“Emerson, how arrrre you, sweetheart?”—enunciating and dragging out the word “are” as if I were a dog or perhaps just very slow. I’m always tempted to respond in kind. “Candy, I’d be soooo much better if you’d choke on your own stupidity and die.” But I hold myself in check. Mostly.
All right, fine. I’m not very nice to her. Usually, I just ignore her, but she’s only a year older than me, so it’s not easy. She is also wife number four, so this ain’t my first rodeo. But I have to give her credit—she’s stuck the longest of them all, including my mom. My father and Mandy have been married for almost four years. Four very tedious years.
I’m sure my dad knows on some level that I don’t care for her, but he chooses to pretend otherwise. Perhaps I should rephrase that. He has decided that his marrying Mandy trumps any feelings I have about the situation. Which, in a way, I understand and have accepted. It doesn’t mean I have to like her, though.
Ari loves to give Mandy a hard time whenever possible. She’s a loyal friend, that one. Ari will bring up topics she knows Mandy is clueless about and then ask her opinion. Sometimes she’ll outright make things up just to see Candy the Trophy Wife squirm.
One of the worst (or best, I should say) occurred a couple months back when I’d been cornered into Sunday dinner with my father and his child bride. I dragged Ari along as my date. As soon as my dad had excused himself to take a phone call, Ari pounced.
“It’s terrible about the coup in Sweden, isn’t it?” Ari shook her head solemnly and tsked her general sadness over the nonexistent crisis. “All those poor Swedes trampled in the ensuing riots.”
Mandy’s eyes widened and then she shook her head in shared sympathy. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean. The poor Swedes. Robert and I donated to the Red Cross fund providing aid to the victims,” she informed us. I’d had to pinch my leg to keep from laughing out loud.
Let’s just say my dad hadn’t married her for her intelligence.
I sighed and pulled out my phone to e-mail him. I truly did want to see him. I just wished we could sometimes do it without the trophy wife in tow.
Not that I could afford to dwell on it. I had the AgPower account, a court hearing for my new pro bono case to prep for, Jay’s game to attend, and an escape to the Baseball Academy to maneuver. I’d need a good night’s sleep because I wasn’t about to drop the ball on any of my responsibilities. No way.
“What’s the matter, ump?! You need Lasik?! That was a ball!” Ari shouted.
I opted for the slightly less antagonistic, “That’s okay, number twelve—you’ve got this!”
Ari gave me a sidelong glance. “That was bullshit.”
“And insulting the umpire is going to make him change the call?”
One side of her mouth lifted. “Well, no. But it made me feel better.”
I let out a small laugh and looked around the stands. It was a decent crowd, probably due to the perfect weather. Like Ari and me, the fans lining the metal bleachers around us were dressed in blue and white, while the opposite stands boasted an unfortunate combination of burgundy and orange, creating a sea of…ugly. I took a sip from my water bottle and then sighed. “I hope they put Jay in soon. I haven’t seen him play in ages.”
“They’ve got to put somebody in. Their pitcher is having a craptastic day so far.” Ari checked her phone and took a sip of her soda.
I adjusted my position so my butt wouldn’t fall asleep on the hard bleachers and simply nodded my head in agreement. It was only the bottom of the third, but North’s “star” pitcher had yet to impress. Our team was at bat at the moment, but not producing anything to write home about there either. Something had to give or a huge checkmark was going in the L column for the day.
“Come on, North!” I shouted again, as if my voice alone could propel them to victory. Jay had explained there was a pecking order and, as the new kid, he was at the end of the line. But if his pitching was half as good as I remembered, he could wipe the floor with this other team—one hand tied behind his back and a pirate’s eyepatch in place.
Ari yawned. I knew she hadn’t finished with her gig last night until sometime after midnight, after which I suspected she joined Elliot for activities I’d prefer to bleach from my mind. “So, do you think Jay will let you sign him up for that extra training thing after all? I can kind of see his point if the coach isn’t even letting him play…” Ari trailed off.
