Sidelined by Suzanne Baltsar

Author:Suzanne Baltsar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

CHAPTER

18

Connor

I parked the car and waited for Charlie to pack away her second cookie, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s. I resisted laughing at her and climbed out, yanking my hat farther down on my head. It was a sunny afternoon, but that didn’t help the chill that seeped through my coat. Charlie immediately sidled up to me, her ridiculous coffee between her hands like a cavewoman with fire.

“Warm enough?”

She swallowed down a healthy gulp before saying, “It’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

I barked out a laugh. “You’re familiar with witches’ tits?”

“I have been called one before.” There was no bitterness in her voice, like she was used to being called names. I’m sure witch was on the nicer side of what she’d experienced.

“Some people are assholes,” I said.

“Yeah.” She smiled up at me. “Takes one to know one.”

I curled my arm around her, jostling her against me.

“Hey! Hey! Don’t spill my latte.”

I let go and she took a drink, the mountain of whipped cream halfway melted. A bit of it stuck to the corner of her mouth when she pulled the cup away. I wiped it off with my knuckle, and the tip of her tongue darted out, licking the spot just after. The temptation to kiss her there was almost too much to ignore, but a whistle sounded behind me and shook me from my impulse.

“Come on,” I said, moving my hand to her back. She wore a long black parka, covering up what I knew were her usual sporty clothes, fitted to her body like they were made for her. That was the bad part about living up north: the weather forced women to wear layers upon layers to stay warm. On the flip side, it was like unwrapping a present, and from the small glimpses I’d seen of Charlie’s body in the weight room, I knew she had a pretty good gift under there.

“Connor!” I raised my head, searching for where my mom’s voice came from. I spotted her on the sideline of the soccer field. I waved and she grinned, watching Charlie and me make our way to her. She couldn’t have looked happier, her eyes, the same color as mine, toggling back and forth between us.

“Hey, Mom.”

She reached up and kissed my cheek. “Hiya, Monkey.”

I was a thirty-one-year-old man who lived on his own and benched 225, yet my mother still called me Monkey. Charlie snickered. I paid her no mind.

“Well, look here,” Mom said, practically dancing in place as she ran her gaze over Charlie.

“This is—”

“Charlie, I know.” Mom clapped her hands once, her mouth opening wide. “The infamous Charlie Gibb. It’s nice to meet you.” She hugged her immediately, patting her back. “I’ve been to all of your games.”

“Hi, Mrs. McGuire. Nice to meet you.” Charlie peered at me, her arms reluctantly wrapping about my mother, one hand holding her drink away to keep it from spilling.

“Call me Theresa, please.”

My mother was a force of her own. There was no way

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