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“Keep your dick in your pants. We all know how fucking fertile you are, and I’m too young and too goddamn attractive for someone to be calling me Grandpa.”
“If you’re going to start coming to my games, I better see Rhodes on your back and I’m not talking about my brother.” “Is this some athlete kink you got? Need to see a girl in your jersey?” The old flirty side of me that I’ve kept hidden and locked down for the most part since Max came into my life is itching to break free. I pop my shoulders. “I like to see pretty girls in my jersey. Like to take it off them too.” Miller’s lips part, a shocked and satisfied grin lifting on the corners. “Well, with that kind of promise, I’ll be sure to wear it next time.”
“I am.” He throws his hands up in defeat. “I fucking love you, and I’m sorry that neither my son nor I could control how we feel about you. I’m sorry that this is the last thing you wanted to hear, but I’m not sorry that I do.”
“You put me first when I forgot how to. You reminded me what it felt like to be important, to be chosen first. I know you wanted this to be easy and detached, but you’re fucking in here.” His fingers meet his chest, tapping it a couple of times, blue eyes meeting mine, and full of pain. “You’re everywhere, and when you leave tomorrow, I’ll still see you everywhere. In this kitchen. In Max’s room. In my bed. There’s nothing about us that’s easy. This is fucking miserable, Miller, knowing there’s a clock counting down the seconds until I don’t have you anymore, but I’d do it all over again. I’d
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bent over in agony, a physical representation of how I feel. “If I could…” he continues, shaking his head. “I’d chase you. I’d spend every free day on an airplane to get to you, even if that meant I only got to kiss you once before I had to fly back to Chicago. I’d spend my off-season living out of a hotel or out of your fucking van just to be close to you, but it’s not only me I’m making decisions for anymore. And because of that, I don’t want you to say anything. Don’t tell me if you love me, and fuck,”
“Miller,” he says, making sure my attention is on him. “If you ever decide to stop running and make a home…” His eyes are begging, pleading. “Make it with me.”
