by Leslie Pike
The Cannon
Leslie Pike
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Playlist
About the Author
Also by Leslie Pike
Copyright 2019 Leslie Pike
All Rights Reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication, may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editing by:
Nichole Strauss, Insight Editing Services
Cover design by:
Kari March, Kari March Designs
For the women with bed head and satisfied smiles.
Chapter 1
Sawyer
Her smile’s a slow stretch.
It begins with a languid lift of a corner. Then it leisurely widens to reveal the dazzle. Tonight it’s for another man. But this Texan can live with that. I learned patience long ago.
I’ve always been blessed and cursed with knowing what I want. Making decisions quickly. It eliminates all second bests but puts me in the position of having to be by myself sometimes. Although that’s changed in recent years. I haven’t heard many no’s since I became a professional ball player. Not in any category.
How strange life is. The boy within me is shocked by it all. He still sits alone. It’s a world away from my current reality. I’m one of ten tonight at table three. It gives me the perfect chance to take a long unauthorized gander at the looker with the smile.
She tucks a dark curl behind her ear, sensual like. Long delicate fingers with short painted red nails move gracefully. The guy she’s with says something that makes her laugh. Think that may have warmed the room. Even four tables away I hear the lyrical sound. It’s feminine and genuine.
Her curves aren’t disguised by the tuxedo she wears. Nothing masculine there. No ma’am. Jacket tailored to show a tiny waist, trousers with satin stripes down the sides of long legs. A look as sexy as I’ve seen. Womanly.
Then she leans over to pick up a napkin and the vest peeks open. Swear I saw nipple. My balls and dick weigh in making it unanimous.
Letting go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I take a sip of Jack. My earlier-in-the-day mindset seems funny now. Wasn’t looking forward to the night. Not that I’m ungrateful, but a team dinner/dance sounded boring as shit. Especially since I don’t know most of the members yet. I’d planned on leaving an hour ago. That was before I set eyes on the sexiest girl here.
I’m down for a good meal. And dancing is my thing. But there was a fly in the ointment. When all I’m interested in is meeting Memphis belles, this was the wrong place to be. There are never many single women at these events.
Truth is, up until now the city hasn’t seemed as good of a party as Fort Worth. I’ll hold my final opinion because I haven’t been here long. Maybe when the preseason starts things will improve. The Memphis Mavericks family has been welcoming. Especially the Swifts.
Sitting with some of them at this table is a dream I didn’t know to imagine until the last few years. Hell, I hadn’t even heard of them.
Both Brick and Atticus have been great. As my agent, Brick kinda has to make sure I’m happy. He’s the one directing me to every opportunity he can before I even get in a game. Without Brick I’d be a lost soul in a sophisticated business way over my head.
His brother Atticus is a man the other players look up to. Even in my short time here I can see that. Hope our connection as pitcher/catcher turns out to have legs. With his reputation as a catcher and mine as a pitcher, I see us developing into something great. But it all rests on my ability to hold on to the brass ring. Management seems to think I’ve got a long career ahead.
The patriarch of the family is a guy I could be friends with. Boone. A former ball player himself, he understands the complex world of Major League ball. And there’s more to respect. Just the way he looks at his family impresses me. I’ve seen too much of the opposite. There’s love there. Plus, he’s a Jim Beam man.
The mother is interesting. Lucinda is such a Southern name. Holding your gaze when she speaks, it makes you feel like you’re the most interesting person in the room. Brick says she’s an artist.
But for now I miss all the good things about my old life. Hot days on Lake Ray Hubbard and cool nights with country girls under the moon. I miss my truck.
“Who’s the pretty brunette with the body?” I say leaning over to Brick.
I know there’s no chance of confusing her with the other hundred brunettes here. He’ll know who I’m talking about. She stands out.
He gives me a pointed look and a dip of his chin.
“My sister.”
I can’t stop the laughter that rises. “Sorry. But hey, you can’t blame a man.”
A shake of his head is all I get in response.
“What’s her name?”
“Bristol. Listen, no insult intended, but you’re not her type. Trust me.”
“Women like me. I think I should at least introduce myself.”
He gets this weird look. Like whatever he knows, and I don’t, ends my chances. He’s getting a kick out of this.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask. “She doesn’t like steady, church-going, nice looking guys?”
“Only the first one would impress her. She doesn’t like baseball or baseball players. She knows too much about the subject.”
“She hasn’t met me.”
“You’re too young. That’s another thing she doesn’t do.”
