Check Swing (Callahan Family Book 3)

by Carrie Aarons

  I try to stand up straight, look less suspicious, but my eyes are still shifty. “No. Just … my coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.”

  He eyes me like he sees through me. “Yeah, all right. You’re acting weird. But you don’t have to share. Hey, did you make that tamale recipe I gave you yet?”

  No signs of Sinclair in my peripherals, so I stop for some chitchat. “Not yet, I really need to get on it. I’ve just been busy here.”

  “I’ve noticed. You’re usually the first one in, last one out. That’s true work ethic, Frankie. Though, I always knew that about you.”

  I blush. “Thanks, Jorge. Hey, what’re you hearing around here?”

  He shrugs, but I know he’s got the undercurrent of gossip. “They’re saying you’re doing a good job. I’ve heard a few of these pendejos say something about you being a woman, but don’t listen to that bullshit. Just keep killing it, and no one can say shit.”

  His insight always makes me feel better. “And you? How are you doing?”

  Jorge rubs his back. “Mija, I’m old. Older than this stadium. But my old ass keeps on chugging.”

  That wasn’t false; he was older than the stadium. It had been built only ten years earlier.

  I gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “You need something, you tell me. All right, I’ve got to go. That work ethic calls.”

  With a final wink from my friend, I’m off.

  I’m due on the field for an outfielder’s training session. We’re going to be using the tires, ropes, and agility ladder out there. It’s a special routine I’ve developed for the players who can allow for a little bulk in the game of baseball. You have to train exactly the right muscle groups per position because each one on the field called for a different skill set.

  My sneakers turn in that direction and no sooner do I spot the guy who was screwing my brains out no more than three nights ago.

  Sinclair is standing just feet away, looking like sex on a stick. I swear, even in a dorky Pistons polo, the man sizzles. His dark hair is tousled and damp still, like he only got out of the shower a little while ago and ran those thick fingers through the locks.

  His mouth lifts up in a cocky grin, one that clearly indicates he’s seen me naked. Annoyance and lust flutter down my spine in a frustrating combination.

  I have to walk past him to get to the field, and yet I hesitate. I’m not a person who hesitates. I’m focused, driven, and usually, nothing stands in my way. It pisses me off that this guy could make me feel that, especially in my domain.

  Putting my blinders on, I march his way and past him without sparing him a glance.

  Entering one of the tunnels that leads to the field, I hear footsteps echoing behind me.

  “Don’t make me chase you. I don’t chase.” I hear that smooth, deep voice.

  But I don’t stop walking. If I can pretend it never happened, if I can avoid him, maybe this freaking gnat invading my workspace will go away.

  “Francesca.” His voice is a warning, and that’s the thing that stops me in my tracks.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Sinclair sound controlling or serious. And it’s seriously hot.

  I wait for him to come to me, to walk around and face me. I won’t be the one bending.

  “What do you want?” I ask, an edge to my voice that I cringe at.

  I wanted to appear composed, and here I am sounding like a sulky teenager, running off at the first sign of his presence.

  “I just wanted to say good morning.” His smirk says anything but, and a dimple I hadn’t noticed until now pops out on his left cheek.

  It makes my core blush with more attraction.

  “Sure you did.” I slant an eyebrow at him.

  “What? Can’t two coworkers have a friendly conversation?” Though he steps into me, way too flirty for this to be a friendly conversation.

  God, he’s infuriating.

  “This is my workplace, Sinclair. This is my domain, and I’m the boss. I don’t need my personal life coming here, mocking me. It was a one-time thing. If you tell anyone, if you use this to make me look—”

  “Francesca.” He holds a hand up to stop me and uses my full name. “We had sex. Stop being such a girl about it. I had fun. I want to do it again, if you’d like to. I’m not asking you to date me. Hell, neither of us want that, let’s be serious. And I would never tell anyone what we did. I’m not that guy. I know how much of a boss you are, it’s what makes me so attracted to you. But the other night was great. I want to do it again. No strings. So, think about it.”

  And just like that, he walks off in the direction of wherever he’s shooting today.

  Dammit, if I’m not absolutely smitten with the man. Because he said exactly the right thing, the perfect proposition to keep me interested with no ties at the same time.

  Sinclair is trouble, that’s for sure. Just the kind of trouble I want to try several times before I know better.

  7

  Sinclair

  Two nights later, I just happen to wander back to Eddie’s, the bar on the beach near Frankie’s apartment.

  And she just happens to stroll in.

  Then we just happen to sit next to each other at the bar.

  The whole thing is a charade, one we know is a formality. Before she could even order her first drink, I raised an eyebrow at her, and she was taking my hand, pulling me down the crowded Fort Myers main drag and back up to her apartment.

  She rode me on her couch, my face buried in her tits, the sounds of her raspy moans filling my ears. Fuck, I could get hard just thinking about it, and I’m sitting here in front of Colleen, in her Florida office.

  “Sin? Are you even listening to me?” My cousin’s face floats back into view as she snaps her fingers at the same time.

  Coll is my older cousin, the general manager of the Packton Pistons, and an all-around badass. Though she’s completely humble about it.

