Page 65 of Room 4 Rent

She stares at Ez but doesn’t say anything.

“That’s not her name,” I add, still trying to figure out why she’s content in his arms.

Ez leaves to talk to Remi, and Sadie and I continue watching Cason and the way his muscles pop out with the weight of Tatum in his arms.

Tatum scowls at me, and I half expect her to lay her head on Cason’s chest. It’s late for her, the white glow of the stadium lights shining brightly on her tired eyes. “Yes, it is.”

“She’s going through a phase,” I tell him, trying to clarify the confusion.

“And that is?”

I shrug, reaching for Tatum when she decided she’s had enough of Cason. He wouldn’t let her run around the field, so that killed the reason for letting him hold her. “Loretta.”

He smiles at her and hands her a ball Ez tosses at him. “Here you go, Loretta.”

I focus on his hand, his strong fingers, and the things those fingers can do for me.Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m so screwed.

Regardless, I sigh. “The room is yours if you want it.”

He nods. “I’ll stop by in the morning before I have to be back here.”

Right. He has a game tomorrow night too.

With a sigh of uncertainty, I step back. “By the way.” He lifts his eyes to mine when I pause. “Good game.”

A chuckle leaves his lips. “Not 105, but still…”

“Still amazing. Impressive. You’re much better sober.”

A beautiful, the most infectious smile I’ve ever seen, better than Remi’s, graces his lips, and I can’t imagine how any woman could ignore him. “Thank you.”

His name is called from someone in the dugout. He twists his head at the sound, and I’m offered the strain in his neck, a reminder of our time together when he threw his head back when he came.

Annoyed with myself, I step back further and hand off Tatum to Sadie, who takes her to the bathroom, again.

I remain rooted in place to see what Cason might say next.

He nods to whoever is talking to him in the dugout but then turns back to me. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, come by whenever.”

“I’ll bring you some coffee.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He shrugs one shoulder, chewing on his lip, his hair matted to one side and beading with sweat. I want to lean in and smell him.

Awkwardly, I raise my hand. “Well, thanks for the tickets.”

“Thanks for the room.”

With another smile, he ducks his head and into the dugout, disappearing and leaving me wondering what the fuck I’m thinking letting this guy move into my house. Technically, above my garage.

Thank God it’s not attached to the house.

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