The Mitchell Sisters: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  Her face lights up when she sees me coming. “Dada!” she squeals and toddles her way over to me as I melt into a pile of goo at her melodious, high-pitched voice.

  I scoop her into my arms, peppering her face with kisses before I thank the staff and head out to my car. My—what did she call it—‘over-the-top car to attract anything with a vagina?’ Yes, it’s sporty. Yes, it’s fancy. But what she monumentally failed to notice yesterday when I drove her home, was Hailey’s car seat in the back. It was my one requirement when car shopping. A great sports car with a back seat. Had I known at the time that women would drool over it, I might have reconsidered my decision and bought a mini-van. If my car is a chick-magnet, a mini-van is repellent.

  Driving to the park, I momentarily think of trading in my one prized possession. But the moment passes when I rationalize it’s not my problem. It’s theirs—all those women who shamelessly throw themselves at any player on the roster in hopes that they’ll get their fifteen minutes of fame.

  I made that mistake once. I won’t make it again. And although it resulted in the best thing that ever happened to me—Hailey, I’m not willing to risk it. So, ever since Cassidy showed up seven months pregnant, demanding a marriage proposal, I’ve been celibate. Almost two years since I’ve had sex. My left hand has become my best friend and my only source of relief. Funny how I even made a conscious decision to use my left hand—strengthening my non-dominant arm in the process.

  After a pony ride, Hailey starts to get cranky, a sure sign that she’s hungry. Mitchell’s isn’t far, so I make the five-block walk with my little girl on my back.

  Walking through the door into the welcome blast of warm air, I practically run over the one person who shouldn’t be here. I give her a disapproving stare. “Is this how you spend your maternity leave, Skylar? You know maternity leave means you don’t have to show up for work, right?”

  She looks sheepishly at me. “I can’t help it. I don’t want the place to go to shit while I’m gone. I’m only here for a few minutes to make sure it’s being run properly in my absence.”

  I pull her with me to the hostess stand. “Table for three,” I say, looking at Skylar instead of the hostess.

  Skylar looks longingly back at the kitchen and then sighs. “Okay, fine. But only because I want to spend time with this gorgeous girl. How are you, Hailey?”

  “Up, up!” She holds her hands out to Skylar who willingly sweeps her up into a hug.

  Skylar has us seated close to the kitchen, presumably so she’ll be able to hear if there are any crises that need her attention.

  “So, where’s Aaron? Too young to take out yet?”

  She shakes her head. “No, we’ve been taking him all kinds of places, but Griffin doesn’t let anyone touch him. He’s kind of vigilant about it. And he carries a huge container of hand sanitizer for us to use whenever we touch things like door handles and elevator buttons. It’s pretty comical, and I’m not afraid to say, annoying at times. But I put up with it because I know he’s trying to keep him from getting sick. He’s had enough sickness around him to last a lifetime.”

  I nod my head in fierce agreement. “You know, it’s probably just the whole new dad thing. I was the same way with Hailey at first. Especially since I didn’t get to see her very often. He’ll change soon enough, don’t worry.” I take a drink of water that our waiter brought over. “So, is Piper babysitting?”

  She coughs, choking on her own drink. “God, no. That girl hasn’t babysat since high school. I think Baylor over-used her or something. She practically raised Maddox for a few years, then she hit seventeen and everything else became more important. Things like Charlie and planning for their trip after graduation.”

  Thankfully, the waiter comes to take our orders, averting anymore talk of Piper. Why did I even bring her up?

  “Jarod, you remember Mason, don’t you? He’s going to be the best man at my wedding.”

  He extends his hand to me and I shake it. “Oh, yeah. Mason Lawrence, I know all about you. I’m a big Giants fan. Good luck this year, man. I hope you get to play more than you did last season.”

  Jarod is wearing long sleeves with markings of tattoos peeking out near his wrists. He also has gauges in his ears. He must be a damn good waiter, because Mitchell’s usually only hires clean-cut servers. I notice his short, manicured hair and wonder if maybe he conceded a different hairstyle to get the job.

