Three Strikes (Meant to Be 3)

I’m surprised they didn’t call security and have him escorted out, but he has a way about him that makes people fall in line.

The doctors gave her the all clear, but they are keeping her overnight at Cyrus’s suggestion. A nurse will be with her through the night and one of the care managers from the center will stay as well, so we felt comfortable leaving.

“You hungry?” he asks, and as much as I want to say yes and see where this leads, I need to get home. I have a huge day tomorrow with meetings at Welsh Center and with my father and some of his business partners, and I need to get home and make sure I’m prepared.

As well, I know this man, as wonderful as he has been, is not for me.

“No. You can just drop me back at my car at the ball field. I need to get home.”

“Where’s home?” His voice washes through me like a warm breeze.

“Well, I still live with my parents, sort of. They are old school, you don’t move out until you’re married type of deal. I live in the guest house though. I managed to negotiate that much freedom.” I smile and see him nod, his face tense and serious like he’s analyzing and taking notes on everything I say.

I steal little glances at him as he drives. It’s so sexy how he lets his fingers dangle over the top of the steering wheel, controlling it with just the side of his hand. The radio is on low and I hear the beat of an old R & B song come on, watching as he starts this slow head bob to the beat.

It’s so sexy I want to climb on him and take a ride to wherever he’s going. My underwear takes another hard hit as I think about how his chest looked in the sunlight earlier under his white t-shirt.

A hint of dark hair around the neckline and the definition of broad, thick pecs have me thinking about running my tongue over every ridge and groove in his torso, leading down to those crazy, amazing ‘V’ sort of muscles some guys have near their hips—

“Are you going to answer me?” His voice snaps me back from my perverted fantasy.

“Uhhh, sorry. What did you ask?”

A wave of heat trails down my back along with a bead of sweat as he reaches over and rasps his knuckles over my cheek.

“You feel okay? You’re hot.”

So are you.

“Yeah. Just, hot in here.”

“A/C’s on high. You sure you’re okay?” He bites into his bottom lip like he’s trying to hold back a smirk but I just smile back.

“All good over here.”

“What was with the other guy. The coach or whatever on the other team. I picked up on something. He’s not a friendly, is he?”

I sigh, crossing my ankles and adjusting in the leather seat which makes my sweaty thighs squeak as I move.

“No, not a friendly. He wants my job. And, he’s just sort of an asshole. Probably wasn’t breast fed as a baby.” The words tumble out before I think and Cyrus lets out a low chuckle. “Sorry, that wasn’t appropriate.”

“Don’t ever need to be appropriate around me, baby.” A shiver races through me at that word and I swallow hard as he finishes with, “Just be you. That’s all you need to do with me. Just be yourself and we’re all good.”

There’s a knot in my throat preventing air or words from moving through as he takes the last turn toward the ball field and I see my car sitting alone in the parking lot.

I reach down and gather my bag as he puts the vehicle in park. “Thank you. For everything today, you were really amazing.”

“You were too,” he counters, then he’s out of the SUV as I stare wide-eyed watching him come around to my side and open my door.

His eyes are set deep, lips tight, and I hear the crack of his teeth as he clenches his jaw.

“You okay? You look like you’re in pain all the sudden.”

“I am,” he says as I screw up my face on a squint and he clarifies. “It hurts that you’re going to get in that car and drive away. I’m considering not letting you go.”

“You think you have that sort of power?” I say as I flush and let out a burst of nervous laughter, trying to process that I’m here in the middle of an empty parking lot with a gangster type who just said he’s not letting me go…this is either romance novel fantasy fuel or is going to end with a police report.

“You don’t like anyone to know you’re scared.” He braces his arms on the opening of the door, caging me in.

“I’m not scared.”

He snaps his tongue over his teeth, then looks around the dark lot. “Fear can be your friend. Fight or flight, baby.”