Stealing Home

by Vera Roberts

  First, there was Brian, the real estate “mogul” who never had any money. Bobbi footed many of their dates as he got his real estate business started, which never went anywhere. Plus, the fact he was rather lame in bed, so it meant Bobbi had to do more work. She was left broke, and unsatisfied with a wet ass.

  Then, there was Jonathan, the alcoholic. Looked like Jon B. and could do an impersonation of him as long as he had three bottles of champagne beforehand. When he drank her mouthwash, however, Bobbi broke up with him.

  Lastly, there was Eddie, the scammer. Bobbi was lucky the only thing he managed to do was to scam her out of her panties but that was too much for her taste. He asked for a thousand dollars under circumstances that screamed bullshit.

  So, maybe Sarah had a point. Maybe Bobbi’s tastes in men really did suck. “I don’t know anyone but you and Jameson here in L.A.”

  “Well, maybe that’s a great thing. This will encourage you to go out. Like starting tonight.” Sarah suggested. “I’ll call up Syd and see if she’s free and the three of us can go out.” Sarah patted her sister’s leg. “Rest up. I’m getting you drunk tonight.” She left the room.

  “But I have a meeting tomorrow!” Bobbi called out. She sighed and laid down on the bed. Maybe she needed to get drunk to celebrate starting a new chapter in her life. And just maybe…she needed to drink her horrible luck with men out of her system.

  ~~~~~

  “Unbelievable.”

  “What’s so unbelievable, man?” Xavier Morgan asked as he sat near his best friend as he played Red Dead Redemption on his sofa. Xavier was a baseball player for the Dodgers and relished in his role as the bad boy on the field.

  He had dirty blond hair, menacing hazel eyes, and sharp cheekbones that always seemed to give him a sour pout. The ladies noticed how he had kissable lips. Xavier often played up their fascination with them.

  With four-carat diamond studs in his ears to match the tattoos that covered his arms and chest, Xavier personified what it meant to be a badass. Stories of his various dalliances with groupies and generosity with strippers showed he wasn’t too proud to beg, no matter how plastic and silicone the potential paramour was.

  He also made a strict point to every woman who was lucky enough to be in his presence – as long she didn’t start sounding her name with his, made registry arrangements, and the big one – talk about him to her parents – he was more than happy to break her off for the night.

  “This chick I went out with the other night,” Quinn showed Xavier his phone. Xavier raised an eyebrow as he read the IG caption.

  “I went out with the most amazing man the other night!” Xavier pitched his voice to sound like a shrill. “And omgggggg, ladies!!!! I think he might be the one! ” He went back to playing his game. “You fucked her that good, huh?”

  “I didn’t sleep with her at all,” Quinn quipped, “I took her out, paid for the meal, kissed her, and that’s it.” He glanced down at the phone again. The girl even tagged “I Only Run To You” by Whitney Houston in the post. Who in the hell does that?

  “You must have the lips of an angel, my dear.” Xavier snickered as Quinn flipped him off. “Hey, I told you to just fuck her and forget it. You didn’t have to go all Kevin Costner to Whitney Houston now.”

  “I didn’t,” Quinn defended, and tossed his phone aside. “I just…I took your advice and got on that Swipe! dating site and the first girl I chose couldn’t stop talking about how she was my biggest fan and blah blah blah. It was like that movie, “Coming to America.” Whatever I liked, so did she. Whatever music I listened to, so did she.”

  “You should’ve made her bark like a dog,” Xavier snickered, “and then tape for it so I could’ve put it on Instagram.”

  “I’m sure your biggest fan, Starr Ellison, would’ve liked that.” Quinn blew his best friend a kiss.

  Xavier shook his head. Starr Ellison was a world-renowned feminist and even in her old age, she still had plenty to say about the current state of affairs. When Xavier posted a photo of a woman bending over backwards and asked his audience if they would pull out, Starr ripped him a new one that went viral.

  Xavier was always the type to respect his elders but he had a special place in hell for Starr. “I hate that bitch, oh my God. Every time I breathe, she’s on my ass. I love her sons, don’t get me wrong. But her? I know they say you wouldn’t push an old lady down a flight of stairs but with her, I would have to seriously consider that.”

  “What am I going to do?” Quinn ignored the last sentence for the sake of his sanity. “I don’t even have her number anymore. I had fun with her but not fun enough to see her again.”

  “Then problem solved, my friend.” Xavier got up and walked to the kitchen. “You won’t see her again and that’s that. Let her have her fantasy with her IG followers. No one will ever know it’s you.”

  “Until she outs me.” Quinn added.

  “And that’s your problem not mine,” Morgan shrugged.

  “You’re such a great best friend.” Quinn replied as Morgan blew him a kiss. “Man, what am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to go out, have some fun tonight, and onto the next one.” Morgan suggested. “And then you’ll forget about all of this. We’re going to start a new season soon and people want you healthy and ready to win another World Series. You don’t need to be distracted with the bullshit about some female. Let her have her fantasy while you have the championship.” Morgan got up and stretched. He headed towards the bathroom. “You don’t need to worry about any female, man.” He hollered back.

