Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  “Where are Reese and Camilla?”

  “They ran back to Adam’s house to get Emmy’s hospital bag and a change of clothes,” Shea explains.

  “Do you mean they left the house without those things?” I blurt out without thinking. I immediately feel bad the moment the words leave my mouth.

  “Thank you!” Emmy agrees, loudly. “See, Adam? Even Kenny knows.” She turns to me, waving her hand in the air. “The only thing he had to do was pack my bag, and he couldn’t even do that right.”

  I peek out of the corner of my eye and Adam is literally biting his lip. Good man. Let her have this moment.

  My attention is drawn away by a soft hand on my shoulder. I turn to find Megan and Philip joining the pack of concerned onlookers.

  “Shouldn’t she go straight to the hospital?” I ask Megan softly.

  She shakes her head. “As long as her contractions are far enough apart, she has some time. No need to rush. She might be in for a very long night.”

  Derek’s made his way behind the bar lining up shot glasses. “Who wants a shooter?” he calls out.

  “Me!” I shout.

  Why not? This night can’t possibly get any stranger.

  CHAPTER 19

  TWO MORE WEEKS OF HOME GAMES, and then he’s back on the road for ten days straight. I sit with my calendar app open, adding all of Cole’s upcoming games, his flight schedules, and occasional days off. It’s four o’clock in the morning, and Emmy is still in labor. Adam has called twice and by the sound of his last call, it shouldn’t be much longer.

  My brother and Megan went home to pick up Connor and relieve her parents, but no one else has left, not even Camilla. She’s napping on the couch in Juliette’s office. She made all of us promise to wake her if we get any real news.

  We’re all afraid that if we sit still for too long, we will fall asleep. The only thing keeping us functioning is a never-ending supply of coffee. I had a small cup with Kahlua, another cup with Bailey’s Irish Cream, and one with Godiva Chocolate Liqueur and fresh whipped cream – my personal fav. Being locked overnight in a dessert bar certainly has its perks – pun completely intended.

  We have occupied ourselves with poker games, light chatter, and even some cooking lessons from Reese, which I failed miserably. But at least I found something I’m good at – mise en place. Apparently, it’s French for “putting in place”, and my attention to details and need for precision makes me incredibly well suited for the task. Reese quickly put me to work peeling, dicing, chopping, grating, portioning, and organizing. Finally, a kitchen task I can excel at!

  The girls are making a variety of quiches incase we’re all still here for breakfast. She even has them making their own homemade crust. This is a skill I will never use in real life.

  As the quiches cool, Shea and I clean the entire restaurant from top to bottom. Juliette and Reese scrub the kitchen and safely store all the leftovers – most of which will be sent home with Adam and Emmy so she doesn’t have to worry about cooking.

  Now that we’re done, Cole and I are cuddled up in a quiet corner booth while I pull up the shift schedule at TitleWave to make sure that our off days match. It’s funny how quickly my priorities have shifted. When we first opened, making my little bookstore a success was all I thought about – it was all consuming and the place where I spent most of my waking hours. Now, the only thing on my mind is spending time with Cole and watching the clock wondering when he will call, when will I see him, or if he’s still on the field.

  “Hey you two – mind if we join you?” Evan scoots in, followed closely behind by Juliette. They’re like magnets, constantly drawn to each other. You rarely see one without the other close by.

  Sitting this close to Evan, I begin to see the family resemblance between him and Cole. They both have strong masculine features and noses that are slightly imperfect. There’s something oddly attractive about a man with a fabulously flawed nose. Personally, I think it has something to do with the whole “chicks dig scars” trope and alludes hard-fought battles on the athletic fields. Whatever it is, it’s sexy as hell.

  They both have a thick, messy mop of hair. While Evan is a sandy chestnut, Cole is more of golden honey. Not to mention the fact that Cole is a good two inches taller than Evan.

