by Lizzie Shane
They hadn’t kissed again, but he’d seen Rachel and Sofie every day. They were both getting more comfortable with him. Sofie called him “Da” all the time now—which never failed to make his throat tight. Rachel had stopped watching him like a hawk every time he picked Sofie up. He didn’t think she’d known she was doing it in the first place, but he’d definitely noticed when she started trusting him with her.
It felt like they could actually be a family—but he knew there was still a chance it could all blow up in his face. Life had a tendency to do that right when he let himself believe he was going to get what he wanted.
But still, he was optimistic.
The Russell House event was tomorrow night—and it felt weird to be thinking about being auctioned off as a bachelor when he felt completely off-the-market. They hadn’t slept together. They weren’t even technically back together, but he was hers. Completely. Just like he had been last time right before it fell apart.
He felt like he was ahead in the game, but there was still a chance for fate to come back in the ninth inning and knock him on his ass. He needed some insurance runs, to put some comfortable distance between himself and the karmic ass-kicking he was afraid was coming for him.
That was what tonight was all about. Just him and Rachel. No baby. No distractions. No evasions.
It was a minor miracle he’d managed to talk her into taking the night before the fundraiser off. Only the fact that she literally hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do to prepare had gotten him this date.
His parents were watching Sofie. The two of them were over-the-moon at the chance to spend more time with their new granddaughter, though both of them had very carefully avoided commenting on the fact that Cam was taking Rachel out. His family had developed an unprecedented sense of tact this week. No one had teased him, or Rachel when they saw her. They all seemed like they were holding their breath—waiting to see how it would turn out.
And all he could do was hope like hell that he didn’t screw it up.
Rachel met him at his place. His parents were already there, waiting to stay with Sofie. Having them there, standing in the background smiling proudly felt weirdly like meeting up to go to Prom—if it hadn’t been for the baby she was dropping off. Or the fact that no one going to Prom had ever looked as lethal in a little black dress as Rachel did.
Her hair was down, curling around her shoulders and reminding him of that September.
She gave his parents a list of instructions on Sofie’s care—as if they hadn’t managed to raise four kids and approximately twelve-dozen grandkids. She probably would have stood there all night if Cam hadn’t used their reservation time and her horror of being late to get her out the door.
She was quiet as they walked to his car and he held the door for her. He couldn’t think of the right thing to say as he started toward the restaurant. Silence filled the car, an unwelcome tagalong. He’d never had trouble finding the right words in the past—but he’d also never cared this much about not screwing up.
The restaurant was crowded—unsurprising on a Friday night, especially around the holidays—and the noise covered some of their awkwardness though their conversation seemed limited to small talk. “I’ve heard this place is really good” and a joke about the cook taking out a vendetta on “The Twelve Days of Christmas” with his partridge special kept them from complete silence until the wine arrived.
He took a sip, watching Rachel do the same, and grimaced. “This is awful, isn’t it?”
“The wine?” she asked, confused.
“No. This.” He waved between them. “It’s like I forgot how to talk to you.”
Relief washed over her face now that he’d called out the elephant in the room. “I feel like we never used to be this awkward.”
It might be the first time she’d willingly brought up their relationship from that golden September—that had to be a good sign, didn’t it? “We weren’t,” he assured her. “We could talk for days. That first night, what was it? Three a.m. before we realized the party had ended and we were still talking on the balcony? I didn’t get nearly enough sleep that entire month because we never stopped talking—it’s amazing my play didn’t suffer.”
“I seem to remember you telling me you were having the best month of your career.”
“I was. Or close to it. I probably owe you my signing bonus.” He raised his wine glass to her. “My good luck charm.”
She shook her head. “You keep blaming luck, but that isn’t why you succeed.”
“Maybe. But if I take credit for the success, then when the failure comes that’s on me too. It’s easier to take if it’s all luck and there’s nothing I can do but enjoy what I’ve been given.”
“But you haven’t been given it. You earned it.”
He shrugged. “Lots of people work hard and they don’t get where I am. Trust me, luck is part of it. I’ve seen that first hand.”
She cocked her head, eyeing him over her wine glass. “There’s a story there.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time I got cut from my high school baseball team?” he asked, even though he knew he hadn’t. He didn’t talk about his failures. He had an image to protect and that image didn’t include a time when Cameron Cole had ever been less than amazing at baseball.
“I don’t think so.” Rachel leaned forward, setting her glass on the table. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t the star back then,” he explained, fidgeting with the stem of his own glass. “I hit my growth spurt late and in high school I was still this scrawny kid, but I loved the game and I worked harder than anyone else on the team. My senior year I finally made varsity—barely. I’m not sure whether it was because the coaches took pity on me or there just weren’t any better options for my position, but it wasn’t because I was some six-foot-four natural jacking homers out of the park in every at bat.”
Cam didn’t tell this story often, but when he did this was when people always interrupted him. Telling him they couldn’t believe there’d ever been a time when he wasn’t amazing. Telling him they were sure he was much better than he was making himself out to be. But Rachel simply watched him, accepting him at his word.
