Page 34 of Rebellious

“Liam doesn’t just work for the team,” Mom adds. “His father owns it.”

Okay. So Liam is a rich turd; so are we, technically. “Okay. And Dad invited him here, why?”

My mom shrugs. “He says he and Hayes want to pitch a few prospects to him.”

“Oh, well. Who cares? Dad is always pitching prospects to baseball teams.” That’s his job. He and my uncle Hayes opened their own scouting company when my dad retired from Major League Baseball. They have contracts with several teams now on the east coast. “What’s that got to do with me and Bennett?”

I look at my mom like she’s become ridiculous since I’ve moved out. “I think—” she sighs, “—your Dad invited Liam to introduce to you.”

Aunt B groans and puts her head on the counter.

“Oh,” I say, finally seeing why B looks exhausted.

“Yeah,” my mom adds, “this weekend is going to be a shitshow.”

No secrets at the dinner table

Aspen

“Your mom sent me out here to tell you dinner is ready.”

Sweat drips down Bennett’s chest. I don’t bother hiding my stare.

He grunts, nodding in my direction. “Hand me that hammer.”

Typical Bennett, ignoring my gawking by deflecting. “I don’t see a hammer.” My voice is serious as if I turned around and gave the bench I’m sitting on a thorough look.

“You might find it if you’d stop staring at my nipple.”

The faint whisper of a smile sends a ridiculous amount of girly tingles swirling in my stomach. We don’t have a rule about gawking. “Which nipple am I looking at?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Does it matter?”

I manage not to laugh. “Absolutely. Because if you’re able to specify the particular nipple that’s caught my eye, then I know you’re not paying near enough attention to whatever you’re pretending to do out here.”

A sound that borders on amused seeps out of his parted lips. What did I tell you? Bennett Jameson wants to pretend he can ignore our connection and shove it between the lines of his stupid rules, but the truth is he’s affected, and it kills him he can’t control it.

“Are you going to answer?” I prod. He stares at me, that hard jaw snapping shut, accentuating the cutest muscle tic ever.

“Tell Mom I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Any other girl would take his dismissal like a lady and gracefully see herself out of his space. Too bad I’m not a lady. “Sure.”

I stay put, swinging my legs under the workbench, kicking up tufts of hay as I go.

“Aspen.”

I lift my gaze back from where it had been admiring the left pec—not the nipple, but that looked good too. “Yeah?”

His sigh is heavy, and I could give about minus two shits about it. “Can you give me a minute?”

That would be a no.

“Why?”

Don’t think I haven’t noticed his exceptionally terrible attitude since he found out Liam, the sole heir to the Boston Bulls’ Ball Club, is coming to dinner. He acted like it was no big deal when my mom told him and our brothers, simply nodding and flashing a fake smile. But I knew he was pissed. Hence, his being out here in the barn working on random shit that isn’t broken.

Aunt B told me to give him space, but I’m used to moody Bennett. However, this Bennett, the one hiding out in the barn, is a broody bitch on steroids. And I know exactly how to fix that attitude. Just not now. Not when he rakes his hand through his hair and growls out, “Aspen!”

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