I nodded. “I know, but the kid deserves something special, right? And I can manage the payments, so it’s one thing I can do for him. Does that sound as pathetic to you as it does to me?” I cringed. “I’m totally trying to make up for not being around enough, aren’t I?”
Ari let out a small laugh. “Maybe. But I think it’s sweet.” She lifted her phone to show me a text. “Ponch is going to try to make it before the end of the game.”
My heart lifted a little at that. Ari’s older brother used to make my heart palpitate on the regular when I was a teen, but I’d learned over time that he was only good for one thing when it came to hearts—breaking them. Enough girls had been for a ride on his Amante Express (which could appropriately refer to either his manhood or his panty-melting motorcycle with equal accuracy) that he’d earned the nickname Ponch from the cheesy eighties show CHiPS. You’d think the name would make him an easy target for mockery, but he had the uncanny ability to make anything downright cool. Hardly anyone except his own parents called him Nick anymore.
And, let’s be real, if you’re okay with your boyfriend going by a name that celebrates his promiscuity, you need to take a good look within, ladies. That’s how I’d been able to let my girlhood crush go and form a platonic relationship with my best friend’s brother over time. Although it didn’t stop him from flirting shamelessly with me—and just about anyone lacking a Y chromosome, so I didn’t ever take it seriously.
I had to imagine Jay would be thrilled to see Ponch at his game. If he ever got to play, that was. Jay had only been a little kid when we’d lived next door to the Amante family, but Ponch had always treated him like he thought Jay was the coolest thing around. They’d played catch, and Ponch would take him on rides on the back of his motorcycle when he stopped by to visit his parents. It had always scared the pants off me, but Mom and Aldo never batted an eyelash. My mom embraced any new experience as an adventure to enrich the spirit. She’d clearly never seen Scenes from the ER episodes featuring such adventurous motorcycling enthusiasts. But, Jay had always returned unscathed, and had a friend for life in Ponch.
The inning turned over with North still losing 4-0, although they’d managed to get a player on second. I crossed my fingers as Jay’s team took the field, but, once again, he remained in the dugout.
Sugar!
Chapter Five
Welcome to Miller Town
GAVIN
“Come on Davidson,” I murmured quietly, willing North’s coach to put Miller in. His team was losing 4-2 at the top of the seventh and if they didn’t make a switch soon, it was all over. The opposing team, Burlington West, wasn’t exactly a top-ranked team, but they did have a few key players with talent. The Academy had done a full-team training day with Burlington West when I’d first started my job a while back, and I remembered a couple of the kids. I was happy to see the improvement in some of their techniques.
But my eye was supposed to remain fully focused on Jay Miller, and I’d been honing my stalking tendencies all week. Despite the surreal conversation with Naomi Miller, we had yet to hear from the elusive Emmy. But I was determined to pin her down today, assuming she was in attendance. When I wasn’t watching the field, I was scanning the bleachers in search of Jay Miller’s…whatever. Was she a stepmom? An aunt? Not that it did me any good since I had zero clue what she looked like.
“Miller, you’re up!” I heard the magic words hit my ears at the same time as a tremendously loud feminine howl pealed from North’s home stands. My eyes immediately darted in its direction, as did the gaze of just about everyo
ne in attendance. A petite woman with dark red hair and a bright blue tank top was jumping up and down, her ample breasts bobbing in tandem as she shouted, “Go, Jay!! Show ‘em what you got, Miller!!” A few snickers rippled through the crowd along with a couple lighthearted shouts of agreement. I noticed several male gazes lingering on the still-bouncing breasts which I concluded must belong to none other than Emmy whoever-the-hell. I also noticed her seatmate with her head in her hands as her back shook in laughter while she attempted to sink into the bleachers at her friend’s enthusiastic outburst.
Torn between watching Jay Miller take the mound and pinning this woman down about the contract, I chose to watch the kid, whose face, I noted, had turned a bit red. “Well, kid,” I murmured, “looks like you’ve got a fan.”
