Chapter 3
KNOX
A watched pot never boils.
Tell it to my nerves. I’ve checked the microwave clock a half dozen times, but I’ve still got ten minutes until my date with Ava. You’d think the fact that she lives right next door would ease the stress, but you’d be wrong.
Hell, I wish I were fighting Atlanta traffic right now.
At least then I’d have something to distract me from the fact that after all this time, she’s come back into my life.
I still can’t wrap my head around it. There are eight billion people on the planet.
Six million of them live in the metro area.
The likelihood of us crossing paths, let alone being neighbors, is statistically improbable.
Yet here we are.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I roll my neck, attempting to ease the tension that’s settled between my shoulder blades. My muscles pull taut, but it’s no good.
The front door slams, and McGinnis thunders up the stairs, his sneakers pounding the wooden treads.
The kid never slows down. He’s always on the move, going full tilt. It’s an admirable trait on the ice, but at home? Not so much.
He wanders into the kitchen, and his eyes light up the instant he sees the plastic container on the island.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “Those are for the new neighbor.”
McGinnis frowns. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I stare pointedly at his feet. “How many times have I asked you to take your running shoes off before you come upstairs?”
I hate being that guy, but he has a habit of going off-trail, and Georgia clay is a bitch to get out of the carpet.
“Sorry, Dad.” He pulls a face, stopping just short of rolling his eyes. “So, this new neighbor. Is she hot?”
My shoulders stiffen. “Why would you automatically assume it’s a woman?”
His gaze slides back to the storage container. “There’s no way you baked ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ cookies for a dude.”
“I bake for your dumbass, don’t I?”
“That’s different.” He smirks, unfazed by the jab. “You love me.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I check the time. Five minutes to go. “Listen, I’m going out for a few hours. Do you think you can manage to stay out of trouble?”
“Probably.” He grabs a can of Coke from the fridge and flashes me a shit-eating grin. “Where are you going? Maybe I’ll tag along.”
“That’s not happening.” There’s no way I’m going to spend the evening watching him hit on Ava. “And where I’m going is none of your business.”
“Damn, Cap. If you’re worried I’m going to mess with your game, you can just say that.” He pops the top on his soda and downs half of it in one go. “But for the record, my mom says the best way to keep me out of trouble is to keep one eye on me at all times.”
She’s not wrong, but two can play at this game.
“Okay, you need a babysitter?” I pull out my phone and start tapping. “I can have D-Vo here in fifteen minutes.”
“Pass. He always hogs the Xbox.” McGinnis chugs the rest of his Coke and tosses the can into the recycling bin. “Word of advice, you might want to change your shirt if you’re going on a date.”
I glance down at my navy polo. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I didn’t realize you were going for the middle-aged look.”
He’s messing with me. I know he’s messing with me, but now that he’s put the thought in my head, I’m going to spend the entire night wondering if I look like a soccer dad.
I check the clock. Four minutes.
“Asshole.” I narrow my eyes at him. “For the record, I’m not that much older than you.”
“Maybe try something with a pattern,” he calls out as I race up the stairs for a last-minute wardrobe change.
In my bedroom, I tear through the closet in search of something light and breathable.
My phone buzzes, and I grab a cotton button-up with a geometric print, because apparently I’m not above taking fashion tips from a twenty-year-old rookie.
I peel off my polo and slip the new shirt over my head as my phone vibrates several more times in quick succession.
That’s never a good sign.
I unlock the screen to find the team chat blowing up.
Baby Glider: Betty Crocker is at it again.
Below the text is a picture of me in the kitchen with a red apron superimposed on my body.
That little shit.
McGinnis wouldn’t even be in the group chat if he hadn’t swiped my phone and added himself. I’ve tried to remove him, but someone always adds him back. Not because he’s earned it, but because they’re taking bets on how long it’ll take me to crash out.
Smitty: Hell yeah. What’s he making us this time? Is it the pumpkin bread? Please say it’s the pumpkin bread.
A picture of McGinnis pops up. He’s holding a chocolate chip cookie—one of the ones I made for Ava—and there’s a bite missing.
D-Vo: I can’t believe you let the kid have first dibs.
