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“Yes.”
“He’s just an idiot,” Carson says. Killian gasps in shock, pointing at himself
“Me?—No, I’m not. You punched me first.”
“Well, you called me bud. You know I hate that name.”
“But you are my bud.”
“I’m a grown ass man, not your bud.”
“Nope, you’re my bud.
“Stop calling me that!”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Dickface.”
“Don’t call me that,” Killian gaps.
“Don’t call me Bud.”
I should have gotten popcorn. Two grown men fighting like kids is better than any movie I have watched.
I lean back in my chair, watching the game while the grown men beside me continue arguing. I hear it before I see it: the baseball flying through the air, coming right at…us. The ball has the speed of a race car, or feels like it the moment I catch it, right in front of Carson’s face.
I drop the ball to the ground, shaking my injured hand
Fuck that hurt. How do people on TV make this look so easy? It feels like my hand got run over. The two men beside me gape at me, their eyes flicking between my hand and the ball. “Did you just…” Killian starts, then stops, glancing at the ball again.
“You caught the ball,” Carson states, baffled.
“Well spotted, Sherlock,” I say dryly. He snaps out of his daze, his hands hovering above my injured one, quirking a brow at me. I nod, wincing when he accidentally presses into my palm. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t see it coming. Otherwise I would have—” I cut him off with a quick shake of my head. “I’m fine.” He stands up from his seat. I grab his hand with my uninjured one before he can walk away. “What are you doing?” He gives me a quick look over his shoulder. “Getting you ice.”
I laugh lightly. “Carson.” I pull on his hand to get his attention. He stares at our interlocked hands and then my face. “I’m fine.” I peer into his eyes. "I promise.”
His chest heaves up and down rapidly, his breathing erratic. I squeeze his hand. “Sit.” I pat his now empty chair. He reluctantly does what I say, his eyes never leaving mine.
I hold his hand until his heart rate slows and his breathing evens out. I grin at him. He copies me, his lips tilting up slightly until the silence between us is broken.
“Holy shit, you’re a ninja.”
There is a chilly evening summer breeze as we near Carson’s car. Goosebumps form on my bare arms. Carson, who’s walking beside, notices and doesn’t hesitate before he shrugs off his jacket, holding it out for me to grab. “Here.” I shake my head. He raises an eyebrow. Killian stops behind us. “Are you cold, Alexis? You can have my jack—” but before he can finish his offer, Carson interrupts him.
“She’s fine.” He steps behind me, the heat of his body warming mine. He sweeps my braid over my shoulder before grabbing my arm and pulling it through the sleeve of his jacket, and does the same for my other arm. He steps before me, bends down, grabs the zipper, and zips up my coat, then walks farther as if nothing happened, and quirks a brow when he sees I didn’t follow him. “You still cold?” I shake my head, wondering if I’m dreaming.
He put his coat on me and zipped me up. I can’t say anyone has ever done that before. “Come on then.” He motions towards the car. “My mom doesn’t like it when we’re late for dinner.” Cathy and Peter couldn’t come. They were at work but had asked Carson to keep them informed, so that’s what he did. He texted them each time a point was scored.
In return, they invited us to dinner. Well, first they invited him to dinner, but he said I was coming along too. When I asked him why, he stared at me and said he didn’t like it when I ate alone. And I shouldn’t have to spend the evening alone when there was an empty seat at the dinner table.
Chapter Twelve
Carson
