“Ever heard of Brett Michelson?”
“The second baseman for Miami? Of course. Why?”
Zia bit her lip, almost smiling for the first time in days. How was it that everyone knew Brett but her?
“Wait. No shit? That’s who you went out with? And you didn’t know who he was?”
“I had no clue. I don’t follow baseball at all. He knew that. And he left me in the dark.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Not a word.”
“And you slept with him,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Yep. That sums it up. I had to find out from the Wilkenson girls when they shoved a tabloid at me Monday morning. You can’t imagine how humiliating it was.”
“God, girl. I’m so sorry.” Lily’s voice was lower this time. “That sucks. Why did he do it?”
“I have no idea. I never gave him a chance to explain.”
“You never spoke to him?”
“Nope. Don’t want to, either.”
“You’re sure that’s the best route?”
“Yep.” Zia took a deep breath. It was the route she set her mind to, and she had no intention of changing it.
“I know you. And I can totally see why you would react this way. And I don’t blame you at all. Don’t get me wrong. But maybe, just maybe he had a good reason?”
Zia sighed. “You sound like Caroline.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
“Doesn’t matter. You both know how I feel about lying. One strike. That’s it.”
“Baseball players usually get three strikes,” Lily teased.
Zia rolled her eyes. “Not this one.”
* * *
Three weeks later…
“Michelson,” Brett’s coach shouted. “My office. Now.” The man turned around and trudged toward his office, leaving Brett in a towel in the locker room. He was still dripping wet from his shower.
Deciding it was better to dry off and get dressed first, he hastily made those two things happen before he took a deep breath and headed for his coach’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Take a seat, Brett.”
Shit. This was bad. If the man was calling him by his first name, he couldn’t have good things to say.
Simon tapped his lips with two fingers, his eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. “What’s up with you? You’re not on your game. Haven’t had your head in it since you got here.”
Brett nodded. “Not sure. I’ll work harder.”
There was a pause. “Is there a woman?”
Was he psychic?
“I heard you were in the tabloids a few weeks ago.”
Brett tossed a hand through the air as if to brush him off. “That was nothing. One date. No biggie.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Positively lying… He was still in knots over her, and he knew she was affecting his game. No woman had ever gotten in his head and affected his game. Hell, no woman had ever gotten in his head period.
“Get your game back, Michelson. Fast. Need you out there. Play starts in two days.”
“Will do, sir.”
Simon lowered his gaze and picked up a file off his desk, silently dismissing Brett.
He held his breath as he slid from the room.
He would pull out of this funk. He had to. His job depended on it. Maybe he should take the guys up on the offer to join them at the local bar tonight. Find someone new to dance with. Lord knows it wouldn’t be hard to pick up a woman. They hung around spring training as if the players were soldiers returning from war.
He stopped by his condo, swapped his T-shirt for a button-down, and forced himself to head to the bar. It was the last thing he wanted to do.
What he would enjoy was a night tumbling around in his bed with Zia under him. Drinking with the other players didn’t excite him. Truth be told, it never had because he had cringed at the quality of women he met in bars, at the hotels they stayed in, or even behind the dugout. From the moment he was picked up by a minor league team, he’d learned this lesson. Even at that level, women hung around. Baseball groupies. Some of them made his skin crawl.
With a deep breath, he tugged the door to the bar open, finding himself immediately assaulted by the noise and the smoke. He blinked his eyes several times and made his way through the crowd to get to the rowdy group of guys to the far right. They were already half drunk and playing pool.
Brett ordered a beer and took a seat on a bar stool at the round table where several of the guys were already sitting.
“Michelson, goddamn you.”
Brett took a swig from his bottle and met his teammate’s gaze. “Just got here. What’d I do?”
“Been eyeing those three women at ten o’clock for half an hour. They’ve eye-fucked me to death. Was hoping for a foursome. And then you show up, and all the fun leaks out of the room.” Sanders chuckled good-naturedly, shaking his head. “You’ve got some sort of baseball groupie radar antenna. Asshole.”