  I tear my eyes from the plate glass window of her office, the one that forms the entire back wall and looks down onto the spring training stadium. Her officer here pretty much resembles her one at home in Packton, and it’s distracting. Maybe it’s a power move my uncle Jimmy put into place because that seems like him.

  Colleen’s father, my dad’s brother, went to jail a few years ago for basically bribing and blackmailing half the major league teams. He swindled, stole, and did a lot of illegal shit. He’s still in prison, and the Piston name isn’t fully cleared, but my cousin is doing a fantastic job of getting the club back on track.

  “Where is Hayes? Why didn’t he come down? He’s much more fun than you,” I say, referring to her now-retired baseball player fiancé.

  She rolls her eyes. “Hayes puts up with your shit about as much as I do, so don’t try to avoid the subject. How is the job going?”

  I let out a sigh. “You’re not my mother, you know. She’s on my back about as much as you, so I don’t need two guilt trips. And Dad is laying it on thick as well. Can you all just chill?”

  “We want you to do well. We want you to be happy, take pride in your work.” Colleen gives me a guilty smirk.

  “I like it, so far. I mean, they all know I’m some trust fund brat, but I like the work.” My gaze falls to my shoes.

  Coll comes around the desk to sit in the plush leather chair identical to the one I’m sitting in. “I know a little bit about what it feels like to be judged. Hell, I’m the first female general manager of this team. I’m the daughter of their heir, the bad guy. I know what it’s like for people to think you haven’t worked for anything, or that you’ll quit when it gets too hard. You’re not the only one in this family who got slapped with that stigma since the day you were born.”

  “No, I’m just the one who followed through on it,” I quip, wringing my hands.

  She places a hand on my shoulder. “And you’re still young. Hell, I’m still young. We have all the time in the world to prove people wrong. Look at what you’ve accomplished in the past year, Sin. I don’
t have to tell you that a lot of people thought you’d relapse. And you proved them wrong.”

  Colleen makes it sound so easy. This last year has been hell on earth. I’ve wanted to drink every day, multiple times a day. You know how they say men think about sex every two seconds? Yeah, I do. But I also think about having a drink every two seconds. I’m a fucking textbook addict.

  And she has been able to prove everyone wrong because she’s worked like a dog to do so. She never quits, doesn’t fall back on our money, keeps her personal life tidy and private. Well, except for the whole dating one of her players thing.

  But me? I’ve quit so many times, I can’t even count them on two hands. I’ve let down so many people, especially my family. But it’s not like Nick and his crew of guys even know how badly I’ve fucked up. They just judged me from the onset because I’m a Callahan.

  Plus, Colleen doesn’t have to compete with her own mind turning against her. She doesn’t know what it’s like living with something that automatically puts you a leg back every time.

  “Yeah, well. Anyway, how long are you down here?”

  She and Walker had come in on the family plane last night. The players were all here, too, since the first spring training game is next week. The video production team has been working overtime, and like I told Colleen, I rather liked my new job. Especially the interview segments.

  “I’ll be here until next week. I’m staying in one of the guest houses. We should have dinner.”

  “That sounds good.” I rise, checking my watch. “I have a video shoot in ten. Clark is being interviewed.”

  I’m referring to one of my brother’s best friends and the team’s best reliever, Clark.

  “All right, tell him I say hi. Talk to you later.” She stands too, moving back around the other side of the desk and picking up a stack of papers.

  Five minutes later, I’m down in the bullpen, a flurry of activity swirling around Clark. He sits there, looking smug as usual and comfortable in his practice uniform.

  “Dammit Sinclair, you gave me the wrong cable!” Nick yells.

  “No, that’s the twelve foot …” I swear I gave him the right one.

  “No, this is the twenty-one foot. I’m going to be tripping over this if I take it around this bullpen.” He looks at me like I’m some kind of moron.

  My stomach drops, my eyes fall to my feet, and I do … I feel like the biggest moron in the world. It’s all I can do to bend down, retrieve the other cable, hand it to Nick, and then not run in the other direction. When I look up to meet his eyes, I’m faced with the look I’ve been getting all my life.

  One of confusion, mixed with disdain, as if to say, are you a complete idiot? At least, that’s how anyone who doesn’t know what I suffer from looks at me.

  Dyslexia.

  I remember the day my parents came in to talk to me about that funny sounding word, the one my teacher had used with them. Basically, it means I can’t read numbers straight, or I mix them up. With letters, I seem to do fine, but numbers? I was hopeless for a very long time. I still have a lot of slips, mostly because I never put the work in to be better about it. My parents spared no expense with tutors and lessons on how to combat my dyslexia. You name it, they paid for it.

  But when you already feel dumb as a brick, you might as well own it. It’s fitting that I am the one with the learning handicap. The second brother, the overlooked child, never the heir to the family throne. I was saddled with the problems Walker never had to struggle against.

  It’s why I’ve spent so much of my life falling back on my trust fund. Why even start the rat race when you can’t read the goddamn street signs? I was born with a boot on my tire, for all intents and purposes, and there was no use trying to overcome it. I had money; I had mansions; I had parties. What more could I ask for?