“Doesn’t look old to me. If you’re not going to introduce me, I will.”
“You do see she’s on a date, right?”
“You distract the guy and I’ll move in,” I say only half kidding.
A hand lifts to my shoulder. “Not gonna happen, brother.”
Plan B. I get up and give Brick a meaningful smile. It’s on.
His pregnant wife, January, offers a thumbs up to which her husband says, “Don’t encourage him.”
What they don’t know about me is I never rely on other people’s boosts. Early on I learned to rely on my own council.
Snaking through the tables, I formulate my plan. I got this. But before I make it to ground zero, three people reach out. For handshakes or introductions, welcoming next season’s new pitcher.
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say to the kind comment from the general manager’s wife.
But I don’t linger. I’ve got a mission to fulfill. Lucky she hasn’t noticed me yet. The element
of surprise is a key part of this whole charade.
Getting within a few feet of her, I look off to the right and pretend to be interested in someone at another table. I give a friendly wave and a smile to the phantom. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bristol’s head lift in my direction. There it is.
I expertly wrap my right foot around the back of my left and trip right into her chair. Perfected by years of practice, I’m selling this better than any other pratfall I’ve done before. My arms reach out to find something to catch me, and I wear an expression of sincere shock. Not too dramatic. Subtlety is what makes this whole thing work.
Landing one hand on the table in front of her, one behind her back, I steady myself against her chair. Our lips are only inches apart. Hello, gorgeous.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say before righting myself.
Then I look at the guy and give him a nod. It’s important I’m as friendly to him as her. Southern girls are particular. They love good manners.
“Please forgive me interrupting your evening, ma’am. For a baseball player, I sure can be clutzy.” I chuckle for effect.
The man’s not sure. Pretty smart for a good-looking guy with a stick up his ass.
“You okay?” he says insincerely.
Now I look at her. “Oh yeah. I’m fine. You’re Bristol Swift, right?”
Uh oh. Don’t think she’s buying my attempt to charm. Her smirk says it all. Where did I go wrong?
“Yes. And I know who you are. Welcome to Memphis.” Then she looks at her date. “Raul, this is Sawyer Tom, apparently the Mavericks’ new phenom.”
Raul shakes my hand.
“Interesting name. Were your parents Huckleberry Finn fans with dyslexia?” He laughs at my expense.
“I’m not really sure. They weren’t in my life,” I answer.
That shuts him up.
It’s fact, but never fails to stop people in their tracks. Raul has no clue how to react, so I turn my attention back to the person I’m here for.
“I’m sitting with your brother and his wife. And your parents, too. We’re right over there,” I say pointing out our proximity just in case she wants to rethink her position.
But she doesn’t look. She’s not interested, despite my million-dollar smile and the clever meet cute.
“Well, have a good time. We were just about to dance, excuse me,” she says pushing her chair back.
What? I’m being excused? To top it off, Raul is looking very smug. I hate his nose-in-the-air superior attitude. Fuck face. He’s not considering me a threat of any kind. Well that’s new.
I step back and allow them to pass. I don’t even get a side eye or a little grin. What the hell’s happening here? I wander back to my own table. But before reaching it I see Brick laughing his ass off. His wife’s hitting him on the arm to stop.
“Man, you seriously misjudged that one. I tried to tell you,” he says wiping a tear.
Looking back for a moment I see a scene unfolding. Raul is on his phone. He’s got a finger in his ear, trying to hear the other party. Bristol’s standing in front of him waiting. The music plays on as dancers move around them. Then something wonderful happens.
Raul points to his phone, holds up a hand in apology, kisses her on the cheek and walks off toward the doors. Big mistake, man. Huge.
“Let a Texas man show you how wrong you are,” I say to the highly amused Brick and January.
“Ladies, please excuse me,” I address the table.
As I’m walking away I hear Mrs. Swift saying how much she loves a Texas drawl. But there’s other more important things to concentrate on. Getting to Bristol before she makes it back to her chair. I’m sliding into home plate.
Instead of asking permission, I simply step in front of her. Taking her hand, I place it on my shoulder and put mine on her back. She’s too shocked to protest. Or amused. Can’t decide. Free hands find each other. Hmm, soft skin.
Music carries us into the crowd of dancers. Our bodies not quite touching, her breath on my cheek. And the scent. That’s another thing. It’s not typical. No flowers or summer’s days come to mind. It’s sexier. Darker. I don’t even know what that means, only that it overtakes the senses.
“Your mother asked that I watch over you while your boyfriend is busy.”
