to be enough.
+ + +
As the Anchors losing streak continues, I’m out of sorts. I’d fucked up in the sixth inning of the new series, missing an easy catch thrown from second to home plate which went over my head, allowing in a run.
I hate when I make simple mistakes.