Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
And nothing I can do or say will change that. I’ve tried.
“You know what?” I say, backing away slowly. “Run Robbie to Cleveland. Have a great rest of your weekend.”
“Really?”
I shrug. “Sure. I’ll take care of it because I always take care of it.”
He pops the transmission into drive, ignoring my dig at him. “Tell E that I’ll get him tomorrow.”
“Sure.” I won’t because I won’t let you disappoint your son twice in one weekend when you don’t turn up tomorrow afternoon.
“Great. Later, Palm.”
He makes a wide turn around me in the direction away from Ethan. Naturally.
I growl, my irritation exceeding a healthy level, and start toward my car. And then stop.
My eyes zip immediately to the figure jogging down the sidewalk. Cole’s eyes are already on mine as my gaze connects with his. He grins, switching his trajectory toward me instead of across the road.
Oh, good grief. Not now.
His hair is damp, his muscles taut as he moves smoothly across the parking lot. His sun-kissed skin glistens with perspiration, and his sweatpants cling to his body in a way that should be illegal.
A gold chain with a round gold emblem bounces on his delicious pecs as he comes to a stop in front of my car.
I’m not strong enough for this today.
“The benefits of living in a small town.” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “Guess it makes up for the lack of cell service.”
The text.
I’ll ignore that.
“Are you all right?” he asks, the gold chain catching the sunlight. “You seem kind of pissed.”
“Because I am pissed.”
“Anything that I can help with?”
The question catches me off guard. I blink rapidly and try to pull my thoughts together.
“No. Just an ex that decided to be a total douchebag today—which really isn’t unlike the other days of the year. Today just has a little special sauce on it.”
A drop of sweat drips from the ends of his hair onto his shoulders.
Ethan steps gingerly out of the car. “Mom?” He looks back and forth between Cole and me.
Crap. I don’t have time for this.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, motioning for him to join me. “Ethan, this is Cole Beck. I met him the other day at Fletcher’s. Cole, this is my son, Ethan.”
“Hi,” Ethan says, standing beside me.
Cole points to the baseball glove on my son’s hand. “You play?”
Ethan holds the leather mitt up in the air awkwardly. “Um . . . kind of.”
“Kind of? Do you have a ball?”
Ethan releases a ball that’s tucked into the webbing of the glove and holds it up in the air.
Cole’s eyes light up. “All right. Let’s see what you got.”
I open my mouth to protest—to tell Cole that I need to get to Skoolie’s—but the excitement in Ethan’s eyes stops me in my tracks. He seems surprised that a stranger is interested in spending time with him. Playing with him. Oh, Jared. I hate that you’ve done this to our son.
“Hey, Ethan,” I say instead. “Did you know that Cole is a professional baseball player? He played for the San Diego Swifts.”
Ethan turns to Cole with a mixture of awe and joy on his face.
Let him have this moment.
“I’m not very good,” Ethan says, tossing the ball underhanded to Cole like a baby. “My dad just signed me up for a spring league. I’ve never actually played before.”
If Cole picks up on the tension that fills my body or the sadness in Ethan’s voice, he keeps it to himself. Instead, he moves away from us with the ball.
Cole points toward a big pothole in the parking lot. “Stand over there.”
Once Ethan is situated, Cole tosses the ball to him.
I should be focused on my son and how he manages to catch the ball. The delight in his eyes should flood me with pride and hope. The way he tries to throw it back to Cole with a self-confidence that I don’t expect is heartwarming . . . if I’m paying attention.
I’m a terrible mother.
My mouth goes dry as Cole’s muscles flex in the sunlight. The breadth of his shoulders. The way the cotton fabric clings to his ass when he leans into an exaggerated throw to show something to Ethan.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I reach for the hood of my car to steady myself.
“You okay over there?” Cole grins, holding the ball at the bend of his hip. His fingers cover the leather laces as he swirls it around his palm.
“Yup,” I say through the cotton lining my throat. “All good.”
Ethan hurries over to me. “Can I, Mom?”
“Can you what?” I look down at him. “What are you talking about?”
Cole snickers as he joins us at the front of my car.
“Can Cole give me some lessons? I mean, he is a professional baseball player and he offered. He offered, Mom.”