Caught Up (Windy City, #3)

by Liz Tomforde

“Tea?” he asks, holding up his mug. He would like tea, this family man who wears glasses and raised his younger brother.

“I’m on the move so much that my relationships are always temporary. It’s easier to go into each new city with that expectation already in place. It hurts less to leave that way.”

“Why, Miller? Why can’t you admit that you wanted them to like you? That there are ties here in Chicago that are going to make it harder for you to leave this time around.” I pin him with a scowl. “Don’t.” Setting his mug down, he steps toward me almost predatorily. Fingers raking through my hair, he pushes it behind my ear. “It’ll be hard for you to leave this time around, won’t it?” “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving regardless.” His nostrils slightly flare at my words, his icy eyes holding mine. “I hope those words burned while coming out.” The pad of his thumb traces my lower lip. “Because your armor is awfully annoying.” “So are you.”

“Tell me you’ll stay,” he continues. There’s really no argument left. I nod, breathless. “I’ll stay.” “Good.” Tilting my chin with only his knuckle and thumb, he lifts my face up and presses his mouth to mine. It’s soft and intimate. A bit tentative, but only until I arch up and eagerly meet him. With a bit more confidence, his hand slides around the back of my skull, fingers threaded through my hair as he kisses me. “What was that for?” I ask, searching for air. “I like you vulnerable, Mills.”

“This is why I wasn’t supposed to kiss you.” “Why?” I keep playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, grinding my seeking hips into the air, needing something. “Because every little thing you do makes me wet?” “Jesus,” he groans. “Because now, all I can think about is fucking you.” “Then stop thinking about it and do it.” He chuckles without humor. “You’re so much fucking trouble, Miller.” His eyes meet mine again, our noses brushing. “What happens if I become addicted?” “Then lucky us, we still have a month to indulge in that kind of addiction.” “You really think I could quit you after it’s all done?” I nod with enthusiasm, hoping to convince him. “I’m easily forgettable.” “You’re a little liar tonight, huh?” Hooking my ankles around the back of his thighs, I pull him into the cradle of my hips. “Just don’t let it mean anything and we’ll both be fine.”

“Yes, Ace. Right there.” The nickname slips off my tongue without thought, but I’m a panting mess right now, and can’t be held accountable for my actions. “Jesus.” His hand slams against the cabinet next to my head, looking for leverage. “Call me that again.” “Ace? You like when I call you by your nickname?” His face falls into the crook of my neck with a nod. “It sounds pretty coming from you.

“All I can think about is fucking you right now, but you’re out of your goddamn mind if you think any of this could be easily forgettable for me.” He shakes his head, running a palm over his disbelieving face. “I think I’m ruined by simply watching you come, so please, do me a favor and go to bed.” Fixing my shirt, he gives me one last quick kiss. “And for the love of God…lock the fucking door.”

When the time comes, I want it to be hard for Miller to leave and not just because I’ve enjoyed having her here, but because it’s one of the most important parts of life. Finding people that make your heart ache when they’re not around. Having a place to call home.

In what world am I supposed to simply be okay with her leaving? How the hell am I supposed to forget what her laugh sounds like? What her lips taste like? I want her. Fuck, do I want her.

“He’s been like this all day.” “That’s because you two have been acting like strangers. Something clearly happened.”

“Next!” the woman with olive skin and gray roots hollers from the cash register. Miller simply hands her my list of desserts. “These please.” The woman’s lips tick up in an uncharacteristic way as her eyes scan the sheet. “I like you guys,” she states before taking off to box up our desserts. “See,” I whisper, my hand snaking over Miller’s hip, fingers splaying over her lower belly. “My paper came in handy. There’s no way we would’ve gotten that kind of response if we handed her a fucking phone.” She chuckles, her hand covering mine before calling out, “Can we add a tiramisu too please?” “You got it!”

I think you could change directions a hundred more times in your life, and you’d never be too stuck to do so. Life is about finding your joy, living in a way that brings you and others happiness.

There are things I want to say: Just because you’re talented doesn’t mean you owe it to anyone. The only thing you owe your dad is to find your happiness. Move to Chicago. Don’t leave Max. Don’t leave me.

“What was your mom’s name?” I ask. “Claire.” “Claire,” I repeat. “Do you miss her?” “I don’t really remember her. I was so young when she died, but I miss the idea of her. I’ve never really known what it’s like to have a mom.” A rush of emotion hits me like a freight train, welling in my throat, both for her and for my son. Will Max feel that way? Will he miss out on the idea of a mother? I try to be enough for him, I really do, but it’s hard to be both. The good and the bad parent. The mom and the dad. It wasn’t until a month ago I finally felt as if Max was getting it all and that’s because the woman at my side waltzed into our lives. “But my dad did a good job filling in,” she continues. “Much in the way you are.”

The only person I’m responsible for right now is myself and I’m really fucking tired of being responsible. I want to be reckless and impulsive. I want the woman on the other side of this wall, and I’m done trying to convince myself I don’t.

“Why were you about to knock?” “Why did you open the door?” “I asked first.” “I was going to knock because I’m about to be selfish.” Stepping forward, I cross the threshold between her room and mine, recognizing the metaphor of it all. “For once, I’m going to take what I want.” The corner of her lip lifts in a dangerous grin. “Finally.”

“Good girl. You get a gold star for listening.”

God, you’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Kai shakes his head—his favorite thing to do when it comes to me, but this time it’s not in annoyance, it’s in disbelief. “You’re so pretty, Mills.” His tone is so soft and sincere that it almost makes me blush. I’m not one to be shy regarding sex. But Kai is looking at me like I’m his favorite thing he’s ever seen and the way his words are spoken it’s as if he’s thanking me for being here.