  Quinn admitted his best friend was right. He didn’t need to worry about a woman when he had the potential of scoring a back-to-back championship with the team. Baseball never let him down, though plenty of relationships have.

  It’s why he got into sports to begin with – to get better at meeting girls and not be so awkward. He was sure his anxiety played a part in his lack of serious relationships and if Quinn tried hard enough, he could probably count all of the relationships he’s ever had on one hand.

  The number of sexual partners, however, was significantly higher.

  Despite the number of women who gave him the blessing of opening their legs, Quinn couldn’t say he loved any of them. He wasn’t a cad like his best friend, Xavier, but he didn’t think every woman was going to go out and buy him Lego sets and massage his arm.

  He also knew if he was broke with five dollars to his name, no woman would even entertain his silly ass. The magic of money often made a difference in how a person treated another.

  On the diamond, however, Quinn was a beast. His 24-year-old arm didn’t show signs of slowing down anytime soon as he averaged 90 mph. No batter could ever prepare for him and he was notorious to switch it up and create new pitches just to psyche out his opponents.

  He was called “The Answer” due to a now-infamous interview response:

  “When the batter steps up to that plate, they ask me a question. They never mouth it, they never actually say it, but they do suggestive things like point their bat to the sky behind me, or give me a wink. You know what that question is? Do you think you’re going to strike me out? And of course, I always give them a deafening answer.”

  Quinn sighed and shook his head. Maybe Xavier was right; he needed to go out, have some fun, and maybe get lucky. And maybe if he met a good girl, she wouldn’t go on Instagram and belt her favorite Whitney Houston song after the experience.

  Two

  “I always wondered what in the blue hell Christie Brinkley saw in Billy Joel?” Sarah commented as they were at a bar. “Uptown Girl” played overhead. “Like how does a supermodel date one of the homeliest looking musicians on the planet?”

  “He’s a great piano player and he’s great with his fingers,” Sydney Winchester commented. She was a biracial woman with light almond skin, and dark auburn hair. She was married to famed hockey player, Dean Winchester, and was a world-renowned artist of her own right. “Enough said.
”

  “Yeah, but she still has to face him in the morning, though.” Sarah replied. “I mean, he can be great all he want in the dark but when those lights come on, girl…”

  “Stop being so superficial!” Sydney chided. “You always had an air about yourself that a man could only do X, Y, and Z.”

  “And I stuck to those standards and Jameson came along at the right time.” Sarah nodded. “I can deal with him losing teeth. It doesn’t take away from the fact he has a big dick and is loaded.”

  “For better or worse, huh?” Bobbi shook her head.

  “Damn straight.” Sarah sipped her beer. “You don’t need to use your teeth when your tongue works just fine.”

  Sydney almost spit out her beer while Bobbi clasped a hand over her mouth. “Why do I take you anywhere?” Sydney shook her head.

  “Because you love me,” Sarah stuck out her tongue.

  Sydney turned to Bobbi. “Was she always like this growing up?”

  “Yep.” Bobbi concurred. “Not a second less.”

  “Wow.” Sydney shook her head. She couldn’t imagine the constant one-liners Sarah had growing up. It must’ve been a constant laugh riot. “Never a dull moment.”

  “Got that right.” Bobbi checked her phone again. No word from her online paramour. She sighed and slid the phone to the side.

  “Honey, he ain’t gon call.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “I told you the moment you moved, he was going to act like you were a distant memory.”

  “Maybe he’s just busy.” Bobbi bit the inside of her cheek. “The time difference, you know?”

  “Girl, when Jameson went to see his family in Italy, he called me every day.” Sarah dismissed her sister. “Don’t give me that crap. If a man really cares, he’ll find a way to show it. If he wanted to, he would’ve.”

  “Sarah has a point, Bobbi.” Sydney conceded. “I’ve been in one too many failed and stupid relationships in the past to know when a guy cares and when you’re just there for convenience.”

  “We haven’t even done anything for there to be a convenience of.” Bobbi was low-key glad nothing romantic had transpired. Then she would really look like Boo-Boo The Fool. “I just thought…hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

  “You were lonely and there was this cute dude – or maybe someone else’s cute dude – and he gave you the attention you wanted.” Sarah replied. “There’s nothing wrong with that but you have to keep it real, though. He’s in Scotland, honey. You’re here in L.A. Unless he was moving here, it wasn’t going to work out.”

  “Geez, I wasn’t planning on having his babies with a picket fence and all.” Bobbi defended. “He gave me attention and I wanted it.”

  “And now he’s moved on and so should you.” Sarah noticed a guy in a low pulled-over baseball cap with beard. “And he’s been staring at you like a cat who’s tired of your shit but still loves you.”

  “Is that a compliment?” Sydney turned towards her friend.

  “Come on, Syd.” Sarah got up and Sydney followed. “Let’s go play some billiards and let this dude holler at Bobbi.”

  “What?” Bobbi glanced down at her attire. She wore jeans, Adidas and a tank top. She was bar-appropriate but not necessarily date-appropriate. Wait. What date?

  “Have fun,” Sarah patted her sister’s shoulder. “If he gets too fresh, just punch him in the dick hole.”

  “Oh, great.” Bobbi sipped her daiquiri. “Thanks for the advice.” She watched the women walk away.