I didn’t let him do anything. McGinnis played me.
The realization hits me like a puck to the face. There wasn’t anything wrong with my shirt. He just wanted me out of the kitchen so he could steal my cookies.
Boosh: I’d do unholy things to those cookies.
Forey: Jesus Christ, Boosh. Leave us out of your kinky fantasies.
Boosh: Ducking autocorrect. You know what I meant!
Bates: Relax, Boosh. This is a safe space to talk about your cookie fetish.
Boosh: ??
Hardy: Yo, Cap! I’ve been a very good boy. When do I get my cookie?
Me: If we win the home opener, I’ll make you a dozen.
I’ll make him anything he wants if we can string together a few wins. Our first season in Atlanta was a shitshow. We had the worst record in the league, which should be virtually impossible for an expansion team under the new draft rules.
Judging by our performance at training camp, the situation hasn’t improved, and as the team captain, I’m feeling the pressure.
It doesn’t help that our number one draft pick is a twenty-year-old kid with an ego the size of a Zamboni.
Hardy: But I want those. They look good as hell. Big too.
D-Vo: Definitely super-sized. They’re as big as Baby Glider’s mitts.
Davis: Great, the nutritionist put me on a low-carb diet and now I’m craving cookies.
Me: Blame Baby Glider.
Baby Glider: Whatever. He’s deflecting because they’re for the new neighbor. He’s taking her out on a date tonight.
D-Vo: For real? You better not be fucking with us, Ginny.
Smitty: Jamesy, you got a date?
Bates: What’s her name? Is it anyone we know?
I shove my phone into my pocket and head back downstairs, ignoring the messages streaming in. I’m nervous enough without the guys grilling me, and I sure as hell don’t want them blowing up my phone all night. If I don’t respond, they’ll lose interest—eventually.
When I re-enter the kitchen, McGinnis is sitting at the island with milk and cookies.
It would be a wholesome sight if he wasn’t putting me on blast.
“These are good,” he says, shoving another cookie into his mouth. “Almost as good as my grandma’s, but they could use a little more salt.”
Indignation flares in my chest as I grab the plastic tub and seal the lid. “Do you ever stop chirping?”
“I chirp in my sleep.” He smirks. “That’s why I’m so good at it.”
He’s a sarcastic little fuck, I’ll give him that, but he’s forgotten the most important rule of chirping. “Save it for the other team, yeah?”
I don’t bother waiting for a reply. I turn on my heel and bolt down the stairs. Talking to McGinnis is like talking to a brick wall. Whatever hopes Coach had of me being a good influence on the kid are going to be dashed real soon.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I pause, taking a moment to collect myself. I haven’t been on a first date in years. I don’t want to spoil this one by making a bad first impression.
It’s a little late to be worrying about first impressions.
True, but I don’t want to blow my shot with Ava. Fate gave us a second chance, and I intend to make the most of it. It’s the reason I didn’t kiss her earlier, even though I ached to feel her body pressed to mine.
As desperate as I am to hold her in my arms, I’m going to do things right this time. No bets. No casual hookups. No leaving it up to fate.
I suck in a breath, hold it for the count of four, and exhale slowly, pushing McGinnis, opening night, and the expectations of the club from my mind.
They don’t call you Captain Clutch for nothing.
Exactly. I may be a little rusty when it comes to dating, but I’ve got this.
I head over to Ava’s. Before I can knock, she opens the door.
The sight of her steals my breath, and for an instant, all I can do is stare.
I’ve always known she was beautiful, but tonight she’s positively radiant, her skin glowing like the moon itself.
Her eyes are bright, and her dark hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves.
She’s dressed casually in a sexy emerald sundress that highlights her fair complexion and toned legs.
“You look amazing.” I hadn’t meant to blurt the words out like that, but a shy smile lights her face and I’m suddenly glad for my lack of a filter.
“Thanks.” She flushes, her cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Well, shit. Does this mean I have to thank the rookie for his fashion advice?
I shake off the thought. I’ll worry about it later. Or maybe I’ll call it even since he helped himself to my cookies, which reminds me…
“These are for you.” I hold the plastic tub out, and Ava accepts it hesitantly before holding it up for inspection. “I made them myself.”