I’m surprised by her laughter.
“That’s pure bullshit,” she says following my lead. “And a really bad line. Are you telling me my mother the most independent person I know doesn’t think I can navigate my way from the dance floor to my seat?”
“I’m just a polite gentleman lookin out for a lady’s welfare. I noticed you lost your friend.”
I try the dazzling smile, but it crashes and burns in the mounting pile of fails I’m accumulating.
“He’s a physician. He had to leave.”
“Just for that one reason I’ve decided not to become a doctor. I’d hate to ever have to walk away from you.”
“Listen, Sawyer. You’re awfully cute, you are. But I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman, and no insult intended, you’re still a boy.”
I stop our dance but only temporarily. Don’t want her to walk away.
“I’m wounded. Boy? I’m twenty-seven years old,” I say, hand to heart.
“It’s not your years I was referring to.”
That cuts deep. This woman needs a man who can’t be controlled by her strength. And more than that, she needs a man who values strength in their woman. Someone who can speak up for himself. Two alphas, man and woman, make an alpha pair. It’s either going to be heaven or hell.
“I’m no boy. Not even a little. If you knew me better you’d agree.”
“Are you referring to your nickname?”
“No ma’am. The Cannon is all about how I throw a pitch.”
“Ah huh. Sure it is,” she says with sarcasm. “And stop with the ma’am. Bristol. That’s my name.”
She looks at me with eyes like bluebonnets in a Texas field. There’s a dash of purple in there. They’re saying something that’s hard to decipher. It’s most likely fuck off. But I’m going to pretend it isn’t. So I let it be and dance.
The song changes to a slower beat and it literally feels like we’re floating. There’s nothing stiff about her. I’ve been told I’m a good lead. Soft but with intention. She’s good too, adapting easily to change in direction.
I’m about to compliment her when she speaks first.
“Don’t confuse a good dance partner with something more,” she says in all seriousness.
“I didn’t say a word. I’m too afraid you’re going to put me in the corner. Or spank me.”
That one gets a smile. She tilts her head and sizes me up before she speaks. It almost looks like she’s enjoying the banter.
“I’m not sure you’re afraid of anything.”
“Oh, you’d be wrong. I’m afraid of all kinds of things.”
“Name one.”
It doesn’t take more than a second to come up with my answer. The memory of one of my foster brothers putting one in my bed still haunts me.
“Snakes. They give me the willies.”
I spin her around in a smooth movement, and she doesn’t miss a beat. We look like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“My brother Atticus mentioned you the other day at my parents’ home. Said you had an interesting journey to the Mavericks.”
“Did you find it interesting?”
“As soon as they started talking baseball, I went in the other room to watch TV.”
My surprise is obvious. She grins with the telling.
“I’m sure your glorious rise to fame is fascinating, and your family must be so proud of their golden boy. But I’m just not a sports lover.”
Hope I’m not showing the gut-wrenching twist in my stomach.
“My family finds my tastes appalling too. You’re in good company,” she adds.
“You don’t like any sport?”
“Bowling. I’m a decent bowler.”
>
“Well, so am I. And you couldn’t be more wrong about me.”
“Maybe. I’ve been accused of jumping to conclusions. Let’s just have a nice dance Sawyer, and then I’m headed home.”
I consider asking about the absent boyfriend, but why bring him up? Instead I give my conversational skills another shot.
“You’re a good dancer.”
“Thank you.”
“I read an article that said the stages of a woman’s cycle affect her abilities on the dance floor.”
She squints her eyes, brings her eyebrows together and shakes her head in disbelief that I just brought up her menstrual cycle.
“It’s true. Your fertile stages express themselves in dance. I read it,” I explain. “It’s all about hip movement.”
“Where did you read that? Ridiculous Scientific Theories Magazine?”
“No. I’m a big reader. It was in Psychology Today Magazine. Don’t you think it’s interesting? We all could learn more about our bodies.”
Blue eyes look to the heavens and her hand waves my statement off.
As the music changes, she lets me know our time together is at an end.
“Thank you for the dance. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
But as she turns I catch her by the arm.
“Wait. A gentleman returns his partner to the table.”
“Oh my god,” she mumbles.
I place my hand softly against her back and guide her toward her seat.
“No. I’m going to my parents’ table.” She moves ahead of me.
Even better.
As we come closer the family is watching. I caught an eye roll from Bristol telling them I’m bothering her. Doesn’t she know the more she resists the more interesting she seems?