Dirty Curve

I can’t help but laugh. “To be fair, I finished it after our last session so I could focus on the game.”

“Well, don’t think you’re getting off that easy, you still have tests we can study for.”

I playfully groan, sinking farther in the chair, and she knocks her elbow into mine.

“Come on, hotshot. You may know all there is to know about baseball, but you’ve got a lot to learn about vessels and veins.” She hides her smile, pulling out the notes she tucked neatly into my binder last week, and begins going over it from back to front.

A half hour in the walkie-talkie thing she brought out beeps.

Meyer’s eyes slice to mine, tension building behind them as a quiet little croon follows.

To make it easy on her, I go to stand, but her hand comes up, hesitantly covering mine on the armchair, and my blood runs warm under her soft touch.

Without thinking, I flip my wrist, so her palm is lying in mine.

“I ...” She trails off, now focused on the contact. “She’ll want to eat right away.”

“Sounds like me when I wake up.” She looks to me once more. “Can I help?”

“When I’m home, she won’t take a bottle.” Meyer fights a grin, and my eyes fall to her chest.

Not fake, but full. Literally.

“Right.”

She laughs, her muscles loosening before me. “Sometimes it takes a little while.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be.”

With a deep breath, she nods and pushes to her feet.

I want her to be at ease, comfortable and here with her little one. That’s why I came over today instead of meeting her at the library, so I try to think of something.

“I could make us something while you feed her?”

“There’s not much in there right now.” A hint of pink colors her cheeks and she averts her gaze. “I haven’t gone to the store in a while.”

“So, I’ll run home.” I shrug. “I’ve got chicken out already and a jar of my mom’s salsa verde. You got a stove in there?” I jerk my head.

She nods.

“Then we’re good. I’ll go to my house and you ...” I stand as she has. “Will you answer the door when I get back?”

“I’ll consider it,” she teases, a flash of delight in her eyes.

“Nah.” I step closer, and her slender neck stretches, allowing her to keep those eyes on mine. “You’ll do it, wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m gonna ring the doorbell over and over until you do.”

“Good luck with that,” she plays in a whisper. “Because it doesn’t work.”

A laugh slips from me and I curl my body around hers, taking backward steps toward the door. Right as I reach it, that soft croon turns into a cackled little cry. “Go feed your girl, little mama.”

I spin and walk out.

I’ll be back to feed mine.

And I am.

Exactly forty minutes later, I’m on her front porch.

I go to ring the doorbell, to see if she was messing with me or not, but before I can, the door is slowly tugged open. Meyer stands there, her baggy sweater gone, and arms full.

Her eyes meet mine, a hint of nervousness surrounding her, but she offers a side smile. She slides back, giving me space to enter, and nods her head toward the kitchen, but I don’t move ahead.

I pause a foot in the door, set my bags by my feet and take a step closer to her.

She stands perfectly still, the palm on her little’s back gliding higher with my advance.

I hold her gaze as I lift my hand, and when it meets soft skin, my eyes fall to her daughter.

She’s yet to lift her head from her mama’s chest, but the moment she feels my fingers brush against her own, she blindly wraps hers around mine. She instantly waves our hands up and down.

A grin builds on my face, a low chuckle following. “She’s quick.”

I briefly look to Meyer, but only for a moment because the sound of my voice startles the little one, and her tiny body flails.

She seeks out the source of the sound.

Right then, bright blue eyes framed in long dark lashes meet mine and they don’t look away. She stares right at me.

“What’s up, little one?”

Bailey buries her face in her mama’s chest, but as quickly as she does, she brings those baby blues back, and this time with a gummy smile.

My laugh is low and when Meyer’s follows, my gaze lifts to meet hers.

“She’s cute as hell,” I tell her, grabbing my bags off the ground. Licking my lips, I pull my bottom one between my teeth, but my grin sets it free. “Just like her mama.”

Meyer looks down and I hit the kitchen.

Pulling everything out of the bag, I glance over my shoulder, knowing Meyer is still standing in the doorway, watching.

“You good with a little spice, or should I go easy on the sauce?”