I Never Let You Go (I Never 3)

Lauren: I’ll see you then. :)

That text conversation is what led me to pull up to Lauren’s house tonight. I have no idea what she wants to do, but she wanted to spend time together, so I’d walk through fire if she asked. I slipped out of the office a few minutes early with some suspicious looks from my sister, ran home, showered, and changed into jeans and a white Henley. I also made a pit stop at the floral shop that I know sells her favorite pink roses.

Instead of an entire bouquet, I only got her two stems. Well, that was all the shop had with me arriving close to closing time, but Lauren doesn’t need to know that.

I ring her doorbell and stand back, nervously awaiting. The door opens, and I almost have to take a step back. She’s in dark jeans rolled at the ankle and a white graphic tee covered by an olive-green light jacket.

When our eyes meet, we laugh simultaneously when we realize we were both checking each other out.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi, these are for you.” I pull the two pink roses from behind my back, and the way her face lights up tells me I made the right call.

“Do you want to come in for a minute?”

At that moment, my stomach growls. Lauren smiles. “You know what, why don’t we just go. I’m hungry too. I was about ready to dive into some snacks waiting for you.”

Lauren locks the door, and we walk toward my truck. I want to touch the small of her back and fight with myself a few times, moving my arm behind her and moving it back before settling with my arm by my side.

Once we are both settled, I start the truck. “So, where are we headed?”

“Well, I thought we might swing by the diner and pick up some burgers and then hit up the batting cage.”

“The batting cage? You do remember high school, right? You know, where I was a football player and not a baseball player.”

“Oh, trust me, I remember.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and I want to be the one to bite it. I turn quickly away from her before my cock wakes up.

“But you mentioned yesterday that you had a rough day, and over the past few years, when Kate and I have had a bad day, we go to the batting cage and whack some balls.”

I raise my eyebrow and glance over at her at the stoplight. “Whack some balls? Is that a technical term?”

She crosses her arms. “Yes, that is very technical.” She laughs, and yep, that sound definitely wakes my cock up. I squirm in my seat, trying to rearrange myself casually. “As you said, you were a football player, not a baseball player, so how do you know it’s not an actual technical term.” She sticks her tongue out at me, and I see a glimpse of the old Lo.

“Valid point, Lo.” I drive us to the Honey Bee Diner, where we order two cheeseburgers, two fries, and two root beer floats.

I lean back with my hands over my stomach, “Okay, Lawson, I don’t know what your endgame is, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to move to do anything let alone ‘whack some balls’—” I use air quotes—“as you technically say.”

“Oh, come on, stop being a baby.” She reaches into her purse, retrieving her wallet.

I reach across the table and stop her when she pulls out her credit card to pay. “I’ve got this.”

Slipping her hand from my grasp, she lays the card on the table and flags over the waitress. “No, I invited you, it’s only fair I pay.”

I shake my head. “Then I wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.”

She scoffs. “Oh, you’re a gentleman now?”

I lay my hand on my chest as if offended. “Just for that, I’m going to pay for this and the batting cage.” I quickly throw enough cash to cover both of our meals and a tip on the table and extend my hand to her, mainly to help her up from the booth, but if she wants to continue to hold it, I wouldn’t be upset. She takes my hand but quickly releases it once she is standing and adjusts her shirt.

Baby steps.

We drive the ten minutes over to the batting cages, and once again, she fights me when I go to pay. “I told you, I’m showing you I’m a gentleman tonight.” It earns me an eye roll and a smile. I’ll take one since I got the other.

“Lane six is open. You can pick your bats over there,” the kid who looks barely old enough to drive says from behind the counter.

“Thank you,” we both say at the same time before we make our bat selection.

“All right, how much harder can this be. Let me show you how it’s done.” Outside of high school gym class, I can’t say that I’ve ever spent much time with a baseball bat with my hands.