“We were having a good run,” he went on. “We had some great pitchers that year and we were on track to make it into the State Championships. Then, right toward the end of the season, a new kid moved to town. A six-foot-four natural, jacking homers in every at bat. And he’d played catcher at his last school.”
Rachel cringed.
“Yeah. You can see where this is going. I was benched. I still played some—he missed practices and even a couple of games, but when he was there, he was in the line-up and I was watching from the dugout. Man, I hated him. I’m sure he was a nice guy—not his fault his parents moved in the middle of the year—but all I could see was that he’d stolen what I’d worked for. The coaches kept saying it wasn’t about talent, it was about the team. It was about who worked hard and put in the hours and showed they wanted it the most. But when it was time to go to State and they had to pick their roster, they picked the natural, the kid who’d been skipping practices, but still made it look easy every time he swung the bat. I wasn’t even surprised that I wasn’t going to start, but I thought for sure I’d go as a back-up. But there were other kids who could back-up multiple positions and they wanted to bring an extra pitcher. So I was out. Not even on the bus.”
Rachel cringed. “Ouch.”
“Yep. We lost. And I was so certain at the time that if I had been there, we would have won. Like I could have lifted the team up on my shoulders and carried them to victory even though I’d never done it before. But that showed me it isn’t about hard work. Those coaches believed in that kid and his natural talent more than they believed in my every day effort. So I worked my ass off to prove them wrong. When I hit my growth spurt right before college and bulked up, I started acting like it was easy for me. I worked out on my own
, so my coaches and my teammates would see the results rather than the effort and think I was some phenom. And it worked. It pissed me off that it did, but people started treating me like I was a baseball god. I got drafted my junior year. I kept it up during my two years in the minors, all of my coaches blown away by how I didn’t even have to work for it, and all of a sudden I was in the majors. It might have happened if I hadn’t bullshitted everyone—people say it’s all about the stats. Everyone’s trying to Moneyball the game, but reputation matters. It’s what convinces your coach to leave you in when you’re in a slump rather than write you off. When you’re in the line-up more regularly and getting more at bats, you get comfortable, you get a feel for the way people are pitching you, and your numbers go up.”
“That isn’t luck, though,” Rachel argued. “That’s strategy. You saw a way to improve your odds and you took it.”
“Or I just tricked the world into thinking I was better than I was.”
Their food arrived then and Cam took the opportunity to let the subject drop, but Rachel waited until the waiter had departed and paused with her fork hovering over her scallops. “Has it occurred to you that maybe that other kid wasn’t a natural either? That maybe there’s no such thing and you’re all trying to fool one another?”
“Maybe. It doesn’t make it feel any less like I’ve been given something I don’t deserve, and any second the universe is going to take it away from me. I’m always waiting for someone to figure out I’m a fraud.”
Just like Rachel and Sofie. He’d gotten lucky, stupidly lucky, to have them back in his life. He’d screwed up before, by not telling her about Erika, and nearly lost his shot—and now that he had another one, he was waiting for the catch. Waiting for it all to go up in smoke.
“Okay, first off, you aren’t a fraud. You really are amazing. And if it does go away…is that so horrible?” Rachel asked, and it took him a moment to recall they were talking about baseball. “You still have the experience, the memories. You’ve been in the majors for what? Almost a decade? How many people can say that?”
“I guess I’m just not ready for it to be over.”
“Just don’t be so worried about the ending that you forget to enjoy the present. At some point you’re going to retire—whether it gets taken away from you or you let it go—but you’re not going to be any less if you aren’t playing baseball any more. You’ll still be you.”
He wasn’t ready to talk about the future—baseball wasn’t the thing he was most afraid of losing anymore, but he didn’t want to scare Rachel off by pushing too hard. “That’s good advice,” he murmured, lifting his wine glass. “To the present.”
A flush rose to Rachel’s cheeks as she lifted her glass to gently ring against his. “To the present.”
* * * * *
Rachel had never been very good at living in the present. She was a planner—which meant obsessively analyzing the future and making contingency plans for every possible outcome. But she was trying to follow her own advice tonight. She’d told Cam not to be so worried about the future that he forgot to enjoy the present and she was trying to do that—but worry kept sneaking in around the edges.
They were both quiet as Cam drove them back to his place. The tension that had been slowly building throughout the night loomed like a silent third passenger. He parked the Land Rover, coming around the hood to take her hand as they walked up the front walk toward the darkened condo. Sofie was asleep in the nursery and Rachel went to check on her as Cam thanked his parents and saw them out.
The baby was out cold, her little lashes resting so softly on her sweet cheeks. She always looked so angelic when she slept, her hair curling in every direction. His parents had put her in the little yellow footie pajamas Rachel had brought and she clutched Elmo in a death grip, even in sleep.
