The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4)

by Sylvie Stewart

“You’re talking to me right now!” I pointed out, more than a little annoyed that I was, yet again, being forced to participate in shit that would put me in therapy.

  “Yeah, but you’d do anything to avoid this topic with your sister. She’ll never find out.”

  I looked to the sky. “All I want to do is hang out, do my job, and play some ball. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Fine. Forget I said anything.” He shook his head.

  “As if I could. One of these days I’m going to waltz into your house, screw a woman on your kitchen table, and then ask your advice on a bunch of personal shit. How does that sound?”

  “Depends on who the woman is, I guess.” He shrugged.

  “You are not right in the head, man.”

  His mouth tugged. “I’m messing with you. I’ll drop the baby topic since you’ve been so helpful. But, hey, did you ever hear back from Emerson after she bolted last weekend?”

  I couldn’t help the grin that formed on my face. “Of course I did. What do you think this is, amateur hour?” I motioned to myself.

  “And she’s not bothered that you’re a teenager?” He raised a brow.

  “Your wife is only two years older than me and you’re in your thirties—you do realize that, don’t you?” What was with these so-called friends of mine?

  “Yeah, but she’s more mature than me so it evens out.” Based on this current conversation, he was not wrong.

  “I guess. I’ll admit the age thing has come up a time or two, but I’m compensating in other ways.” I nodded.

  “Compensating sounds like you’ve got a problem of another variety, my friend.” Smug bastard.

  “Yeah, right. Shut the fuck up. I was actually talking about a little strategy I’ve got working right now. I’m playing on her law firm’s softball team and getting in good with her boss. How’s that for genius?” I nodded and mimed a basketball shot hitting nothing but net.

  He considered me. “Not bad, Junior. Not bad at all.”

  “First game in the tournament is tomorrow and I plan on impressing the shit out of her—maybe earning myself a little post-game celebration.”

  He threw his chin out at me. “Does Laney know you’re playing ball? I know she’d love to see you—Rocco too.”

  Shit. I hadn’t thought this through.

  “It’s no big deal, man. It’s just softball with a bunch of out-of-shape lawyers.” I fought the urge to back away slowly.

  “Still, I know they’ll want to come. When and where?”

  Damn. There was no getting out of this, was there? I told him the info but made him promise to just keep it to the three of them. The last thing I needed was the whole peanut gallery showing up and making a scene. I suspected that would do little to advance my cause with Emmy.

  He climbed into his truck and I decided to throw him a bone before he closed the door. “Hey, man.” He turned to me. “If you want to have a baby, just ask. You never know—she may be waiting for you to bring it up.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, Junior.”

  As he was pulling away, it occurred to me that another little Rocco running around wouldn’t be a bad thing. Not at all.

  “All right. Ms. Scott, you’re in left field. And, of course, Mr. Monroe, you’re pitching,” Thomas Wheeler said with a beaming smile. He shook my hand and gave my shoulder a pat. This dude was stoked.

  Emmy and I were wearing identical red t-shirts with the firm’s logo, and matching caps shielded our eyes from the late morning sun. Thomas Wheeler and the rest of the firm’s team were all dressed similarly while the opposing team sported black gear. The age range varied on both benches, with the black team having one player who appeared alarmingly elderly and looking like she could possibly benefit from an oxygen tank.

  “Let’s do this thing,” I said, returning his smile and grabbing the softball glove I’d unearthed from my closet the night before. I was always up for playing ball. He moved on to greet some other arrivals and I turned to Emmy who looked like my idea of the perfect woman in her cap and t-shirt, slim jeans and a glove. I was beginning to think she might have been hand-made for me. I tugged on the bill of her cap and she turned to me. “Wanna warm up?”

  One side of her mouth lifted. “Let’s see what you’ve got today, Slugger.”

  “I’ll go easy on you. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your boss and all.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she returned. I grabbed a ball from the equipment bag and we tossed it back and forth for a bit while Thomas and a couple older men—whom I assumed were Emmy’s other bosses—organized the team.

