He nods. “It really fucking is.”
• • •
A while later, Rory bounds up to the cleared table with a big red kickball in his hands and his twin brother, Raymond, close behind him. “We’re gonna play kickball—you guys wanna play?”
With my arm resting around Kennedy’s shoulders, I reply, “Count me in. I’m a champion kickball player.”
“Cool.”
The normally timid Raymond adjusts his glasses and aims his bold gaze at the hot girl on my arm. “You wanna be on my team, Kennedy?”
Kennedy smiles. “Sure.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ewww, why’d you pick her—she’s a girl. She kicks like a girl too. I speak from experience.”
Raymond shrugs. “She’s prettier than you. And besides, you like her, so you’ll probably take it easy on her.”
“Not a bad strategy, Raymond.”
“I’m all about the strategy.”
Kennedy stands and takes the ball from Rory, spinning it in her hands and challenging me with those gorgeous eyes. “My girl kicks were enough to beat you back in the day.”
I scoff, “I let you win. Even at eleven, I was a gentleman.”
She laughs and leans down, closing in for a kiss. “And at thirty-two, you’re a liar.”
Just as I’m about to get a taste, Rory kiss-blocks me.
“Dude—no kissing. I have to put up with enough of that from those two.” He jerks his thumb at Jake and Chelsea, who don’t look the least bit ashamed.
Poor kid. The things he must hear from their bedroom.
Then he points his forefinger at me. “And you have to kick righty—no bionic leg allowed.”
I shrug. “Makes no difference to me.” I tell Kennedy, “Perfect male specimen that I am, I’ll still beat your ass without it.”
Mmm . . . beat her ass—now there’s an idea.
She rolls her eyes. And it makes me hard.
“I’ll play too,” Sofia pipes up. “I love kickball.”
Rory’s head jerks back, frowning toward Sofia’s burgeoning belly. “Are you nuts? You should be taking it easy.”
Stanton throws up his hands. “Thank you!” He looks hard at his wife. “From the mouths of babes.”
But Sofia isn’t fooled. She looks closely at Rory. “Did Stanton tell you to say that?”
Rory smirks. “Nope. Jake paid me five bucks to slip it into the conversation, though. But even if he hadn’t, you still couldn’t play. I’m not throwing a ball at a pregnant lady.”
Rosaleen comes tearing across the patio, snatches the ball from Kennedy’s hands, and consoles Sofia. “You can be referee.” She tilts her head toward five-year-old Regan. “Keep an eye on that one—she cheats.”
Regan frowns and stomps a foot in response.
Then Ronan scurries up to Rosaleen, butting his forehead into her stomach and reaching for the ball. “Me!”
Rosaleen holds the ball up out of his reach. “You can’t play, Ronan, you’re too little.”
His freckled face turns pink with resentment. “Me!”
Jake scoops Ronan up and over his shoulder. “Come on, buddy, let’s go kill a watermelon.”
But as Jake carries him away, the little boy stretches his arms out toward the ball, wailing pitifully, “Meeeeeeeeee!”
• • •
Raymond and Kennedy’s team ended up crushing us. We were left two men down when Riley bailed for an “urgent” phone call and Regan got ejected for arguing with the umpire.
I could’ve pegged Kennedy twice—but when my competitive instinct and my dick went head to head over the issue, the dick won out. ’Cause he knew we’d be rewarded later on. And watching her ass in those tight shorts as she ran the bases just wasn’t something I could bring myself to interrupt.
Rory called me a chump, and he was totally right.
But I was a chump who was getting laid—so that makes it all better.
Later, after I threw Kennedy into the pool and she in turn tried her damnedest to drown me, after the kids cannonballed in with us and we played a fierce game of Marco Polo, we said our good-byes and headed out.
I pull my car up to the curb in front of my townhouse and kill the engine. Kennedy’s eyes are a satisfied kind of tired, and her cheeks and nose are pink from the hours in the sun. Her hair is pulled on top of her head in a messy bun, with a few loose golden strands brushing her neck.
It’s almost scary, how beautiful she is. Even more stunning than the first time I saw her in that red dress, and I really didn’t think that was possible.
“You’re not even going to ask me if I want to go home?” she inquires with a smile and a raised brow. “Kind of presumptuous, isn’t it?”
“I prefer to look at it as deductive reasoning.” I hop out of the car, come around, and open her door. She takes my hand and I pull her straight into my arms. “Plus, you have to shower, I have to shower, there’s a drought . . .”
“In California.”
Ever so slowly, I lower my lips to hers—just a teasing touch. “We all need to do our part.”
I feel her smile against my mouth. “You sound like my uncle Jameson.”
This disturbs me. From what I remember of her conservationist uncle, he was a cross between General Patton and Cheech & Chong. An odd-duck, militant hippie who I don’t want her thinking of while I’m kissing her.
So I ditch the bullshit and go for honesty.
“I don’t really care about saving water.” I skim my nose up her neck, scratching the delicate skin along her collarbone with my beard, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Then I whisper in her ear, “I just want to fuck you in the shower until neither one of us can stand.” My tongue traces the shell of her ear, making her shiver in the best way. “Is that wrong?”