Brett glanced at the mentioned table without moving his head. Sure enough, three women sat there ogling him. Jesus. “Don’t mean to cramp your style. They’re all yours.”
Sanders rolled his dark eyes. “As if I could control the meat they’re interested in. Why do chicks always go for you pale white guys? Even your hair is too blond,” he joked. “Don’t they realize we black men make much better lovers?” He pumped up his chest and took a long draw of his beer.
Brett smiled. “Idiot.” He balled up his napkin and tossed it toward Sanders. “Go get them. You’ve even got your pick over there. You like variety.” He glanced at the three women again. One Asian. One white. One black. All three sexy. All groupies. Not interested.
“Think I will.” Sanders stood taller and wandered away, putting himself between Brett and the women. Sure enough, the moment he set his elbow on their table, they turned their attention to Sanders.
Brett forced another smile and took a drink of his beer. His two best friends finished their game of pool and joined him at the table.
Dominic Cordes reached into the bowl of peanuts in the middle of the table and tossed a few in his mouth. “Simon rip into you today?”
“Yeah.” Brett glanced down at his bottle and picked at the label.
His other teammate laughed. “You have a woman, don’t you?”
Brett narrowed his gaze at Xavier Monreal. “Is it that obvious? Jesus.”
Monreal shrugged. “I can’t throw for shit when a chick is in my head. Especially if she isn’t in my bed.”
Cordes groaned. “That is so cheesy.”
Brett rolled his eyes. “Well, this one isn’t ever going to be in my bed again.”
“Ouch.” Dominic winced. “That isn’t the kind of woman I like to date.”
“Not dating her. Met her weeks ago. Took her out. One date.”
“You fucked it up in one date?” Xavier teased. “That’s impressive.”
“Better shake that shit off, Michelson.” Cordes took another drink and set his bottle on the table. A moment later, he stood. “Speaking of dates, I see a potential dance partner. Later.” He tapped the table twice with his palm and walked away.
Why the hell was Brett not wired like other guys? He glanced around the room and saw absolutely nothing that impressed him. It wasn’t simply because his head was wrapped up in Zia, either. He had never been particularly interested in the bar scene.
A hand on Brett’s arm startled him. He twisted in his seat to find a brunette smiling up at him. “This seat taken, baby?”
He cringed inwardly. Not gonna happen, sweetheart. “Nope. I was just leaving, though.” Even the feel of her fingers on his arm through his shirt rubbed him wrong. His heart wasn’t in this game. It never had been, but it was so much worse now.
* * *
Zia leaned over the produce that had collected at the front of the shelf to reach the riper-looking tomatoes at the back. She dropped three of them in a plastic bag and was setting the
m in her cart when she heard her name.
“Zia?”
She turned around to find Monica standing behind her. A much smaller Monica. She smiled. “Hey. How are you? You look fantastic. Where’s the baby?” It seemed crazy to run into Brett’s sister like this, but even weirder was seeing her flat belly and no baby. Zia froze. Please, God, tell me nothing happened to the baby…
“She’s at home. My parents came for the week.” Monica beamed. “Adorable and perfect. But I’m stir crazy. Needed to get out for an hour. Wandering the aisles of a grocery store without any crying sounded perfect.”
Zia smiled.
Monica giggled. “Do I sound horrible?”
“No. God no. Not at all. We all need alone time.”
Monica’s face grew serious, and she stepped around her cart, pinning Zia between the two carts and the produce. “I’m glad I ran into you. I want to apologize for what happened.”
Zia forced a small smile and shrugged. “Water under the bridge. No worries.”
“My brother made a horrible choice. He feels like a shit. And he should. I told him he was a total ass.”
“Yeah.” Zia tried to chuckle, but the wound was still too raw, even after four weeks and two days. But who was counting?