  ~~~~~~

  “You ready for the new season, rookie?” The barkeep slid a beer to Quinn. She was a tatted-up woman with dirty blonde hair and a curious septum piercing.

  Quinn shrugged. He went to the Spinning Head bar to relax and be in somewhat anonymity. Even those who knew who he was, they were respectful enough not to bother him for a photograph or conversation. It was one of the things he loved about Manhattan Beach. He could go anywhere in the city and very few people would gawk or bother him. “I hope so. We won last year but everyone is expecting a repeat.”

  “As long as you keep that arm healthy, you’ll have no problem, kid.” She tapped the bar before she moved onto another customer.

  “As long as I keep this arm healthy,” Quinn muttered. It was something he’s heard since Little League. It was something he’s heard since middle school. It was something he’s heard since high school.

  Sometimes, his arm was the healthiest part on his body. And sometimes, he could barely move it. The Dodgers management promised a new physical therapist that was nothing short of a miracle worker and Quinn only hoped the new person knew what they were doing.

  If that person didn’t know what they were doing, Quinn was potentially facing his final season not only as a Dodger, but also as a MLB pitcher.

  Quinn couldn’t worry about any of that. He saw one of the most beautiful women sit a small distance away from him. Her friends conveniently left her alone and it was his time to make some conversation.

