Crazy Sexy Notion

by Sarah Darlington

  “Hello Samantha,” said Mickey’s mom. “I’m Mrs. Jasmine. I’ve brought you something for the game.” She held up a Sea Dogs t-shirt in Samantha’s size. “And when we get there I can take you into the locker room where you can visit with Mick and meet the other players. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds good,” Samantha said politely, ending her Xbox game. She stood up and took the t-shirt from Mrs. Jasmine, pulling it on over her clothes. “It fits!”

  “Of course it does.”

  The whole Jasmine family visited for a while—chatting about Mickey and the Sea Dogs. They also wanted to know a hell of a lot about me. Where I worked. I told them about my waitressing jobs. What I liked to do for fun. I told them about how I always went to Bingo night at the fire station on Sundays. Lame, yes, but really the only ‘parent-friendly’ extracurricular activity I could share. They wanted to know what I thought of Maine. I told them I wasn’t sure what to think yet.

  Somewhere in the middle of our conversation I decided to let Samantha go on her own with them. They might have been asking me all the questions, but in actuality they were the ones under scrutiny. Mickey had once said his family was no picnic. I didn’t know what he’d meant by that. I still didn’t know. But these people seemed nice enough—safe enough.

  Mickey trusted them. So taking the biggest leap of faith ever, I decided to trust them too. Samantha left with them to go to the game.

  And I stayed behind.

  CHAPTER 8:

  MICK

  Tony Fucking Christmas. I couldn’t help but question his sanity at least three times a week.

  “So Sandra called me.”

  “My Sandra?” I pulled my headphones out of my ears, not sure if I’d heard him correctly. We were in the middle of warm ups, and in about thirty seconds I was supposed to head to the bullpen. This was hardly the time to screw with me. I had to stay focused.

  He chuckled. “Is there any other?”

  “What the hell?”

  “She wants to date me. I mean, seriously. We’re supposed to go out for drinks later tonight.”

  My jaw dropped. “Is this your way of asking my permission?”

  “Dude, I’m not asking your permission.” He scratched at his red-colored beard. In the distance the bullpen couch signaled me over. I gave him a small nod. I knew what time it was.

  “What are you trying to say then?”

  “I’m trying to tell you that I think I’m going to get those drinks with her tonight. You never really loved her anyway. You were adamantly clear on that. You cheated on her constantly. So I’m hoping this really won’t matter to you. I’m hoping this won’t put any strain on our friendship.”

  I cleared my throat. “You do know she’s probably only going out with you to get back at me?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But even if she is, so what if she wants to use me mercifully for sex? Any man with a dick wouldn’t mind getting used by that woman.” He laughed as if he’d just told some hysterical joke.

  I didn’t even crack a smile—well, I might have had I not been more worried about the fact that it was my night to pitch and all of this bullshit was trivial in comparison to that. The only thing that mattered was keeping mentally focused. After completely choking last time I pitched, and the fact that I didn’t get in my pre-game sex once again, I needed all the help I could get. This conversation was doing nothing for me.

  “You’re getting played,” I told Christmas. “But whatever. Do whatever you want.”

  My phone started ringing. What now? The only reason I even had it on me was for the music. I glanced down at the number and was surprised to see it was my own house number calling.

  Tony ceased to exist.

  The bullpen couch yelling my name ceased to exist.

  The stands now filling with fans ceased to exist.

  There was only one person who could be calling from the house—Raven.

  So I answered. “Hey.”

  Tony gave me a look like I’d just pulled down my pants and flashed the crowd. Talking on a cellphone thirty minutes before game time was certainly frowned upon.

  “Hey, it’s Raven.” Her voice sounded different over the phone—grittier somehow.

  “I know who it is.”

  “The two cars in your garage—the Corvette and the fucking Mercedes Benz. You don’t care if take either of them?”

  I smirked. “It’s taken you this long to look in the garage.”

