Slam: A Colorado Smoke Novel

by Andee Michelle

  “I sure hope so,” I chuckle.

  “Me too. I’ll feel bad for them if they lose,” she tells me.

  “I know, honey. But somebody has to lose.”

  “I hope it’s not the Smoke,” she booms, causing me to laugh.

  We take a quick selfie and send it to Garrett and Chrissy as people start filing back into their seats.

  Over the next hour, the score stays the same, and at the last out of the ninth inning, we are still ahead by one.

  Game one to the Smoke.

  GRACIE FELL ASLEEP before we even made it out of the parking lot and it took more than two hours to get home. I understand now why the GM chose to put the players up in a hotel near the stadium.

  Once she’s in bed and back asleep, I text Bryant to congratulate him. I doubt he’ll see it until this morning. It’s already late and he’s got to be beat.

  Me: Congratulations! You guys played great. One down, three to go. See you tomorrow night.

  I grab the cup off my nightstand and head to the kitchen to refill it. I can’t stand waking up with a dry throat and having to get up and traipse across the house to get something to drink in the middle of the night. I plug my phone in and check it for a response, surprised to see he’s already responded.

  Bryant: Thanks. A little surreal. I’m glad you guys could come. I really liked seeing you up in the stands cheering for us.

  Me: I bet it is surreal. It’s not every day you get to play in the World Series. How’s the shoulder?

  The conversation seems to have gone quiet, and I’m about to tell him good night when another text comes in from him.

  Bryant: Can you call me?

  He’s not a huge fan of texting, and I’m okay with that. His voice is way better than any damn text message.

  “Hi, beautiful. Thanks for calling,” he rumbles.

  “Hey,” I reply. “You didn’t answer me. How’s your shoulder?”

  “It’s been better, but it handled today pretty well I think.” His voice is deeper, almost like he’d been asleep already.

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “Nah, but I’m exhausted. Between the little brunette running around in my dreams last night and the game today, I’m spent.”

  I feel my cheeks turning red, which is stupid since he can’t see me.

  “Do I know her?” I joke.

  “You know you do,” he murmurs.

  “What was the brunette doing in your dreams?” I tease.

  “I’ll make you a deal. You tell me what you’re wearing right now, and I’ll tell you what you were doing in my dream.”

  “Well, do you want the truth or do you want me to keep up this flirty game?” I ask him.

  “The truth. Always the truth.”

  “I’m wearing sweats and a T-shirt that says Hot Mess on it.” I laugh.

  “And I bet you look damn sexy in it.”

  “I do. Especially with the hydration mask covering my face and my hair slicked back and piled on top of my head. I bet you can barely keep your hands out of your pants right now, huh?”

  “Damn, I miss that sassy mouth,” he groans through his laughter.

  “All right, spill it. I told you how sexy I look right now. Tell me what the dream was about.”

  “Well, you were wearing this short, white, see-through nightgown, and you were doing this naughty thing with your…,” he starts.

  “Slow down, speedy,” I interrupt him, my voice dropping lower. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

  “I wish I could show you,” he growls into the phone.

  “Me too,” I reply without hesitation.

  “Well, we should revisit this conversation again in about a week and a half,” he retorts, disappointment lacing his words.

  “The least you can do is tell me if I’m good at whatever naughty thing you said I was doing,” I tease.

  “Oh, you’re good at it. Don’t you worry,” he says, laughing.

  “We should probably go to bed. Long day. Another big day tomorrow.”

  “You’re probably right,” he gripes. “Damn voice of reason.”

  “Good night, Mr. Nash,” I add, trying to make my voice sultry. I’m a little rusty on the seduction thing. Been a long time since I pulled out all the stops in the flirting department.

  He groans before responding. “Good night, beautiful.”

  Bryant

  GAME TWO STARTED out fine, but in the sixth inning, we started falling apart. Missed catches, horrible batting, and just an all-around disconnect had us scrambling to not lose by a landslide. By the bottom of the ninth, we were only down by two but still couldn’t pull it off. Final score, six to four.

  I’ve never handled loss gracefully. I mean, I’m not a bad sport or anything, but I usually wallow in it for a few days. But losing the second game in the World Series is throwing me over the edge. I’d give just about anything to be able to see Layne right now.

  After getting the third degree from Coach and the final itinerary for our flight out tomorrow, he dismisses us back to the hotel with strict instructions about drinking our pain away. No booze. Stay focused. We have three games in New York over the next five days.

  I’ve heard my phone chime several times since the game ended, but I haven’t looked at it yet. I have little doubt the messages are from Layne, and as much as I wish I could be with her right now, what I don’t need is someone blowing smoke up my ass about how good we played when we didn’t. Nothing drives me crazier than the “You guys played well, the other team just played better” bullshit.

  When we’re all back in the bus heading for the hotel, I pull my phone out to check the messages.

  Layne: Man, you guys fell apart.

  Layne: Sorry, that sounded shitty, but it’s true. Everybody was off their game tonight. You guys all have hangovers or something? ;)

  Layne: Sorry again. I should have warned you that I have no filter when it comes to baseball. You probably don’t need me rubbing salt in the wound.

