Cinderella Steals Home by Carly Syms Read Free Book Online Page B

our first game," he says. "That's when you'll need to be sharp again."  
    I nod. "Sounds good."  
    Dad beams. "I'm glad you're doing this, Holly."
    "Uh, yeah. So am I."  
    "And I'm glad you're home."  
    I swallow hard; I'm not ready for this. It's one thing to lie about being happy about joining a baseball team and quite another to give my father false hope that maybe I'm ready to forget it all and go back to how things used to be.  
    Dad looks at me for a few seconds, waiting for me to say something -- anything -- but I don't. I can't. His face flushes, then he nods.
    "Don't worry about it, kiddo," he says. "I'll let Justin know you said yes. Enjoy the rest of your...ah, spaghetti and meatballs."  
    I grimace as Dad springs out of his chair and into the house. I hadn't been trying to take another dig at him with my favorite dinner this time, and I feel kind of bad that he thinks I am.  
    I let out a breath and stare out over the lit-up pool and at the lights dotting the crisp, clear Arizona night sky.  
    Dad had been right about one thing.  
    It really is pretty here.  
    I bring my fork up to my mouth, but I realize I'm no longer hungry. Agreeing to play baseball isn't settling well with me, and I have no idea what came over me and possessed me to agree to do it.  
    But I have a sneaking -- and sinking -- suspicion that Doan's little comment about families earlier may have subconsciously guilted me into saying yes, and for that, I make a mental note that I owe him a swift kick to the shins.
    I sigh and pick up my bowl and head into the kitchen. If there's anyone out here that I don't want sticking his nose into my business, it's Doan Riley.  

CHAPTER EIGHT

    I'd gotten a text from Natasha late last night as I'd laid in bed, trying to fall asleep but having no luck. Visions of baseball and Doan and Dad haunted me each time I tried to close my eyes. Natasha had asked me to meet her at a bar in Old Town Scottsdale, but I'd told her there was no chance of me getting out of bed for that.  
    But somehow she'd managed to convince me to agree to go out tonight even though I don't get off my shift at Gemma's until ten because we've got a local band coming in to play at eight.
    But by the time I get to work, I've already texted her and let her know that I think I'm going to be too tired to go out again.  
    "Natasha Peterson?" Natalie wrinkles her nose as she wipes crumbs off the counter. "I don't know why you'd say yes to doing anything with that girl."  
    I shrug. "She asked and I don't have any other plans."  
    "So all I have to do is ask you to jump off the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, and you will?"  
    "Point taken."  
    "Natasha is bad news."  
    "I need to meet people."  
    "You met me!"  
    "Okay, fine. Let's go out and do something after close then."
    She presses her lips together. "Can't. My boyfriend's in town tonight."  
    "Long distance?"  
    "Yeah. He's a pro hockey player out in LA usually but he's training in Europe for the month of June. He's got a week off and this is his last night here."  
    "A pro hockey player? Well, look at you."  
    She blushes and smiles. "I know. I'm lucky but not because of his job."
    I feel a surprising -- and unfamiliar -- twinge of jealousy.  
    "How long have you guys been together?"  
    "Almost a year now. I met him when I lived in Wisconsin."  
    "Good for you guys," I tell her. "But I still need to meet people."
    She sighs. "Yeah, I know. I just wish Natasha wasn't involved, that's all."  
    "What's so bad about her anyway?"  
    "Better for you to see for yourself," Natalie says, tossing the dirty rag into a bucket beneath the counter.  
    "Maybe another time," I reply.  
    The band has just come back inside from their smoke break, ready to play the last hour until the cafe closes.  
    "You know, we're still free all of next week," she says. "You should do it."  
    I shake my head and smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
    "Holly, it's a Friday night.