I'm In It (The Reed Brothers Book 18) Page 3

  Wren

  A hand encircles my waist, the pressure light and gentle, and I lean into it, recognizing his scent immediately. “Can I steal you away?” Mick asks close to my ear.

  I lean closer to him. “Depends. Do you need me for something?”

  His dark eyes grow even darker. “Just you,” he says. He takes my hand and tangles his fingers with mine, giving a gentle tug.

  “Excuse me,” I tell his coworkers. “I think someone needs me.” I make it seem like a terrible inconvenience, but, honestly, I like it. I like it a lot. My belly flips as he pulls me onto the dance floor.

  “Do you know how to dance?” he asks, as he pulls me close to him and lifts my hands to rest on his shoulders.

  I scoff. “Pffttt. Do I know how to dance! Of course, I know how to dance.”

  The toe of my shoe bumps his and I nearly trip him, but he catches himself. “Good, because I don’t know how to dance a single step,” he admits with a grin. “You might have to lead.”

  “We could always do the prom sway,” I suggest.

  “How does that go?”

  “Just like this,” I reply as I rock from side to side. He falls into a rhythm with me.

  “Are you having any fun at all?” he asks as his thumb draws a circle on my hip.

  “Your boss and his wife are very nice. I’ve liked everyone I’ve met so far. Except for the redhead who keeps shooting daggers at me with her eyes.” I look over his shoulder and see her standing with her hands on her hips. “Is that the girl from last night? The redhead with glasses?”

  “Her name is Claire. She’s actually the reason you’re here,” he says a bit sheepishly. His cheeks grow pink.

  I stop moving. “What do you mean?”

  “She told me that if I wanted to be with you, I needed to let you know. And I agreed. So, I invited you here.” He shrugs and lowers his head to stare into my eyes. “I would really like to get to know you. And I hope you’ll go out with me again.”

  I say nothing.

  “That’s all I want,” he says, like he’s tying a knot on a sneaker. “We can be friends, right?”

  “Friendship? That’s all you’re asking of me?”

  “Yes, friends. That’s it.” He takes a deep breath. “We can be BFFs. We can braid each other’s hair.” He looks down at my feet. “Your shoes will be way too small for my feet, so sharing footwear is out.”

  “That’s kind of gross anyway.” I wrinkle my nose and he laughs.

  “What else do BFFs do?”

  “They don’t sleep together,” I murmur.

  He stops swaying. “Oh, then I’m no longer your BFF. That’s out.”

  I poke his chest. “Would you stop it?” But I’m laughing and I realize that I haven’t laughed this much in quite some time. “I like hanging out with you, bestie.”

  “I like hanging out with you, Wren.”

  The room falls silent as the song ends.

  The music starts back up, but this time it’s a jaunty little tune.

  “Oh, the chicken dance! I can chicken dance,” he says. He bends his arms, sticks his elbows out, and prepares to flop like a chicken. “Are you ready?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

  I have a funny feeling that I’m not nearly ready for him. Not at all. But I kick my shoes off and prepare to dance like a chicken.

  We’re both laughing and sweating when the song ends. Mick bends over and grabs my shoes, hooking them with his index and middle finger. I don’t even try to take them back, because my feet are killing me.

  “You need a break,” he says, leading me toward a table.

  “Maybe just for a minute.” I lean on the tall table and rest my weight on it.

  “I’ll get you something to drink,” he says, his fingertips lingering at the small of my back.

  “Just water,” I say.

  As soon as he walks away, the redhead comes to join me. She extends her hand, but not in the normal way that people shake. She holds it out like she’s waiting for me to kiss her knuckles. I hate it when women offer half a handshake. I take her hand, turn her wrist, and then shake hands with her the normal way, all while she scowls at me.

  “I’m Claire,” she says. “You are?”

  “Wren.” I don’t offer more than that.

  She raises one plucked brow at me. “And you’re…”

  “Hot. Thirsty. Winded.” I glare back at her, since I know how to do that.

  “I’m glad he called you,” she says softly. “He really likes you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “He looks at you like you’re the only woman in the room. Every girl wants to be looked at like that.”

  Mick comes back to the table and hands me my drink. “Should I get one for you?” he asks Claire.

  “No, thanks,” Claire says sweetly. “Will I see you at the softball game tomorrow?”

  “Definitely.”

  She walks away with a jaunty little wave.

  I lay my hand on Mick’s arm and blink my eyes at him. “There’s a softball game tomorrow?”

  He nods. “There is.” He leans down and presses his lips to the tip of my nose. My belly flutters.

  My boob vibrates. “Hang on,” I say. “My boob is ringing.” I fish my phone out of my bra while he watches with an amused look on his face.

  “Everything okay?” he asks, eyeing my phone.

  “Just Lark. She wanted to be sure her husband’s brother is being well taken care of.” I roll my eyes and stuff the phone back into my bra. He leans so he can look down my dress a little.

  “How much stuff can you fit in there?”

  I laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  His eyes don’t leave my boobs when he says, “I’d like to know everything there is to know…about your boobs.” His eyes come up to meet mine. “And all the rest of you.”

