Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“What?” she whispered.
But the words refused to come.
“Nothing.” I kissed her forehead. “Go on in the house and get dry.”
Then I turned and left the porch, heading back across the muddy yard toward the barn with long, angry strides.
The storm passed quickly, but our seven o’clock baseball practice was canceled since the field would be too soggy. Griffin, who served as unofficial team manager, texted the three of us with the news at six-thirty.
We could go to the gym instead, Cole suggested. Get a workout in.
Or we could skip working out and head to the pub. Get a few beers in, texted Moretti.
I vote beers, said Griffin. Weaver can break the tie.
I was up in my room, peeling off my wet, dirty clothes. My back was aching a little, so I didn’t really feel like lifting. Downstairs, Maddie was making spaghetti and garlic bread, and the whole house smelled amazing. I kind of just wanted to stay at home. But I hadn’t hung out with all three of my friends in a while, and Maddie would be here when I got back. Maybe I could have dinner here and then meet the guys afterward.
Beers, I texted. I’ll meet you at 7:30.
After a quick shower, I threw on jeans and a T-shirt and went downstairs. My dad and Elliott were playing cards at the kitchen table, and Maddie was tossing pasta with tomato sauce at the stove. With Dad and Elliott distracted, I pressed up close behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She’d traded her wet dress for shorts, a tank top, and that soft blue sweater. I kissed the side of her neck and inhaled the scent of her skin.
“Beckett,” she scolded in a whisper. “They’ll see us.”
“I don’t care,” I told her, but I let her go. “By the way, practice was canceled. But if it’s okay with you, I’ll meet the guys for a beer after dinner.”
“Of course it’s okay.” She licked sauce off her finger and carried the pasta bowl over to the table. “We’ve got big plans here. Your dad and I are going to dig out some old photo albums—he wants to show me some of his baseball pictures—and Elliott claims he’s going to whoop my derrière in gin rummy.”
“Whoop your butt,” Elliott clarified.
She gave him a stern look as she set the bowl down. “We don’t say butt at the table.”
“Maybe you don’t,” he muttered, making my dad laugh.
Maddie sighed. “Clean up the cards and go wash your hands.” She came back to the kitchen as the oven timer went off. “Beck, can you pull the bread out while I grab us some plates?”
“Sure. Thanks for making dinner.” While no one was in the room, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. “You spoil me.”
She smiled, her cheeks going pink. “It’s my pleasure.”
“You don’t really have to go back to Ohio, do you?”
She laughed. “I think my boss would appreciate it if I showed up for work when I’m supposed to.”
“What if I tied you up and refused to let you go?”
Her eyes widened, her smile amused. “Where would you keep me?”
“Hmm.” I buried my face in her neck. “The bedroom. No—the kitchen. I love when you cook. But the barn was fun too. I can’t decide.”
“Tied up in a barn.” She laughed and playfully pushed me away. “You really know how to make a girl an offer she can’t refuse.”
The oven timer beeped again, and I switched it off before grabbing an oven mitt. “A cowboy doesn’t offer to tie a girl up, Maddie. He just does it.”
“Well, in that case,” she said, swatting me on the butt, “I suppose I’ll have to watch myself around you.”
I glanced at her over my shoulder and felt the cracks in my heart widen. “Damn right.”
By eight o’clock, the guys and I were seated at our favorite table at the back of the Bulldog Pub, working on our second beers. We’d already discussed the lineup for next Thursday’s game, talked shit about the Mason City Mavericks—our first opponent of the season and chief rival in the Allegan County Senior Men’s League—and argued about whether MLB superstars were worth their astronomical salaries.
Once baseball talk was exhausted, Moretti turned to Cole. “So you ready to get hitched?”
“I hope so,” he said with a laugh, “since a hundred people are coming to watch it happen.”
“You sure you don’t want any kind of bachelor party?” Griffin asked.
“I’m positive.” Cole shook his head. “Been there, done that. I’m happy with this right here.”
“And we should be at your house by three-thirty that day, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. Ceremony is at five, but there are pictures before.” Cole took a long drink from his beer. “There are pictures about fifty fucking times that day.”
Griffin groaned. “I remember that. And then we got them back and Blair was like, ‘Dammit, why aren’t you smiling in any of these?’”