Holding a hand to her forehead, she's unable to look at me. "Sorry… I tripped and—"
"Roberta," I gasp, struggling to catch my breath. "It's okay. I—"
Yet all she says is, "C'mon, Mrs. Jenkins is waiting," before turning and leaving the alcove.
I run a hand across my face, trying to make sense of what just happened. I almost kissed her… And for a split second, I could've sworn by the fire in her eyes that she'd really wanted me to. God, could she possibly have feelings for me? No… That's just crazy. She probably didn't want to hurt my feelings, and to save me the embarrassment, she graciously backed away before anything could happen. Yeah, that sounds more like it. Now we can just pretend like she tripped and I caught her and go on our merry way. My fingers stray to my neck, right where hers were. Because that's what she wants, right?
Chapter Fourteen
Roberta
"Stand still," I implore, tugging on his pant leg. "I'm never going to get this right if you keep moving around."
"How much longer?" Luke moans from atop the footstool. "C'mon, Roberta. I'm beat."
I remove a pin from my mouth and stick it in his cuff. "Don't blame me. Blame Landry. He came up with this crazy idea for auctioning off dates with his players, not me."
Luke groans, tipping his head back. "I just played eleven innings, and I have a day game tomorrow. Right now, I don't really care what I wear to this thing."
"Well, I do," I state emphatically. "If this is Landry's way of generating interest in the team, then you're gonna have to look the part. Besides, I'm the one doing all the work here. So quit complaining, would ya?"
His posture stoops a little as he sulks above me. "I don't wanna go on a date with some girl I don't even know."
A sudden pang seizes my heart, because I don't want him to either.
I sling the tape measure around my neck. I need to get a grip. Luke is a cute, single ballplayer who's extremely popular in Stockton. Of course, he's going to get a ton of girls to bid on him. Who can resist that shaggy hair and those expressive eyes? He's like catnip to women. Add in the life-threatening injury, and they'll be fawning all over him, vying to put their nurturing instincts to good use.
Yet helping him get ready for this date auction is bothering the hell out of me. It's not like I want to win him for myself or anything, but at the same time, I just can't stomach the thought of someone else winning him either.
"Owww!" I cry out.
He looks down at me in concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing… I wasn't watching what I was doing and I pricked myself," I grumble. "Maybe we should call it a night. I don't wanna bleed all over your new suit." I suck my thumb between my lips. "All right, I'm gonna need you to take your pants off for me."
"Uh…here?" he asks, his cheeks reddening adorably.
And for a naughty moment, I wonder what he'd do if I said yes. I can picture his shaky hands pulling down his zipper, the clink of his belt as it hits the floor… Okay, Bobbie Jo. Stop.
What the heck has gotten into me tonight? But I know exactly what it is… It's that kiss we almost had, the one I haven't stopped thinking about for the past week and a half.
"No, you can go change in the bathroom and bring them out to me." I duck my head and get busy putting things away.
He steps down and the force of his body rattles the dishes in the china cabinet. We exchange a nervous glance, our ears trained to the baby monitor on the coffee table. But thankfully, the noise didn't wake his mom. When he moves away from me, I whisper, "Be careful of the pins."
"Yeah, I know," he responds.
When I steal a glance back at him, I can't help but smile. He's walking slowly, holding his pants up by the knees so as not to disturb the work I've done.
Before shutting the bathroom door, he calls out, "Can you put the—?"
I get to my feet. "Already on it."
It's crazy, but we've developed this shorthand way of communicating with each other. It's gotten to the point that he doesn't even have to finish his sentences anymore. I already know what he needs me to do.
Pulling out my set of keys, I unlock the side closet and slide the sewing box back inside. After Luke told me how his mom got her hands on the toaster and almost burned the house down, I've added as many items to the closet as possible, filling nearly every shelf to capacity.