  My heart gallops in my chest. “Can I come to your game tomorrow?”

  He grins. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  The song “Cha-cha Slide” starts to play.

  “Oh, I can slide,” he sings out. He kicks my shoes beneath the table, and then grabs my hand and pulls me onto the floor.

  For the next few hours, I completely forget that up until now, my life has been shit. Because right now, it’s kind of awesome.

  Mick

  Not only is she beautiful, but she also has a mouth on her.

  “I thought only horses slept standing up, Ump!” Wren yells from her place by the fence. “He was out!”

  The umpire shoots her a dirty look, but I catch him grinning as he bends to wipe home plate clean. “Shepherd, you had better get your girlfriend under control,” he calls to me.

  I pull the brim of my cap a little lower and look back at him from my place behind first base. “I would, Ump, but I kind of want her to go out with me again.”

  He nods. “Can’t say I blame you.”

  The pitcher releases the ball and it sails directly into the catcher’s mitt. “He’s out of here!” the umpire yells.

  “Finally!” Wren yells, jumping up and down. “I suddenly feel the need to swap some spit with you, Ump!” she calls.

  The umpire looks at me again and makes a zipping motion across his mouth.

  I trot over to Wren where’s she’s white-knuckling the fence. “Hey, Wren,” I say. She looks at me, her eyes glazed with happiness.

  “Yeah?” she says as she watches the pitcher throw a few test balls to stall for time. She barely pays me any mind at all.

  “The umpire’s going to kick you out of the game if you don’t cut it out.”

  She looks over my shoulder toward the field. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re heckling the umpire,” I say calmly.

  “Yeah, so? That’s what they’re there for.” She cups her hands around her mouth. “What are we waiting for, Ump?” she yells.

  “You’re really adorable, you know that?” I tell her.

  “That’s sweet,” sh
e says. She’s still not looking at me. “Now get back in the game. Hustle. Move it. Go.” She finally looks me in the eye. “Don’t make me come out there.”

  “Behave!” I tell her.

  “Make me!” she taunts. She leans her forehead against the fence so she can glare even harder at me. Then she grins and it’s so damn cute that I can’t help but laugh.

  “I tried, Ump,” I tell the umpire as I jog back to first base.

  One more out, and it’s our turn at bat.

  I swing, and get a strike on the first ball. “Your last name should be Straw, Shepherd,” Wren calls. “You suck!”

  I point the end of the bat at her and stare down the length of it with one eye closed, like I’m setting her in my sights. “You’re going to be in serious trouble, Miss Vasquez,” I warn.

  She points to her chest. “Who, me? If you had the potential to actually swing and hit something, I might be worried.”

  I widen my stance, and wait. My bat makes contact with the ball with a loud thwack and I pull my cap off my head so I can watch the ball fly over the fence. I run the bases, and when I get back to the dugout, I find Wren standing there. She jumps up and down and then, suddenly, she leaps into my arms and wraps her legs around my waist.

  I freeze. She pulls back, but I have her ass in my hands and she’s hitched up around my waist. “Wow,” I remark. “That’s all I had to do to get your legs wrapped around me?” I chase her lips with mine, but she’s already leaning away.

  “Sorry, I got really excited.” Her voice is suddenly quiet.

  “I could tell.”

  “This is awkward.” She lowers her legs from around my waist. “Nice hit,” she says, and she pats my shoulder.

  She runs back to her spot by the fence and resumes her cat-calling.

  I don’t hit another home run, so she doesn’t jump in my arms again. But she’s there the whole time, and she’s having so damn much fun that I can’t even scold her.

  When the game is over, a guy in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt arrives with pizzas, sodas, and beer. “What’s this?” the boss asks.

  “A snack,” Wren says as she takes a piece of pizza from the box and lifts it to her mouth. “Go ahead,” she says around a hot bite. “I got it for the team.” She swallows and turns around. “Hey, Ump!” she calls out. The umpire turns to face her. “Want some pizza?”

  He grins and comes over to eat with us. Wren climbs up on the top of a picnic table and sits down. Her delivery guy hands her a lime soda, and she takes it from him. He sits down at the edge of the group and tries to look like he belongs. “Don’t mind him,” she says. “He’s with me.”

  “Anybody with you, Wren, can stay,” my boss croons as he pulls her baseball cap from her head and ruffles her hair. Her security guard jumps to his feet, but she quickly quells him with a look. He sits back down, but he watches her closely.

  I climb up onto the table and sit down next to her. “Thank you for the pizza,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  She shrugs. “Your team put up with me.”

  “Barely.” I laugh.

  She winces. “I forgot to tell you how much I love baseball.”

  “Really? I’d never have guessed.” I nudge her shoulder with mine.

  Her face colors. “Our dad used to take me and Star to all of Tag’s games when we were little. And then when we got old enough, we played too. Well, we did until…you know.”

  “Your birth parents died in a car accident, right?”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  “Did you play any after they died?”

  “No.” Her voice gets soft. “Things were different after that. Then Star and I were adopted, and we discovered music.” I know her older brother Tag wasn’t adopted by the same family, and that they spent years apart. “We never played again, but I still love to watch.”

