Page 35 of Curveball
The sun will be warm today, so I’m already wearing a floaty sundress. The next several minutes are spent contemplating foundation, and scrapping it for tinted moisturizer, abandoning eyeliner before swiping on mascara, then going back and forth between sandals and sneakers.
I also go through a cocktail of emotions ranging from mild unease to heavy dread. I’ve spent the past decade shielding Dylan from the disparaging things people say about his father.They’re probably all true, but Dylan wasn’t involved in his schemes, and I wasn’t either.
Is this outing a mistake? Max is a very public figure. Even if he wasn’t a victim of Alex’s scam, his wealthy teammates or associates may have been.
By the time we pass through the gate to Max’s house and park the car in the front drive, anxiety has swum to the surface and wants to start a pity party. It’s a hundred-and-eighty-degree difference from my lighthearted exuberance of only two days ago.
Me: Last day for the win! Dress code goes out the window when I’m counting down the minutes till summer break
I tacked on a gif of the song, “Final Countdown,” and added a selfie of me in my jeans shorts and white tank top. I may have added the bra after I took the photo.
Bad Boy: My high school teachers were never as hot as you
And then, he sent me googly eyes.
Will he have googly eyes today, with the kids hanging around? Do I want him to?
Dylan flings back his seat belt and reaches for the door handle to hop out, but I throw my arm over his chest to stop him.
“Dylan, remember we’re here as guests. Please. Be respectful. No cussing. Use your best manners. Don’t?—”
“Mom, I know the drill.”
He flies out of the car, snatches up his gear bag, and he’s up the steps to the front porch. I follow at a slower pace, but all the while, he’s vibrating with impatience as we wait for someoneto respond to our knock. I flatten down the skirt of my dress, like that’s going to make it fall two inches longer.What was I thinking when I decided to wear this?
Max answers the door wearing a black biceps-defining Terrors tee and athletic shorts that hit just shy of his kneecaps. His legs are long and toned, and—I note in my quick once-over—covered in a masculine matting of dark hair. If I remembered he looks this good, I wouldn’t have slept at all without help from my feminine relaxation aid.
He widens the door and steps back, presumably to invite us inside. It’s only a guess, though. Because the guy hasn’t yet uttered a word. His unwavering gaze has been locked on me since the moment he opened the door.
“Thanks for having me over, Max!” Dylan barges in like he owns the place, then comes to a sudden stop and his eyes go wide when he takes in the scope of affluence surrounding us. “Whoa!”
I need to get the kid out more.
Max finally moves his attention from me but ignores Dylan’s overly-excited exclamation.
“No problem, man.” Max taps the bill of Dylan’s cap. “Let’s see if we can’t level you up.”
Dylan’s turning a slow circle, taking it all in. “Yeah, cool. Hey, Nat.”
Natalie comes around the corner dressed in a school tee, bike shorts, and a ballcap turned backwards, and meets us in the entryway. Well, I imagine they call it their entryway. Me? I’d call it the downstairs ballroom.
“Hey, bug. Can you take Dylan out to the field? You guys get warmed up so you’re ready to work. I’ll show Ms. Sloan around a little and we’ll meet you out there in a few.”
“Sure, Daddy.” She pops up on her toes and kisses his cheek. “Dilly’s watching TV in her room.”
She leads Dylan off through the house, and a moment later, a door in the rear slams shut. I flinch. That boy’s breaking all the rules and we haven’t been here fifteen minutes.
“Adele’s still on crutches?” I ask, though without the buffer of the kids, I’m afraid to look at him.
I’ve been wondering all day how this will play out, and refusing to get my hopes up. That pointless angst-ridden scenario has been monopolizing my headspace all morning.
“Palmer.”
His voice is insistent, and when I turn back from where the kids dashed through the house, his expression is calm and relaxed, his gaze warm and resolute.
This man could be dangerous. And by dangerous, I meanso much fun.
He steps closer and takes my hand. Doesn’t hold it, just lays it flat on his, palm to palm as if memorizing the whole of my ringless fingers, my knuckles, the length of my nails, the Band-Aid covering the paper cut I got while paying the water bill.
