“Scott…”
He shut the trunk. Came around to the passenger side carrying a box of chew toys, bowls and treats. “What are you waiting for? Open the door and take your dog home.”
For this minute, she hated him a little bit less. She pulled the handle, felt a whoosh of cool as it escaped the air-conditioned interior. Seventy pounds of energized muscle sprang out into her waiting arms. God, how she’d missed her pretty puppy. Minx allowed the immobility briefly before becoming a black-and-tan streak as she blitzed around the front lawn, tongue flopping from the side of her long, goofy face. At ten years old, the sweet Dobie still bounced like a puppy. And she was home.
* * * * *
Mason sat in his truck, staring at the blue streamers and balloons. The giant number one stuck into the front lawn. Kid noise drifted into the cab through the open windows—a mixture of giddy voices and crying babies. He didn’t want to be here. Not solo. Not this time around.
He grabbed the gift bag and headed up the driveway to the backyard. Party central. At least a dozen kids in various ages and stages. Close to double that in corresponding adults. Mom, dad, kid. Mom, dad, kid, kid. Then—him. The sore, single thumb. He scooped a beer from the cooler, a lawn chair from the circle and found a shady spot near the fence. Inconspicuously present. And right on time for presents.
The process went faster than it had for Josh and Jane’s first kid’s first birthday. Hallelujah. This time, no reading every verse on every hokey card, no passing the gift around the circle. A simple announcement of the giver, hold up the present, and bam, done. Pretty efficient—until they came to his.
“Ooh, look at this…the gift bag is actually a pillow case. And it’s got trucks all over it. Oh my gosh, it even has Will’s name stitched on it!” Jane fingered the tiny card Andie had secured to her creation with an oversized diaper pin. “From Mason and Andie.” Jane pulled out the items Andie had chosen on their market shopping trip. When Jane finished squealing like a third-grader, she looked up, searching the yard until she spotted him. “Thanks, Mason and…oh, you’re alone today? Too bad.”
Yeah, he thought so too. Especially now that everyone who
wasn’t
alone was gawking. Jane’s husband whispered in her ear. Aw, hell. Nice going, buddy. Had to enlighten her in the middle of a crowd, huh?
“Oh, Mason, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had…uh…” Jane turned redder than red. “Should I send Andie a thank-you card, or…”
“Let’s go with
or
,
”
he said, raising his beer to the yard full of mostly familiar faces.
The next hour and a half crawled by. He successfully blended into the background. Relaxed as he watched. The odd man out today, and much of the time since he hadn’t joined the ranks of marriage and parenthood, he still enjoyed this type of gathering. Surrounded by good vibes, even when one, or several, of the kids started wailing.
Such as now. The birthday boy had passed the tipping point and was completely melting down. Jane was unsuccessfully trying to calm him and looking as if she might join him in the freak-out any second. Out of the throng, Josh appeared. Brushed her hair aside to kiss her cheek, then took their adopted son into his arms and disappeared into the house. No words exchanged. But anybody with eyes could see the love. Everywhere he looked in this group, love was in the smallest actions. Between husbands and wives, parents and their kids…
Well, fuck him. He’d been blind as well as dumb.
* * * * *
Friday, finally. Waiting the entire week had almost fucking killed him. So had Lasha, when he’d called to ask for a favor. Convincing Andie’s man-eating best friend that he’d come to his senses—permanently—had cost him three cocktails and a chunk of pride. But it was worth it.
He spotted Andie easily. Automatically, as if he were tuned to her frequency, or some cheesy bullshit like that. Tonight, she wore a formfitting green t-shirt, black shorts that showed off her incredible legs and a ponytail peeking out the back of a ball cap. Similar to the first time he’d seen her. One big difference—sneakers in place of her customary sexy heels. Better suited for dog-walking, a part of her life she’d recently regained. She stood at the fence, well away from the bleachers. Her dog sat dutifully at her side while both watched Dylan’s game.
After Lasha had decided to trust him, she’d told him about Scott’s big move in returning Minx. The closest thing to an apology for the controlling bastard. She’d also told him Scott had accepted Andie’s feelings, or lack thereof. Surprisingly, Lasha had sort of defended Scott. “At least he fought for what he wanted, even though he fought dirty,” she’d said. Then she’d demanded to know if
he
was going to fight for Andie. Fucking right, he was.
