by Mignon Mykel
Twisting around, I look up to see deep chocolate eyes swimming with amusement peering down at me.
Brenner Manning.
He’s Alec’s teammate and the best shortstop in the league. He’s the real star of the Stingers.
“You okay, Lark?”
Shaking out the cobwebs, I smooth my palms down my dress. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks.” My legs wobble as he lets go of the hold he has on me.
“You sure? You seem a little unsteady.” Brenner’s arms cross over his broad chest. His muscles bulge under the fabric of his black T-shirt. Damn, he’s good looking.
Chiseled jaw, inky hair that falls perfectly above his thick dark brows, and I can’t even with his gorgeous lips. All six feet of him is insanely beautiful. He unconsciously flexes, and I stare at the veins and muscles running along his forearms.
“I’ll be fine. I just need some water.” I use my fingers to comb out my messy tangles.
He juts his chin. “I was just headed to the café up the block. You wanna come along?”
Curiosity gnaws at my brain. My mind says no, but my mouth has the opposite plan. “Sure.”
We trek along the sidewalk, and heat rushes down my spine like lava. Am I having a stroke? Heatstroke. It’s not even that hot out this morning. Drinking that much vodka wasn’t a good idea.
Brenner opens the door to the café, and the smell of coffee and bacon swirls up my nose.
“Brenner Manning, one of my favorite customers,” a woman calls out. Wiping her hands on a red towel, she rounds the long counter and greets Brenner with a warm hug.
She steps back to look at me. “And who is this young lady?” A twinkle sparks in her blue eyes, as she continues her inspection.
“This is Lark Saddler. She’s a beach volleyball player and a rising star.”
What the . . . he’s watched me play?
The white-hot lava twirling up my spine dips like a rollercoaster into my chest.
“This is my—”
“I’m Monika. Welcome to my place.”
“Nice to meet you, Monika.”
“You too, dear. Now, come sit.” She gestures to a booth in the corner. “I’ll bring the menus and coffee for you, Brenner. Lark, what can I get you?”
Brenner’s hand lands on the small of my back, propelling me forward. His hands on me make me feel more than I ever have when I’m with Alec. I feel more alive when I play volleyball than I do when Alec kisses me. Sad, really.
“I’ll take water for now.”
Monika smiles. “Sure thing.”
I scan the barely packed diner. No one seems to care that a celebrity sits among the crowd. Maybe they don’t watch baseball.
Monika rushes back with our drinks and places two menus in front of us. The chime above the door rings, and a large group of men walk inside.
Guzzling down half my glass of water, I read the menu.
“Thirsty, huh?” Brenner pins me with those brown eyes and gives me a wolfish grin.
“I think I had a little too much vodka last night,” I confess.
He taps his finger to the side of his mug. “Happens to the best of us.”
I grimace. “Yeah. I guess.”
“So, Alec,” he drawls out.
“Huh?”
“The entire team knows his rituals and superstitions . . . you’re his pre-game ritual.”
My cheeks flame with heat. “Maybe he’s my pre-game ritual. Did you ever think of that?”
He laughs and shoves a hand through his dark hair. “Hmm. And what’s that ritual done for your game?”
Before I can answer Brenner, Monika returns to take our order. He orders an omelet with white cheddar, avocados, sour cream, and jalapenos. I opt for a stack of pancakes and fresh fruit. The pancakes will soak up the alcohol, and the fruit will be good for hydration.
“So, tell me about the ritual?”
“Alec’s a decent lay.”
Cocking a brow, he leans closer to say, “And you’re okay with decent?”
“It’s better than not decent.”
A loud laugh explodes from his mouth as Brenner sits back into the booth. “When you’re ready for something more than decent, Lark, you let me know.”
Bam!
All my nerve endings light up and I don’t know which feeling is more powerful—shock or excitement.
There’s no point in denying the thought turns me on—more than it should.
But there are rumors about Brenner Manning. He excels at many things. Playing baseball is just the tip. He scores as much off the field as he does on it.
Bad boy. Player. Adrenaline junkie.
His name literally means: to burn.
This offer of his is tempting. But I’m with Alec. Besides, I was under the assumption that he’s dating Claire Delano. She’s a fashion model and just landed a major campaign with Max Moss.
Gotta shut this down.
“Wow, that’s forward. Not to mention, Alec’s your teammate. Don’t you have a bro code or a rule about hitting on your teammate’s . . . girlfriend?”
Brenner smirks. “Bro code, please. I don’t define myself as being a bro. So, no, I don’t follow the code. But I’ll be a gentleman.”
The intensity of his voice sends a swell of lust through my veins. My mouth goes as dry as the sand that blankets the coast.
Our food arrives, and I quickly dive into my pancakes. He sips his coffee and stares at me.
“What?” I finally blurt out and shake my head.
He runs his hand along his chin. “It’s just . . . you remind me of someone.”
“What? Who?”
He holds his gaze on me. “Me. You remind me of me.”
The words hang in the air, the tension crackles between us.
“I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve watched you play. You’re good. Great, as a matter of fact. You fight like hell out there. The passion. The concentration. We’re similar in that regard.”
