“Oh.” Well, that’s a good sign. She’s heading back to my city. “So, I’ll see you on Sunday then? At my house.”
She chuckles and it’s laced with so much frustration. “First, you don’t want me to watch your son. Now, you do. Make up your mind, Rhodes. Which is it?”
Great fucking question. Does she think I have a goddamn clue what I’m doing? I want Max to be safe. I want to be the one to keep him safe, but I can’t be with him 24/7. I want him to be happy, but I also don’t want him to get his heart broken when this woman leaves in two months.
I lift my hat off my head, running a frustrated palm over my scalp before flipping it, brim to the back. “I don’t know, Miller.”
“Oh my God.” She throws her hands up. “I’m so done with you. Move.”
She bolts to the other side of me to get to the door. Without thinking and without words I reach out to stop her, but she moves one way and I move the other far too quickly so that both my hands land on her tits instead of my intended destination—the safety of her upper arms.
We freeze by the door, my hands cupping her.
Miller’s greens bounce down to my hands then back to me. She pauses for a beat, not saying anything until finally she clears her throat. “You gonna keep them there all night, or . . .”
“Shit.” I jerk my hands away, letting them settle at my sides, forming them into fists to resist accidentally touching her again because holy fuck, she felt good to touch.
My skin is buzzing; my nerves are on fire. I almost forgot what a woman’s body felt like, how delicious the weight felt in my palm. My fingers are tingling to remember again.
God. How fucking pathetic am I that an accidental tit grab is the most action I’ve seen in well over nine months?
“You need to touch them again?” Miller asks and it’s when my attention snaps to her that I realize my eyes have been trailing all over her body, thinking, fantasizing. “If touching my boobs makes you chill the fuck out, please, be my guest.”
“Sorry . . . I . . . It was an accident.”
“You’re acting like you’ve never touched a set of tits before. You have a kid. I do hope there was some boob grabbing on the night you made the little guy.”
“I’m sure there was, it’s just . . . Sorry.”
Miller softens, no longer trying to escape, but now I feel like a creepy old man standing in front of her door, refusing to let her leave after manhandling her without permission.
I move to the side, giving her a path to go, and wordlessly, she does.
“Will I see you in Chicago?” I desperately ask before she’s fully out the door.
Miller pauses for a moment before turning back. “Kai,” she exhales, her voice all gentle and I can tell from the tone alone that I won’t like the answer I’m about to get. “I’ve got a lot going on this summer, things I’m far too stressed about. I can’t handle your stress on top of my own. I thought I could do this for my dad, I wanted to do it for him, but I don’t think it’s going to work out.” She offers me a placating smile. “You’ve got an awesome kid. For both of your sakes, I hope you can learn to loosen the reins.”
Fuck.
There are so many questions I want to ask. What is she stressed about? What can I do to change her mind?
Then there’s the other part of that equation—Monty.
God, my brother was right. I am a grumpy dick because who else would ruin this for Monty of all people? He’s been so good to me and my family and all he wanted was to spend the summer with his daughter.
And my son. Fuck. My son liked her.
How many nights have I stayed awake, worrying about what being raised by an all-male baseball team is going to do to him? He genuinely liked a woman for the first time in his short life, felt comfortable with her, and my own bullshit scared her away.
I watch Miller leave down the hall, watch her get into the elevator, and I’m stuck wondering about how only hours ago I was wishing her away and now that she’s gone, I find myself desperate for her to stay.
Chapter 7
Miller
“Dad, you don’t need to make up the couch. I’m sleeping in my van tonight.”
Bending to reach my toes, I stretch out my back, needing some relief after my twenty-hour road trip. The last thing I want to do after sitting for so long is to sleep on a couch. The mattress in my van is far more comfortable.
“You can take my bed,” he insists.
“I’m not sleeping in your bed.”