I really have to commend Luke for taking every necessary precaution. He did his homework, going above and beyond the caregiver role of a typical family member. And up until recently, he was meeting both of his goals: keeping his mom safe and keeping her with him. Even before I arrived, without receiving any professional training or outside assistance, he was getting the job done. Yet as I pass by the kitchen, I can't help but notice the black rim of smoke still visible on the wallpaper, knowing that all it takes is one mistake in order for tragedy to strike.
Honestly, I don't know how much longer Luke's mom will be able to stay at home. I can only do so much and there's no way around it, her condition is going to worsen. It's a subject I haven't yet broached with Luke, afraid of how he's going to take it. For now, all I can do is try my very best and give him and his mom my all in order to keep them together for as long as I can.
I reenter the living room, trying to dispel my gloomy thoughts, when I notice he has his pants hanging neatly over the back of the couch. I lightly finger the bottoms, and there's not a pin out of place. I stare at the back of his head, which is tilted to the side like he's concentrating really hard on something, and I'm engulfed by such a warm feeling of tenderness for him. All I want to do is tousle his hair, reach out and touch it, because I'm dying to know if it's as soft as I think it is. But if I've managed to resist this long…
"What are you doing?" I ask, coming up behind him.
He smiles up at me. "Returning a favor. If these big fingers of mine will let me…" He sticks the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to open a Band-Aid. "Gosh, this is even worse than those plastic produce bags in the supermarket. I swear, I'm all thumbs."
I sit on the edge of the couch and cross my legs. "Let me try."
"Nah, it's my turn to patch you up. I'll get it, eventually," he protests, waving me off.
He scoots forward, unconsciously spreading his legs even farther apart. And when the side of his mesh shorts glides over the top of my foot, the breath leaves my lungs in a rush. Oblivious, he keeps on focusing on the Band-Aid, bending over and holding it between his knees. "And I'm a player who's known for his hands," he groans, low and deep in his throat, that utterly masculine sound that's usually heard in the bedroom. I squirm uncomfortably beside him, causing him to look up at me.
And when he sees the way I'm looking at him, all flushed and with my lips parted, his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. Resting his elbows on his knees, he turns to me and I watch his hair fall across his face. But he doesn't push it back, his eyes refusing to leave mine for even a moment.
I lick my lips and he shifts, now fully aware of the reaction he's stirring within me. And I wonder if he's going to act on it when his chest starts to heave under his white cotton T-shirt. We haven't spoken about that night when he almost kissed me, yet there's no denying the heightened sense of tension that's been building between us ever since. After I rejected him the last time, he's not about to make a move without receiving some kind of confirmation from me first. It's like he's waiting for me to give him the go-ahead.
But all I do is hold out my finger to him. "It's this one."
And he just stares at it, a sharp crease forming between his brows. Impatient, I wiggle my finger in front of him, and he glances up at me from beneath his eyelashes, his gaze penetrating.
"Well, I haven't got all night," I bluster, trying to maintain some semblance of self-control. "C'mon, if you're gonna do it, get on with it."
He gives me a slow, confident smile before tearing the Band-Aid open with his teeth. I stare dumbfounded as he places it on his knee, before reachi
ng for my hand and lowering his head to it. I gasp, completely overwhelmed, when he brings my finger to his lips, giving it a soft, gentle kiss. His breath is warm on my skin, his goatee lightly tickling my hand, and all I know is—I want more. But when he raises his head, he doesn't look at me. Instead, he takes the Band-Aid and carefully wraps it around my finger before standing up from the couch.
"Good night, Roberta."
Okay, what the…?
I'm panting as he backs away from me with a twinkle in his eye. And I want to hurl something at him, a pillow, the remote—anything. But as he climbs the steps and heads toward his room, all I can do is sit there, too stunned to move.
Chapter Fifteen
Luke
I think she was going to let me kiss her this time, and I should've gone for it, but my pride wouldn't have survived another direct hit. If I'd tried it and she rebuffed me…again, there'd be no moving forward from there. And I want to keep the dream of us alive, that maybe somehow I can still get her to like me like that.