“Would you have coffee with me?” She chewed on the corner of her lower lip for a second and then continued. “Please.”
Zia glanced around. “Now?”
“Sure. There’s a coffee shop inside the store. We can take our carts, pick up where we left off after.”
Zia didn’t like this idea. There was nothing Monica could say to fix what her brother chose to do.
“Please,” she asked again. “Just a few minutes. I promise not to hold you up.”
“Okay.” Why am I consenting to this?
Monica led them to the counter, ordered an herbal tea, and turned toward Zia. “What do you want? My treat.”
“I’ll have the same thing.”
Five minutes later, they sat at a small table in the corner and sipped the hot liquid.
Monica started. “I didn’t ask you to speak to me to talk about my brother. I’m on your side. Stupid move. He paid the price.”
Zia nodded. What did Monica want?
“I called you multiple times. I understand why you didn’t answer, though. I don’t blame you. In your shoes, I would have ignored every incoming call that had a domestic prefix.”
“That’s about right.”
Monica glanced down, fiddling with her teabag. “I’m also sorry for my part. I feel horrible for agreeing to keep his stupid secret.”
Zia nodded again. She could tell Monica felt as badly as she professed.
Monica hesitated. “Are you still working for the same family? Or did you get a new job?”
Zia shook her head. “Left them last week. Sad, but it had to be done. I’m looking for a new position.”
“You didn’t decide to start painting full-time?”
She shrugged. “Don’t think I have enough clients built up to pay the rent. Maybe someday.”
Monica licked her lips. She glanced down and then back at Zia. “I’m in a bind.”
Zia furrowed her brow. “How’s that?”
“I dragged my feet. Now I don’t have anyone to watch the baby.”
Oh. Ohhh… “Are you offering me a job?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Uh. That’s flattering, but…”
“I really need someone,” she rushed to add. “I can only take six weeks off work and still earn maternity pay, and by that I mean, six weeks not going into the office physically. It will be nearly impossible for me not to be involved from my house. I’m already being pulled in ten different directions. And my parents can only stay another few days.”
“But…” There was no way she would put herself in the position to face Brett. No matter how badly she needed a job.
“I won’t tell my brother. It’s none of his business. He’s at spring training now. And the preseason games start tomorrow. He comes home sometimes, but not often. We can avoid him. He’ll never know. I’ll just tell him my nanny isn’t there if he comes to visit.”
Zia stared at her.
Monica shrugged and then leaned forward, wrapping her hands around the tea on the edge of the table. “I don’t even know how to go about finding a nanny. It’s daunting. If you’re not interested in the long run, would you at least consider it until I can find someone else suitable? I promise to make sure you have time to do your art too. And I still have a lineup of friends begging me to put them in touch with you. I trust you. I’m kinda desperate.”
“You barely know me.”
She smiled. “I know enough. I know you care. I know you’ve been loved by a family for a decade, so much so that they had trouble letting you go. I know you work hard. And I know you have principles. I admire that.”
“Because I won’t take your brother’s calls?”
“Yep.”
Zia chuckled. “I’ve been burned in the past. I don’t give second chances.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Whoever he was, he missed out. His loss.”
“He wasn’t a he. It was my mother.” Zia shrugged. “And she will never be welcomed back into my life.”
“Shit. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“Enough counseling will propel a person to realize that even some family members aren’t worth the effort. To be sane and happy, I need that woman out of my life.”
“I understand.”
“But enough about my situation. When do you need me to start?”
Chapter Eleven
Zia was late. She ran from room to room, grabbed everything she thought she might need for a few weeks, and stuffed it in the three bags she’d set on the bed. Clothes. Toiletries. Painting supplies.
Monica’s mom had left yesterday. Zia thought Monica wanted her to start today more for the camaraderie than anything else. Zia couldn’t blame her. It would be tough having a new baby in the house, but doing it alone…
For the time being, Zia was going to move into Monica’s guest room and share the burden. It would be fun. But she was also nervous. Emily was the sweetest little cherub. Zia had seen pictures. Round and fat and happy. Adorable.