  I noticed Emmy eyeing another two teams on the next field over, and when I asked, she explained they were also part of the tournament. Eventually a couple umps arrived and the game was finally set to begin. I’d completely forgotten about Nate and Laney so I was momentarily surprised to hear a shout of my name from the bleachers. Emmy and I turned simultaneously and I vowed in that moment that I would methodically pull my brother-in-law’s fingernails off one at a time and be quite happy doing it.

  Taking up a good chunk of the available seating was not only my sister and her guys but pretty much everyone I knew. Fiona and Mark were present, of course—Mark saluting me and Fiona clapping excitedly over nothing in particular. Jake and Bailey sat a row in front of them, Bailey scarfing down food from a takeout fast food joint and paying little attention to anything but protecting her fries from Jake’s hands. Then there was Riordan Murphy and his wife, Erin; as well as Trey and Court from work; Brett and that girl Ginger; Mark and Jake’s mom, Kelly; and even Fiona’s freaking boss, Jax.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, but Emmy just waved cheerfully and got several waves back.

  “You’ve got quite a fan club there, Slugger.”

  “You have no idea.” I was staring daggers at Nate who caught my glare and pointed meaningfully at Laney who then pointed at Fiona. That made perfect fucking sense.

  “Oh, look!” Emmy said. “There’s Ari—and she brought Jay!” She waved at them as they found seats near Fiona and Laney.

  Well, it looked like the whole gang was here. All we needed was Ponch showing up and singing the National Anthem and we’d be all set. I sent up a little plea for my crew to behave themselves, knowing already that even the thought was futile.

  And I was proven correct as I tossed the first strike across the plate. Pitching softball was a different animal than baseball, but I was confident in my abilities with pretty much any sport that involved a glove and a ball. The player in black from Anderson and Mellik, our opposing team, swung too late and the ump made the call. His voice was immediately drowned out by Bailey yelling, “Steeee-rike” at the top of her lungs followed shortly by a chorus of female voices shouting various forms of “Woot!” and “Woohoo!” I turned to left field after the catcher tossed me the ball, prepared to offer some kind of non-verbal apology, but Emmy was all smiles. Go figure.

  Play proceeded in the same manner for the remaining top of the first inning, the guys also contributing some incredibly helpful words of encouragement, each prominently featuring “Junior” as part of the comment. I almost pitched a perfect inning, but that damn elderly lady who looked like she’d fall over any minute caught a piece of the ball and even made it to first base.

  When our team prepped for batting at the bottom of the inning, I checked in with Emmy. “I’m so sorry about all that.” I hooked a thumb to the bleachers. “I have no control over them.”

  She just smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Believe me, this is way more fun than last year.” She glanced meaningfully to the uber-conservative crowd lining the bench. She grabbed a bat and donned a helmet. “Wish me luck,” she said as she turned for home plate as the first batter for the red team.

  “You don’t need it, Ace!” I yelled after her, a grin plastered to my face for sure. I turned back to the bench and the grin faltered. Thomas Wheeler was talking to the woman next to him, but three other men’s gazes were directed to
ward me, and none of them looked the least amused. I could identify two of them as the other managing partners, Jefferson and Schenk. But I had no idea who the third was. All I could tell was that he did not approve of me, Emmy, our friends, and probably the concept of fun in general. Shit. Maybe Emmy had been right all along and me getting involved was a stupendous mistake.

  “Oh my God!” Laney wrapped her arms around me, seemingly unbothered by my sweaty state. “It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you play. You looked great out there!”

  I felt my mouth tug a little. “It’s just a softball game, sis. Nothing to get all hormonal and weepy about.”

  She released me and smacked my arm just as Rocco attacked me in a hug from behind. I swung him up and over my shoulder. “What did you think, dude?”

  “Awesome,” he responded. “But they need a snack bar.”

  “I’ll see what I can do for next time.” I put him back on his feet and he ran off.