Her brows pinch together, but her smile remains fixed in place. “You made me chocolate chip cookies?”
“From scratch.” I stuff my hands into my pockets, suddenly self-conscious. Aside from the guys, it’s been a while since I baked for someone new. “Think of them as a welcome to the neighborhood gift.”
“Thank you. This is really thoughtful.” She bites her lower lip and seems to catch herself, releasing it quickly. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me. You’ve done more than enough, helping me out this morning, and then fixing my door.”
The door was an easy repair, and there was no way I was going to let her wait on maintenance when I could knock it out in fifteen minutes.
“You’re right. I didn’t have to do any of those things, but I wanted to do them.”
There’s not much I wouldn’t do to see her smile.
“Well, thank you.” She braces the tub against her stomach and pries the lid off. “Oh, wow. These smell incredible. Can I try one?”
“They’re yours. You can do whatever you want with them.” I flash her a crooked grin. “But if you hate them, please wait until I leave to throw them away.”
“Ha! I never met a cookie I didn’t like.” She scrunches her nose. “Except macaroons. There’s just something about the texture of coconut that takes me out every time.”
I mentally file the information as she plucks a cookie off the pile and takes a tentative bite. I watch, captivated by her mouth. By the soft, rosy lips that belie the passionate woman inside. She lets out a quiet moan, and her eyes drift closed.
Pride surges in my chest.
I’ve been baking for as long as I can remember, and it just hits different when the people you care about enjoy your bakes as much as you do.
“I’ll take that to mean you like them.”
Her eyes snap open. “Like them? I love them. If we weren’t going out, I’d probably devour the whole tub.”
“Well, if our date goes poorly,” I tease, rubbing the back of my neck, “at least you have something to look forward to.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” She laughs as she stashes the cookies on a small table in the foyer.
“Besides, I’m looking forward to seeing what the city has to offer.
So far, I’ve only seen the inside of hotel rooms, moving trucks, and my townhouse,” she says, ticking them off on her fingers.
“I haven’t even made it to the grocery store yet. ”
I nod to her bandaged hand. “Feeling any better?”
“Yeah, it’s just a bit sore.” She steps out, closing the door behind her. “Fortunately, I had excellent care.”
“That’s high praise for splinter removal. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”
The sight of her dangling from the deck flashes in my mind, and I shudder, muscles contracting involuntarily.
All’s well that ends well.
I open the passenger door of my truck and offer her my hand. She takes it without hesitation and climbs onto the footrail with surprising ease.
Her fluid movements are what earned her the nickname Tink five years ago. She destroyed my boys at the limbo, and then she destroyed me in a head-to-head winner takes all challenge.
I hate losing, but losing to Ava had its perks. Namely, getting to spend more time with her.
Once we’re both settled in, I start up the truck and reverse out of the driveway.
“So you really made those cookies from scratch?” She turns in her seat to face me. “Like, milk and eggs and sugar, scratch?”
The disbelief in her voice has me straight up howling as we pull out of the neighborhood. “What? You think men can’t bake?” I shake my head, feigning disappointment. “This isn’t going to work out if you’re an advocate of traditional gender roles and stereotypes.”
“Of course not.” She grins. “I was just hoping I could pry the recipe out of you. That was legitimately the best chocolate chip cookie I’ve ever eaten.”
“Sorry, darlin’. It’s an old family recipe, and I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Her shoulders sag. “Then I guess I’d better savor them while they last.”
“Nah.” I check the rearview mirror, tap my signal, and slide into the left lane. “As long as we’re neighbors, you have unlimited cookie privileges.”
She perks up, that gorgeous smile back in place. “Okay, it’s official. You really are the best neighbor ever.”
I doubt she’ll be saying that when McGinnis is blasting his music at all hours of the day and night, but I’m not about to spoil the mood by mentioning it.
We lapse into silence, a nineties rock station filling the cab, and twenty minutes later, we pull up to our destination.
Ava leans forward, peering through the windshield at the miniature golf course. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Welcome to Where the Wild Things Par.”