The Play (Chicago Nights Book 1)

by Natalie Wrye

  Arizona.

  All to play babysitter to a client.

  I should have asked for more money.

  “Good afternoon passengers,” the captain’s voice rings out over the intercom. “This is your captain speaking. We are now beginning our descent into Sky Harbor International Airport, your final destination. The time is 3:25 pm. The weather looks good and with the tailwind on our side we are expecting to land approximately fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Forecast in Phoenix is…”

  I want to tell him the forecast is “drunk and unbelievably outraged.”

  I signed up to handle a crisis, not watch a few baseball games under the West Coast sun.

  It’s been over twelve hours since Sevin left my front door last night and still, two first class glasses of Chardonnay are not enough to soothe my nerves. Or make me forget that because of my boss, I am now at the beck and call of Sevin Smith—beautiful baseball player, asshole athlete, candidate for Worst Neighbor Alive.

  In a first class seat built for a King, I order my third glass of wine from the nearest flight attendant as Kayla crosses her arms beside me, one hand landing on my forearm.

  She peers over at me, blue eyes bright. “Still feeling weirded out?”

  The flight attendant hands me my final drink, and I take it, almost inhaling it in one gulp. I sigh out loud. “How can you tell?”

  “I don’t know… Maybe because you’ve had enough wine to suck Napa Valley vineyards dry.” She shoots me a sly grin. “I know this isn’t exactly how you pictured your work at The Firm would be when I helped you get this job.”

  “No.” I peer over her shoulder at the little girl sitting across the aisle, her sandy hair tucked behind her ears as she sleeps. “Hadn’t known babysitting would be one of the requirements.”

  The real child, I could handle. No problem.

  It was babysitting the athlete that would be the issue. Watching over a famous baseball pro. Keeping him away from the press. Out of any more trouble.

  Making sure the blogs didn’t find out about Charlie.

  It’s a great thing the little girl doesn’t seem to be as freaked out as I am. On the flight, she barely budges.

  Thankfully, the plane is quiet. But my mind is not.

  The additional thought that a mother—any mother—could leave behind her daughter is driving me to drink. And I don’t even want to think about the man who could be the little girl’s father.

  A man who’s done little but drive me crazy since he’s come into my life. A man I’m flying hundreds of miles to oversee.

  A man who’s currently messaging me right now.

  And I know I shouldn’t be texting before landing. I know I shouldn’t.

  But my cell phone pings, another notification from the MyNeighbor app, popping up on my screen.

  And I’m just tipsy enough to answer.

  I read Sevin’s seventh text.

  Sevin:

  I’m not going to stop. I’m going to keep bugging you until you answer me.

  I blow out a breath, replying.

  Emily:

  Yes, you’re a pain in the ass.

  Sevin:

  That’s not what I asked.

  I watch floating ellipses appear.

  Don’t make me interrupt your cartoons. I know you’re watching some on the flight right now.

  Damn. Why did I ever tell this man that?

  I ignore my in-flight episode of Rugrats.

  Emily:

  I don’t know how to answer you any differently than I did the first time you messaged me.

  Yes, Charlie is fine.

  No, she is not uncomfortable on the flight.

  And yes, Kayla and I are very comfortable watching her.

  I hesitate a second before writing more.

  If you’re so concerned, why did you take an earlier flight than us?

  Sevin:

  Because my trainer threatened me with death if I didn’t meet him.

  Emily:

  I like your trainer already.

  Sevin:

  Just wait until you meet Coach. You’ll be in plenty murderous company with him around.

  Emily:

  **Taking notes.

  I’d write more to press his buttons but then he texts back something unexpected that makes my stomach dip from more than just the turbulence.

  Sevin:

  No, but seriously now… Is she okay? I mean, her mother just left her here. I don’t know many eight-year olds who can deal with as much as she is.

  I smile, feeling sentimental even through the wine buzz.

  Emily:

  She’s tough. She’s a tough little girl. She’s nothing like I was at the age. Just from the few hours I’ve spent in her company, I can tell. Charlie’s a trooper.

  I grin harder, writing more.

  And it helps that she has her soldier sidekick coming with us to Arizona.

  Sevin:

  God…

  I imagine the sigh on his lips.

  I should have never agreed to drag that furball with us.

  I laugh out loud, ignoring Kayla’s curious look.

  Emily:

  You’ll learn to love Felix yet.

  Sevin:

  I hope so.

  I’m not so good at this.

  Emily:

  Good at what?

  Sevin:

  Caring about other people (or animals) the way I should.

  I want to ask what that means but the captain is back over the intercom, and what I prepare to say dies quickly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain voice rings out over the intercom, “as we start our descent into Phoenix, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you.”

  Tucking my phone away, I take a deep breath.

  For as long as I’ve been at this job at The Firm, I’ve been a good employee, a serious lawyer. And somehow I’ve let myself be talked into taking on an assignment that crossed the line of appropriate long ago.

  Hell, Sevin’s paternity hasn’t even been proven. And yet we’re hauling a little girl across state lines to make sure no magazine or blog’s the wiser. Even a hint of an issue or shift in Sevin’s schedule, and the tabloid press would pounce.

