“As all men should be.”
Isaiah makes his presence known with a childish squeak of a laugh. “I like her,” he says.
“Well at least one of the Rhodes boys does.”
“Two,” I interject.
A flash of confusion and maybe a bit of hope washes over her face.
“Max.”
She barks a laugh, and that fucking sound is so frustratingly sexy to me that I have to clear my throat and turn away from her.
“Emergency numbers,” I say, pointing to the list attached to the fridge. “Mine. The team’s travel coordinator. Hotel front desk. The local hospital—”
“You added 9-1-1.”
“They’re emergency numbers.”
“I think I’ve got that one down already.”
I continue down the list. “Your dad.”
“Got that one too.”
Isaiah barrels his body between us, pen outstretched. “Mine,” he says as he sprawls his number on the very bottom, ten times the size of the rest. “Text me anytime. Call me. Emergency, non-emergency.” He blocks me by turning his back to me, arm leaning on the fridge to create a barrier she can’t see behind. “I’m Max’s favorite and I have a feeling I’ll be yours too.”
Miller chuckles. “Thirsty.”
Well, that’s new. I’m used to women falling for my brother’s charmingly easy playboy thing.
Isaiah doesn’t move, keeping his body between ours. “I like to call myself eager.”
“Parched. Dehydrated,” she continues.
“Desperate,” I add for her.
“Hey.” Isaiah holds up a single finger. “If I wasn’t getting any, I’d let you call me desperate, but I’m doing just fine in that department, so I would say I’m enthusiastically available.”
“Sounds like you keep yourself plenty busy then. No need to try for your coach’s daughter, right? Don’t think he’d like that all too much.” Miller tilts her head.
Isaiah stiffens, his voice dipping to a whisper. “Please don’t tell your dad.”
“Then please don’t make it awkward for me while I’m watching your nephew.”
Okay, maybe there are three Rhodeses that like her.
“You heard the woman.” I usher him to the door. “Stop harassing her and leave so Max can get to know her.”
“But I wanna get to know her!” he says as I push him out of the room.
I shut the door behind him, turning back to the kitchen. “Sorry about him.”
“Was I too direct?”
“Nah. A little rejection is good for his overgrown ego, but by turning him down you probably made him fall in love with you. So, good luck with that.”
“Great,” she deadpans before finding Max sitting at her feet, staring up at her.
She gets down on her haunches, making herself as eye level as she can. “Hi, Bug.”
Max smiles and I lean against the wall, watching them.
“What do you say? Wanna hang out with me while your dad is working? We can watch his game and make fun of how tight his pants are.”
“You’ll be watching?”
“The game? Or your ass?”
“Both.”
Miller’s greens dart to me over her shoulder.
Shit. The old me popped out without thought, two seconds after she gave my brother a warning for hitting on her.
A smirk lifts on her lips, but she doesn’t fully answer my question. “Yeah, I’ll be watching.”
“Shit. Shoot,” I correct myself. “You probably have tickets. You should go to the game. Hang out with your dad afterward. I’ll get Sanderson from the staff to watch him.”
“It’s fine.” She waves me off, clearly not picking up on the fact I’d rather have Sanderson watch him tonight. I trust him enough and, that way, Max will be at the field where I am. “It seems I’ll be around all summer now. Plenty of baseball to watch.”
Yeah, we’ll see about that.
Part of me wants to set her up for failure, give her dad a reason to fire her, but her failing only hurts Max in the long run.
Right on cue, as that disapproving thought passes through my mind, Max reaches his hands up for Miller to hold him. She takes him with ease, and he buries himself into her shoulder, something he never does with strangers, least of all a random woman.
My son looks over to me, a little grin on his lips as if he were silently telling me that, despite my best efforts, she’s staying.
Taking my hat off, I give myself a moment between pitches, running my thumb over the small photo of Max I keep tucked into the inner band.