Sway (Landry Family #1)

by Adriana Locke

  “That’s not true. I just don’t like Sienna’s last boyfriend’s little kid. Fucker vomited on my suit.”

  “Kids do that,” Graham points out.

  “Not that one. He’s nine or ten or something.”

  Lincoln looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but being the troublemaker he is, he kind of likes it. I can tell. The side of his mouth curls into a smirk. He shrugs, knowing his reaction, favorable to me, will piss off Graham and his carefully constructed and now void plans for the evening.

  “I’m game,” Lincoln says. “I’ll get him. But what do you want me to do with him?”

  “Just bring him down here like he’s won some sort of prize or something.”

  “And his mother?” His smirk deepens, matching mine. “She’ll never let him come down here alone.”

  “No,” I agree. “She won’t. I’ll bet she’s a good mom and won’t let her kid out of her sight.”

  Graham pushes off the wall and stands between me and our youngest brother. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through? You realize that the wrong photograph can be, and will be, floated a million ways in the paper tomorrow.”

  “How? Lincoln is going to be seen with a little boy, doing his baseball thing and making this random kid’s day. I’ll never be photographed with Alison, so there’s no problem.”

  “I don’t like this. Just for the record,” Graham contends, scrubbing his hands down his face.

  “Ah, G,” Lincoln teases, clapping him on the back. “Live a little, man.”

  “Yeah, sure. Then who’ll take care of you assholes?”

  “Mom,” Linc says and bounds up the stairs.

  Alison

  “MOM! LOOK! CAN I GO down there?” Huxley shoots from his seat, his finger pointing towards the field. “Please! Mom!”

  I follow his gaze, my breath stalling, to see Lincoln Landry at the fence directly below us. Children scramble from their seats, thrusting hats and pictures and Sharpies in his direction. He takes it in stride, just like Barrett does in a crowd, and plays it off like he does it every day. Maybe he does.

  “Mom! Please!”

  “Yes, go on. I’ll watch you from here.”

  He climbs over Lola and races to the fence, a spring in his little step that’s impossible to miss.

  “Look at him,” Lola sighs.

  “I know. I love watching him have so much joy. I wish I knew more about baseball, but it’ll be the same way with cars and things that blow up some day. I hate it that his father was such an incredible asshole.”

  Lo gives me a look. “I was talking about Lincoln.”

  “Of course you were.”

  Huxley makes his way to the front of the line, one of the last kids left standing. Lincoln takes his glove, running a hand through his hair. He looks straight up in the stands, at me, his eyes full of mischief.

  The smirk that spreads across his face is more playful and less sexy than Barrett’s, but still a panty-dropper. He tosses me a wink before motioning for me to come down too.

  “Oh my God he wants you,” Lola nearly shrieks. “Go. Get your ass down there, Ali!”

  I can’t respond because you can’t do that without air. I don’t move, either, because I’m partially frozen in my seat.

  Lincoln motions again and Huxley turns around, his face nearly swallowed by his smile. “Mom! Come here!”

  Rising slowly, which garners another chuckle from Lincoln, I make my way to the fence. There’s still no sign of Barrett, but I know he’s close. I can feel it. His energy teases me from the shadows.

  “Hey, there!” Lincoln says, his voice dripping with a little extra gusto. “I have Hux here and no Sharpie.”

  “Oh, no!” I say, feeling like I just struck the biggest mom-fail of all time.

  “Good thing I’m always prepared,” Linc grins.

  “He has one, Mom! In the dugout!”

  Lincoln smirks.

  I give him my best ‘I’m sure you do’ look.

  He laughs.

  I roll my eyes, but can’t help but laugh as well. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “Well, my reputation as a real-life Superman does precede me. Now see that gate right down there? Go through that and meet me in the dugout.”

  “Can we do that?” I ask, looking for security.

  “Yeah, this is a charity game. They don’t care. Just don’t charge the pitcher’s mound or anything.”

  “I’ll try to restrain myself,” I mutter.

