11. Wren

“How can you hate this song?” No one hated Britney Spears. “She’s a classic.”

“Twenty-five-year-old me was literally driven ‘Crazy’ by my daughter with this song.” He smirked, proud of his bad pun.

“Wow, someone has dad jokes,” I teased.

His eyes cut to me. “I am a father.”

My mouth fell open, and I grabbed my chest, feigning shock. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cocked brow said he wasn’t impressed with me. “Does it bother you that I’ve done the kid thing already?”

“No.” Our age difference didn’t bother me. If he wasn’t Avery’s father, I’d be hoping for something more than a weekend fling out of whatever was happening between us. “I don’t want kids of my own, so someone who’s moved past that point in their life is a nice change.” I couldn’t count how many times people, even my parents, had tried to convince me that I’d change my mind about kids someday.

He didn’t say anything. Doubt lingered in the air. Maybe he felt like he’d missed out on a lot of the fun of parenting because he’d been playing baseball through her childhood.

“Unless I’m wrong and you want more kids.” I shifted in my seat as I waited for his answer. The nerves bubbling in my belly seemed misplaced. His answer didn’t really matter. But the idea of seeing him with a wife and children someday made me feel nauseous.

As he shook his head, a tidal wave of relief washed through me.

“I barely made it through juggling a child and baseball the first time. There is no chance I’m doing it again. Although I don’t hate the idea of Avery and Chris having kids.”

“I’m so excited for them to have babies.” I giggled. “I’m going to spoil their kids rotten. There will be no chance I’m not their favorite.”

“That’s my plan as well.” His lips pulled up in the corner, and he settled his palm on my thigh. The warmth of his skin against mine had my heart beating just a bit faster.

“Uck.” I pouted. “I’ll never be their favorite if I have to compete against you.”

He squeezed my thigh. “We’ll just team up, baby girl.”

Warmth settled in my chest at that idea, but I wasn’t sure what he was saying. Team up as in help each other be a favorite? He couldn’t mean team up as a couple, could he? Being direct and asking him about us was the right approach, but I hesitated. There was a possibility that I was afraid of the answer. And that irritated me. Was it possible to get attached to someone this quickly? I swallowed my nerves and hedged around the issue.

“How come you don’t date?”

His brow creased, and I braced for an answer I might not want to hear.

“I don’t plan to retire any time soon.” His eyes narrowed. “Baseball takes a lot of my time. It doesn’t leave room for much more.”

“You raised Avery while you played.” Was I arguing that he could make time?

He nodded. “Your parents were a huge help. Plus, my mother was still alive back then. I couldn’t have done it without her. She stayed with Avery when I was out of town, and when I was home, I dedicated all my free time to being a dad. But women tend to want more attention. I travel a lot even in the off season. I don’t need to have to silence calls and deal with a million texts during games and meetings. And I don’t want to have to come home to a guilt trip or have to constantly comfort a woman who’s crying on the sofa because she’s lonely. ”

I scoffed. “Date someone with a life. A woman who has stuff to do when you’re gone and is just happy to see you when you’re home.”

Side-eyeing me, he smirked. “That would be nice.”

“Or get her a puppy to keep her happy while you’re gone.” I’d always wanted a dog, but in an apartment, it’d be a challenge. Without a yard, I wasn’t sure I could do it. “A little chocolate lab with big blue eyes.”

He chuckled. “Are you saying I could be replaced by a dog?”

“Probably. Who doesn’t love puppy snuggles?”

He shook his head, but he was still smiling. It was so weird to see him light up this much. But it looked good on him—the relaxed vibe, even the little lines around his eyes.

“I’ll remember that for next season.”

“How’s the search for the new closer going?”

“Not great.” With a sigh, he slumped into his seat and filled me in on a few prospects and some trades they were working on. “I keep saying we need to put Jasper Quinn up for offers. That kid is nothing but trouble.”

“He’s wild, that’s for sure.”

He slid his hand from my leg and rubbed his jaw. “Langfield seems to think we need him, but nothing about his skill set isn’t replaceable.”

“You never liked him.”

Just after he came back from the recruiting trip with the team’s upper management, Beckett Langfield and Cortney Miller, Avery and I had dinner at Tom’s house, and he bitched about Quinn’s attitude the whole time.

He gripped the wheel tighter, making the leather creak. “I don’t like chaos.”

“Didn’t you say that about Chris too?” He’d hated his future son-in-law for most of the first season.

“I didn’t understand Chris at first, that’s all.” His eyes cut to mine for a second. “I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong.”

“I will hold you to that statement.” I shot him a teasing smile.

He pinched my thigh lightly, tickling me until I squirmed.

“Cut it out. ”

With a laugh, he released my leg. “You really think I need to give Jasper another chance?”

I shrugged. “I think he meshes well with your team. The guys seem to love him, and the way he and Winters work their side of the infield is magic.”

“I’m aware of that.” He nodded. “Am I boring you with baseball talk?”

“Not at all. You know me. I love the Revs. I hardly ever miss a home game.” Although a big part of the reason was because I got to see Tom. Tease him. Work for his attention.

For a minute he quietly watched the road, but eventually, he grasped my hand and brought it to his thigh. Then he dove back into his worries for the team for next season. The last hour of the ride went too quickly, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye when we approached my apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” Tom said, pulling up to the curb.

“Are you nuts?”

He frowned, still holding tight to my hand.

“Even if you could escape the ticket, you can’t leave a million-dollar painting in a car at the curb.”

He glanced over his shoulder and swallowed thickly. “Oh, right.” It was almost as if he’d forgotten about his painting again, but I didn’t believe that could be possible. “I’ll at least get your bag out.”

He opened his door and disappeared behind the car. I climbed out more slowly, wishing our time together didn’t have to end. I stepped onto the curb and he passed me my overnight bag. When I straightened on the sidewalk and turned, he was there, studying me. He lifted his hand and carefully tucked my hair behind my ear and shifted forward slightly. For a moment, I thought maybe he was going to kiss me. Instead, he froze, his gaze darting one way down the crowded Boston street, then the other, before he stepped back.

“I’ll call you?”

The words settled oddly in my stomach. I couldn’t tell whether it was excitement that he might or dread that he’d thrown the phrase out with the intention of brushing me off .

“Sure.” With a wave, I left him standing on the curb. And it took everything in me not to look back.