  Layne: Okay. I’m going to bed. Don’t stress. You guys need to refocus and pull back together. New York, here we come!

  The last one actually makes me laugh. This woman never fails to surprise me. Even though I’m pissed we lost, something about her calms me, even when we aren’t physically together. I can only imagine how much better I’d feel if she was actually here with me right now.

  Me: What I wouldn’t give to be able to kiss you right now… Good night, babe. Thanks for the pep talk. Lol

  It’s after midnight, so she’s probably asleep, but I don’t want her to think I was ignoring her texts.

  Chime.

  Layne: lol. You don’t need anyone else telling you how amazing you are. You know I speak the truth.

  Followed quickly by another chime.

  Layne: Also, you keep threatening me with all these kisses… when are you gonna pay up?

  And just like that that, I have the overwhelming urge to drive across the city in the middle of the night, just to kiss her.

  My dad’s words pop into my head again. He always said, one day, I’d meet a woman who would change everything for me. She’d calm my storm and make me want things I never thought I’d want. I’ve always thought my old man might have been a little crazy, but I’ll admit, I’m beginning to see what he meant.

  Me: Oh, baby, don’t you worry, I’ll pay up the minute I get my hands on you.

  Layne: Promises, promises. ;) Good night, Slam.

  Me: Night, beautiful.

  Even the fact that she called me Slam can’t stop the happiness I get from chatting with her. Plus, I know she only does it to get me riled up.

  I HATE TO FLY. I realize it’s a part of traveling, which is something I do quite often with away games, and I’ve probably flown hundreds of times in the past fifteen years. Still hate it.

  As soon as we land, I’m ready for a stiff drink and a nap, but alas, Conor has different ideas. Layne and Gracie don’t arrive until tomorrow midmor
ning, so this evening, Conor wants us to have dinner and chat. He says I’ve been neglecting him.

  He really needs to find “the one.”

  When the sun finally starts to go down and it’s time for dinner, Conor insists we head down to the restaurant and get out of our rooms for a bit.

  After placing our order, we’re discussing the game tomorrow when a shadow falls over the table. When I lift my eyes to see who it is, I’m not sure whether to be angry or scared.

  Sarina.

  “Well hello there,” Conor says with his flirty smirk.

  “Hello yourself, gorgeous,” she flirts back. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Bryant?”

  I’m almost stunned silent. What the hell is she doing here?

  “No, actually, I’m not. What are you doing here, Sarina?”

  Conor looks between the two of us, and judging by his expression, he thinks she’s an old fling of mine.

  Ignoring my question and focusing her attention on Conor, Sarina leans forward so her boobs are basically falling out of the top of her shirt and stretches her hand out for Conor to take it. His eyes immediately fall to her chest as he takes her hand.

  “All right, seriously, what are you doing here?” I bark out. It irritates the shit out of me she shows up out of nowhere and now she’s trying to get her claws into Conor. Not happening.

  Sarina and Conor both snap their attention to me.

  “I’m here to watch the World Series of course,” she replies sweetly like it’s no big deal. These tickets are hard to come by, so how the hell did she get her hands on them?

  “I didn’t realize you were such a baseball fan,” I seethe.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, but like I said, we can change that any time you wanna come over.”

  “And I told you I have a girlfriend.”

  She shrugs and turns back to Conor.

  “Wanna buy me a drink, hot stuff?” she purrs. Conor’s face breaks into a big grin, and he starts to stand. When I place my hand on his forearm, he stops instantly and averts his eyes to me.

  “Do not engage,” I growl. Conor knows I would never interfere in one of his hookups unless there was a damn good reason. He sits back down and turns his attention to Sarina.

  “Sorry, love, but it appears I am unavailable at this time.”

  I don’t even have to look her way to know she is red with anger, her glare boring into the side of my head.

  “You boys have no idea what you’re missing out on,” she barks before storming off.

  I watch Conor’s face as he watches her ass walking away.

  “Dude, you better have a great reason for making me pass that up. She is hot as hell.”

  “She’s psychotic, dude. She’s the chick who lives next door to me that followed us to the club that night and wouldn’t stop talking about herself, remember? She’s been trying to sink her teeth into me since the day she moved in, even after I told her I have a girlfriend. I didn’t at the time, but that’s beside the point. She’s looking for a sugar daddy. You went that route once, you don’t wanna do it again.”

  At the mention of his ex-wife, he nods in understanding and shakes like he has a chill before replying. “Thanks for helping me dodge that bullet then. Now, let’s eat.” Perfect timing since the waitress is walking up with our meals and drinks.

  I wonder if Layne has any non-psychotic friends. Conor is grasping at straws to find “the one.”

  We continue chatting about the game tomorrow and call it an early night. I’m almost asleep when I get a text from Layne.

  Layne: You asleep?

  Me: Nope. Had dinner with Conor and now I’m back in the room winding down. How was your day?

  Layne: Good. We’re all packed and ready to head your way in the morning. How are you feeling about tomorrow’s game?

  Me: Better than the last one. We all had a bit of time to decompress today and reevaluate our game.

  Layne: Sounds like you guys are on the right track.

