Page 87 of Curveball
He stretches across the console, his forearm flexing when he reaches for me and grasps my hand. The hand that’s wearing his big-ass ring.
“You can buy me one if you like, but I have an appointment for a tattoo tomorrow afternoon. I thought you might like to come with me when I do that.”
“A tattoo? That’s pretty permanent.”
What the hell is he thinking?
“Sure, but I can’t wear a ring when I play, and I’m playing, one way or another, for most of the year. Here, check it out. I came up with a great idea for the design, so I drew it out.” He digs into his jacket pocket and passes me a business card for a tattoo studio. “No, flip it over,” he instructs, and I do that.
“Oh, this design looks nice. I like how it looks both modern and masculine.”
“Look again,” he directs, but he’s smiling, as though he has a secret. “Now, what do you see?”
I pull it closer, inspect the design sketched on the card.
“Oh, Max!”
His attention stays on the highway and the late afternoon traffic as I examine his work, and it is . . .detailed. Like, it’sourdetails—both of our initials and today’s date fashioned in a design that, at first glance, seems simple. But now that I know how inspired it is, there’s absolutely nothing simple about it.
“Your design is so creative. I love it. But you won’t ever be able to take it off. What if?—”
He exits the freeway, already shaking his head, his hands wrapped around the black leather of the steering wheel and his gaze focused forward, as if he’s afraid to see what’s on my face.
“Don’t plan to take it off, Palmer Girl. Not ever.”
My features soften, and so does my heart.
Talkabout the weirdest wedding day ever. Go to work like it’s any other Monday, pop off to the courthouse to say a few words and get a paper signed, then scoot on over to a welcome party, that also happens to be a baby shower, for one of your brand-new husband’s teammates. This is notnormal.
Yet here I am, holding hands and chatting with a star pitcher from the home team, striding up to the massive front door of yet another oversized home in the city I used to consider my escape. Noise from the crowd of partygoers travels through the house and from the back yard, and the aroma of meat on the barbeque grill is enticing. There will be no privacy and zero anonymity once I step through that beautiful door. It’s crafted of glass and wrought iron, like they have nothing to hide . . . and I envy that. I’ve got enough for all of us.
Max doesn’t even bother ringing the doorbell—nobody would hear us anyway—just opens the heavy door like he visits rock stars’ homes on a regular basis. For all I know, maybe he does.
“You okay?” he asks when I hesitate at the doorway.
I smile—c’mon Palmer, you’ve got this—and take another step.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Chapter 29
Max
We’ve hardly crossed the threshold into Gavin’s house before we’re surrounded by a multitude of friends, and those who like to act friendly with any kind of celebrity. Not quite the low-key entry I hoped to make, but it’s sort of how it goes. Palmer’s sticking close, though, right where I like her.
“You okay?” I have to raise my voice so she can hear me over the noise.
“Not my first rodeo,” she yells back—and it reminds me that she lived this life, or something similar, for several years with her husband.Ex-husband.The guy who was a prick and left her to pick up the pieces of her life. I’m thankful she decided to move on and make her life better in my city. With me.
“All right, cowgirl. Let’s lasso us up something to drink,” I say in an exaggerated western drawl, and she laughs at my antics. After the contradictory vibes I’ve been feeling from her ever since we entered the courthouse, it’s good to know I can still make her happy.
I push into the throng, widening a path to bull our way through the house, but it takes real effort to cross the open layout of the lower level and into the back yard. Gunnar said his brother was having a party; he did not mention half of Davidson County would be in attendance.
I’d just fished a couple of bottles of water from a super-sized cooler on the deck when teammates Jake, Chase, and Lucas all appear together.
“You guys just get out of the pool?” It’s a rhetorical question. They all have dripping hair and damp towels slung over their shoulders. “Or maybe you all just enjoyed a group shower?”
“Old man has jokes,” Jake laughs out, and the other two are already cracking up. Palmer’s chuckling, too, and I don’t even care if she’s laughing with me or at me. It’s good to see her smile.