Distantly, Rachel heard the door open and close as Cam came back in after escorting his parents out. In theory, Rachel was only there to pick up the baby, but they both knew she wasn’t going anywhere. This thing between them had been building since that mistletoe kiss, whispering in the background. She heard his footsteps approaching down the hall and met him at the doorway.
“Is everything okay?” he whispered, his eyes moving past her to touch on the baby.
How had they gotten here? Back in his condo with their daughter sleeping peacefully in the nursery? It felt like some surreal alternate reality where she’d never bumped into Erika at that game. Where Cam had told her about his soon-to-be-ex at some natural point in their relationship and she hadn’t run. Where he’d been with her when she learned she was pregnant. With her through the anxiety and anticipation of those nine months. Holding her hand in the delivery room instead of her mom. There with her to hold their baby for the first time.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Cam shook his head, confused.
“I’m sorry we’ve missed this,” she breathed—and kissed him.
In her sky high heels, they were almost the same height. All she had to do was lean forward and his lips were there, waiting for hers. The kiss started out as an apology—but that didn’t last. Cam sank his hands into her hair, cupping her head, and need rushed over them like a tidal wave. She clutched his waist, leaning into him until their bodies pressed together and she could feel every line of him against every curve of her.
God, he felt good. She’d forgotten how good he felt. Tall and strong and firm. Steady. Like he could stand up to any force on earth.
They stumbled into the hallway, spinning so Rachel was the one with her back pressed against the far wall as Cam bent his knees and lifted her. Her tight skirt rode up as her legs went around his hips, the lethal heels crossed over his buttocks. She draped her arms around his neck, crossing her wrists the same way her ankles were crossed, as a sweet, drugging heat worked its way through her body.
She didn’t know how long they kissed like that—like teenagers making out in a parked car, like they had all the time in the world. When the impatience got to be too much she ground her hips against his and Cam broke the kiss with a growl, hitching her up to carry her quickly through the house.
She bit her lip to hide her smile, ducking her head against his shoulder, holding on tight as he jogged up the stairs in an impressive display of athleticism. When they reached the master, he kicked the door closed and made a beeline for the bed, tossing her down on it.
Her hair had fallen around her face and she shoved it back. He towered over her, staring down at her like a conquering Viking. But instead of reaching for her, he reached for a small remote on the bedside table, pointing it in the general direction of the television. A tiny screen beside the television lit up. The baby monitor.
And Rachel freaking melted.
She didn’t have to be the one who was thinking about Sofie all the time. He was thinking of her too. It was incredible the weight that took off her mind, the comfort of knowing she wasn’t alone. Her mother and Yaya had always been there, but it was different. It was an imposition. Cam, he was in this with her. A team.
Though at this particular moment, she didn’t want either of them thinking about Sofie.
“Come here.” Her voice was husky even to her own ears, but Cam didn’t seem to mind.
He braced his arms on either side of her, his eyes eating her up as he lowered himself over her. She had a little flicker of a moment to be self-conscious, to think of all the ways her body had changed since she had Sofie—but then he was kissing her neck, just below her jaw, his warm breath sending shivers over every inch of her skin, and she forgot to care about anything else.
He found the hidden side zipper on her dress, tugging the tight fabric over her head to reveal the matching red lace bra and panties. He cursed softly, his hands smoothing over her shoulders, her collarbones, trailing down her sternum until she needed him to touch her already or she was going to scream.
He’d shrugged out of his jacket, but she grabbed the collar of his but
ton-down shirt and pulled him toward her roughly. “Stop messing around,” she demanded with a hard kiss. “You don’t know how long we have before she wakes up.”
Cam laughed against her mouth. “What if I want to savor my Christmas present?” He traced a fingertip over red lace, making her arch.
“Savor faster,” she insisted, making him laugh again—though he did at least develop a sense of urgency, yanking off his clothes, grinning and pressing kisses wherever he could reach as he threw aside each article.
Had there been this much laughter last time? Had things felt this natural? Like they belonged here, in each other’s arms? She couldn’t remember. She only knew this. This felt right.
It felt like forever.
Chapter Nineteen
With a baby in the picture, morning afters had a very different feel. There was no lying in bed for hours, gazing at one another and making love over and over again while he professed his feelings.
Which was probably a damn good thing because if left to his own devices he probably would have told her he loved her again. And look how that had worked out last time. Sofie was the perfect distraction. Even if she did mean he woke up about two hours before his body thought was fair.
Rachel groaned and rolled onto her back, shoving her hair out of her face as the impatient, demanding cry came through the baby monitor.
“I’ll get her,” Cam offered, trying to work up the energy to actually heave himself out of bed.
One of Rachel’s eyes cracked open. “Really?”
The hope in her voice gave him the motivation to actually lever himself into a sitting position and fling his legs over the side of the bed. “Sure. Go back to sleep.”
She’d put on his shirt to pad to the bathroom in the middle of the night and it twisted around her as she turned toward him with a serious case of bedhead. It was a good look, a rumpled, sexy reminder of how they’d spent most of the night—making love and talking and making love again. But his daughter waited for no man, her crying taking on a frustrated note.