  I’ve seen them do it before.

  Problem is: I want to say it isn’t my fault. That I was double-teamed by Sevin and Stephan, pushed by Kayla.

  But truth is: I was a goner the second I looked into that little girl’s eyes. I’m sure I would have done anything Stephan asked of me.

  The hopeful look in her big green eyes had captured me—not to mention the adoring way she looked at Felix and Sevin.

  Caught between a cat, an athlete and an eight-year old, I was starting to think the captain was right.

  I needed to make sure my seat belt was fastened and my luggage, emotional and otherwise, was stowed.

  I was going to be in for a bumpy ride.

  SEVIN

  I finish my last MyNeighbor message to Emily, wondering if what I said was true about caring about people.

  Hopping out of the black Navigator to take me back to my Scottsdale hotel is a chore as my entire body aches from today’s practice, and by the time I make it to the lobby, Naomi’s already calling. My finger hovers over that “Eff You” button as I sling my glove-filled bag over my shoulder, but I decide I don’t need her popping out of my bathroom tub “Fatal Attraction” style just because I don’t feel like hearing what she has to say.

  I answer the phone, taking a deep breath before I fill her in on the last twelve hours.

  As expected, she goes into nail-biting nuclear mode. Her voice is shrill.

  “Holy shitballs, Deborah did what? And you’re doing fucking what?”

  “Language, Nome,” I shoot back. “You never know when a kid could be around.” I pause. “Hell, a
kid who could be my kid.”

  “I’m sorry,” my assistant mutters. “I just mean… I can’t…” She drifts off into silence, echoing how I feel. “I just don’t get it. What kind of mother would leave her own daughter on your doorstep?”

  “Which proves my point on the sanity of this Deborah woman. She’s clearly nuts.”

  “I mean, this is completely boggling my mind right now.” I can just imagine my assistant pushing her glasses up, her index finger poking over her nose. “It makes no sense. You’re a single man, Sevin.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “And a professional athlete.”

  “Kinda knew that, too.”

  “I mean your fan-base avatar is your basic acne-faced fifteen-year old or forty-year old man-child. Not exactly ideal for raising kids.”

  “Again,” I grunt, “you’re not getting any argument from me.” I run a palm over my lips, letting my stubbled face scratch it as I head for the elevator back to my room, every inch of my body aching from head to toe.

  The practice with my trainer Ivan the Terrible today was more brutal than most days, and it didn’t help that the taste of vodka was still on my tongue from last night.

  During today’s practice, my knee was hurting, my mind was swimming, and my swing was off.

  Fifty minutes later, practice is over, but the Arizona air is still dry in my throat as I cross the lobby, and when, at last, I ride up through the hotel lobby elevator, back to my suite, I’m already exhausted.

  I walk right up to my hotel suite, closing the swanky door behind me, tempted to sag against it.

  Right now, I need to get the baseball diamond dust washed from my shoulders and the smell of the grass off my skin. I push all of that to the back of my mind as I strip naked, needing as much downtime before tomorrow night’s game as I can fit in.

  I pull my baseball cap from my sweaty hair, letting it slide to the floor. I grunt through the aches and pain.

  “I just didn’t know what to do, you know. I mean, she had to come with me. I couldn’t just leave her there. I wouldn’t just leave her there.”

  Naomi’s voice is soft. “I know you wouldn’t.”

  “And I can be an asshole…”

  “Yes, you can. No argument there.” I hear her underlying smile.

  “But I’m just not—I’m just not the type of person who could abandon a kid.”

  Naomi inhales. “I know you aren’t. That’s not you. Anyone who knows you knows that. You’re not that type of guy.” She takes a small pause, prompting me to do the same. “Makes you wonder if this Deborah Jett knows that, too.” She pauses. “I’ll call Kayla, and, if I have to, her boss to get to the bottom of this.”

  Naomi. My good old faithful.

  You could always trust my adorably uptight assistant to take care of things.

  Including this Deborah woman.

  The mystery woman who’d come into my life that no one can get a hold of.

  A phantom who’d slipped in and out of my life like a ghost, here one day and gone the next.

  So far, I’d left the Deborah handling to Kayla, my ex-PR guru, but as I head towards the hotel bathroom to turn the shower on, I wonder more about who the hell this woman could be.

  Who was she to me nine years ago? And why the hell didn’t I remember her?

  My thoughts are still on Deborah when I hear a knock on my hotel suite door. Reaching to wrap the nearest towel around my waist, I answer the door, finding Sawyer standing behind it.

  The big loaf grins. “Did Ivan kick your ass or what? I’m still hurting from practice today.”

  I let him in, pointing to my phone. But he doesn’t get the message.

  He falls out on my mattress. “Jeez, I could use a proper Annie right now.” He closes his eyes. “Someone who can massage my bruised cheeks.” He hesitates. “And I’m not talking about the ones on my face…”

  “Is that Saywer?” I hear Naomi ask through my phone.

  I sigh. “Yes, that’s Mr. Cheeks, at your service.”