Over the next two innings, I watched in amazement as North soundly turned the game on its head. Jay shut out Burlington West on his first turn on the mound, and the second had been almost as good, resulting in only one runner on base and no runs scored. North managed to carry the momentum from Jay’s swift dismissal of Burlington’s batters, and they scored three runs, making the score 5-4 moving into the top of the ninth.
Jay dispensed with the first batter and walked the second. Burlington’s third batter caught a piece of Jay’s fastball but popped it up and it was picked off by one of North’s senior players. It was all down to the last out, and I watched intently to see how Jay handled himself under the pressure. I could see him drawing in deep breaths as he kneaded the ball, keeping an eye on the runner on first as he shifted off base looking for his chance to steal second. Miller nodded at the catcher’s signal and then delivered a killer changeup that painted the outside corners of the plate. The batter swung about an hour early and the ump called the strike. I looked back to Jay and saw his face not cracking even the smallest of smiles. He was a cool customer, all the way. Even when another screech sounded from the bleachers. “That’s right, batter! You’re in Miller town now! Don’t get comfortable!” I couldn’t help but snicker a bit to myself.
The next pitch was a monster fastball that flew straight through the heart of the strike zone. The batter went for it and missed by a mile. I held my breath as Jay wound up again and gave the player on first the opening he’d been looking for. He stole second as Jay delivered a pitch that went a bit wide and resulted in a ball. Both sets of bleachers erupted in encouraging cheers for their teams as the ball came back to the mound and Jay prepared what I could feel would be the final pitch of the game. Another set of deep breaths and a few shake offs to the catcher, and Jay released another fastball with the most heat I’d seen yet. The batter was more prepared this time and swung only a fraction of a second too late. The ball hit the catcher’s mitt with a resounding smack, and North’s fans exploded in cheers as Jay’s teammates swarmed him.
All eyes were on the pitcher’s mound, but mine swung straight back to the bleachers, even more intent on my goal after witnessing the crushing blow Jay had just delivered. This kid was mine. All I had to do was turn on the charm and hope like hell this Emmy woman would go for it.
Weaving through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream, I lost sight of her until I heard the familiar, loud shout somewhere to my left. “That’s right, boys! Nice ass-whooping!” I turned and caught a glimpse of the more subdued of the two women dragging Emmy away from the milling crowd. Emmy was laughing uproariously at something the other woman must have said, and let herself be led to the fence line. I quickly adjusted my path and followed.
“Oh, come on. I’m sure he loved it,” Emmy was insisting, her red lips tipped up in a mischievous smile. She wore a tank top that revealed a couple tattoos on her collarbone and arm, and I noticed more than a few piercings. I couldn’t fathom who this woman was to Jay Miller.
The other woman had her back to me, and I could see she was laughing along, even though she’d obviously just been scolding her friend. This woman had red hair as well, but it was pulled up into a ponytail and the color was more natural and subdued. Auburn is what Laney would probably call it. She also wore a more modest short-sleeved sweater and tailored jeans that showcased a pert little ass.
Wait. Stop right there, Gavin. Focus, please.
I cleared my throat as I approached. “Excuse me.”
That got the attention of Emmy, and she shifted her dark eyes to me. This was followed by a cock of her head and a blatant perusal of my entire body from my scuffed boots to my cap-covered hair. Jesus. I had a sudden urge to confirm my fly was closed. One side of her mouth tipped up, almost as though she’d read my thoughts. She most certainly picked up on my discomfort—thus the smile, I was sure. I opened my mouth to speak again when her friend turned to face me.
Strands of her auburn hair had escaped the confines of the ponytail and fell around her face, a few trailing near her mouth as a breeze picked them up. A mouth that was a perfect shade of pink with a full bottom lip parted as if forming a question. A smattering of light freckles adorned her small nose, and warm golden-brown eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at me inquiringly.
I had completely forgotten what I’d been about to say.
I knew this woman. Well, technically, I didn’t actually know her, but I’d seen her before. Both in real life, and a few times in my shower, I’m not ashamed to admit.