  Hux grabs my arm, jerking it up and down. “Let’s go!”

  Lincoln watches with amusement as Huxley drags me down the stands and to the gate, jabbering endlessly the entire time. I pretend to follow along with his all-out fanboy antics, but I try to play it cool. To pretend like Barrett isn’t waiting for me.

  My heart strikes against my ribs, pounding out of control. I hear Hux’s voice, but not the words, over the roar of blood in my ears.

  Whether I want to be or not, I’m excited to see him again. Even if it’s in a dugout full of baseball players and a star-struck little boy, I can’t deny it.

  As if he were expecting us, a giant of a man lets us right through and tells us to stay on the gravel and not get into the line of play.

  “A real dugout, Mom!” Hux exclaims as we get closer. “So cool! My friends at school will never believe me!”

  “It’s awesome, huh?” I smile.

  “So awesome.” He gives me a wide grin, one showcasing his missing tooth. Pure happiness drips off of him and, for a moment, I don’t feel like I’m failing him. He’s not with a babysitter while I work or missing out on activities that little boys with fathers get to do. For once, I’m with him in a moment he’ll never forget, a moment he can brag to his little friends about.

  The steps leading below are dirty and the air smells of sweat and salt. I try not to breathe it in, but as I shudder, I catch the notes of his cologne.

  As Hux gasps, “Wow,” I look up and into the face of Barrett.

  He’s smiling with more than a drop of hesitation, like he’s afraid I’m going to be mad. How can I be, though, when he just made Hux’s year? Twice.

  The effects of my return smile are immediate and obvious. His shoulders relax and he visibly blows out a deep breath.

  “Hey, there!” Lincoln says, coming over to Hux. He grabs his shoulders and shakes them in some sort of a guy welcome gesture. “Well, what do you think?”

  “This is cool,” Hux says, taking everything in.

  “It is, right? Do you play?”

  “Yeah. I play second base,” he says proudly. “My arm isn’t as strong as it needs to be to play pitcher or center.”

  “I’ll show you some exercises before you go that’ll help, if you want.”

  “For real?” Hux asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “Yeah, for real,” Lincoln chuckles. He looks up at me and extends a hand. “I’m Lincoln Landry.”

  We shake, his hand a bit smaller but more calloused than Barrett’s. “I’m Alison Baker.”

  “Guys, this is Alison and Hux Baker. This is my brother, Graham, and my oldest brother, the mayor, Barrett.”

  “I knew you weren’t a baseball player,” Huxley says.

  “Hux!” I exclaim, my cheeks reddening as Graham and Lincoln burst into laughter. Barrett just grins and shakes his head.

  “You didn’t even make it to the plate,” Hux points out.

  “You are now officially my favorite kid ever,” Lincoln says, catching his breath. “Come on. Let’s go play catch in the bullpen.”

  “Can I?” Hux pleads. “Please, Mom?”

  I hesitate, but before I can think it through, Lincoln puts me at ease.

  “It’s safe. No one can get in there. And there aren’t any balls that will hit him or anything. I promise I’ll take care of him. I mean, after that crack at Barrett, I owe him one.”

  “Please?” Hux begs.

  I glance at Barrett. He’s standing with his back to the wall, h
is arms over his chest. He watches the interaction, purposefully staying out of it, letting me make the decision with no pressure from him.

  “Sure,” I relent. “I can wait in my seat.”

  “You can wait here,” Barrett interjects. “There’s a room in the back so you don’t get trampled when the guys come in. Linc can bring him back there, right?”

  “Sure thing,” Lincoln says. He grabs Hux’s shoulder and off they go, Graham trailing behind them, muttering under his breath.

  I’m left standing with the mayor.

  He starts to speak, but thinks better of it. Instead, he touches me lightly on the small of my back, a gesture that would seem innocuous to a bystander, but feels anything but. The warmth of his palm, the zing of the contact, makes my jaw slack and my knees weak.

  Guiding me through a doorway in the back of the dugout, we enter a hallway. He leads me into a small room with a desk and a water cooler. The door is pulled shut behind him and when I turn around, his chest is rising and falling just like mine.