  “You said use them freely—so I was expecting two beat-up Honda Civics.”

  “Why would I have two Honda Civics?”

  “I don’t know.” She laughed. She had a really nice laugh. When she stopped hating on me for two seconds, it was such a pleasant sound to hear. “I figured that’s the only sort of car you’d feel safe letting me drive.”

  “You figured wrong.”

  “Well, that’s surprising.” She jumped subjects. “Did you see Samantha yet?”

  “Yes, briefly.”

  “Was she okay?

  Tony shoved my shoulder. Dude, he mouthed. Get off the phone.

  I ignored him. “Yes. She seemed fine. She’s in good hands with my mom, don’t worry.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  She let out a breath, and I could hear the tension in her voice.

  “Take the Corvette,” I urged softly. I knew she wanted to. Raven might have had a million and one walls strategically positioned around her, but what she didn’t realize was that all of those walls were see-through. At least to me. My guess is that she would kill to drive a car like that. My guess is that if she was stressing about her daughter, that it might make a nice distraction.

  “It is a pretty car,” she commented.

  “It’s a fucking beautiful car.”

  “Okay, you convinced me. Maybe I’ll take it out. I promise I won’t break it.”

  I chuckled. “Please don’t.”

  “Okay. Bye, Mickey.”

  “Bye, Raven.”

  I smiled, ending the phone the call.

  Wow, that conversation had gone surprisingly well. She hadn’t yelled at me once.

  “What was that about?” were the first words out of Tony’s mouth.

  I glanced up at him. I’d forgotten for a moment he’d been hanging on my every word.

  “You got a new woman?” he asked, and he wiggled his eyebrows at me like some kind of weirdo.

  “No.”

  “Sounds like it. Sounds like you just let her borrow your car.”

  I had let her borrow my car. It was just a car. Not even my favorite—the truck was my favorite. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told Tony, and I started to jog off toward the bullpen. I’d lost at least five minutes, and I couldn’t spare anymore.

  “Then what’s the shit-eating grin for,” he called out after me, laughing.

  I ignored him. I had a game to finish getting ready for. But as I started to warm up my arm, and then as I took the mound—I realized I felt oddly rejuvenated. I ended up playing decently. Not as good as I would have liked, but not terribly either. I had to admit the obvious, the only change in my routine today had been my phone call with Raven. She’d had some kind of effect on me.

  After the game, I took my time in the locker room. I lingered when I normally would have hurried to get home. One wicked knot had settled into my stomach—just at the anticipation of seeing Raven again.

  I was back on my crazy notion—back to thinking I’d had the world a hell of a lot more figured out when I was ten. Back to thinking this strange belief that Raven was my soulmate. It was ridiculous. She was loud and obnoxious, not even close to my regular type, I couldn’t go ten seconds without pissing her off, and yet, something about her felt right. When I’d lifted her up in my arms earlier today, the moment only lasting a few seconds, I’d felt something so powerful it had nearly knocked me to my knees. Really, the only reason I’d done it was to get her feet out of the cold grass. She’d seemed uncomfortable. But touchi
ng her, no matter how miniscule the touch had been, felt like…everything. The closest thing to something real I’d ever felt in my life.

  So I stalled.

  Because, frankly, I was scaring the shit out of myself with all these insane thoughts.

  * * *

  It was close to midnight when I finally walked into the kitchen. All the lights were out and the house was dead silent. “Ugh,” I groaned—half disappointed Raven wasn’t still awake, half relieved, and one-hundred and ten percent mentally deranged.

  What the fuck was wrong with me? All of this—going back to me driving out to Kansas to get this girl—was fucking certifiable. I’d come home late on purpose, and now I was frustrated the girl wasn’t awake.

  I breathed in and out trying to calm myself.

  It wasn’t working.

  “Maybe if you just talked to her,” I mumbled to myself. “And tell her what? I know we don’t know each other, but I think I have feelings for you. Strong feelings.”