  “You and me both. Thanks.” I proceed to give him my order and then ask about getting some chicken tenders and apple slices for Hailey. “Do you want chocolate milk, sweet pea?”

  She claps her hands and squeals, “Chocate!”

  He finishes taking our order, but hesitates before walking away. He studies me for half a second and then turns his attention to Skylar. “So, how long is your sister in town?”

  Skylar glances at me before answering. My face is stoic. “Until the wedding, so May 15th,” she replies.

  “Oh.” He shifts his weight nervously. “So, do you think she’d want to go out with me sometime? Maybe you could put in a good word.”

  Skylar tries hard not to smirk. “Sure, Jarod. She doesn’t date much, but I’d be happy to tell her what a nice guy you are.”

  “Nice?” he says, as if it’s a bad word. “How about you tell her I’m your best waiter and that you’re probably going to promote me to assistant manager soon. And tell her I can get VIP tickets to some sick new bands since my uncle is a promoter.”

  “Assistant manager, really?” she asks, her attention fully on this kid who can’t be more than twenty. “I’m glad you’re so ambitious, Jarod. And of course, I’ll tell her all those things.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go put your order in now. You won’t forget, right?”

  “No, Jarod, I won’t forget. Now, hurry to table three, the patron looks annoyed.”

  He rushes off and I shake my head after him. “She’s here only one day, and already she’s got a guy after her. What is it about you Mitchell sisters?”

  “Actually, two guys,” she says.

  “Two? Really?” My brows shoot up in question, and maybe concern.

  “Oh, come on, Mason.” She goes into full mom mode and pulls a bib out of the diaper bag I brought, placing it around Hailey’s neck. “Don’t play dumb with me. I saw the way you guys were with each other last night.”

  “The way we were . . . uh, you mean the fight your sister picked with me?”

  “Yes.” She smiles, her face lighting up and I can’t help but notice she shares the same brilliant green-colored eyes with Piper. “And the challenge you put on the table. And the heat between you.” She fans herself.

  “Heat?” I say, incredulously, laced with a bit of denial. “You’re crazy. And she’s the one who threw down the gauntlet, I just picked it up. It’s purely selfish, because it’ll be good strength training to help me get ready for pre-season.”

  “Right.” She helps Hailey with her straw when Jarod deposits the chocolate milk in front of her. “I just can’t believe how much she’s changed.”

  “Hailey?”

  “No, Piper. I mean, she got a nose piercing and then she did that thing with her hair. She was never like that before. We were the three musketeers—her, Baylor and me; well, four if you count Charlie, who was always around. And even though Piper was five years younger than Baylor and three years younger than me, we still always got along so well. We did everything together. I just don’t understand what happened to her.”

  “Europe happened to her. And Asia. And Africa,” I say. “People are different there. I was overseas last summer for some exhibition games. It’s a whole different world, Skylar. I think the more eccentric you are, the better you fit in.” Hailey’s chicken tenders are placed on the table and I cut them up into bite-sized pieces. “You just need to give her a chance to acclimate. She’s been gone for so long.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” she says, picking around at her salad. “Just don’t be too hard on her, Mason. Something isn’
t right. Something hasn’t been right with her for a long time. I know she comes off bitchy and self-centered, but she’s not really like that. I think she puts up a front. So if you have even the least bit of interest in her, don’t give up. I think you may be exactly what she needs.”

  “Me?” I gesture to the waiter boy walking by. “What about him? Doesn’t he seem a little more her type?”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Jarod. And he’s right; he is the best waiter I have. But he’s not the guy for her. She needs someone strong. Someone discerning. Someone who can look past that rough exterior and break down her walls.”

  “Skylar, I don’t need any distractions in my life. Dealing with Cassidy, having Hailey every other weekend, and playing football—that’s pretty much all I can handle right now. I don’t think I could take on a project as big as your sister.”