  “I was going to ask what you’re doing here, but you know what? I really don’t care,” he marvels. “I’m just glad you are.”

  He closes the distance between us and stops right in front of me. If I reached out, I could touch his face, run my fingers down his freshly-shaven cheeks. I could kiss his lips, the one his tongue is skimming over as I watch nervously, anxiously . . . breathlessly.

  “Thank you,” I say, getting lost in his emerald eyes. “I know you set that whole thing up with Lincoln and Huxley, and I can’t thank you enough. This after the tickets today? You just made his year.”

  “It was my pleasure. But can I tell you a secret?”

  I nod, my body temperature rising dangerously. His lips lower slowly until they hover just above the sensitive skin below my ear. I fight back a shiver, my chest rising as I hold my breath and wait for him to speak.

  “It wasn’t just for Hux. It was for me, too,” he confesses, his words dancing along my cheek. “Want to know why?”

  I nod again, my breath catching in my throat.

  “Because I want to kiss you,” he whispers.

  “You’re asking permission?” I breathe.

  “I’m trying to play by the rules,” he says sincerely, pulling back and looking into my eyes. “If there were none, I’d pick you up and press you against the wall and lose myself in you.”

  His words are erotica, a direct line of fire from his mouth to my core. He pulls back just enough for me to see into his eyes again, to see the caution, the self-control he’s using.

  My attraction to him was never the problem. The glimmer in his eye right now, the one of patience, is enough for me to somehow give myself permission to enjoy myself for a moment. After all, it’s all I’ve been able to think about for days.

  “May I?” he breathes, his chest rising and falling as quickly as mine.

  His hand touches my cheek and I gasp. A slight nod of my head is all it takes before his lips land on mine, tenderly, at first, and I melt into his hard body.

  Just like he said, he’s playing by some set of rules, ones that keep him from devouring me like I want. Even though a voice in the back of my head tries to remind me that with every stroke of his tongue this becomes dangerous, I can’t do anything about it but kiss him back.

  His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him. I feel his palms pressed flat against my back. I give in, any defense I may have had obliterated, and let my fingers wind through his locks.

  I fit against him like a puzzle piece, like we’ve practiced this dance so many times that we fall in step without any hesitation. We move together fluidly, effortlessly.

  It’s sensory overload. The taste of his minty breath, the scent of his cologne. The roughness of his hands and the incredible smoothness of his lips. A moan starts to slip passed my lips when we’re interrupted.

  Knock!

  My shoulders sag at the intrusion, Barrett breaking the kiss and letting his forehead rest on mine. Our ragged breaths echo through the room.

  Knock! “Barrett, I need to see you.”

  He pulls back but doesn’t unlock me from his web. Just far enough to see into my eyes.

  “Hang on, Graham,” he calls, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “I’ll grab Hux and get back to my seat,” I whisper, feeling reality crush the moment.

  He takes a deep breath. “Alison . . .”

  The rasp in his voice, the need that’s tangible, slices its way to my core. He’s trying to be a gentleman, trying not to take charge like I know he wants to do. If he did, it would be so much easier because I want him to. I want to be lost in him, even if I know it’s not necessarily the best thing.

  His pause, his playing by the rules, gives me a chance to think.

  He releases his hands from my waist and looks at me softly. “I want to see you again.”

  “Barrett, I—”

  “It’s your call,” he says in a rush. “And I won’t ask you again. I don’t want to pressure you and that’s not at all what I’m trying to do. I just . . . is it cheesy for me to say I just want to spend time with you?”

  My heart swells at the sincerity in his voice.

  He runs a hand through his hair. “I know you have reservations and I get that. Trust me when I say I do respect that. But I’ve been thinking about you since I met you, and you’ve given me a reprieve from my life without even trying.”

  When he looks up at me, his eyes are wide and absolutely crystal clear. There’s nothing hidden behind the green depths, no political bullshit. Just a man asking a woman to share a meal together.