Starting now. He removed the wrapper from the baseball he’d brought. Rolled it carefully but directly at the dog. Minx took it into her mouth immediately.
Andie looked down at Minx mouthing the ball. “Minxie, drop that.” The dog wasn’t having any part of that command. “Minx. Drop it.” But the only dropping going on was by Andie, now on her knees, alternating between reasoning, scolding and attempting to pry the ball from Minx’s determined jaw. “Don’t you dare grumble at me, missy.”
Preoccupied by her battle with the dog, she didn’t notice his approach. Perfect. “Hey, can I get my ball back?”
“I’m so sorry, she won’t give it t—” Her voice faded to nothing as her eyes moved from his shoes, up his legs, all the way to his face. “Mason.”
He’d thought about that over and over, the way his name sounded in her soft voice, wondering if he’d ever hear it again. The plan in his head disappeared. All he could do was smile at her and hope she didn’t walk away.
“You seem to have trouble controlling your balls,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she stood.
“Yeah, I could use some hands-on practice.”
“Good thing you’ve got two. Passing your balls from hand to hand should build up your control. Or try using your non-dominant hand to do most of the work—it’ll improve your focus.”
“I’ve tried those.” Frequently, the past couple lonely weeks. “What I need is personal, one-on-one training.”
She bent to deal with Minx and the captive baseball again. “I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding a partner for that.”
Her voice had lost its natural playfulness with that last comment. Time to switch tactics. He crouched next to her, close, but not quite touching hips and knees. Offered his hand to Minx for a sniff the dog couldn’t be bothered to give.
“Lasha told me you had Minx back home. I’m happy for you.”
“You’ve talked to Lasha?” The pretty blue eyes flashed to his face, wide and worried.
“A couple of times. First one was the Friday after I made the biggest mistake of my life.” Her hand stilled on the dog’s fur. He wanted to reach for it and hold it so badly his fingers twitched. “She made quite an impression on my baseball team.”
“Lasha, out at a bar on a Friday night…I bet she did.”
“I should’ve listened to her then, but I was still in stupid asshat mode.”
“W-what’d she say?”
“Among other things, that I’m a shit-for-brains dickwad. Also, that you were head over heels for me. And that I don’t know you at all.”
“Well, she had parts of it right.”
“Parts?”
“Mmhmm. The dickwad part for sure.” Her eyelids fluttered as she looked down. “And…I was head over heels.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “You said
was
. Am I too late?”
“I…I won’t be a relationship where I’m not an equal partner, where I don’t have choices or the voice to state them, not again. No matter how I feel about…the person.”
Silence hung between them like a thick curtain. He hadn’t controlled her wardrobe or told her how to behave, as Scott had, but he’d still been a domineering jerk. In the worst way.
The packs of spectators on the bleachers erupted into hooting and yelling. Andie sprang to her feet and he followed, just in time to see Dylan in a rundown between second and third. She added her voice to the commotion, cheering for her son while jumping up and down.
The kid was doing a great job of deking out the infielders. Quick feet and good judgment, impressive for a twelve-year-old kid in a rec league. Mason found himself hollering along with the rest. And when her boy made it safely to third, Mason automatically lifted Andie in a celebratory hug. Damn, her arms felt right when they closed around his neck. He held her tight, heat from her pink cheeks transferring to his face. He closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, filling his head with the scent of her hair, her skin. The feeling of her tits against his chest, her heart pounding hard against his. He’d missed her so fucking much.
“Wait,” he said when she started to pull free. He dipped his head, let his lips hover a breath away from her soft pink lips. “I want to kiss you, but I know I have to earn that back. And I will, if you let me. I fucked up and I know that.” Reluctantly, he let her slide down his chest and away.
“This isn’t the place…”
It wasn’t a resounding yes, but it wasn’t a no. He’d take any opening she gave. “Have dinner with me later.”
“It’s seven o’clock—I’ve already eaten.”
“Dessert. We can get ice cream and walk Minx through Southside Park.”
She hesitated, then waved a finger at his uniform. “Looks as though you have a late game to get to.”