Finally, Zia dragged the first bag to the front door and whipped it open, intent on making a trip to the car to deposit it.
But someone blocked her way. Zia nearly shit herself as her gaze roamed up to meet the face of the last person on earth she ever wanted to see again.
Carmen Sharpley. Her damn mother.
“What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet your mother, girl?” Carmen examined her perfectly manicured nails and then glanced past Zia into the apartment. “This place is a dump. How long have you been living here? I see you haven’t made any life improvements lately. I expected you to have moved up in the world by now.” The woman had the audacity to step over Zia’s bag and enter the apartment without permission.
Ignoring her mother’s attempts to taunt her, Zia gripped the door with her fingers. “What are you doing? I’m in a hurry. I didn’t invite you in.”
Carmen ignored her, wandering around the apartment, taking in Zia’s belongings.
Zia shuddered as if she were being violated.
“You’re a hard person to track down, Zia, darling.”
Darling? Oh, hell no.
“Took me weeks to find you. I’d almost believe you were intentionally unlisted.”
“I am intentionally unlisted.” Because of you. It had been six years since Zia last set eyes on this piece of work. And the woman hadn’t changed a bit.
“Like I said, I’m late. You’ll have to leave. I don’t have time for whatever you’re selling today.”
Carmen glanced down at the bag as if seeing it for the first time. “Going somewhere?”
“None of your business.” Zia held the door wider and motioned with one hand for her mother to leave ahead of her.
&nbs
p; Again, Carmen ignored the gesture. She continued wandering, slowly. “Saw your picture in the paper. Cute guy you’ve landed. Is it true? Are you getting married? Because I didn’t get an invitation. Your own mother.” She had the gall to puff out her lower lip in a pout and bat her eyes.
Suddenly Zia understood the meaning of this visit. Her mother was a gold digger. Hoping for a handout. Or even blackmail.
Joke was on her this time.
“We broke up. Weeks ago. Please leave.”
“Oh my. Really? Such a shame. Can’t you hang on to anyone, Zia? You’re almost thirty years old. You’ve got nothing to show for it but a trashy apartment. Your clock is ticking, girl. I wouldn’t let a good man slip through your fingers if I were you.”
Zia used every ounce of her strength to remain calm. She could yell and scream and freak the fuck out later. Right now, she needed to get her mother out of the apartment and lock the door. “Are you done yet? You got what you came for. Now go.”
“Whatever do you mean? I came by to see how my flesh and blood was doing. Not very well by the looks of things.”
“You came here to see if you could squeeze some money out of me because you thought I had a rich boyfriend. I don’t. You wasted your time. Now go, before I call the cops.”
Carmen set her hands on her hips. “Good grief. You don’t have to be so snippy. I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not illegal for a mother to stop by to see her daughter. But since you obviously still have the same stick up your ass you were born with, I’ll go.” She stomped to the door, stepped over the bag with exaggeration, and turned to waggle her index finger in Zia’s face.
Zia didn’t move, not giving her the satisfaction.
“You better lose the attitude, girl. You’re no better than anyone else. Never were. White trash is all you’ll ever be. No wonder that sexy baseball player left you.” She glanced up and down Zia’s frame in disgust. “If that’s how you looked when he took you out, I don’t blame him. You never did care about your appearance. Drab hair. Bad makeup. Cheap, ill-fitting clothes. You’ll never amount to anything looking like that. I’ve told you that your entire life. You never listen.
“And don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need your money. I have everything I’ve ever wanted with the man I’m currently with. He showers me with gifts. More than I can say for any man you’ll ever meet.” When she was done with her string of lies, she sneered at Zia from head to toe as if she were too dirty to touch.
Catching Zia (Spring Training Book 1) Page 8