"Can you believe Hoff is wearing his wedding tux?" Dan snickers next to me as we stand with the rest of our teammates on the auction block. "His marriage is long over, but he claims it's the only one that fits him right."
"Well, I can relate to that," I reply, looking down at my perfectly hemmed cuffs, the ones Roberta finished sewing for me this morning.
"I don't even recognize you, man," Dan busts me. "Living with a woman has really cleaned up your act."
"Yeah, but what good is it?" I mumble. "If she's not here to bid on me."
I glance over the heads of the attendees filling the seats of Beaver Field's VIP lounge area. We're all lined up in a row, and our collective mood is not good. We lost the day game we played in, and based on the amount of muttering in the clubhouse as we changed into our formal wear, everyone wants to get this over with as quickly as possible. Most of the guys have wives or girlfriends who aren't too happy about this whole "win-a-date-with-their-man" thing. According to most of them, if some smokin' hot babe snaps them up, there's going to be hell to pay when they get home.
But I don't have that problem. I don't have a girlfriend. The only one waiting for me at home is the one woman whom I'd like to see in that role, but the truth of the matter is I don't think Roberta cares who I end up with tonight.
"C'mon, man." Dan pokes me in the ribs. "Does Landry even know you hired her yet?"
"No."
Dan shakes his head. "Dude, you're playing with fire."
"Mom needs her," I protest.
"Yeah, more like you need her," he scoffs.
"All right, enough about me. Who do you think you're gonna get?" I elbow him in the ribs, a lot harder than he jabbed me.
"Just you wait," he chuckles, rubbing his side.
"The horseplay doesn't stop just because we're all dressed up, Danny Boy," I retort. "C'mon, which one?"
He does a quick scan of the room. "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind getting to know that blonde a little better."
I gaze in the general direction of where he's looking. "Who?"
"Very funny, Single," he groans. "She's like the hottest girl here. I think every guy's head turned the minute she walked through the door, and you're telling me you didn't even notice her? Typical. She's staring right at you."
And that's when I make eye contact with Heidi, my speech therapist. She waves at me, and I have no choice but to wave back.
Dan turns to me. "Jesus, you know her?"
I shrug. "I know everyone in Stockton."
"Yeah, well. Tell me how you know her," he demands.
I look away and shove my hands in my pockets. "She has a job at the rehab center downtown, and she worked with me after my injury. No big deal."
I feel the weight of his stare on me. "So you have a history with her?"
I smirk up at him. "I went to high school with her, if that's what you mean."
"So are you telling me to back off?" he asks flat-out. "That you didn't take her out for coffee to thank her for helping you or ask her to dinner to celebrate your recovery?"
"Well…"
"I know you, Single. You're too nice a guy not to do something like that."
"But I didn't lead her on… I didn't—"
"Will you two morons shut up already?" Hoff steps forward and glares at us from farther down the line. "It doesn't matter who you end up with because it's not like either one of you is gonna get laid."
A lot of the guys laugh at his remark, and I think it's the first time anyone's smiled since we've been up here.
"Well, at least we're not wearing a brown, ugly-ass tux like you are," Dan taunts him.
Hoff proudly tugs on his lapels. "This right here is a genuine baby-maker. Every time my ex-wife saw me in it, she couldn't keep her hands off me."
The snorts of laughter only get louder.
"Well, good luck with that because that guy in the front row who's wearing your jersey? He looks like he's waited his whole life to go on a date with you," Danny zings him mercilessly. "I don't know why. It's not like a beat-up old catcher like you will be able to bend over for him."
A hint of a smile crosses Hoff's lips as he straightens his shoulders and buttons his jacket. "At least, I don't have to indulge in the Kings' sloppy seconds. Unlike your friend."
A nervous rumble goes down the row.
"Single, don't," Danny warns me.
But no way am I backing down. I turn to face him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Hoff."
"Oh, no? First, you're calling her on the bus. And now she's what…living with you or something? I wonder how much you have to pay her for her to get down on her—"
I get out of the line and position myself right in front of him. "I pity your ex-wife."