The words echo with sincerity. I’ve watched this man play the game of baseball since he started his career. He’s a beast of an athlete, and he sees a similarity in my game?
This is Brenner Manning—All-Star player and AL Rookie of the Year. He’s one of a handful of players in Major League history to hit two grand slams in a single game.
No freaking way, I’m on the same talent level.
Maybe?
“Why aren’t you trying for the Olympics this year?”
I lift a shoulder. “My partner doesn’t think we’ll qualify.”
“Get a new partner. You’re too talented not to strive for more.” He takes a bite of his omelet, and I consider his words as I watch the tines of the fork pass between his lips.
Typically, I find it grating when someone tries to offer me unsolicited advice, but with Brenner, it’s different.
For the last three years on the AVP tour, we hadn’t finished the season in the top fifteen, ever. Considering I won defensive player of the year for the last three years, it makes zero sense.
Is he right?
“Don’t you want more?”
My fork cuts into the pancake, and I watch the butter slide onto the plate. Olympics? I guess I never thought about going to that level. Never thought we could beat the powerhouse teams. But maybe we can.
As far as my professional career, I’d been happy winning a tournament here and there. The money’s great, but I really didn’t need it thanks to my inheritance from my grandparents.
So, I haven’t pushed myself because I don’t need to?
I don’t lack motivation. Do I?
“Hey”—he places his large hand over mine—“if you want to be the best. Go watch the best. Learn. Practice. And then take it all.”
Brenner’s head tilts to the side for a beat too long, his gaze rests on me more tenderly than I expected. What is he doing to me?
He finishes his breakfast and wipes his mouth on the napkin. “I’ve gotta hit the gym. But this was nice.”
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Nice? Okay.
I reach for my wallet inside my purse.
Brenner stands. “No, this is my treat. I think you’re Olympics material, Lark. Think about it.”
I nod. “Thanks for breakfast, Brenner. I’ll give it some thought.”
“See ya around.”
He strides up to the counter and gives Monika a hug. After he pays, I watch him walk out the door and never look back.
1
Brenner
Present Day – July
They’ve done it! Landers and Saddler move to the next round of competition in the FIVB Beach Volleyball World Championships. What a story here today, a come from behind win for the Americans.
I smile and sip my beer.
Good girl.
It’s been a while since I’ve talked to Lark. I still think back to that day at the diner. If I’m being honest, I think about her a lot. Every time I think about reaching out to her, I remember that she’s not mine and once again swallow my feelings.
After our three-game sweep of the Rapid City Buffaloes, I was part of a six-player trade . . . hello, Chicago. Traded in my sunblock for a parka and relocated to the Windy City.
Three months later, my old teammate, Sanchez, drills a pitch and hits me square in the wrist. Clean break and I missed the rest of the season. Then I aggravated the damn thing during training camp and had to start the season on the disabled list. Things were never the same after that. Therapy and rehabilitation became my life. Then to make matters worse, my old back injury revealed its ugly head.
Once I completed my rehab, I signed a one-year deal with the Cannons and played a shaky, average season in Chicago. After we were eliminated from the playoffs, I had a tough conversation with my agent, and that led to me announcing my retirement.
This past March, I signed a one-day contract with the Los Angeles Stingers so I could retire as a member of my old team, the team where my career began.
And now, I’m an on-air commentator with Global Sports Net Inc. I miss the game. I do. But reporting isn’t a terrible job.
There are worse things in life.
I shrug into my suit jacket, straighten my tie. Sunday night, and I’m headed to the studios to wrap up the games of the day.
“God, I want to do that again.”
My eyes flick to the screen. Lark. Jesus. Drenched in sweat, light brown hair stuck to her cheeks, out of breath—she’s stunning. But I’ve pictured her flush and satiated in my dreams many nights. All because of my magnificent skills between the sheets.
She’s literally the one who got away. Of course, she was never mine to begin with.
“We battled back against a tough Brazilian team, but it’s just so crazy.”
“We set our expectations high as a team, Lark and I . . . and to just come out here and win. Ahhh!”
The camera cuts away to the crowd, and I flip the television off. I pull out my cuffs, so my sleeves are smooth in my suit. Opting for no tie tonight, so the collar is open.
As soon as I pick up my keys, my phone rings. A picture of my sister with her tongue out flashes on my screen.
“Why are you calling me at six o’clock? Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Calm down, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Rikki.”
“Do you have any plans? Did you do anything fun?”
“I worked out, had a beer, and now I’m off to work.”
She puffs out a breath. “Wow, big day. Don’t you have a lady friend to make you a cake or anything?”
“No. And I’m perfectly capable of making my own cake.”
“You’re gonna make someone a wonderful hubby someday.”
I snort. “Yeah, sure.”
My sister says nothing more on the subject. She’s happily married to her high school sweetheart with two kids and another one on the way. Not the life for me.
I’m too busy to settle down. Although, today isn’t the best example of my daily life.
“Uncle Brenner,” a squeaky voice booms out. “Are you coming home soon?”
I laugh. My nephew, Lucas, asks me this question every single time I talk to his mom.
“Hey, buddy, how are you doing?”
