America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(71)

“Yes,” I whisper back.

She beams. “I had our PI look into him and his family, and your father and I officially approve.”

“Mom. He’s doing this for the contract.” He’s not doing this for the contract, but I can’t stop the old habits from rearing their ugly heads. You like HER? You know she’s adopted, right? There’s no way that geek came from Sunny Darling’s loins. And she saves her ear wax to make statues with it.

Apparently my issues run a little deeper than just that moment that the owls invaded prom.

“Mm-hmm,” Mom murmurs. “You know that’s how your father and I met.”

“What?”

“Yes, his agent approached mine because he’d been caught in a compromising position with a rather scantily-clad woman who needed a ride in a certain part of LA, and they wanted my name attached to him to clean up his image.”

“You said you met when you were an extra on the set of his first movie.”

“Oh, no, dear, he had a trailer on the right side of that movie set, and I was barely allowed to even say my one line. By the time rumors were flying that he hired escorts, I’d started to make a name for myself, and Hollywood ate up the story that we’d been secretly dating for months. And now, we’ve been happily married ever since. Also, the poor girl he gave a ride to was an undercover detective who was so charmed by his manners and his ability to resist her come-on lines and offers of paid sex that she came to our wedding. Who do you think I called to look into our dear Mr. Ryder?”

I plop the vanilla ice cream on the counter and go digging in my cabinets for sprinkles.

Tonight definitely calls for sprinkles.

“I like him,” I whisper, because I can’t make myself say it any louder.

“The biggest rewards require the biggest risks.”

“Isn’t that a line from one of your movies?”

“Yes, but it’s still true.”

And the exact opposite of me wishing that the things we love were the easiest things in the world.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to fight for him. And stand up for him more when people call him an asshole, and quit hiding from social media and get out there and take a stand.

Dad lumbers into the room, studying both of us through narrowed eyes. “Did that motherfucking asshole flash you?”

My phone dings, and a text pops up with a video attached.

A video of Beck’s ass, in black RYDE briefs, as he shakes and wiggles and flexes it in a very, very fine booty dance. I’m hypnotized by his back though. All that lean muscle, that long length, the dimples at the base of his spine, the birthmark, the width of his shoulders.

How the hell does he eat like he does and still have a back made for back porn?

“OH MY GOD, DID YOU SEE THAT PLAY?” Mackenzie yells. “Third out! Third out! Third out!”

We all stare at my phone.

Then the living room.

“Shit,” Dad mutters.

“Play that again, sweetheart,” Mom urges.

Mackenzie leaps into the kitchen, startling Meda, who shoots off into the living room from her hiding spot under the table and who will probably hide under my bed for the next week. “Did he do it? Did he do it?”

Mom grabs my phone and shows her the video before I can stop her.

“Yes! Tell him to stand by. Cooper’s up first at the top of the inning after the commercial break.”

“Go on,” Dad growls at me. “Tell him we need our team to win.”

Our team. My dad’s a tried and true Dodgers fan, but he’s adopted the Fireballs. “I’m making ice cream,” I inform him with a smile.

Dad bumps me out of the way and grabs my spoon to take over ice cream duties. Mom shoves my phone back at me. I start to text Beck, but Mackenzie squeals again. “No! Don’t text him! You need to call him. This only works when you two are in the bathroom together, and since you’re not together, you have to be on the phone. It’s the next best thing.”

“I—” I start, but she sneaks in and hits the call button at the top of my text message with him.

And now I’m committed.

Because it’s not like I can hang up and expect he won’t call me back.

Not after that kiss.

Holy shit, that kiss.

And his I’ll call you.

“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” I ask her.

“Sarah. The Fireballs might win their third game in eight days. Nobody’s gonna care if I fall asleep at my desk.”

Beck answers before the first ring has even finished. “Hey. It worked, didn’t it? Tell Mackenzie I’ll do that every night if she’ll convert fully to Team Beck.”

‘Team Beck? What’s Team Beck?”

“I’m totally on Team Beck so long as him dancing in his underwear results in the Fireballs winning,” Mackenzie says, like she’s on this phone call and not me.

I take a heaping bowl of ice cream topped with uneven whipped cream and chocolate syrup and half a container of flower sprinkles from my dad, and I head for the bathroom. “The Fireballs are up,” I tell Beck.

“I know. I’m watching on my tablet in the bathroom. Are you in the bathroom?”

“Esh,” I answer around a mouthful of ice cream.