"Oh, yeah? And why's that?"
"Because you're obviously obsessed with the kind of woman you'll never have, the kind who'll never give you the time of day."
His eyes flare in surprise, and I know that I guessed right.
"For the second time, let me remind you that you don't get to talk about her like that." I glare up at him. "Or any other woman, for that matter, including your ex. Danny's right. No wonder she left you. She probably couldn't stand to look at you in that ugly-ass suit."
Sometimes the only way to get a bully to back down is to stand up to him. If there's anything Dad taught me, he taught me that.
I stride back to my place as the rest of the team falls silent. Everyone's aware this isn't over. There's going to be hell to pay for me dressing down Hoff in front of everybody.
"I was taking care of it," Danny whispers to me as the bidding gets underway. "You didn't have to go and do that."
I throw back my shoulders and smile out at the crowd. "Oh, yes, I did."
Chapter Sixteen
Roberta
"That's it." I nod at Luke's mom from the chair I'm standing on. "Keep dabbing the corner."
"Like this?" she asks, completely immersing a sponge…and the sleeves of her nightgown, in a bowlful of water.
I jump off, hoping to stop her before she tips it over. "Yes, but you have to wring it out first," I say gently, before taking the bowl away from her.
It's ten o'clock at night, and I'm wallpapering Luke's kitchen. It's insane, I know. But I needed something to keep my mind off of what's going on at Beaver Field tonight.
"Where are all my pretty flowers?" his mom wails, gazing at the burnt scraps that are all over the floor. "I like my pretty flowers…"
"They died," I mumble, too tired to think of a better excuse. "So we're putting up new flowers."
"They died?" she cries. "Then we have to bring them to the funeral home. Bury them with my husband."
She gets up from her chair. She rarely, if ever, remembers that her husband is dead. And when she does, it greatly upsets her. Now look what I've done… Just because I'm too busy thinking about the outcome of that stupid date auction doesn't mean I should just say things off the top of my head.
/> I drop what I'm doing and hurry over to her. "Mrs. S., please sit down. They didn't die." I hold up one of the blackened pieces I've already ripped down. "See? They're still here. I thought it was time for you to look at different ones…prettier ones…ones that are painted on cups and saucers, just like your favorite tea set." I turn over a portion of the new pattern and glide her hand over it. "Aren't they beautiful?"
"I'd say."
I turn around and there's Luke, standing in the doorway, staring at us. He's in his suit, and man, oh man, does he look good in it. The crisp white shirt, the black silk tie, the leather belt cinching his taut, trim waist—he's all man in that suit. And I can't help but swoon over how perfectly it accentuates the compact, yet powerful, lines of his body. However, what's really getting to me is how his hair's been combed-out straight. It's hitting him at his shoulders and bringing out his natural red highlights, big-time. Right now, there's nothing I'd like more than to take it between my fingers, smooth it behind his ears, and…
"What are you two girls doing up so late?" he inquires, crossing one foot over the other as he leans back against the wall, taking everything in.
My face feels like it's on fire, and I turn away from him. "I'm sorry. I know I should've asked you first."
"It's okay," he replies softly. "But just so you know, you don't have to do all this. I don't expect you to."
I keep my head down. "It's no bother. I like having something to do."
He strides into the kitchen to get a better look. "Where did you get the wallpaper?"
"When I took your mom to her doctor's appointment today. There was a hardware store across the street. And I thought, why not?" I look up and gaze at him expectantly. "Do you like it?"
I nervously await the verdict as he looks it over. "Yeah, it's nice," he says, smiling at me. "Really nice."
His mom smacks his hand away, all too ready to scold him. "Don't touch."
"Yes, Ma," he chuckles, winking at me. "Your kitchen, your rules."
"Not anymore," she grumbles. "It's hers now."
"Whose?" he asks, playing along.
Single (Stockton Beavers #1) Page 9