  We’d cleaned the floor with the opposing team, another player even taking over at the mound when it started to get embarrassing. Emmy seemed pleased and I saw her talking to all the managing partners at one point or another, so I assumed all was okay. She wasn’t at all touchy-feely with me, and I took the hint and kept my hands to myself for the most part, trying to maintain a little distance and decorum—unlike my idiot friends and family who continued to cheer as if it were game seven of the World Series. I gestured several times for them to shut the hell up when I noticed other attendees giving them sideways glances, but it did little to help. I did, however, notice Ari maintaining a lower profile than usual, and I guessed it was because she knew the state of affairs with Emmy’s job situation. That made me feel doubly guilty, but Emmy didn’t say a word.

  “Hey, Junior!” I heard Bailey call to me and I suppressed the urge to cover her mouth. She waddled over—there was really no other way to describe it. “Do you guys want to come over to our place later? Everybody’s going to watch basketball while I lie in a recliner incubating Dexter here.” She patted her belly. She insisted on calling the kid Dexter because he or she kept poking at Bailey’s organs and she swore she was giving birth to a serial killer.

  I looked over to Emmy who was talking to Jay. She must have sensed my gaze because she turned almost immediately and met my eyes. “Possibly, but don’t count on it,” I told Bailey, never tearing my eyes from Emmy’s.

  I heard Bailey make a gagging sound. “Gross. Did you at least get a note from your mom giving you permission to bang a grown-up?”

  That brought my eyes straight back to her. “Did you get permission from Sea World to take the day off?”

  She gave a fake gasp of indignation before yelling, “Jake! Junior just called me fat! Come kick his ass for me. I don’t want to go into labor doing it myself!”

  I decided that was my sign to leave.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dear Ex-Boyfriends: Please Take a Note

  EMERSON

  I honestly didn’t know what to make of the game as a whole. All three partners were pleased we’d defeated Anderson and Mellik since they’d trounced us in the semi-finals the year before, but I was getting a vaguely disapproving vibe from Mr. Schenk, and Mr. Jefferson said very little to Gavin or me the entire time. Mr. Wheeler, on the other hand gushed effusively over Gavin after he pitched what was essentially a professional-level game. Anika, a second-year associate, took over for Gavin when the black team still hadn’t scored by the seventh inning. But, even then, he impressed by scoring runs and giving encouragement to other players. His love of all things baseball shone through, even though this was just some lawyers playing softball at a county park. Just watching him sent a warmth spreading through me that I knew I should be wary of, yet couldn’t help but just enjoy.

  His crazy friends and family, I admit, may not have made the best impression on my bosses, but there was nothing I could do about that, and they seemed to make the game more fun for most of the participants, me included. I decided early on just to let it go and enjoy the game, keeping my fingers crossed that any of my fears would go unwarranted. I felt I was being very zen about it. My mother would be proud.

  And speaking of parents, I’d nearly had a heart attack when I saw the teams assembling on the next field. I thought for sure my father’s team would be one of them, but, thankfully, I’d been wrong. I’d managed to successfully dodge his calls the last couple days, still unsure what to say about my “secret weapon.” Although it was only a matter of time before word filtered his way and I’d have to do some explaining.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Ari surprised me out of my thoughts with an arm around my shoulder and wide eyes. “Your Mr. Baseball is fucking hot. If you don’t do something about this, I’m dumping Elliot and going after him myself.”

  A twinge of envy ran through me, unbidden. Gavin wasn’t mine. I didn’t even want him to be mine. I didn’t have room for him to be mine. And Ari was all kinds of sexy—what guy in his right mind wouldn’t want her? And, hey, if I could get rid of Elliot in the process, well…

  Ari snapped her fingers in front of my eyes to regain my attention. “Joking! But not about you doing something. Get on that, woman—take that Mustang for a test drive and call me later with the report.” She kissed my cheek, ignoring my grunt of annoyance, and turned toward the parking lot. “Oh, and good game!” she yelled behind her.

