Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 64352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“You. Are. Not. Defective.”
Startled by the vehemence in his voice, I couldn’t find my voice.
And then, before I could gather my wits about me, he kissed me.
I was so stunned by his lips touching mine that it took me a while to respond, and when I finally got control and realized what was going on, he pulled away.
“I don’t want you talking down about yourself,” he whispered gruffly. “Now, how are we going to tell your mother that we’re getting married at the courthouse tomorrow?”
Chapter 18
Sorry I can’t come. Every single piece of clothing I own looks bad on me.
-Text from Henley to Rhys on the day of their marriage
Henley
I wore my wedding dress to the baseball game.
Sure, it didn’t look like a wedding dress, but I’d worn it to my wedding—so in all technicality, that was what it was.
“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” my mother asked from her seat beside me. “You look like you could be.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not pregnant, Mom. Stop. And this jersey knit seriously doesn’t hide a damn thing. It doesn’t hide my buddha belly at all. I should’ve worn some Spanx.”
I hadn’t had time to buy any Spanx, though.
I could’ve borrowed my sister’s, but she was a size smaller than me, and I’d watched her slip into the underwear that came all the way up to her ribs. She’d literally had to shimmy and shake her way into it, and she was skinny. There was no way in hell I’d have been able to get them up over all my goods.
“That’s true,” she admitted. “But…I’m just bummed I guess. Your sister and you both skipped the marriage thing. I thought for sure I’d get to plan at least one.”
“You could plan your own,” Alana suggested.
I snorted, as did my mother.
A cheer rose in the crowd, and I looked up at the Jumbo screen at the back of the field and found butterflies attacking my belly at what I saw.
Rhys was grinning as he spoke animatedly with the player to his left—Furious George.
He was gesturing with his hands as he spoke, and I felt my heart skip a beat at remembering those hands clutching onto my hips earlier when we’d said ‘I do.’
They’d traveled a little farther than was respectable, and by the time our kiss had ended, he’d been cupping my ass to bring me in closer to his body. And for a few seconds there, I was sure that I’d felt the beginnings of a hard-on before he’d pulled away.
Honestly, I was as confused as a woman newly married to Rhys Rivera, baseball hottie superstar, could get.
I was Mrs. Rhys Rivera. Mrs. Henley Rivera.
I was so screwed.
“I thought you said that Rhys wasn’t playing?”
I looked at Alana, and then followed her finger that was pointed to Rhys, who was jogging out to the field.
I felt my heart slip into a horrible rhythm—one that was likely to lead me right down the road of Heart Attack Alley.
“What is he doing?” I whispered, standing up.
“Sit down!”
I didn’t listen to my mother’s hissed words. Instead, I stared, heart in my throat, as Rhys took his place in the circle thingy, swinging his bat and looking at the pitcher as he did.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
As if he heard my whisper, he turned his head toward me, caught me staring at him with horror, and made a gesture with his hand. The kind where men lowered their hand from chest level to hip level in the universal sign of ‘calm down.’
I will not calm down! I mouthed to him.
His lips twitched, and then whoever was at bat hit the ball.
I didn’t take my eyes off of Rhys, but he dropped his gaze from mine and walked up to the plate.
Alana pulled me down, and I sat, not bothering to pull my dress down this time. Nope. I was too focused on the man that wasn’t supposed to be playing.
He’d assured me that he was just dressing out. He was not going to play.
The little liar.
The moment he stepped up to the plate, the entire ballpark went freakin’ crazy.
I didn’t take my eyes off him despite the uproar.
If he got hit with that ball, I was going to hop over the wall like one would a hurdle and storm the field, taking out the pitcher by cold-clocking him before I checked on Rhys.
Striiiiiike.
The word ‘strike’ came out more as a stryyyyyyyyyy, but I knew what he said.
I knew enough about baseball to know that the Lumberjacks were home. I also knew that there were balls, strikes, home runs, and hits.
That was about the extent of my knowledge.
“Stryyyyyyyy!”
I swallowed.
“Oh and two,” my sister whispered.
My sister was also the reason for my limited baseball knowledge. Her baby daddy used to be a college baseball player and was the reason she’d slept with him in the first place.