  And forget about his wonky arm.

  ~~~~~~

  “You look miserable.”

  Bobbi has heard some interesting pick-up lines in her lifetime. The corny one-liners that came straight outta Corny R’ Us manufacturing company to the ones that only a five-year-old would’ve came up with. Maybe the five-year-old was smarter than the grown-ass man next to her.

  She sipped her strawberry daiquiri and smiled to herself. First night in L.A., and she was already hit on. She considered herself blessed. Some women don’t even get a nod and she had a man laying his best cheesy lines on her.

  It was a long cry from San Francisco. She didn’t know if the man was gay, metrosexual, or had an extreme case of toxic masculinity. With Bobbi, she had run into all three at different points of her life. She was rather accustomed to douchebags.

  Fuck it, she thought. He could buy her a drink. She turned towards him and swallowed. His sculpted face was christened by only the Lord Himself. Crisp blue eyes. Chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw line that hid under a light beard and mustache.

  His body was muscular and he fit his simple attire of a t-shirt and jeans very well. Or really, the clothes wore him. His cologne was already mesmerizing with woodsy notes and just plain masculinity.

  Maybe on another thought, she didn’t mind the stranger’s corny, cheese ball pickup lines after all. “Is that so?”

  Quinn kept a respectable distance from Bobbi as he admired her warm, hazelnut skin, shimmery brown eyes, and long auburn hair. Her full lips were dusted with a light pink color. Her cheeks were round, but not full.

  Thick. That’s what she was. The mysterious woman was thick. Not boy-shaped, and not boxy-shaped. She was rather…perfect.

  Damn, she was gorgeous. Heart stopping beautiful. He already knew she was going to be Mrs. Quinn Riordan, someway somehow.

  Quinn did a quick glance at Bobbi’s finger to see any sign of a ring. No jewelry and no tan line. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. Seeing the younger woman was alone, he was going to take his chances.

  The worst thing he could tell her was no. “Can I cheer you up?”

  Bobbi slightly nodded to the empty seat next to her and Quinn helped himself. The barkeep immediately served a beer to him. A server came by with a small menu of appetizers a short time later.

  “Did you see anything you like to eat?” He perused over the menu.

  Oh, it was a date? No man was that generous to buy Bobbi something without expecting her bent over in return. “I don’t even know your name, dude.”

  “Quinn,” he glanced up and locked eyes with her.

  “Bobbi.” She replied and they shook hands.

  “Bobbi as in Bobby Brown, the singer?”

  “Bobbi as in Bobbi Brown, the cosmetics.” She grinned.

  Quinn shook his head. Her smile was charming. All of her teeth showed and most importantly, it was authentic. “You’re too fine to look like a Roberta.”

  “Which is why I go by Bobbi,” she giggled.

>   Bobbi’s giggle was already infectious. “So, do you see anything you want to eat?”

  “Um,” she leaned over and immediately regretted it. Quinn’s cologne wafted in her nose. She felt a familiar dampness in her panties she’d long forgotten about. “I have a bit of money so I can get the chicken wings.”

  “I’ll get your food, Bobbi,” Quinn answered, “and your drinks.”

  “Oh, you’re smooth.” Bobbi acknowledged. “And what do you expect in return? I know you’re expecting something so might as well get it all out in the open now.”

  “Company,” Quinn added to Bobbi’s raised eyebrow, “just company. No sex, and you don’t even need to kiss me. I just want some company tonight in the form of a beautiful woman.”

  “Well, I can’t argue that.” Bobbi agreed. “In that case, I’ll get the wings, and potato skins.”

  “And I’ll get the spinach dip.” Quinn added. The server came by again to take the order and quickly left. He sipped his beer and looked at the sports replays. Baseball workouts were about to start and Quinn already felt the pressure on him.

  His rookie year crushed all expectations and he led the Dodgers to their first World Series title in over 30 years. His second year was just a repeat of the first. Now people had become comfortable with winning.

  Quinn didn’t mind that part. Who didn’t love to win? He did mind, however, the unreasonable expectation of always winning. If he had a bad game, he was slipping. If he had an amazing game, it was expected.

  He loved baseball, but the expectations of always being on his best game were a bit unbearable. The fans and critics both knew about the grueling baseball schedule yet, the expectations remained higher than ever.

  If Quinn wasn’t perfect, he would have to be discarded. It was a reason he kept his condition a closely guarded secret.

  He turned to Bobbi, who was sipping her drink while she hummed along to an NSYNC song. He studied her features and determined it wasn’t a chance meeting but her face looked awfully familiar. It was their first time meeting and he couldn’t figure out where.