That smile I was trying to hide is fully exposed now. “Charming.”
“Now help me clean up from the tornado that came through my kitchen while you tell me more about this job you suck at so badly.”
Using the nearest dish towel, I wind it back, whipping it against his ass.
“Nice try, Miller. But it’s all muscle. I didn’t feel a thing.”
Taking the space next to him, I dry as he washes, and I don’t point out that he has a perfectly good dishwasher two feet away because I like having an excuse to stay. He listens intently as I ramble about my job, asking detailed follow-up questions, and it’s then I realize he’s doing exactly what I asked him to do.
He’s getting to know me.
I already accepted that I was staying for the summer, but as we stand in his kitchen, cleaning together, it feels like the moment that Kai has accepted I’m staying too.
My dad’s smile beams under his baseball hat as he drives us to the airport. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him in a while, reaffirming I made the right decision to spend my summer near him.
I’ve been parked outside of Kai’s place for a week now, but I head to my dad’s each morning so we can share breakfast together. It’s enough of a compromise for him since I’m not staying at his apartment.
“This is nice,” he says. “It feels like the old days when you were a little girl and you’d come to practice with me and hang out in the dugout.”
“Because you bribed me with ice cream.”
“It was worth the investment.” He peeks over at me, his brown eyes wistful as if he were reliving my entire childhood. “Missed you, Millie.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “Missed you too, Dad.”
My phone dings in my lap with another unsaved number. To be candid, most numbers in my phone are unsaved and unknown. What’s the point? I don’t stay in one place long enough to save them.
Unknown: Are you and Monty on the way?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Really, Miller? You’ve been watching my son for a week and you haven’t saved my number in your phone yet?
Me: Gonna need you to narrow it down a bit more. Could be anyone, really.
Unknown: I’m the guy who looks devastating in his baseball pants. Your words, texted to me last night. Scroll up in your messages.
Me: . . .
Unknown: I’m the guy you’re mooching water and electricity from.
Me: Baseball Daddy?
Unknown: You on your way?
Me: Yes, pulling into the lot now.
Unknown: Good. And Miller?
Me: Yeah?
Unknown: Save my number in your phone. You’re stuck with me for a bit.
“What are you so smiley about?” My dad laughs.
I quickly flip my phone over to hide the screen in my lap. “What?”
His brown eyes glint, a knowing smile trying to erupt on his lips, but I ignore him, hopping out of the car outside the private airport terminal at O’Hare International airport.
The plane is surrounded by line-crew putting away baggage, team travel coordinators checking off the manifest, and photographers taking pictures for the team’s social media.
And right there at the base of the aircraft stairs are Kai and Max.
Kai is rocking the backwards hat today, painfully handsome in a tee and shorts that cut above his knees. It’s the first time I’ve seen his legs and I’m not sure what I was expecting, or if I was expecting anything really, but they’re thick, cut, and corded.
Didn’t know a man’s calves could be hot, but here we are.
And he’s got . . . Is that a thigh tattoo peeking out past the hem of his shorts? Who would’ve thought stick-up-his-ass Kai had some ink?
My dad stays back to talk to one of the pilots. A line-guy takes my luggage for me, and Max essentially hurls himself at me as soon as I’m close enough.
“There’s my guy,” I laugh. “Missed you, Bug.”
He giggles, his chubby hands roaming over my face, gently touching my septum ring. I pretend to bite his finger and his laugh explodes, falling into my shoulder before he begins to trace the ink there. I’ve quickly learned it’s his favorite thing to do while I’m holding him.
I find Kai leaning against the stairwell, hands in his pockets and watching us. “Hi.”
His blue eyes are soft. “Hi.”
My dad steps up, joining us. “Hey, Ace.”
Kai clears his throat, standing straight. “Monty,” he says, with a hand in his and his arm thrown over his back.
Icy eyes dart to me from behind his glasses while he hugs my dad.