I DON’T REMEMBER much about the game—other than a million bathroom breaks and Tatum trying bites of everything at the concession stands. Cason pitches four innings with five strikeouts and makes history. First game in the major leagues, and guess who officially breaks the major league world record for the fastest pitch thrown in a game?
Cason Jarrett Reins. 105.9 miles per hour.
It’s hours after the game before we’re able to see him, and his first words to me as Tatum sleeps in my arms are “Do you believe me now?”
“I got my proof, didn’t I?” Tears roll down my cheeks, and I practically drop my sleeping daughter at the sight of his beautiful face. Thankfully, no mullet or mustache.
He takes Tatum into his arms, sighing as he holds her head gently. “Fuck, I missed you both so much.”
She doesn’t wake up but wraps her arms around his neck.
I reach out and touch my hand to his stomach. He sucks in a breath, his lips clamped together, his jaw firm but his eyes carry so much love. “Not as much as I missed you,” I tell him, watchful of the players exiting the clubhouse. I’m nervous how he’s going to act with all these people around us.
To my surprise, he reacts in true Cason fashion. No hesitation.
Yanking me forward and to his side, his lips press to mine. It’s gentle at first, then his mouth opens to mine and that overpowering urge he provokes inside me takes over. Pulling back, I’m reminded that Tatum is asleep in his arms. He smells like soap and cedar and makes my damn knees weak. “See? I can’t even control myself. I missed you more.”
“I’m barely hanging on here,” he says with a laugh against my lips, nibbling on my lower lip. “But before I show you how much I’ve missed you, I’m starving.”
“I imagine you are.”
We end up going to a late dinner, where Tatum wakes up. She talks constantly to Cason. I swear, I can’t get a word in with her and her boy.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Naturally, through dinner, he’s recognized by half a dozen people congratulating him on his first major league appearance. My heart bursts when a younger woman approaches for an autograph, and he kindly gives her one.
Tatum clings to his side, refusing to allow any space between them. That’s when the woman’s eyes drift to Tatum and then Cason as he hands her back the napkin he signed. “She’s so cute. Is that your daughter?”
Cason smiles, his eyes darting to mine, Tatum, and then he lets out a relieved breath. “Yeah.”
Did your heart explode into a million pieces like mine? He didn’t have to say that, and maybe he did to not make it awkward, but whatever the reason, I love him even more.
He’s bombarded with fans after that and we end up leaving dinner early. I knew it’d be like this though. You can’t break the world record and have a peaceful evening out after that.
AT THE HOTEL, we tuck Tatum into bed. “It’s a good thing there’s two rooms with a locking door,” Cason adds, locking the door behind him.
I lay on the bed, stripping off my clothes. No sense in wasting time. “You didn’t have to say that she’s your daughter,” I point out now that Tatum’s not in the room. I don’t need to say anything, but I want him to know I appreciate that he claims her.
He stops, mid-undressing, and stares at me. “She might not be mine biologically, but in here…” His hand touches his chest over his heart. “You’re both mine already.”
A smile flutters on my lips as he shreds his jacket first, then his button-down shirt, and begins working on his jeans, the intensity behind his eyes causing me to squirm on the bed. I wanted to jump him the second I spotted him on the field during the game and now my want had turned into I-have-to-have-him-now sorta feeling that left me vibrating. Literally freaking vibrating, waiting to have the weight of his body on mine.
“This feels like a dream,” I whisper, watching him crawl onto the bed. His hands seek me out, prying my thighs apart.
“I know what you mean.” He laughs, low and throaty, sweeping my hair aside to kiss the curve of my neck. “I keep blinking to make sure it’s real.”
“My heart tells me it’s real. If not, I’m having a damn heart attack.”
“Don’t do that,” he mumbles, kissing my chest, neck,