Page 2 of Maid of Dishonor

Carter shrugs, but I can tell by the twitch at the corner of his mouth that he’s proud of it, too. He’s good at baseball—really good. This is just a community league we play in—and yes, I am the only woman on our team—but he still gives it his all. He’s like that in everything he does. He gives 100 percent. It’s something I love about him.

There are so many things I love about him. It’s a problem.

“You made some good catches too,” he says, letting his smile free.

“Thanks,” I say, though I’m not really paying attention to his words now. I lean back in my chair, fanning my face. The wings always do this to me. I don’t know if that’s even a thing, but when I eat wings, I always get hot. It’s even worse right now because I was already a mess from our game earlier. I pull my hat off, and I can practically feel the sweat gathering on my scalp. Gross.

Carter’s eyes flick to my hair, and I hold up a finger before he can speak.

“I know it’s bad,” I say, tugging the hair tie out and letting my bun free. “No commentary, please.”

Carter just shrugs, his lips twitching, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

I snort. “I’m sure.” I continue to tousle my hair, hoping the texture will make up for how nasty it is now. “I know I’m no Little Miss Waitress, but—”

“Little Miss Waitress?” Carter says, grinning outright now.

“She was all over you,” I say defensively. “It was obnoxious. You want someone with a little more subtlety.”

Carter’s grin widens. “You were just jealous of her b—”

“Okay,” I say loudly. “That’s enough of that.” I give up on my hair, putting my hat on again, backward this time. “I wasn’t jealous. Just because I don’t flaunt them doesn’t mean I don’t have them.” And I do have them. But I also have self-respect. And an affinity for sports bras, because they make sure the ladies behave themselves with all the moving around I do.

Carter shrugs again, fingering the rubber band around his wrist absently as he eyes me. I can tell from his smirk that he either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t want to comment. I’m hoping it’s the latter. It would bereallydepressing if after all these years of me pining for him, he still doesn’t realize I have breasts. I mean, yeah, I’m a bit of a tomboy, but I’ve got curves.

“You’re doing it again,” I say, pointing to the rubber band. He wears it all the time, and he won’t tell me why. It’s infuriating to no end, but I’ve stopped asking, because he staunchly refuses to say anything about it. Every now and then I’ll see him snap it against his wrist. He’s a weirdo.

He glances down at his wrist, looking at the rubber band as though he’s surprised it’s there. He removes his hand from it and grabs his drink instead, slurping loudly. When he’s done, he says, “You ready to go?” He looks at his watch. “I told Maya I’d be over at three.”

Oops—I’d almost forgotten we were stopping by to see Carter’s cousin. “That’s right—you’re sure she’s okay with me coming along? She did say she wanted to talk to you about something important,” I say.

He waves one hand. “She said she doesn’t care.”

“Okay. Let me just get a refill of my drink, then.” I gesture at his cup. “You want one?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says. “I’ll flag down the waitress and pay.”

“With your phone number?” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Nah,” he says.

I look at him, surprised. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “She’s not my type.”

“She’s female,” I say. I know arguing with him about this goes directly against my own interests, but I’m just calling it like I see it—and if she’s a woman, she’s his type.

Well, except for me, I mean.

He just shrugs again. “It’s like you said. I want someone less obvious.”

I give a mocking gasp. “Carter Ellis, are you taking my advice?”

He tries to glare at me, but the corners of his mouth quirk. “No way,” he says.

“You are,” I say, grinning. I grab his drink and stand. “And it’s about time. I’ve been waiting for you to ask my opinion on your love life since—”

“All right,” he cuts me off loudly. “Drinks, woman.”

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