  Jesus Christ. Now I was standing in the dark kitchen talking to myself.

  I sighed, and then I heard something. A TV on, perhaps.

  I crept through my kitchen, through the entryway, and toward the living room. My already racing heart started to thud like it was on steroids. Because there on the couch was the woman who was quickly occupying all of my thoughts. She was asleep with her body curled up in a small ball, her hands tucked under face, wearing my sweatshirt as a nightgown once again. The glow from the TV bounced off the hints of purple in her hair. She shifted and sighed softly in her sleep—a cute, sexy noise that seemed to speak directly to my cock.

  I swallowed to clear my throat—it was doing its stifling thing on me again. That had been happening a lot since Raven came into life.

  She looked so peaceful in her sleep. So innocent, so beautiful, so perfect.

  A blanket was there, behind her on the back of the couch. I could cover her up with it, and leave her there to sleep. Or, I could carry her up to her room, and put her in her bed. Meaning I’d have an excuse to touch her once again.

  Alternatively, I could carry her up to my room, put her in my bed.

  Damn, I was hung up on that third option, breathing heavier at the mere idea of it.

  I’d rejected her last night. I’d never rejected sex in my life. Why the hell had I done that? Oh yeah, because I was trying to be a gentleman, trying to do right by her, trying to treat her with the respect she deserved, respect I don’t think anyone had ever given her before. I was hardly a gentleman, as evident by the blood now raging inside me, raging south, making me hard at the mere thought of getting to touch her in any capacity.

  But regardless of what my body felt, I knew I’d made the right call last night. That despite her profession, the way she dressed, and her complete lack of manners—despite all that, I couldn’t treat her like one of my normal quick fucks. I couldn’t even treat her like Sandra. If I was even remotely serious about starting something with her, for the first time in my entire life, I had to keep my cock in my pants.

  So I went with option four. I covered her with the blanket. Then I took a spot on the recliner beside couch. I just couldn’t bring myself to go upstairs yet. I found I needed to stay close to her—even if close meant the recliner.

  CHAPTER 9:

  RAVEN

  Breathe. Just Breathe.

  I faked sleep on the couch. I laid there still as roadkill so Mickey wouldn’t know I was awake underneath the blanket he’d just draped over me. I’d been up watching TV when I’d heard him come home moments ago. I’d taken him up on his offer, and I’d driven his Corvette earlier this evening.

  It had been a fine little joyride too—to the library since I didn’t know where else to go. There was even a ‘now hiring’ sign sitting on check-out desk, something I might consider applying for. But when I’d walked back outside of the library, I saw the biggest, ugliest, ‘Mickey’s-gonna-kill-me’ dent in the side of his car. No note. No person waiting to apologize or exchange insurance information. So I’d come straight home. And I’d been waiting here on pins and needles ever since. Samantha had gone to bed long ago, but I had to stay up to break the news to Mickey.

  I heard him when he’d entered the house, loud as ever, and I popped off the couch. I walked swiftly for the kitchen, ready to confess everything and deal with his wrath.

  Except, he never turned the light on. Instead I caught him mumbling to himself under his breath. “Maybe if you just talked to her. And tell her what? I know we don’t know each other, but I think I have feelings for you. Strong feelings.”

  My eyes bugged out of my skull, and I nearly had an aneurism. Clapping my hand over my mouth, I dropped slowly to my knees behind his kitchen counter. Holy crap, I mouthed. Mickey was on the other side. In the dark he hadn’t seen me standing right in front of him. He had zero clue I’d just overheard.

  He did mean me, right? He had strong feelings for me?

  I wasn’t entirely sure.

  But taking zero chances, I crawled on all fours, quiet as a mouse, scurrying through the dark black to the living room, back to the safety of the couch. And I did what any frightened animal would do—I played dead, I faked sleep, and I kept faking it even when he came into the living room.

  He was talking about someone else, I assured myself. But I wasn’t an idiot. I knew he meant me!

