Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(21)

“I know. I know. I’ll put corn flakes in his cup and prank call his room next road trip.”

“Corn flakes?”

“Those fuckers itch for days.”

Mackenzie gives me the I’ll be watching you sign. “Good deeds. We meet your girlfriend. The universe is watching.”

The universe isn’t all that’s watching, and Nonna’s more terrifying than all of the universe.

And possibly Mackenzie’s making this all up.

But good deeds can’t hurt, can they?

“Where’s Jarvis?” I ask.

I get five matching pairs of where do you think? eyeballs.

Naturally.

Because if Jarvis isn’t at the ball field, he’s boinking his girlfriend or walking his dog.

“Do you think he’d care if I borrowed his gear?”

He’s our catcher.

Has the most protective gear of all of us.

“Not with junk-hand,” Cooper says.

“I sanitized.”

Mackenzie clucks her tongue at me.

And I sigh. “Fine. I’ll go talk to the coaches.” They have spare catcher gear somewhere.

It probably smells worse than junk-hand, and undoubtedly has more germs, but if I’m going to be walking old ladies across the street, then I’m wearing as much protective gear as I can find.

Cooper frowns. “You know, the Thrusters’ goaltender lives here year-round. I could see if he has some pads you could borrow too.”

“I love you, man.”

“I’ll love you too, so long as you don’t screw up the best season we’ve had in my entire lifetime. Or touch me again with junk-hand.” He echoes Mackenzie’s I’m watching you gesture. “Go on. Get to work. Can’t afford to be a man down. You get me?”

I get him.

I get him more than I’ve ever gotten anything in my life.

Question is, will this be enough?

Considering the Henri variable, I’m guessing not.

Not by a long shot.





10





Henri



I’m letting the fan I picked up at the store air out my armpits while I sit on the floor of Luca’s seven-hundred-degree bedroom, hiding from his Nonna after listening to the ball game, when he texts to ask if I’ll please pick him up.

With manners like that, how could I refuse?

So Dogzilla and I hop in my CR-V and head down to the ballpark in the darkness that’s more lit than you’d expect, but then, the city and surrounding metro area is home to something like a million people.

This is like a normal relationship, except for the part where I know that Luca Rossi and I are not soulmates and he doesn’t want me to stay.

But he did text me for a ride, so that’s a good sign that he might not kick me out.

If I can soak up even some of his love sucks vibe, that would help.

I beam at him when he swings open the door and attempts to climb into my SUV. “Hey, slugger. Thanks for sending your plumber today to fix the kitchen faucet. Also, nice game.”

“There’s a cat in my seat. And—aah!” He leaps back as he catches sight of me.

Dogzilla rolls her eyes as Luca stares at me in horror, his lip curled and one eyebrow raised while the other slants down so severely it could discipline an entire high school even through a double-thick cinderblock wall.

I give him a sorry shrug and ignore the horror-stare. “You two can negotiate for the front.”

“What are you wearing?”

I glance down at my tank and pajama shorts. The shorts have screaming angry vampire unicorns all over them, and the tank features a picture of Confucius with his trademark saying, Confucius says vampires make the best lovers.

I know. Not all that catchy. Not like that Confucius saying about the turnstile and Bangkok. But my readers love him, so that’s what counts.

Also, the air conditioning in my car works, which means I’m nipping out.

Luca points to his hair, which is thick and perfect and how much styling product does he keep in his locker? Because damn.

That’s some good hair.

Coupled with the polo, the jeans, and the swagger, this man has it.

Bet if he flexed one of those baseball forearms, women would walk into streetlamp poles, men would drop their beers in jealousy, and even some birds would gawk and fly into the building across the street.

“Oh!” My hand flies to the towel on my head as it finally clicks why he’s horrified, and I smile bigger at him. “You and your hair inspired me. I’m doing an argan oil treatment to see if I can get the frizz under control. We’ll find out in the morning.”

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Does the same with his fists, which he then sticks in his mouth and bites.

Jeez. Is the guy allergic to bad hair on other people? How about some credit for self-improvement? “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had particular standards for your free chauffeuring.”

“We’re going to a party.”

I look down at myself again.

Touch the towel on my head.

Eyeball my cat, who’s also wearing a tank top celebrating Confucius and a shower cap, since a towel wouldn’t fit right and while she’s very tolerant, I felt like a monster trying to cover up her ears in the name of matching pajama night.