  But what may be their most striking features are their eyes. They share the same hypnotic eyes, the perfect color of a spring sky paired with a smile that is warmer than the sun. And damn them both for having the thickest dark eyelashes that every woman envies.

  Evan sits back, stretches out his arm and waits for Juliette to snuggle in beside him. “Hey, Hot Shot – did you buy your parents an anniversary gift yet?”

  I know Cole’s parents have an anniversary coming up, but other than that, he hasn’t had much to say on the matter.

  “Yeah, I’m booking them an arctic cruise to Norway. They’ve been talking for years about wanting to see the Northern Lights and melting icecaps. I’m going to send them in October.”

  I’m completely stunned by this. “Really?” I ask, stupefied.

  “Yeah, really. Why do you look so surprised?” Cole asks.

  Juliette suppresses a laugh, but not Evan. “Um, Cuz – it might have something to do with the fact that you still live like a poor-ass college freshman. You drive a beat up piece of crap and live in a townhouse that looks like a dorm room. But I could be wrong.”

  “Yeah well, just because I don’t spend my money as fast as it comes in doesn’t mean I don’t have any,” he counters. “I haven’t been making the same six figures as you for the past five years. And I don’t have the endorsement deals that bring in the big bucks, either.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Evan challenges.

  “Seriously, Mac? You really think I should have done that Swiffer commercial where they wanted me go to strangers’ houses to ‘clean up’?”

  “Oh – I get it!” I jump in. “You’re a cleanup hitter. Clever!”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point,” Cole interjects. “I’m not interested in doing any commercial deals right now.”

  “Um, what’s a cleanup hitter?” Juliette asks Evan.

  “Oh, sorry, sweetie,” Evan gives her a sweet kiss. “The cleanup hitter bats fourth in the lineup. There’s a pretty good chance that one of the first three batters will get on base, and the cleanup batter is supposed to be the team’s big hitter who can bring the runners home.”

  “So, Cole – does that mean you have a really good batting average?” Juliette asks.

  Cole just shrugs.

  “It’s not the number of hits he gets,” I explain. “It’s the power behind his bat that makes Cole a great cleanup hitter.”

  “Wow – you must have really done your homework,” Juliette remarks.

  “Yeah well, English major here – homework is kinda my thing,” I tease. Turning to Cole, I delve a little further. “That commercial actually sounds like a really good idea. Getting some name recognition might help you renegotiate your next contract.”

  “That’s what I told him, too,” Evan agrees. “But he won’t listen to me, Kenny. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  All eyes are now on Cole, waiting. He says nothing for the longest time. But I can tell his wheels are turning. Whatever ideas are rolling around in that head of his have him twisted into knots. “I’m not interested. Name recognition. Publicity. Shit tons of money. I’ve seen what it can do, Cuz, and don’t want any part of it.” He looks over at me and squeezes my hand, “We don’t want any part of it.”

  “Then why did you do that interview for Sports Illustrated?” Evan pushes.

  “S.I. went through the front office. The Marketing VP, the Media VP, and Adam all got involved. There was no walking away as far as they were concerned.”

  “When that article comes out, people will be talking about it. People will be talking about me, but they’ll be talking about you, too, you know.”

  “Like I said, if it were up to me, I never would h
ave done that interview,” he gripes. “But there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I’ve been hearing rumors that they want to call us back in to do a cover shoot.”

  “Do me a favor, Evan. Don’t chase this one. Just let it go. But if that call comes in, we’ll deal with it.”

  Evan studies Cole’s face and I think he sees the stern resolution behind his words. “No problem, man. I’ve had my fair share of covers over the years. One more or less doesn’t really matter at this point.”

  I hope that call never comes in, but we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens.

  Juliette says something private in Evan’s ear, which sparks him to change the subject. “Speaking of unwanted phone calls, you’ll never guess who called me a few days ago.”

  “Unwanted? Hmm.” Cole scratches his whiskers, thinking. “Was it your high school science teacher, Mr. Jividen? He finally figured out who caused the explosion in the chemistry lab?”

