Protecting What's Mine(51)

Her lips quirked. “Yeah. He’s okay. Thanks again for dinner last night.”

“You should let me make you breakfast sometime.”

“Yo, coach. Are you gonna pay attention to the game or not?” Luke called.

Dreamy grinned. “Someone’s in trouble,” she sang.

“If you wait for me after the game, I’ll take you for ice cream,” he offered. He didn’t mention that they’d also be taking an entire team of pre-teen baseball players with them.

“Between this injury and you feeding me, I’m going to lose all fitness.”

“One piece of pie and one little ice cream cone won’t kill you. Besides, you’re welcome to use the gym at my place any time you want. I’ll spot you.”

“Yeah, I bet you will,” she said. “Looks like you’re needed on the field, coach.”

Linc turned and saw a pile of boys between second and third base. He couldn’t tell if they were fighting or celebrating.

He gave her a grin and jogged off toward the melee.

Later in the game, he searched the crowd for her and found her on the first bleacher sitting next to Tyrone’s grandfather. They looked as though they were deep in conversation when a fly ball cleared the fence.

“Yo, Mack!” he called out the warning.

But it was unnecessary.

She snatched it out of the air bare-handed a foot from Leroy Mahoney’s face without bobbling the remains of her hot dog. The grin she sent him when she threw it back was pure sin.

“Do not get any ideas there,” Luke said, appearing beside him to burst his bubble.

“I think we’ve already established that we’re not the kind of buddies who give each other dating advice,” Linc warned him. He was bracing for it. The you’re not good enough for her talk.

“Look, man,” Luke said, surprising Linc with his earnestness. “I know shadows when I see shadows. She’s got shit to work out before she’s relationship material. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Linc was touched. “Wait a second. Hang on. Are you trying to protect my feelings?”

Luke shrugged. “Don’t make this weird. I’m just saying there’s something going on there, and if she doesn’t deal with shit, things will go south fast.”

The man spoke from personal experience. Linc recalled their entertaining and dramatic fight years earlier in the grocery store’s beverage cooler.

Luke had almost lost Harper and had to work hard to earn her back.

“I’m more comfortable with you hating my guts,” Linc admitted.

“Yeah. Me, too. Let’s go back to that.”





24





Leroy Mahoney was a big man in a freebie t-shirt and denim shorts held up by suspenders. He wore blinding white sneakers with slightly dingier white socks hiked to his knees. Every time he stood up to cheer, diet soda sloshed over the rim of his plastic cup.

“Hey there, Leroy,” Mack said. She pretended not to notice the guilty look he shot in her direction.

“Oh. Hello, there, Dr. Mack.” His mustache twitched. “I, uh, sorry about not returning your calls. Tyrone keeps me pretty busy and, uh, my phone is lost.”

On cue, a cheery polka ringtone sounded from inside his pocket.

“I think it’s in your shorts,” she said helpfully.

He chuckled nervously and fished the phone out. He hit the ignore button, which she knew was exactly what he’d been doing to her calls.

She sank down on the metal bleacher next to him and couldn’t quite contain the sigh that escaped when she took the weight off her foot.

He glanced down at her boot. “Sorry to hear about you getting hurt and all,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, now the self-conscious one.

“How’s Tyrone feeling?” she said, changing the subject.

“Couple days of rest, four viewings of The Princess Bride, and he’s back to normal. Just like you said.”

“Good.” She nodded at the kid with grass stains on his knees. “So he plays left field?”

Leroy beamed, radiating proud grandpa vibes, and Mack, for just a split second, wondered what it would have been like to have a Grandpa Leroy in her life.

“He’s really progressing. He’s a natural just like his Pop-Pop.”

“You played?” she asked, biding her time with a bite of hot dog.

He surged to his feet along with the crowd around them at a pop-up into left field. “Get it, Tyrone!” Mack stayed on her butt to save her ankle for the arduous limp back to the parking lot.

The man’s grandson trotted across the green of the outfield, screwing up his face in concentration. The ball hit his mitt and—thankfully—stayed put.

“Out!” the ump yelled over the celebrating crowd.

Leroy danced a surprisingly spry boogie. “That’s my boy!” He turned back to her and gave her a hearty high-five, then continued down the whole row.

The Spider Pigs skipped off the field, whooping their delight.

Her gaze skimmed to the blond, muscular coach high-fiving kids left and right.

She felt a foreign, female kind of satisfaction watching Linc with the team. Then immediately dislodged the feeling. She was not the type of woman who would swoon imagining a gorgeous hunk of man holding a baby in his strong arms. She was more likely to be impressed by nice, neat stitches closing a wound or technical form on an overhead squat.