  “Project?” She gives me a biting stare. “Isn’t that precisely what you’ve done, agreeing to train with my little sister for the marathon?”

  “Who said I was going to train with her? I said I would let her work with my trainer. Anyway, I think she hates me.”

  Skylar laughs.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Oh, nothing. Except that’s exactly what I thought about Griffin when we first met.”

  chapter five

  piper

  There’s still a winter chill in the air when I walk the ten blocks to the gym. I walk fast, trying to forget the dream I had last night. The dream I’ve had two nights in a row. I thought they were going away. I haven’t had one in a while. Maybe it’s because I’m home. It’s never the same dream. Never the same faces.

  I wrap my coat around myself and quicken my steps even more as I think about brunch yesterday at Mitchell’s Long Island—my parents’ newest restaurant. It was interesting to see how everyone has gotten along without me these past years. They’ve moved on. Made something of their lives. Continued living. All while I seem to be stuck like a broken record on constant repeat.

  I observed the things I’d missed when I flew in for a whirlwind weekend last year for Baylor’s wedding. Things like how my mom looks older and stressed out, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth more prominent than I’d ever seen them. I know she’s approaching fifty, but she’s always had such a youthful look about her. I guess four years make a big difference.

  My dad has taken on Gavin and Griffin as his own flesh and blood. Like the sons he never had. Did he want me to be a boy? His third child—his last chance to sire a son? To have someone carry on the name of his empire? He doesn’t talk to me much. Not since I left junior year. I’m a disappointment to him. A failure. I think about how different all of our lives would be if I’d just been a boy. He seemed more interested in the fact that Mason didn’t show up for brunch than the fact that his youngest daughter had.

  It made me wonder why Mason didn’t show. Was it because I was going to be there? He clearly has a problem with me. I couldn’t care less about him one way or the other and my only problem with him is that he possesses a penis.

  My phone vibrates and I smile as I swipe to answer the call. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear your voice,” I say.

  “So, how’s day three going?” Charlie asks. “Please tell me you are going to see that gorgeous hunk of a football player today.”

  “Shut up.” I roll my eyes at the phone. I never should have mentioned his name to her yesterday. “No, thankfully, I’m not going to see him, but I am going to see his trainer. I’m on my way there right now.”

  “Is his trainer gorgeous?” she asks.

  “I don’t know, I haven’t met her yet.”

  “Ooooooh, maybe you could have a threesome.” She giggles. “I mean, you already know the guy is hot—like super-sports-hero hot. I’ve Googled him and Pipes, I know you don’t date and all; I’m just saying, if you were ever going to—now would be a good time to start.”

  I blow out an exasperated breath into the phone. The only reason I don’t hang up on her is that I know she’s kidding. She also knows just how far she can push before I break.

  “Okay, okay,” she says. “Enough talk of the freakishly-hot quarterback. Tell me about all the other shit you’ve done since we talked yesterday.”

  I tell her about brunch, leaving out the details of my mom’s appearance. That would make Charlie sad. My mom was like a second mother to her. Hell, she was like an only mother to her. Her own mother was too wrapped up in a bottle to give a rat’s ass about the comings and goings of her only daughter. She was a washed-up runway model; a has-been. An over-the-hill actress who only got bit parts as someone’s forty-something mother. But still, she had to keep up appearances. She would often be invited to charity functions and red-carpet premiers and because of that, she had to look impeccable.

  But her daughter didn’t. Her beautiful daughter that had, in her mother’s words, ‘stolen her looks’ from the minute she got knocked up with her.

  Nobody cared what her daughter looked like. She wasn’t in the spotlight. No one would notice if she had bruises on her face or burns on her arms. Charlie was good at hiding it. So good that my mother, even as close as they had become, was oblivious to it until Charlie told her senior year, weeks before we packed up and left. But by that time, she was eighteen and practically living with us. She begged my mom not to do anything about it.