  I waved and shook my head. “Thanks, Ari!”

  Then I turned again and caught sight of Gavin hoisting a dark-haired little boy over his shoulder and I swear I felt my ovaries sigh. I was thinking Ari was going to have to find a different substitute for Elliot after all.

  “You want to pick up some food on the way home?” Gavin asked once we were on the road.

  “Absolutely. I’m starving,” Jay moaned from the back seat. Ari had picked him up earlier but we were dropping him off at one of his friends’ houses and then they were going to the Greensboro Grasshopper’s season opener in the evening.

  I turned around in my seat. “You know, Mom didn’t warn me about your feeding schedule. I swear you’re like a hummingbird.”

  “Hummingbird?” Gavin asked.

  “Wait for it,” Jay responded for me. “Her head is filled with useless trivia.”

  “I think you meant interesting trivia,” I said.

  “By all means, keep telling yourself that,” Jay said on a grin.

  I narrowed my eyes at him before explaining to Gavin, “A hummingbird eats twice its weight in nectar every day. By ratio, of course, that makes it the hungriest animal on earth, besides insects and my brother.”

  Gavin looked suitably impressed and I gave Jay a smug smile. “See. Interesting. I have plenty more if you need proof.”

  Gavin cleared his throat. “So, that’s a yes on stopping for food, right?”

  Jay returned my smug smile.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” I muttered.

  I called in an order to Hops and we picked up some burgers to go. Despite having worked my butt off at the game, I could still only eat half of mine and silently passed the remaining half back to my brother when I was finished. By the time we dropped him off, he’d probably consumed enough calories to fuel a small nation for a week.

  “So, who was the guy who kept staring at you during the game?” Gavin asked. When I looked at him blankly, he expounded, “Um, probably about your age, brown hair, my height?”

  I mentally ran through the roster and realized he must have been talking about Craig. “I think you mean Craig Pendleton, but I doubt he was staring at me.”

  “Oh, he was. Believe me. He was just subtle about it.”

  “Seriously?” I mean, Craig was always looking at women in what I considered a creepy and inappropriate way, but I assumed he reigned it in when the managing partners were around. And, besides, he and I were supposed to be on a truce.

  “I’m pretty certain he was imagining what color underwear you’re wearing.”

  I smacked Gavin
’s arm.

  “Hey! Hands off the driver. Well, only if your intent is violent, I mean.” I ignored his comment and he continued, “Anyway, I was just asking because he was giving me a back the hell off signal and I didn’t know if there was something I was missing.”

  I felt my brow wrinkle. “That’s really odd. You must have misconstrued the look. He and I are sort of rivals. I would call him my nemesis, but we’ve decided to call a truce while we’re working on this huge account together. Eventually, one of us with probably be offered a partnership with the firm, though, and the other…” I trailed off.

  “Ah,” was all Gavin said as he took a left turn.

  “What does that mean?”

  He considered that for a moment. “I think you’d have to be a guy to understand.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes at that. “I highly doubt that. Try me.”

  He looked over at me appraisingly, then finally spoke. “He’s totally into you, but he doesn’t want to be. The fact that you’re rivals just makes the idea of having you hotter. This truce means you’ll spend more time together, which could result in: a) your appeal diminishes when your claws aren’t out, and he can get over you; or b) now that your guard is down, he’ll try to charm you and get in your pants. Then there’s: c) you’ll see he’s not so bad after all and give him a real shot; or d) he’s pulling one over on you, trying to appeal to your honorable side by calling a truce, but he’s really after both getting you under him and swiping the partnership up in the process.”

  I just stared at him.

  Gavin’s eyes remained on the road until he felt my gaze and did a double take. “What?”

  “You got all that from one look?”

  He shrugged. “Well, it was more than one, but yeah. Like I said, it’s a guy thing.”

  I sat back in my seat and considered that for a moment. “That’s either the most brilliant assessment of a situation I’ve ever heard or you are certifiably nuts.”

  He flashed me a grin. “You asked.”