Billionaires Dollar Series

Oh no he didn’t. I give Cole a withering look, but he just gazes levelly back at me. “I have VIP season tickets. Might as well use them. The kid needs to see proper games if he wants to start playing one day.”

“Please say yes, Auntie,” Timmy says, almost bouncing with barely concealed excitement. “You don’t even have to watch. You can bring a book!”

That makes me smile. “We’ll go, if our schedule matches Cole’s. He’s very busy.”

“There’s a home game tomorrow night,” Cole supplies helpfully. “And I’m not too busy.”

What he’s offering… well, it goes well beyond the casual status we’d decided on. Warmth spreads through my chest and brings a smile to my lips. Regardless of Cole’s motivations, this will make Timmy’s week.

And judging from his puppy-dog eyes, I will quickly lose my best-auntie-in-the-world status if I say no to this. It’s a long way to fall.

“Let me call your mom,” I tell Timmy. “If she says yes, we’re going tomorrow.”

“Yes! Yes, thank you so much. Thank you, Cole.”Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

“My pleasure. I don’t go often anymore. It’ll be fun, kid.”

Cole walks us to my car, parked just across the street. Timmy doesn’t protest when I say that Cole and I need to talk on our own for a minute or two. Instead, he gives Cole a thumbs-up and a cheerful see you tomorrow!

When the door closes, I turn to Cole, rubbing my neck. “This is really nice of you.”

His lips twitch with a smile. “Are you about to say thank you?”

“Yes, I might be. I… Cole, it’s too much. If it was for me I wouldn’t be able to accept it.”

His hand lands on the curve of my waist, comfortable, like it belongs there. “Nonsense.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice sincere. “Truly.”

“But…?”

I lower my voice. “What part of this is casual, though? It’ll complicate things.”

He tips my head back and presses a kiss to my lips. It’s soft and warm, the kind of kiss you give someone when you know there’ll be lots more opportunities. “We won’t let it. And your nephew will love you for eternity.”

I smile, a bit crookedly. “Buying a kid’s love, huh?”

“It’s the way I was raised.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, running his hands down my arms. “Tell him I’m just a guy you’re dating. Your sister won’t know the difference.”

“Wear a baseball hat and sunglasses to the game, and no one will recognize you.” He flicks my nose again-it’s quickly becoming a habit of his-and grins. “This is still casual.”

“Good,” I say happily. “We’ll go, but we’re still enemies.”

He laughs, releasing me. “I’m counting on that, Holland. And don’t forget to bring a book.”

Normal game day experiences for me have included waiting in line. Lines to get in, lines for the security check, lines to get a hot dog or a pretzel. Turns out the one percent doesn’t live like that.

With Cole’s VIP tickets-and VIP status-Timmy and I are ushered along through a separate entrance. We ride in an elevator instead of taking the stairs. It’s almost ludicrous, and when Cole sees my expression, he gives me a not-so-subtle elbowing. “I don’t make the rules.”

I elbow him back, his chest a solid brick wall. “Do you have different snacks too?” I ask. “Gold-infused soda? Truffle-flavored popcorn?”

“No. That would be ridiculous.” A pause. “But the caviar-flavored pretzel is to die for.”

I laugh, keeping a hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Sounds delicious.”

Timmy’s wearing his favorite baseball shirt, complete with the team’s logo and winning colors. I’d pulled out one of my own-about two sizes too big and twenty years too old, one of the few pieces of clothing I have from my dad. I’ve tucked it into a pair of jeans, a baseball cap low on my head.

Cole isn’t in a suit. It was so jarring at first that I had to needle him. “Not used to seeing you without a tie,” I’d said, which was a mistake. In his eyes, the rebuttal was clear as day. You’re used to seeing me without anything at all. Check mate-there was nothing I could say to that in public.

We’re escorted to a terrace-like seat. The pitch unfurls before us, green and endless. Four padded chairs and a table with a monitor embedded, and on it, stats about the players are already circling.

“Wow,” Timmy exclaims, climbing into one of the chairs. “Look!”

Batting practice is done, it seems, and both teams are milling on the pitch, preparing for the national anthem.

Cole hands me a menu with the entire snack selection. “What do you want?”

I scan the lists, a smile on my lips. “No caviar pretzels. Damn.”

“They must be out.”

“Then what will you have?”

He snorts, pulling out one of the chairs for me. “The normal ones are nice, too. A bit of sea salt. Melted butter.”

I pretend to shiver in pleasure. “Perfect. Timmy, do you want a pretzel?”

His eyes are glued to the pitch with an almost feverish intensity. “Yeah,” he says, but in a way that confirms he hasn’t been listening for a second.

I smile at the back of his head, noting the spot where his hair curls. It’s always curled right there, from the time he was a toddler. “Two pretzels, then, one for us each. And some soda?”

Cole uses the screen to order. All around us, people are taking their seats, clad in Seattle green, white and blue. Seated in our own little terrace, we’re attracting a fair amount of curious looks.

“Good thing I remembered to wear glasses and a cap,” I stage-whisper to Cole. He smiles, throwing an arm around the back of my chair.

“Anonymous brunette number one,” he says, letting his fingers trail lightly over my shoulder.

“Glad I got the number-one spot,” I tease.

“Of course. I’m a gentleman.”

An attendant delivers our food and a chilled bucket of beer, shooting Cole a practiced smile.

Timmy pays the food no mind. He’s standing up, arms around the railing. On the table is his notebook and pen, brought along for research purposes. Cole asks him questions about the opposing team, in from out of state, and to my surprise Timmy knows nearly all the answers.

“When did you learn all this? Both of you?”

Timmy’s voice is proud. “I keep up with the Major League.”