  Maybe that’s why my mom looks so old. She’s been burdened with too many secrets.

  We end the call as I walk through the front doors of the massive four-story gym. Wow. This place is like the freaking Waldorf, except people are wearing spandex instead of tailored suits. They own this? Gavin, Griffin and Mason own this place? I look around the expansive space, seeing it almost completely from one end to the other through the glass walls that partition the different sections. I know immediately I will love it here. I see dozens of treadmills I can get lost on. Weight machines that beckon me, challenging me to push myself to the breaking point. Boxing rings that I know will absorb some of my aggression.

  I walk up to the front desk and drop my duffle bag. “Um, I’m supposed to meet with a trainer.” I fumble with my phone, pulling up the text Mason sent me. I’m sure he misspelled her name. “Uh . . . Trick?”

  “I’m Trick,” a soft yet masculine voice bellows behind me.

  I whip around, surprised to see a woman in the place where the voice originated. She holds out her hand. “Mason sent you. Piper, right? I adore him. And your brothers-in-law. Well, I suppose Griffin isn’t exactly that yet, but it won’t be long. Are you excited about the wedding?”

  As she rambles on about anything and everything, I take in her appearance. Just as Mason said, she’s got piercings; one through her lip and one in her eyebrow. She has short, purple hair that matches her outfit—a tight-fitting sports bra that flattens her barely-there chest, and three-quarter length spandex leggings that hug her boyish figure. She’s petite but very fit. Defined biceps lead down to the thick veins lining her forearms. I know instantly that I will like her.

  “… and so I decided on Trick, you know, because it’s gender-neutral and all.”

  I realize in my perusal of her wild-yet-somehow-fabulous persona, I’ve missed most of what she said. “Uh, sorry.” I finally accept her outstretched hand hoping she doesn’t think I’m a rude ditz. “Yes, I’m Piper. Mason said I can work with you while I’m here?”

  She laughs, looking me up and down. “You must have really gotten to him.”

  “Gotten to him?” I cross my arms in front of my body, slightly uncomfortable at her perusal.

  “Yes.” She reaches down to pick up my bag and motions for me to follow her. “He doesn’t share me with just anyone, you know. He must like you.” She turns back and looks at me again, shaking her head as if she’s confused about something.

  “Like me? No. I think he’s taking pity on me because I said I could beat him in the Boston Marathon.” I still can’t believe I said it. What
was I thinking? He’s a professionally trained athlete and all I do is run, well and box occasionally.

  Trick suddenly stops walking, causing me to nearly run into her. “Wait. Hold the fucking phone,” she says, doubling over in laughter. She straightens up and wipes her eyes. “You mean to tell me Mason Lawrence is running in the Boston Marathon? With you?”

  I don’t know why she finds this so funny. “Well, not with me,” I say. “But he’s the one who got me in. He said he’s been training for a while now, as part of his football conditioning.”

  A huge smile sweeps across her face. It can’t be comfortable. It looks like her lip ring is pulled so taut it might rip right through her flesh. “Is that so?” She starts walking again, and I follow, watching her shoulders shake up and down as if she’s laughing, but without making a sound this time.

  We end up in a locker room where she issues me a lock and I stash my bag for later. “I take it you’ve run before? What are your times?”

  She seems mildly impressed when I rattle off my times to her.

  “And where else have you trained?” she asks.

  “Nowhere else. I just like to run.”

  She puts a gentle hand on me. “You mean to tell me you haven’t had any formal training? You got those times by just running?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Well, I like to box, too.”

  “Box,” she repeats as if I told her the sky wasn’t blue. “You run and you box.” She once again looks me up and down, then she walks around my body and puts her hands on my calves, then on my thighs, plying them with her fingers. She comes around and faces me. We are almost exactly eye-to-eye, with hers falling ever so slightly below mine. “If you give me five days a week, three hours a day, I’m gonna shave ten minutes off your time.”