  She leans back and rests on her palms. “If I ever have a kid, my kid is going to have to be a ball player,” she says. “There’s no way around it.” She takes my cap off my head and turns the bill backward, then pulls it down around her ears. “Can you see me as a coach? I’d be good at it, right?”

  “Or you could just let your other half do the coaching,” I say.

  Her face falls. “No other half. There’s just me.” She pushes up from the bench.

  “Maybe by then…” I start. I leave the words hanging there in the air between us.

  “I don’t think I want another half. At least not any time soon,” she says quietly. “I kind of like just being me. I’m okay with that.”

  “So that one moment when you jumped in my arms and wrapped your legs around me…?” I say. I wait.

  She looks at me sheepishly. “I would have done that to anyone who hit a homerun.”

  But she hadn’t. Other people hit homeruns too and she did nothing of the sort. “Liar,” I say. “I think you liked holding me close to you. I think you should do it more often.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I need to do this by myself for a while. See what it’s like.”

  “Being alone?”

  “Being single.”

  “Oh.”

  “But we can still be friends, right?” She nudges my shoulder.

  “Yeah, of course.” I hold out my pinky finger. “Pinky swear.”

  She smiles and loops her pinky with mine. “Pinky swear,” she says. “So, when’s the next game?”

  “Next week.”

  “Can I come?”

  “Can you behave yourself?”

  She snorts. “No.”

  I wouldn’t have her any other way. “You can come.”

  We finish up the pizza and sodas, and the team thanks her for feeding them.

  “We’ll see you at the next game, right?” my boss asks.

  Wren’s eyes meet mine and there’s a question there. Do I want her to come? Hell yes, I want her to come.

  I grab her in a gentle headlock and give her a noogie. “She’ll be here.”

  She grins and wipes her hair back from her face.

  “I haven’t had this much fun in a really long time,” she says as she lifts her wavy dark hair from her neck. Little wet tendrils of it stick to her skin. “Thanks for bringing me.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  We walk quietly back to the car, and she gets in first. I left my car at her building, so we go there. The driver drops us at her door.

  She freezes when we step out onto the sidewalk.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  But I may as well have stayed in the car. She stares intently at the man leaning against the building.

  “Wren,” the guy says.

  “Shane,” she replies. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.” Her voice quivers a little and I reach for her elbow, but she pulls away from me. Then she realizes what she did, and she turns to face me. “I had a really good time at the game. Thank you.”

  I want to reach for her. I want to tell her that no matter what’s happening right now, I’ll help her. I’ll do anything she needs.

  “I need to talk to him,” she whispers.

  “Can I do anything to help?” I ask quietly.

  She tilts her head toward the street. “You can go.”

  “Okay.” I bend down to kiss her forehead, but she steps back.

  Her eyes skitter between me and him.

  “Good night,” she says to me.

  Then he follows her into the elevator and the door closes behind them.

  “I hate that fucker,” Henry says.

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s her ex, the father of the baby she lost. Lying, cheating, piece of shit asshole that he is. I was wondering when he’d show back up.” He shakes his head and goes to stand behind his desk again.

  “So…what are my chances, Henry?” I ask.

  Henry’s brow furrows. “Chan
ces for what?” Henry sorts mail as I stand and wait.

  “Chances with her.”

  Henry’s gaze finally jerks up. “I thought you were just friends. When we had lunch today, she specifically said you two are BFFs, whatever that means.” His eyes narrow. “You like her,” he says. It’s not a question.

  I nod, rolling my keys around my finger. They make a tinny clanking sound as they spin. “I like her.”

  He heaves a sigh. “You might like her, but she’s in love with him. No matter what he does, she always goes back.” He finally looks at me. “You might want to save yourself some torment and move on.”

  “I don’t think so.” I spin my keys some more and take a seat in Henry’s lobby. “I think I’ll wait it out.” I pull out my phone so I can kill time on it while I wait. I won’t sit here long, I tell myself. Just long enough to find out what’s going on.

  Barely twenty minutes have passed when Shane comes storming out of the elevator. He flips Henry the middle finger and stomps out the door.

  “Well, he’s a shining example of adulthood,” Henry remarks. He shakes his head and blows out a breath. “I’ll go check on her.”

  “Henry,” I call out. He turns to face me. “Would it be all right if I do it?”

  “Do what?” he asks absently.

  “Check on her. Now.”

  He looks toward the waiting elevator and back at me. “I suppose that would be all right.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I jam my keys in my pocket and step into the elevator. Henry calls out her apartment number as the doors close.

  I tap my fingers on the rail of the elevator and sing a little song as it rises.

  I’m afraid of what I’ll find.

  I knock on the door and wait, and suddenly the door opens and she stands in the threshold. She has a gallon of ice cream tucked in the crook of her arm and a ladle full of it lifts toward her mouth. “Mick,” she mutters around her mouthful. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m checking on you.”

  She steps back and motions me forward by tilting her head. She goes and flops down on the couch. “I’m fine,” she says.

  “Shane looked pissed.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Shane always looks pissed.”

  “What did he want?” I sit down next to her.