“I’m good. I hit the ball at the game today,” he singsongs with delight.
“I saw that. Your mom sent me the video.”
He’s got a heck of swing. Although he won’t inherit any of my genetic talents. Lucas’s success will be of his own making through hard work and practice.
Monika and Porter became my foster parents after my mom died in a car accident. I left the wreckage with barely a scratch. Porter was the policeman on duty that night and took me to the hospital.
One of his friends had been working in the emergency room that night. Thanks to some clever paperwork maneuvers, the doctors managed to keep me in the hospital for a week. Porter came to visit me every day, then Monika came with him.
My mom had just died, and I was all alone. I had no family. No clue where my dad was because I never met him. For as long as I’d been alive, it was just Mom and me. Until it wasn’t.
I don’t really remember how it all happened, but I remember Monika asking me if I’d want to be a part of their family.
And I said, yes.
After I hang up with Rikki and Lucas, I ride the elevator down to the parking garage and climb into my black Mercedes. The satellite radio pipes through the speakers and I crank up the volume. The nasal-toned voice shifts the topic to the Olympics.
“Gold medal buzz just keeps getting better and better for Team USA. In the world of beach volleyball today . . . how about the duo of Saddler and Landers?”
I ease out of the parking spot and navigate my way out of the garage.
“The next round will not be an easy one for the duo. Although given their hard-fought battle today, they could win it all. And then it will be on to the Olympics.”
The pair of voices continue to discuss how Lark and her partner, Holly, played today. Weaving through the heavy flow of traffic, I catch the smile on my face in the rearview mirror.
Jeez. You’d think I’d been the one who won today.
My winning days are long behind me. The only thing I can do now is hope for some interesting interviews and possibly my own show, Podcast, or something on the GSN Plus channel, I’m not picky.
“By the way things are shaping up, Saddler and Landers could face a feisty Dutch team next round. Let’s take this to social media. Are you surprised to see the American pair moving on? Tweet us your thoughts.”
I switch the station and continue the drive over to Pier 17. My cell rings, Mom’s name flashes across the screen.
A smile breaks across my face as I answer the call through the hands-free system of my SUV. “Hey there.”
“Happy birthday, son.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Did you have a good day?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I’m off to work now.”
The clanging of dishes and the din of voices in the background tell me she’s at the diner. “I’ve got your program all set to record, and I’ll watch when I get home.”
Ah, home. There are days when I miss the ocean breeze, the sound of waves crashing and, without a doubt, Mom’s cooking.
“Speaking of home,” she drawls out. “I’m trying to finalize the headcount for Anson’s wedding. Do you think you could give me an answer? Or at least drop that little RSVP card in the mail for your future sister-in-law?”
Anson, my little brother, is marrying Claire in August. I’m not on the best of terms with him. Although to be fair, he’s marrying my ex-girlfriend. It makes things slightly awkward. I’m happy for them, truly. Things between Claire and I ended a long time ago.
I blow out a deep breath. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“And really, honey, it’s no big deal if you don’t have a date. We have two tables filled with single people right now. And you know that Claire has lots of friends.”
Friends. I know all her friends. I have zero desire to date any of them. Although it’s been suggested that I turn the tables of awkward on the two of them. But I refuse.
I flick my turn signal and ease into the right lane. “Okay, Mom, I’ll get that card in the mail to Claire. I gotta go.”
“Well, okay, we miss you.”
“I miss you too. Thanks for calling me.”
I end the call with my mom and pull up to our valet service to park my car.
“Hey, Jonah, how are you?” I ask as I step out and hand him my keys.
“Just great, Brenner.” He bumps my fist. “Have a good night.”
“Will do, man.”
I walk into the building as my phone buzzes. A text flashes on the screen.
Anson: Hey, man! Happy birthday.
Mixed emotions tug at my heart.
I take the elevator up to the executive lounge. I’m about an hour early, but there’s plenty to do before we go live.
“Happy birthday, Brenner!” Kandace, my personal assistant, shouts as I step around the corner. She hands me a cupcake with a candle. “Make a wish.”
As cheesy and corny as it is, I make a wish.
“Thank you. You didn’t plan a bigger surprise, did you?”
A blush breaks across her neck, and she pushes her black-rimmed frames up her nose. “I didn’t, but they did.”
“And by they, you mean Nolan and Sebastian?”
She nods. “They’re in your office with a bottle of bourbon.” Kandace takes a step closer. “And there’s more.”
My eyes close as I let out a deep sigh. “What?”
Her voice drops an octave. “Brant’s here too.”
“What? No shit.”
She smiles and jabs a finger at my chest. “Now, you act surprised when you see them, got it?”
Nolan and I met at the ESPY’s a few years ago. He’s the GM for the New York Renegades. I’ve known Sebastian since college. And Brant was my financial advisor until his career plans shifted.
My hand clasps her shoulder. “No worries. I got this.”
I push the door to my office open, and I’m greeted by my three best friends. I’m a lucky bastard. That’s for sure.
An hour later, I’m sitting at one of the finest cigar clubs in New York City. Apparently, this little surprise has been in the works for weeks.