  Evan chuckles. “No, thank God. Jamie Todeski called me. I’ll tell you what . . . that woman has balls.”

  Cole looks horrified. “What the fuck did she want? Did you talk to her?”

  “Who’s Jamie?” I ask.

  “Cole’s ex-girlfriend,” Juliette explains.

  I turn and look at Cole for an explanation. “The Stage Five Clinger,” he clarifies. “Almost immediately after we started dating, she was organizing all the players’ girlfriends and renting passenger vans so they could follow the team buses up and down the east coast from Atlanta to Boston.”

  “It looks like all that organizing finally paid off because now she’s a bigwig with the American Cancer Society in Atlanta. She wants me to show up at some kind of breast cancer benefit event she’s holding.”

  “Jeez, man. I’m so sorry. You didn’t accept, did you?”

  “No way. I told her I don’t make those decisions, that I have a manager who gets paid very well to schedule my public appearances. Do you have any idea how many requests I get all the time to show up for some sort of a charity? I could quit playing football full time and just travel around the country making appearances.”

  “Oh, you poor, poor millionaire,” Cole teases. “It must be such a burden for you to bear; to be so popular and in such high demand.” Turning to Juliette, he asks, “I don’t know how you handle living with him.”

  Juliette just laughs and looks up lovingly into Evan’s eyes. “I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment,” she glows.

  “Yeah, well – I’m just telling you so that you can be prepared. Don’t be surprised if you get a call, too.”

  “Shit. Seriously?”

  “Seriously, bro. She asked if you still had the same cell phone number or if you’ve changed it. Personally, I’d change it – but that’s your call.”

  Cole shrugs his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. She won’t call.”

  I hope for Cole’s sake he’s right.

  All of a sudden, everyone’s phone lights up and chimes with an incoming text message. It’s from Adam.

  IT’S A GIRL. COME MEET HARTLEY RENAE COOKE.

  His text comes paired with a picture of an exhausted but jubilant Emmy holding a tiny bundle all wrapped up in a baby blanket and wearing a little pink hat.

  I’ve only just met Emmy and Adam today for the first time, but I can’t help but shed a small tear of joy for the new parents.

  After a quick clean up, everyone piles into their vehicles to head home to try and get a few hours worth of sleep. Visiting hours start at eight o’clock and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if there were a hospital room full of very excited new aunts and uncles all vying for a chance to meet little miss Hartley.

  “Where to?” Cole asks as we climb into the green beast. “Your place or mine?”

  I love that there’s an assumption that we’re going home together. “Yours,” I tell him. “Brie had a big date last night and I told her she could have the house to herself. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m so tired right now, I swear I could curl up on a pile of rocks and sleep like a baby.”

  “Me, too,” I yawn.

  The funny thing about yawning is how contagious they are. I look over at Cole, with his mouth wide open, sucking in a deep breath. He looks so beautiful, sitting there with his messy hair and scruffy face. His strong hands are on the wheel, and I shiver as I think of how they feel on me.

  “Are you cold?” He reaches to turn on the heat, but I stop his hand.

  “No, I’m not cold.”

  He glances at me, and then does a double take, raising an eyebrow.

  “I love your hands,” I say as I twine my fingers with his.

  He raises them to his lips and kisses my wrist. “They’re just hands.” He gives me a wicked smile and my stomach clenches.

  “They do crazy things to me,” I whisper.

  “Behave, or I’ll pull this truck over and fuck you right here on the side of the road.”

  His words make me smile. Trent would have never said such things. He would have thought it crass and crude.

  I decide to be a little playful with him, too. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “Oh honey, trust me, that’s a promise I can definitely keep.”

  I scoot over even closer and whisper in his ear, “Prove it.”

  He whips his head toward me and narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” I whisper, nibbling on his ear as he tries to concentrate on driving while staying safely in his lane.