“I’ve been dreaming of this. Every night as you slept just outside my house, I fell asleep after exhausting myself, trying to convince myself to leave you alone. But I fucking can’t anymore. I want you. Fuck, do I want you. You’ve been torture, and I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

“I want you so badly, Miller.”

“Yes, baby. Suffocate me.”

“How long have you been keeping that in your back pocket?” I ask. “Been carrying one with me since the night we went out in Texas.” “After that night, you mean?” “No. I slipped one in my wallet before we left for the bar.” My brows lift. “For me?” “It’s always been only for you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you see me or not. You’re going to feel every inch of me. I’ll be so deep, you’ll be able to feel me in your fucking throat, and I can promise you, Miller, your body won’t let you forget me.”

“You think you can keep this casual, Mills?” I nod frantically, hoping to convince both of us. His laugh is silent but rumbles against me. “Best of luck to you with that.”

“You’ve been like poison this summer, you know that? Seeping into my system and ruining me slowly.” I moan, lifting my ass to meet him in pace. “Pretty. Fucking. Poison.”

“Ace.” “Mmm,” he hums. “I love when you call me that. What do you need?” “Flip me over. I want to see you.” He pauses. “Really?” We’re both terrible at holding strong on the pathetic rules we make for ourselves, apparently. “Please.”

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Miller.” He nudges his nose against mine, kissing me again. And because I can’t handle serious moments, I attempt to break the intimacy with humor. “What? A whole five weeks? You have the patience of a saint.” He shakes his head. “A lot longer than that.”

“Hey, Miller?” “Yeah?” “Thanks for the sex.”

“Today was a good day.” It really was. “They could all be good days.” He hums. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He was right. There’s no way I’ll be able to forget him.

“If I pitch well tonight, I’m going to assume it’s because of last night and I’m going to have to spend the rest of the summer sinking into you every chance I get. You know, because of superstitions.”

The entire team is moving at the pace of a sixteen-month-old.

“Look, I know we don’t really know each other, but I don’t have anyone I can talk to about this. And you’re the only other woman on the road and—” “Miller, do you want to be friends?” I pause in my tracks. “Is that how it works? You just say it like that?” Kennedy pops her shoulder. “Hell if I know. I’ve spent almost every day of the past three years with a bunch of dudes. I don’t have many girlfriends.” A smile ticks up on my lip. “Same here.” “So…friends?” I hop my ass on a training table. “Friends. Now, I need to tell you something.” “You fucked Ace.”

“Trust me, Miller, everyone already knows.” “What?” I laugh in disbelief. “How?” “Because he looks like the old Ace again, the one that had a smile plastered on his face and was just happy and grateful to be playing baseball. That’s the version I met last season before he found out about Max and convinced himself he was doing a shit job raising him. But I can promise you, there’s not a person here that doesn’t know why he’s walking around on cloud nine today.”

Why does the image of those two make my heart scream mine?

The three of us could not look more like a family, standing so close with him touching me this way, longingly. Lovingly.

Kai starts each inning looking at the interior of his hat, running his thumb over something tucked into the corner, and by the end of the ninth, I watch as his teammates explode in excitement for him because he just completed his second career no-hitter. Earning himself a new superstition.

There was something about that night that reminded me of who I am, what I have to offer, and the idea that a woman like Miller could want me, even if it’s just for the remainder of her time here, had me walking around as if I were invincible. Clearly, it translated to my game.

Max is on Miller’s lap with his head resting back on her chest. She’s got a blanket surrounding them, but I can spot my son already in his pajamas as Miller reads him a story, speaking low and hushed. They don’t know I’m here, so I steal the memory, leaning on the doorframe to watch them together.

And then my chest doubles in size when she presses her lips to the top of his head when she realizes he’s drifting off. It’s so gentle and natural. Easy and done without thought. Exactly the way it is when I show my son affection. God, they’re fucking cute together.

going to treat her how I want to treat her—as if she were mine.

“I need you to get more tattoos,” she states as I crest the water. “Where did that come from?” “Just from looking at you. They look good on your skin.” “Well.” I wade through the water to her. “I need you to wear less clothes.” “Where did that come from?” I shrug. “Just from looking at you.”

“You have to be in that particular kitchen for the shoot?” “No, but I don’t have any kitchen connections in Chicago.” “Use mine.”

“I never get my groove back. I’m never able to create a high-end dessert again. My waitlist of chefs dump me and I never get hired again. I’m forced out of the industry and end up working in the bakery department of a grocery store, decorating cakes for Karen’s retirement party, but then of course, she fucking complains because the purple frosting isn’t the right shade of violet. So, I cuss her out because there are worse problems in the world than her frosting leaning more eggplant than violet, causing me to get fired from there too and now I’m living in my dad’s house and sleeping on his couch and he’s devastatingly disappointed because he’s given up his entire life for me and now I’m unemployed and couch surfing.”

“Thank you,” she exhales against my neck. “For making me forget about real life for a second.” My eyes close at her words. This is real life. This is my real life.

“Because it’s her dream, and I care about her too much to not help her chase it, even if that means I won’t be there when she gets everything she’s worked for.”

Without hesitation or asking for permission, I take the frame off his desk and unclip the back. The photo is small, maybe only two or three inches in height and fits perfectly next to the one of Max in my hat.

She looks too soft, too vulnerable for me to resist, so I break her rules by cupping her head to pull her into my chest, placing a kiss on the top of her hair. Max, in my other arm, catches on and flops his body in half to place a sloppy one on her head as well. She laughs, looking up to find my very proud son. “Thanks, Bug.”

I didn’t burn a single thing, didn’t struggle with any part of it. I was happy and excited to feed the people I’ve come to care about more than I knew I was capable of. So much relief courses through me knowing I can still succeed in what I’m best at.