  Now that I am really dedicating myself, now that I’ve exhausted that lackadaisical way of life, I could see how wrong I’d been. And how much those years of being useless set me back. It’s almost too late for me, especially now if Nick decides I’m too dumb to put over not pissing off the owner of the team.

  But there’s a spark of hope inside me that had never burned there before. Just a little kindling of determination, I could stoke it and really make something of myself.

  Like Colleen had said, I could prove them wrong.

  If I could just swallow the knot of embarrassment, of feeling like the dimmest bulb in the room, I could really make something of myself.

  8

  Frankie

  “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  Colleen Callahan is the picture of grace, wealth, and professionalism. She looks like a badass bitch sitting in her stark white high back office chair, with her cowl neck sleeveless sweater and red-bottomed heels.

  I may not want to wear the expensive clothes and have to sit in boring meetings all day, but this woman embodies everything I want to be. She is a female in a position of authority, everyone listens to her, she calls the shots.

  I’ve been doing really well here in my new position, but I want to take it further. I don’t want to just be a strength coach with minor league players or during spring training. I want to be the head coach at a major league ballpark, at the very top.

  “So nice to see you, too. I can’t thank you enough for offering me the job.” I let go of her hand, the one I just shook.

  She’s been here for about a week now, and when she called me up for a meeting in her office, I was nervous. Is this just a formality? Is it a performance review? I guess I’m going to find out.

  “Well, you don’t need to thank me. Your work is speaking for itself. The guys have been reporting just how much stronger they feel, how well you work with them. I’ve never regretted my decision for a second. And it’s not because you are a female that you got the job, but it does make me happy to have another strong female in a power position here.”

  Internally, I breathe a sigh of relief and shoot her straight.

  “Well, a lot of others have passed me over. I truly thank you for thinking that way,” I say again because it’s true.

  “Are you enjoying it? The position?” Colleen asks, walking around her desk.

  “Immensely.” I nod. “Especially working with the major league guys who flew in this week. It feels like, excuse my pun, a whole other ball game.”

  Colleen chuckles lightly, her perfectly coiffed hair falling over one shoulder. She’s the type of pretty every female wants to be. The slim, girl-next-door type who looks catalog-perfect in Ann Taylor sweaters or jeans and a pair of white Keds.

  Not to say that I’m unattractive, because I know the effect I have on men, but I possess a different kind of beauty. I’ve always had curves, having grown into my boobs in the fifth grade way before most of my classmates. I have an ass I’ve honed in the gym. My features are more in-your-face, more obvious than Colleen’s pretty, tasteful bone structure. I’ve got the wild hair and the exotic eyes. I can rock with what my mama gave me, but sometimes I envy the classic beauty that the woman sitting in front of me was blessed with.

  “I’d like to buy you a drink while I’m here, woman to woman. I know how tough it is to exist in a man’s world, especially when you’re in a sport exclusively played by men. How does a glass of wine sound?”

  “Make it a tequila and I’m in.” I smile at her.

  I don’t know very much about her, but Colleen seems cool. And what the heck, I don’t have a lot of friends. She might be my boss, but we could have a good time.

  “Only if it’s good tequila. Which sounds bougie coming from me, but it’s a must.”

  “Jose Cuervo or bust. Or Don Julio, if I’m feeling extra spendy.”

  “Don Julio it is, my treat.” She clasps her hands together.

  “Well, I have an arms training session with the pitchers, so I better get down there.”

  “Whip them into shape, will you? We need some great pitching this season.”

  I salute. “I’ll try
my best.”

  After leaving her office, I’m walking toward the weight room for the session when I spot Sinclair across a crowded part of the building.

  He lifts an eyebrow in my direction, and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. God, that action alone has my panties flooding with wetness.

  Sinclair and I have been sleeping together for two weeks now. Not every night, but mostly every night. He showed up at Eddie’s after that first time, and I knew before my ass even touched the rickety old barstool in its shade of peach that I’d be taking him upstairs to my place.

  After that, things just kind of happened. We exchanged numbers. He booty called me two days after the second time. And pretty much every night since, he’s come over to get naked.

  We would have spectacular, earth-shattering sex, and then I’d crack a beer from my fridge while he put his pants back on and stroll out the door whistling. Neither of us wanted more, nobody needed to cuddle or spend the night, and we didn’t talk while we were in the confines of the Pistons building.

  It was the best kind of booty call and the perfect way to end my days.

  I tip my lips up in a half-smile, acknowledging him, and then get on my way. He’s not a boyfriend, and he’s not even really a friend; I’m not going to stop and dillydally for him when I have a job to do.

  Walking into the weight room, most of the pitching lineup is already here. There is Garcia Nova, the new starter that we acquired from Philly. Clark, the reliever who I know is close with Walker Callahan, the family’s star player. Jason Yardley, the clinch closer who got us out of a lot of jams last year. Then there’s Garrett Chester, the new rookie with the arm like a rocket.

  They all have their own strengths, their own problems, and things they need to work on. But they’re pitchers, the most prideful of the bunch. It’s a little trickier to get through to them on the way they should be conditioning their arms.