  So now here I was—stuck! I breathed as slowly in and out as possible, despite the lack of oxygen getting to my brain, and I stayed perfectly still, despite the tremble that wanted to rock through me.

  Mickey had feelings for me. How could this have happened? I’d been nothing but a bitch to him. I’d purposely been nothing but a bitch to him.

  And why wasn’t he leaving the living room? Dammit!

  After he oh-so-sweetly covered me with a blanket—what was that about?—I peeked through one eye at him, and I watched him park his ass on the recliner. Watching him unknowingly through the dark was getting to me. Making my breaths come a little harder than I liked. Making my heart pound a little faster than I liked.

  He sighed, rubbing at his shoulder. He grabbed another blanket off the back of his chair, covered himself with it, and laid back. Was he planning on sleeping over there!? All night! Like a guard dog!

  I was the type of girl men picked up at a bar, had their way with for one night, and then never called again. I knew that. I’d always known that. I was okay with that. That was partly why I’d chosen to skip step one—and just charge men up front for it. I wasn’t the type of girl you brought home, introduced to your mom, and kept. I just wasn’t. And I was nearly hyperventilating, contemplating that Mickey might be thinking of me as the latter.

  This was too much.

  I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I sprang off the couch and yelled at him. “Do you like me?”

  “Shit,” he swore, and he tumbled out of his recliner. “How long have you been awake?” The light from the TV outlined his body as he stared up at me from the ground. He acted rather calm for someone who’d just fallen from their chair. How could he be calm right this moment?

  “Answer my question,” I demanded. My hands landed on my hips.

  “So you heard me in the kitchen talking to myself?”

  “Yes! Did you mean me?” I swallowed, but the lump now clogging my throat remained.

  Please say no. Please say no.

  “Yes. I meant you.”

  Shit.

  Neither of us spoke. You could cut the tension filling the space between us with a chainsaw. He moved to stand, pushing slowly off the ground with his right arm. He flinched like it hurt. I might have asked if he were okay—but I had bigger things to worry about at the moment.

  I waited for him to speak first.

  “Raven,” he finally said, running both hands through his thick hair as my name left his lips. It ruffled the strands, making his hair look wilder and sexier than normal.

  Why’d he have to go and do that?

  Why�
��d he have to look so much more attractive to me at night, in the dark, when it was late and silent in his home, verses during the day when I trusted myself more?

  He started again. “Raven, the truth is I loved you when we were kids. I’m not sure if you knew that. But you were my best friend. My only friend. My family. My whole world. And when that was taken from me, something inside me broke. I’ve been trying to fix that something ever since—with meaningless sex and girlfriends I don’t care for, mostly. But I realized recently that I was never going to be okay until I made things okay with you.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Well, that explains a little bit more about why you randomly came knocking on my door a week ago. That doesn’t explain what you were mumbling about in the kitchen.” There was anger in my voice. I didn’t mean to sound so angry, but hell I kind of was.

  “Right—that.” He pushed the palm of his hand against his head for a moment. I noticed then that his hand had a slight tremble to it. Which came as a shock. He was, in general, a very composed man. But I was making him tremble. I wasn’t even doing anything. I was just standing here. And I was making him tremble.

  “I’m feeling something for you,” he confessed.

  His electric blue eyes met mine. Unwavering.

  “More than I expected. More than me just being caught up on a memory.”

  He might have had a tremble in his hands, but his words were clear, concise, and confident. My heart pounded listening to him. No man had ever stood in front of me, expressing his feelings so articulately, with absolutely no promise of seeing me naked in the near future.

  “You turned me down yesterday,” I argued. “If you’re feeling something for me than why would you do that?”

  “I turned you down because I like you.”

  What? I balked at him. “That makes zero sense.”

  “It makes sense to me.”

  “So you find me attractive?” I’d felt like such an insecure fool after his rejection last night. But I was beginning to think I might actually have the upper hand here.