Chapter 14
Gunner
The ball sailed over my head, slamming into the chain-link fence behind me. I placed the end of the bat against the dirt and leaned on the knob as I stared at Delilah. She refused to meet my eyes, fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt and adjusting the pink scarf around her neck, which matched the pretty blush staining her cheeks.
I flicked my gaze to Tucker. “Is it always like this?”
“Yep.” He had his bat secured on his shoulders, behind his neck, as his wrists rested on it. A broad grin stretched across his face as his eyes bounced between me and his mom.
“How are you able to practice?”
“I have a pitching machine, but Mom says she’s better.”
“Better at taking your head off maybe,” I mumbled. Tuck chuckled.
“Hey! I resent that! I’m just not used to pitching to someone who’s the size of an ogre.” Delilah shrugged and sniffed. She bent at the waist, picking up another ball from the mound. I couldn’t look away from her pert ass sticking up in the air. All thoughts about headhunting baseballs and the fact that her son was just a few feet from me fled my mind as I got lost in fantasies.
“It’s my turn,” Tucker said.
“I’m ready.” Delilah turned her body, placing the ball in the glove on her left hand. She took a deep breath, and I couldn’t hold back my amused laugh. She looked like she was mimicking every pitcher she’d seen in a movie. I jogged toward the mound and held out my hand. “I’m pitching,” she said.
“No, sweetheart, I like your kid. I like where his head is. If you always throw him the ball like that, it’s only a matter of time before you take off his head.”
“It’s only because of your height.”
“No, it’s not,” Tucker called from home plate, where he was swinging his bat and grinning. I matched his grin and turned it on Delilah.
“The kid has spoken.”
“We’ll see.” She marched off the field, her hips swaying with each step. She glanced over her shoulder with a wicked grin. “I did save you a little something in the kitchen, but I guess I’ll take it for myself now.”
“Wait,” I called out. “What was it?”
She didn’t answer. I turned to Tuck. “Is she serious? She’d keep dessert from me?”
“Definitely.”
“I’ll find a way to get your treats,” I called to Delilah’s retreating form. She spun and gracefully lowered herself on the old, worn wooden bench. Fire licked through my veins, and my entire focus centered on her lips as her teeth tugged on the corner of her mouth, trying to stop a smile. The most gorgeous crimson color spread up her neck to her cheeks.
The only thing I’d ever been this focused on, before her, was baseball. During a game, my focus was on that round white ball, the cracking of a wooden bat, and the spongy grass beneath my cleats. All the other shit faded away. I didn’t hear the hecklers in the outfield or behind the plate while I was batting. I tuned out the catcher’s taunt as I waited for the perfect pitch. The concession guys hollering up the stairs and the families cheering—all of it faded to white noise. I only heard the whistle of the ball and the crack of the bat.
Baseball was the only thing I’d been able to focus that hard on, tuning every part of myself onto one thing. Until Delilah. Until her smile and sharp wit. She trapped my focus and kept it solely on her until she broke eye contact.
I shook my head to clear it and turned back to her kid. I’d been shocked when I found out he wasn’t hers biologically. He looked exactly like her. He smiled and it was the same as his mom’s. And I knew that these two had the power to move baseball to the side and become the center of my world.
Tuck tapped the top corner of the plate twice and the corner closest to his back foot once before he squatted and centered the bat in front of his face. There was so much swagger in his routine—the exact same routine as mine—and more confidence than any eight-year-old should have as he placed the bat above his shoulder and made eye contact with me.
A hellacious smirk crossed his face as he waited for the pitch, and I was torn between letting my competitive side take over and the damn delight I felt as I watched him square up and prepare for whatever came his way. Were all kids like this or just him? I’d signed plenty of autographs before games, but I hadn’t really spent time with many kids. I’d certainly never met a kid like this.
If I had been asked even two months ago if I’d be interested in a single mom, I would’ve answered with a resounding hell no. I wanted easy, painless, and no strings. Kids always came with strings.
But this pair had me wrapped up in knots, and I hadn’t even tasted Delilah’s mouth yet. I broke eye contact with Tuck and glanced at Delilah. I had to make that happen soon or I might go crazy.
I returned my gaze to Tuck and pitched him the ball. He let it sail past him, easing out of his stance before glaring at me.
“I know you can throw harder than that. That was weak.”
I laughed and grabbed another ball from the tin can at the base of the mound. “Alright, kid.”
I shook my head and grinned as I watched him go through his batting routine again. Batters’ routines are ingrained from a young age and, to guys as superstitious as baseball players, nailing the routine can make it or break it for the at-bat.
I threw the ball harder this time, trying to find the balance between not throwing too hard but still with enough force to challenge him. It was through those challenges that he’d be able to take the next step in his game, if that was what he chose.
The ball fouled off the end of his bat in a line drive straight to the area where Delilah was sitting. Panic robbed my lungs of air and squeezed my throat. My heart didn’t know if it should stop or gallop; it was a mixture of the two. I felt everything in that split second it took for the ball to sail right toward her.
“Delilah,” I called frantically. She had put on a glove between the last pitch and this one. She reached up into the air and caught the ball easily. I bent over, putting my hands on my knees. “Jesus.” All the air rushed from my lungs.
Tuck started going through his batting routine again, and Delilah tossed the ball toward me as if nothing had happened. It bounced along the grass, coming to rest perfectly at the base of the mound.
“You okay?” she called. “I thought baseball players would be in better shape than that.”
“That could’ve hurt you. You should sit somewhere else.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s the first time he’s sent a ball flying toward me? It won’t be the last either. I’m fine. I may not pitch well, but I can catch the ball.”
“Except for that one time.” Tuck laughed.
Delilah glared at her son. “That doesn’t count because I wasn’t expecting a ball to come breaking through my kitchen window, bounce off my chest, and land in the soup I was making for Mrs. Tilbury!”
Tucker’s bat fell to the ground as he cackled with his entire body. “She-she-she was covered in tomato soup when I came inside. She looked like Carrie.”
Delilah gasped. “How do you know about Carrie?”