Page 42 of Curveball
“It was easy when we were words on a screen, not here, standing in front of each other expecting just the right reaction, just the right thought.”
“I don’t expect anything special.” Her hand lifts from covering my tats and moves to lay on my chest. “Just you.”
I lift my eyebrows and peer down at her with a grin. “You sayin’ I’m not special?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, for the love of?—”
I cut her off with my mouth on her lips.
Her surprised moan hums against my mouth and vibrates all the way to my cock. I reach down and lift her so I don’t have to lean so far, and her short, flirty skirt flutters around her as she wraps her legs around me while I kiss her lips, her ear. I’m freeto rake my mouth across this woman who makes me lose my ever-loving mind, and then teases me back to sanity.
Her mouth is latched to my earlobe, then sucking and licking her way over the scruff covering my cheeks and chin, lengthening her neck so I can ravage that vein pulsing at the base of it. She’s filling my senses with the soft feel and sweet smell of her, her hips rocking over the thin fabric of my shorts with her movements.
The sound of Dylan and Natalie bickering as they cross the yard thankfully reaches us with just enough time to disengage and pretend we weren’t attached at the lips only a moment ago.
Dylan sees us first, and isn’t quick enough to hide a smirk. “Hey, there you are. We thought you were already inside.”
Palmer clears her throat and runs a hand over her hip. “We’re just discussing”—her gaze flits to mine, then to a point over Dylan’s shoulder—“stuff. Go on out front and I’ll meet you there.”
“Everything okay, Palmer?” Dylan’s a teenage boy and they’re rarely tuned in to emotions, but Natalie—another story with that girl.
“Yeah, honey. Your dad and I are just talking about?—”
“Grown-up stuff, right?” Then she laughs. “Come on, Daddy, I know the sex face when I see it.”
She disappears before I can even sputter out a lie.
Palmer is bent over with laughter. “Holy hell, where did you find that girl? She is a blessing.”
I’m still shaking my head, and wondering what I’m in for after Palmer and Dylan leave. Maybe it’ll be possible to sneak out and not come back till she forgets today happened.
Palmer is still staring after my daughter, amusement and a tender smile covering her features.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the deal with Natalie’s mom?”
I’m caught off-guard by her question. Not that I mind the subject; the story’s been in the press for years. But Palmer’s so guarded about her own life, it’s surprising she’d bring up the topic of Hannah.
I shrug and lead her to sit beside me on a padded settee. “Hannah Mulligan was my best friend in college, if you can imagine that. We met when we were both sophomores and then we became . . . closer . . . senior year. I had a breakout season after just missing out the year before, and I was working my ass off. I had hundreds of teammates, classmates, dormmates—but she was the one who got me. We were both focused on our goals and didn’t want significant others. Sooo . . . it worked out for both of us.”
Palmer laughs. “Oh, my God, she was your friend with benefits?”
Lips twisted to the side, I look down at her with side eyes. “And I knocked her up.”
She gasps, then gapes, and I remember that reaction clearly. I was shocked, too, at the time.
“I’d never leave her to deal with that alone. Like I said, best friend. We both agreed we wanted the kid—that was never a question. We were both on track for being financially set, we just needed a little time to make it happen.”
Palmer’s been thoughtful, but when she finally replies, she’s not judgmental at all. “That must have been rough.”
It definitely wasn’t an easy time. I nod. “We had a lot of questions. A lot of doubts that we were doing the right thing. Except”—I shrug—“Weknew.”
Palmer lays her dainty hand on my forearm and I like the way it looks, blending with the colors and shapes etched into my skin. “Natalie’s an exceptional girl. I’m sure her mom must have been, too.”
I nod, but slowly. “She was my person, at a time when I needed one desperately. She’d been accepted to several law schools, but hadn’t heard back from Vanderbilt, so she didn’t know if she’d be able to stay in Nashville.” At Palmer’s questioning gaze, I tack on, “She ended up at Penn.”
Her brow cinches. “So, how?—”
“I landed my first contract with the Terrors—a sheer stroke of luck—so I knew I’d live in Nashville. At least one of us would be nearby, close to the baby. At the time, it was the best we could hope for.”