  Me: Yes, ma’am. Gracie excited to come to New York?

  Layne: Yep. I’m surprised I got her to sleep. Speaking of sleep… I gotta go to bed, hot stuff. And so do you.

  Me: So bossy. ;)

  Me: All right. Good night, beautiful.

  Layne: Night.

  Layne

  THE AMOUNT OF screeching that came out of Gracie’s mouth when I told her we were flying to New York for the next three games still has my head ringing. I’d waited until the afternoon before to tell her. I knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I needed her to help me pack, so I had to tell her. It took forever to get her to sleep.

  The moment the wheels of the plane hit the ground, my stomach unclenches. I freaking hate flying. Bryant put us in first class, which was a first for me, and amazing. I’d been worried how Gracie would handle her first time in a plane, but she loved it.

  Making our way through the terminal, I follow the signs heading for the baggage claim. I’m not paying much attention to the people around us and am speed walking toward where the conveyor is shooting out luggage when Gracie grabs my arm and stops walking.

  “Mama, why does he have a sign with our name on it?” she squeaks out, bouncing on her toes.

  Turning my attention to where her eyes are glued, I find an older gentleman holding a sign that reads “Layne & Gracie.” I grab Gracie’s hand and head in his direction.

  “Hi there,” I address the man.

  “Layne, I presume?” he asks with a kind smile.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Nash requested I help you with your luggage and take you to the hotel.”

  Gracie’s eyes are the size of saucers when she turns to me.

  “Mr. Nash?” she screeches. I still haven’t figured out how to explain all of this to her.

  “Shhh, baby. Calm down,” I plead with her, but she’s jumping around like a fish out of water.

  “Let’s get your luggage, ma’am.”

  The gentleman walks with us over to the carousel to retrieve our bags. He insists on carrying them and leads us outside to a large black SUV with blacked out windows. My heart is racing.

  Why would he go through all this trouble?

  WHEN THE BELLHOP opens the door to our room, my jaw drops open. This has to be a mistake. This is a suite. This place is nicer than my house, and probably bigger.

  He takes our luggage into the living room area and sets them down beside the couch. As he walks to the door, I catch his head motion for me to follow.

  When I reach him, he hands me an envelope with my name written on the front in unfamiliar handwriting.

  He declines my tip money, stating it has already been taken care of. Of course it has. When I return to the living room, Gracie is already sprawled out on the couch, TV on, feet up on the coffee table like she lives here.

  “Comfy?” I laugh out.

  “Mama. This place is so cool!” she yells before jumping back up and hugging me tightly.

  “It sure is, baby,” I reply into her hair. “I’m gonna go put our bags in our room.”

  She bounces back onto the couch without another word. Grabbing our bags and clinging tightly to the envelope in my hand, I make my way into our room.

  The second I’m alone, my fingers tear through the envelope like a crazy person. It has to be from Bryant.

  Layne,

  I hope your flight was good and the room is sufficient for you and Gracie. I’ve scheduled you a driver who will take you wherever you want to go while you’re here. You met him at the airport. :) His name is Stanley, and his number is on the card in the envelope.

  If you need anything else while you are here, please let me know.

  -Bryant

  Oh, and P.S. – we have adjoining rooms. Come visit me whenever you can. I’ve left my side unlocked. If I’m not there, feel free to roll around in my bed… and leave any items you feel could help my game. ;)

  My heart is beating about a thousand miles an hour
. He’s right next door. Grabbing my phone, I shoot off a text to him.

  Me: Are you in your room?

  Considering he has a game tonight, I don’t expect an answer. He’s more than likely at practice. Right?

  Nope.

  Bryant: Are you here?

  Me: Yes. Apparently, right next door.

  Bryant: Go get ice.

  My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute as I walk out into the living room where Gracie is still watching TV.

  Stay calm.

  “Hey, baby girl, I’m going to run down the hall and get ice and drinks. What kind do you want?”

  “Lemonade.”

  “I’ll be right back. Stay in the room, okay?”

  “Okay, Mama,” she mumbles as she returns her attention to the Disney show she’s watching.

  Making my way down the corridor, my breath catches when I see him at the end of the hall, leaning against the ice machine, a devious smile on his face. He’s obviously coming from practice or the gym because he is covered in sweat, and my breath catches when my body responds to his masculinity. He’s all man, and my mind instantaneously goes to what the weight of his body pressed down on top of mine would feel like.

  Well, those thoughts escalated quickly.

  When I’m almost to him, he takes the last few steps and pulls me into his embrace, burying his face in my hair.

  “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he groans, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe, and lifting me off my feet.

  “Bryant,” I choke out, my legs dangling awkwardly beneath me.

  Placing me back on my feet, he releases me from the hug but grabs my hand and brings it to his lips.

  “I’m so happy you came.”

  “Thank you so much for all of this. You went a little overboard though, don’t you think? The first-class seats, the driver, the suite. You didn’t have to do all of this. We’d have been happy at a Motel 6 and a taxi.”

  “I know,” he replies quietly with a slow smile. “And the fact that you don’t expect it is another reminder of why I need you in my life.”