A few months back, at Bailey and Jake’s baby shower, this woman had approached the couple and they’d chatted for a few minutes. She’d immediately captured my attention, but I’d been waylaid by Fiona trying to make me eat melted chocolate out of a diaper. Even I have standards. By the time I’d gotten over to Bailey and Jake, the woman had retreated with her phone to her ear and I hadn’t seen her again. Neither Bailey nor Jake would tell me who she was, claiming that she was both too old for me and way out of my league.
Ha! Bastards.
And now, here she was, almost as if she’d appeared out of thin air. It couldn’t be mere coincidence that had put her in my path once again.
“H-Hi,” I stammered like an idiot, suddenly glad no one had accompanied me to today’s game.
She was still looking at me questioningly. Had she spoken and I’d missed it? That was entirely possible.
“Hey, handsome. You need something?” Emmy asked in a not unfriendly tone. My eyes remained glued to her friend as I tried to recall what my purpose had been.
Shit. The contract. Jay Miller.
I shook myself out of my stupor and forced my eyes back to Emmy. She had a shit-eating grin on her face. Busted.
“Um, is your name, by any chance, Emmy?”
The two women exchanged a glance before she asked, “Emmy?” in a half-amused, half-suspicious tone.
“Well, yeah. I heard you cheering for Jay Miller and I assumed…” I trailed off as both women remained silent. “I’m sorry, do either of you know Naomi Miller?”
“Oh,” both women said in drawn-out unison, as if that explained everything. Thank God.
The woman with the dark red hair gestured to her friend, “That’s Emmy,” putting emphasis on the name. I was definitely not in on whatever joke this was. Clearly, everyone who associated with Naomi Miller excelled at confounding innocent guys.
The auburn-haired woman narrowed her eyes at her friend before facing me again. Her cheeks had reddened a bit, setting off the freckles. “And you are?” Her voice was soft and almost musical, even with its slightly suspicious tone.
“Gavin Monroe. I’m from the Baseball Academy.” I extended my hand as her face transformed from questioning to joyful. Damn, that was a good look on this woman. Her eyes widened and warmed, causing an odd tightening sensation in my chest.
“Oh, Mr. Monroe, I’m so happy to meet you!” Emmy, the real Emmy, took my hand and shook it firmly. Her skin was warm and smooth and I didn’t want to release her hand. I also didn’t want to look like a creeper, so I let go reluctantly. “I was going to come by right after the game to get Jay registered. What a happy coincidence.” She smiled up at me and the tightening t
urned into a thick knot in my chest cavity.
“Just Gavin is good,” I murmured as I heard her friend snicker and try to cover it with a cough. Fucking brilliant, Monroe. Emmy seemed completely oblivious to my pathetic imitation of a lapdog, thank fuck.
Desperate to keep it that way, I fumbled in my back pocket for the folded pack of documents I’d been carrying around. “I brought the forms with me on the off chance you might be here. But they need to be signed by a parent or legal guardian…” I mentally crossed my fingers, but she waved me off.
“I’m his legal guardian. His sister, in fact.”
Ah, okay, this was making more sense now. She seemed way too young to be a stepmom or an aunt or something. If I had to guess, I’d say she looked about thirty, but the conservative clothes may have had something to do with that.
At this point, her friend interjected. “You’ve got a live one with Jay. He’s amazing!” As if she had to convince me. She began to root around in her bag.
I gave her a grin. “Why do you think I’ve been carrying these contracts around?”
She returned my smile and unearthed a pen, passing it to Emmy, who glanced around looking for a hard surface to write on. Without a second thought, I turned around and offered her my back. “Feel free.” I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see both women’s eyes snap up from my ass.
Dammit. I was going to get a hard-on in front of half the high school and their parents.
Emmy approached and I felt her tentatively place the papers against my t-shirt, taking care not to actually touch me with her hand. The awkwardness of that writing position quickly became apparent, and I felt the pressure of her writing hand rest on my back while the fingers of her other hand held the papers steady.
My mind couldn’t help but jump to images of her hands on me in another much more intimate, much more satisfying situation. I held in a small groan and thought about baseball, as all guys learn to do around the awkward age of thirteen.
The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4) Page 5