  “So if you really don’t want to . . .”

  “Can I think about it?”

  A flicker of disappointment shoots across his features. It’s a brief look, one that he recovers from quickly. “Absolutely. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can discuss?”

  I nod, taking his smile for all it’s worth, and let him guide me back to the door. Before he pulls it open, he gives me one more sweet, delicate kiss. It’s that kiss that hits me harder than any of the others, the one I won’t soon forget.

  Barrett

  THE WORDS BEGIN TO SWIM on the page of the proposal sitting in front of me. I’ve been working nonstop since before sunrise and I can’t possibly read another sentence.

  I sit back, trying to decide on coffee or an energy drink, when a rough knock sounds and the door swings open.

  “Hey, Barrett,” Lincoln says, Graham on his heels.

  “I thought you were leaving today.” I say.

  “Nah, I figure I’ll stay awhile. My shoulder is pretty sore, and if I go back to Tennessee, I’ll try to train with the guys and that’ll fuck it up worse than it is,” he winces, rolling his shoulder around.

  Standing, I do a little stretching of my own. It feels good to move, to get some blood flowing.

  I didn’t sleep worth shit last night, my mind running from the election to Alison and back again. By three a.m., I realized that the problem with Alison lies in the fact that she’s simply not mine. And the fact that I’m bothered by this little technicality fucks with me.

  The realization had me hitting the bottle of Jack a little heavy in the wee hours of the morning. This isn’t the time or the place for me to decide to start thinking about monogamy. That ruins men. Clips their nuts, drains their testosterone, destroys the very things that make politicians good politicians.

  I am a politician.

  I need my nuts . . . buried in her.

  Groaning, I look up at my brothers. Linc has made himself at home in my fridge, an apple in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Graham is sitting across from my desk, watching me.

  “Before we get to what I came here for, let’s get this over with,” Graham sighs. “How deep are you in?”

  “Deep in what?”

  “Alison Baker.”

  “I’ll tell you how deep I’d be in that,” Linc says, taking a bite of the apple.

  I glare at him
and he just shrugs.

  “I’m not,” I say carefully.

  Graham doesn’t buy it because he’s not stupid. “Do I need to run a background check?”

  “I know everything about her,” I promise.

  He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “How can you? You’ve known her for what? A week?”

  “Okay,” I relent, “I don’t know what her favorite color is, but—”

  “Do you know what her pussy feels like?” Linc interrupts.

  “Shut up, Linc,” Graham and I say in unison. He snaps another bite of his fruit.

  I sigh, trying to figure out how to skirt the issue. I know what he’s going to say and he’s right. I need to be smart. But I also need to figure out a way to make this work.

  “I know I need to watch my image.”

  He nods and stands. “Yeah, you do. We’ve worked our tails off to get you to this place. You’re on the cusp of achieving something no one in our family has done since our grandfather, and if you can get there, you have a chance at the White House eventually. This is not the time to take risks, brother. Not in this department.”

  I turn my back to him. I don’t want him to see the look of frustration on my face. This is not a conversation we’ve had before. Usually it’s him telling me to stop fucking a chick, and I laugh and agree. But this isn’t that. I haven’t even fucked her.

  I’m the one that’s getting fucked.

  “Look,” Graham says, his voice overly calm, “I get that you kind of like this girl. She’s hot, she seems sweet, she’s got a great kid.”

  “Smart kid,” Linc chips in, laughing.

  “But can’t it wait a few weeks until this thing is over?”

  Graham’s question is cut short by another knock and the opening of the door. Nolan rushes in, his glasses hanging off the end of his long nose. A stack of files in his hand, his suit looking rumpled, he drops into a chair beside my brother.

  “Can’t what wait a few weeks?” he asks, looking from one of us to the other.

  I shoot Graham a look. “A vacation. Lincoln wants to go to Australia and swim with the sharks.”

  He chokes on his apple.

  “Good,” Nolan says, flipping open a folder. “I thought you were talking about some girl you were seen with at the game last night.”