“I’ll skip it.”
“I don’t know…”
By the way she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. Not that he deserved one.
“Babe, I’ll skip them all. Whatever I have to do, I’m gonna do it, to get another chance with you.”
On the infield, Dylan’s game was coming to a close. Both teams had formed lines and were exchanging handshakes. Andie shuffled her feet, her attention shifting between the diamond, Minx’s continuing destruction of the ball, and him. Now wasn’t the time to press her.
“I’ll clear out so you can congratulate Dylan and see him off for the weekend.” He took her hand. Rubbed his thumb over the silky soft skin. “But I’m not done. I’m fighting for you. For us.”
There it was. The smile he’d been waiting for. One that told him she loved him, still, without her saying a word. Why had he been too stupid and stubborn to understand it sooner? However long it took, whatever he had to do, he’d earn her forgiveness. Rebuild her trust. And this time, keep it.
He kissed her hand, then walked backward toward the parking lot. No way was he giving up another minute of looking at that beautiful face.
“Hey,” she called. “I’m sorry about your ball. It’s not Minx’s style to be so possessive.” She shook her head at the dog and the pile of leather and rubber at her feet. “Or destructive.”
“Yeah, that’s my fault. I’ve had that ball packed in dried liver powder for two days. Kind of irresistible to dogs.” He had to grin when her mouth fell open. Damn, she was adorable when surprised. “Like I said, babe…whatever it takes.”
Chapter Eighteen
The seatbelt had barely clicked into place when her cell phone chimed. From Mason, the text simply read,
Dessert
?
Well, he was determined, at least. He had to be nearby. She peeked over her shoulder, starting a visual sweep of the parking lot. His truck hit her radar and her heart skipped a beat or six. Oh god, he was practically right in front of her. After hugging Dylan goodbye at the ball diamond, she’d put her head down and made a beeline for the car with Minx in tow. Her sole focus had been to get home so she could replay every second of the encounter with Mason. Probably with several glasses of merlot accompaniment.
Forget about conjuring up a mental picture of how hot he’d looked with his baseball shirt hanging open. The way his muscles had flexed every time he moved. She had the real deal not more than a dozen feet away.
His left arm rested on the open window, cell in hand. He waved it at her and another message popped onto her screen.
Say yes.
Groveling made most men seem weak. Not Mason. His slightly dominant method sent zingers to her heart…and below the belt. She’d barely resisted his verbal pleas for another chance, had wanted to leap into his arms at the first one. Hearing that Lasha had given him her scheduled location lowered her Mason-resistance that much more. He would’ve had to make a hell of a case to get Lasha’s cooperation.
She met his eyes and nodded. He smiled. She didn’t stand a chance.
* * * * *
“Sorry, change of plans,” she said to Mason as he joined her in her driveway. “Minx threw up in the backseat, several times. No ice cream and walk in the park for us tonight. Maybe another time.”
“Yeah, of course another time. Let me take a look at her.” He opened the rear door. Being in vet mode, he didn’t even wince at the stench. Just leaned in over the mess. He spoke low and softly while he felt Minx’s belly, checked her eyes and gums, then helped her out of the car. “It looks as if she’s cleared the contents of her stomach, including her supper. That’s a good thing.”
For the dog, yes. For the upholstery in her Volkswagen, not so much. Ingesting non-food items wasn’t typical behavior for Minx, so Andie hadn’t paid close attention while Minx happily shredded the baseball. Thank god it had all come back up. From the sheepish expression on Mason’s face, he was thinking the same thing. Only he could look guilty and sexy-sweet at the same time.
“You can probably guess what caused the vomiting.”
“Your irresistible balls?” She bit the inside of her cheek, but it was useless. She had zero poker-face ability. Trying to squelch the smile made it that much more obvious.
“Yeah.” Now he was grinning too. “I expected a lot of licking, maybe even some biting.” He winked, making her blush at the memory
that
comment triggered. “But I didn’t think there’d be swallowing.”
Minx took this opportunity to barf a puddle of gooey bile at their feet. Nice.
“Take her inside.” The vet was back, replacing the sexy-talking guy. “Burn some toast and feed it to her dry, it’ll help settle her stomach. Toss some supplies out and I’ll clean your car.”