  “Of course it is. I can smell his BS from all the way in New York, it’s so bad.” I imagine her brown eyes tumbling in her head. “Not looking forward to smelling it in person tomorrow morning when I land in Arizona. But if it helps: Tell him I’ll handle his cheeks.”

  “You’ll handle them?”

  “Sure. Free of charge. With the backside of my boot.”

  I snort out loud. “I’ll relay the message. Talk to you later, Nome.”

  “Who was that?” Sawyer finally glances up. “Buzz-Kill again?”

  I toss my phone to the side. “You know if Naomi ever learns that you call her that, she’ll spit frisbees.”

  “Well, I mean, admit it, Sterling: The woman is a hitman for fun. Where there’s fun, you can guarantee that Naomi will show up, sniper rifle and black mask in tow, to snuff it out. She’s allergic to the shit, I’m sure. Bet she had a hell of a time shutting down our Playboy party so abruptly. I barely had a chance to put my pants on.”

  Jesus. The party. It feels like a million years ago.

  I don’t confess that it couldn’t have been Naomi to kill the party, since my Type-A assistant was still in New York.

  In fact, the second the police had showed with Charlie in tow, it was me who ended the debauched festivities, showing every partygoer and Playboy Bunny the front door as I phoned in Kayla to help me clean up the mess.

  I didn’t mention at the time that the biggest mess was me.

  Having Kayla usher Charlie away from my madness was bad enough, especially when Kayla had called big boss Stephan Knight to tidy up loose ends. And I just sat there and let it happen.

  The kid had only been around for less than an hour, and I was showing that I was a shit father.

  I didn’t know if she was mine or not—I’d hoped not.

  Because when it came right down to it, when you looked at my life—a life filled with high-noon heaters in overcrowded stadiums, city after city, bedmate after bedmate, I wasn’t built for this.

  I’d never be the kind of man any kid needed. I was barely the kind any decent woman would.

  The thought makes the ache in my body burn. I roll my shoulders.

  “Alright, Saw.” I brush the party talk. “I need a shower or stuff is going to start growing on my skin. You’re welcome to reschedule the party later, but right now, I need to get my skin wet. Dry air is giving me hell.”

  The second baseman stands with a grunt. “Don’t worry, Sterling. I get it. I just took one myself.” He starts towards the door. “Well, I’m off to get something else of mine wet. Call me later.” He checks his phone. “Well, actually, call me much later. I’ve got a guest in five minutes.” He winks. “I’ll see you later.”

  And then he’s out the door.

  The sound of silence in my hotel room is welcome, if not a little strange. I chuckle at the thought that I’m semi-getting used to hearing Sarah McLachlan music filtering through my floorboards from Emily’s apartment, and I head back towards the shower, shedding my towel.

  I wash with the slow deliberate manner of a man who feels like he finally has time.

  The shower lasts long, well over a half hour, even as the water runs cold.

  Naked and dripping wet, I slide my towel over my hair, wiping the soaked strands. Headed back towards my bedroom, I hear another knock—loud and insistent, and I can’t help but groan, snatching the towel from my head to place it at the apex of my thighs.

  I unlock the door, ripping the strong wood aside. “What, Sawyer?”

  But it’s not Sawyer who stands behind the door. Far from it.

  Shocked hazel eyes stare in my direction as Emily’s gaze goes directly to my face and then between my legs as my towel drops to the floor in a heap.

  I wish there was a MyNeighbor app emoji for Oh shit.

  Chapter 9

  EMILY

  Thursday evening

  Seeing Sevin at his door without his shirt on is a shock.

 
Seeing Sevin at his door without a stitch of clothing on is a heart attack.

  The thick cotton towel in his hand falls to the floor, and I can’t help but look, my gaze dropping to the neatly trimmed thatch of hair between his thighs.

  He’s huge, even semi-hard, and it takes every ounce of my will to turn away, my hands shooting to my eyes as I swing my gaze in the other direction.

  “Holy wow, I am so sorry.”

  The words keep coming off my lips even as I hear Sevin make a grab for his towel, and I feel myself shaking, literally shaking, as he does, my hands in tremors.

  “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just a little slip, that’s all,” I hear him say from the doorway.

  But I can’t look back. Can’t allow myself to mistakenly gaze at the most delicious male form I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Good God, the man is built.

  In a split second, I got an eyeful of his chiseled muscles, his lean thighs. It seemed every bit of his over six-foot frame was made out of stone, and if I had looked even a second longer, I’m sure my heart would have stopped completely.

  I place a hand on it now, trying to calm it as Sevin tries to calm me.

  “Emily.” He calls out. “Emily, it’s alright. I’m decent.” I hear him chuckle. “Fully wrapped up like a pig in a blanket. You can open your eyes now.”

  I release my squeeze on my eyelids, one-by-one, glancing up to see him newly wrapped in the bath towel, a smug look on his handsome face.

  He pulls the fabric even tighter around his waist.

  “Look, see? It’s practically locked around my body.” He heaves a deep breath as if he needs it as much as I do. “Now, what can I do for you? Besides make the both of us super uncomfortable?”

  “What…can you…do?”