Page 65 of The Curveball
The wives of the players, girlfriends, sisters, daughters—those are the Kings ladies. They’re looked after by the team and executives. I liken it to the Mafia. Once you’re a King you have lifetime protection. From what, I don’t know, but it does something to know they’ve brought me into the circle.
Griffin laughs and claps Ryder on the shoulder. “Okay, Macho. Eat your meat.”
Ryder huffs, but goes back to his steak. Griffin relaxes in his chair, one hand gripping my thigh. It’s subtle, but it’s a small claim. Like I’m his for real and he wants everyone to know it.
I’m falling.
No, scratch that—I’m plummeting—into something deep with this man.
CHAPTER20
GRIFFIN
Most daysI die a little at the sight of Wren. Before her I never quite grasped the idea of the heart stopping, but it happens often when she knocks the wind out of me.
Tonight, I’m gone. This thing in my chest isn’t starting again.
“Birdie.” I don’t mean to, but a curse slips out because my brain short circuits and a more intelligent thought can’t be formed.
Wren snickers and adjusts the knot in my tie. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Catcher?”
“Yes. And she usually smacks the back of my head after.”
“Good.” Wren’s easy smile fades a bit. “I look presentable enough?”
She’s in a fitted teal dress. The collar wraps around her upper throat like a choker, leaving her shoulders bare. It hugs the curves of her waist too perfectly to keep my thoughts decent, but I’m not complaining either. Wren’s hair is longer than it looks. I love her top knots, but the waves she styled down her back are impossible not to touch.
I don’t try. My fingers wrap around the ends of her hair, and I revel in the sharp breath she pulls through her teeth.
I lower my voice to a rough whisper. “You’re gorgeous, Birdie.”
No smart comeback for using my nickname. Now, it seems more often than not, Wren will smile, like she’s finally getting it. She’s the one I nicknamed because she’s the one who matters.
It’s showtime for both our families this weekend. The dreaded birthday dinner tonight, and Sunday, my mom’s house. But the odd thing is the last few days, the show had felt less like a production and more like our new reality.
We don’t need to hang out behind closed doors, but like clockwork, around mid-afternoon when we’ve both finished our to-do lists, one of us will meander to the other side of the house to usually do nothing but laugh, play cards, eat, or watch TV.
Grocery shopping isn’t a solitary thing anymore. We go together, shop, and plan meals. In fact, both fridges in both kitchens no longer belong to me or Wren. Community food all the time. It’s perfect.
“You clean up pretty good too, Marks.” She smooths my tie once with her palm, stepping back. A red SOLO cup crunches under her stiletto. “Whoops. Missed some.”
“I’ve got it. You’re in heels. Once you’re down in those things, there’s no getting back up.”
“Have experience with high heels, Griff?”
“You don’t want to know.”
She laughs as I hold up a hand to keep her upright. I bend down, digging out a few more cups that slid under the couch from last night’s cauliflower pizza party.
I promised Wren it would be unforgettable, and I think it was. At least ten Kings showed up with their wives or girlfriends, Alice and Calvin, and this time Darren, Carter, and Wren’s sister-in-law joined in too.
They were uncomfortable at first, but once Dax got Carter on the game console it was as if Wren’s brothers were always part of the wild gluten free parties.
Once the cups are in the trash, Wren lets out a long sigh. “Well, are you ready for the snake pit?”
I laugh and take hold of her hand, leading us into the garage. “Only if you promise to hold my hand.”
She rolls her eyes, but squeezes my palm. A silent promise I’m not sure she even knows she’s making.