  “You want to fuck in my truck on the side of the road?” His voice is incredulous, but his eyes are on fire and his breathing is shallow.

  I nod. “Yes, please.”

  He pulls in to the first strip mall he sees and parks at the far end of the parking lot beneath a thick line of dense trees and shuts the truck off.

  I reach up and touch his face, guiding his lips down to meet with mine. “You are so fucking sexy. I want you all the time.” I’m panting and needy, and I want him in me now.

  “Not all the time, you turned me down twice today.” He reaches under the hemline of my dress and cups my ass. “But there’s no getting away from me now.”

  He shimmies over and unzips his pants, freeing his erection as I squirm to remove my panties. He tugs my hand, and before I know it I’m on his lap. He cups my ass with both hands, and slowly lowers me onto him.

  I place my hands on his broad shoulders and move up and down slowly at first, but quickly pick up the pace, forcefully bouncing up and down in a heated frenzy.

  His hands stay on my ass, guiding me, our eyes locked and mouths open, gasping for air.

  Cole rolls his hips and hits a spot deep inside that shimmers with vibrations. I grind against him once, twice and then explode, milking him with my muscles and I feel him come apart beneath me, emptying into me. I lean forward, resting my forehead against his as our breathing calms.

  He reaches up and caresses my cheek, brushing his calloused thumb across my flushed flesh. “Holy shit, Kenny. You have no idea what you do to me.”

  I pull up off of him and spin around back onto the seat, straightening my dress. “Right back at you, Stretch.”

  “YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT”, Brie says when I roll in at nine o’clock to open the bookstore, her eyes assessing my appearance. “Rough night?”

  “No, not at all. Just a long night. Cole’s friend Emmy went into labor and we all stayed up most of the night waiting for word.”

  “And?” she asks.

  “Oh, sorry,” I open my mouth to answer, but a yawn escapes in its place. “It’s a girl.” Yawn. “Her name is Hartley Renae.”

  “That’s a pretty name.” She continues restocking the pastry display case while we chat. “We missed you two for breakfast today. Is Cole coming in later?”

  “No. I slipped out while he was still sleeping. He’s got a seven p.m. game tonight and he doesn’t have to be at the field until three
.” Another big yawn. “How was your night?”

  Brie holds up three fingers.

  “Three?” I grin. “You or him?”

  “Me, of course.” She smiles and bobs her head.

  “That deserves a high-five.” I reached over to slap my hand into hers. “When are you going to see him again? I assume you are going to see him again.” I probe.

  “I don’t know. He’s working. I’m working. I guess I’ll see him next weekend.” She shrugs and continued to hustle behind the coffee bar. “We didn’t make any plans. But he knows how to find me.”

  I go about the rest of my day in a fog of exhaustion. The beaches are packed today. Vacationers are making one final trek to the ocean before the end of their holiday weekend. And we’re here to sell them as many ice cold Frappuccinos and steamy hot romances as their wallets will allow.

  There’s a small trio of bikini-clad women not much younger than me wandering through the shop searching for something to read on the beach. Two have magazines in their hands and the third is carefully examining our romance novels. She grabs two and tells her friends, “Oh, my God. I love these books. Have you ever read them?”

  They shake their heads. “Here, look. They’re amazing. The first one is called Before I Forget and the second is called After the Storm. There’s supposed to be a third coming out . . .” Her voice trails off and I can see her straining her neck to find a store clerk.

  I take a deep breath and head over to help. “Hi. How can I help you?”

  “Um, I was wondering if you know anything about these books. There’s supposed to be a third in the series and I was wondering if it came out yet. The author’s name is Kensington Layne.”

  My heart sinks into my chest.

  God, please don’t let them look at the author’s photo on the inside cover.

  I take the book from her outstretched hand and pretend to type away at the computer, seeking the answer to a question that I could provide first hand. After what feels like an adequate amount of time, I return to the small group and sadly explain that there’s no word on a release date.