She takes a step closer and laughs. It’s one of those playful, slightly husky laughs girls do that don’t sound genuine.
Another step closer, our feet now touching.
Her fingers trail along the arm I have outstretched against the shelving. “I haven’t seen you on the field lately, though.” Her lips jut out in a frown. “What gives?”
I gnash my teeth together, jaw clenching tightly at the inquisition.
It’s true, I’m taking some time off from the game—but not by choice, just so we’re clear.
You get into one little bar fight, cause a measly couple thousand dollars’ worth of damage, and suddenly you’re “troubled” and “need a break”.
It’s bullshit.
“None of your business.”
She either doesn’t hear the bite in my tone or chooses to ignore it.
“It’s a shame, so much talent being wasted. But…” Her eyes flick to mine, another grin dancing on her lips.
They’re plump, kissable. I bet they’d look even better wrapped around my cock.
Based off the pulsing Shep Jr. does at the idea, I’d say he agrees.
She pushes onto her tiptoes, bringing her mouth to my ear. “Baseball isn’t the only thing you’re talented at, right?”
Fuck no, it isn’t.
I slide an arm around her waist, pulling her tight little body against mine.
She purrs—literally fucking purrs like a cat—at the move. I want to shove her away for that alone, but honestly, my dick is lonely.
“How about we get out of here?”
She giggles. “I’d like that, baby.”
Baby.
I stifle my groan at the pet name. I fucking hate pet names. To try to get myself in the mood a little more, I run my nose along her jaw, and she giggles.
I also hate giggling.
Good thing sex doesn’t have to involve talking. It’ll be a whole lot of moaning and orgasms, just like I like it.
“I know a—”
“Really, universe? Really?”
The words are muttered, but there’s no denying who is standing behind me, her cart mere inches from ramming into the back of me, and I’m sure that’s entirely on purpose.
My chest feels like it’s about to explode. It always does when she’s around.
It doesn’t matter the situation, doesn’t matter what insults she’s hurling my way—anytime Denver Andrews is near me, my attention is solely hers.
Like now.
Stripper Brandi doesn’t notice her, or the change in my demeanor. She continues to try to paw at me while I work to disentangle myself from her grasp, trying to escape because whatever this was going to be isn’t going to happen. I’ve lost all interest in going home with her.
Especially now that I’m reminded there’s so much more out there for me.
Like Denver.
The only good thing to come from my…leave of absence from baseball is coming back home. I knew Denver didn’t move after graduation, knew she’d still be here…knew we’d eventually run into one another.
I was counting on it, actually.
I have a lot to make up for, especially to Denny. I planned to seek her out, get her to forgive me—I just didn’t realize I’d be starting my I’m sorry for sucking so much ass apology tour tonight.
“Can you not have sex in the middle of the grocery store? It’s disgusting.”
I grin and spin toward the intruder, still holding on to Stripper Brandi for show.
“Is that jealousy I detect, Denver?”
“Your name is Denver? Like the state?”
Holy fuck. My standards are shit.
I drop my arm from around Stripper Brandi’s waist and take a step away from the stupidity, unable to handle it any longer.
“Look, Brandi with an I, it’s not gonna happen tonight.”
Harsh? Possibly, but I’ve done this enough times to know getting straight to the point is the only way I’ll be able to get a girl like Brandi to back off.
Her mouth falls open. She quickly slams it shut and rolls her shoulders back. “She can join. I don’t mind.”
“While that’s a lovely offer, Brenda,” Denver says, butchering her name on purpose, “that would be a hard pass from me. I’d rather peel my own toenails off than ever—and I mean ever—see Shep naked.”
I smirk at the vivid imagery. “Now, now, Denny, we both know the lie detector would determine that’s a lie.”
“You wish it was a lie, Slug.”
I grunt in distaste at the nickname, because she of all people knows how much I hate it, and I know what it means when she uses it.
“What are you even doing here, Andrews?”
“Grocery shopping. This is the grocery store, isn’t it? That’s what you’re supposed to do here—not other people.”
Stripper Brandi gasps at Denny’s words, and I can’t help but laugh.
She always did get right to the point. There was never any pussyfooting around with her, and it’s something I’ve always loved about her, even when I was supposed to be hating her.
“You have a point there,” I concede.
“She does?”
“She does,” Denny tells my…well, whatever Brandi is. Potential hook-up? Ex potential hook-up?
“Listen, Strip”—I catch myself at the last moment—“Brandi, like I said, it’s not going to work tonight.”
Her lips fall into a pout. Suddenly they don’t look as kissable as they once did.
And it’s all fucking Denny’s fault.
I glance over and can’t help but compare her to the girl I had plans to use as a distraction tonight.
It’s late, and we’re at the grocery store, yet Stripper Brandi is dressed to impress, right down to the studded boots on her feet.
Denny…well, she’s dressed all right, but it’s clear she isn’t trying to impress anyone with what she’s wearing.
She’s clad in bright teal yoga pants and a soft gray sweater hanging off one shoulder. Her dark hair is twisted into a messy knot, not an ounce of makeup is on her face, and with the way I can see her nipples straining against the thin cotton of her sweater, I’m fairly certain she isn’t wearing a bra either…and I’m not going to argue with that.
It’s simple, and she even looks a little homeless, yet I can’t stop my eyes from lingering on her. It’s not because of the homeless thing, either.
It’s simply Denny. It’s always been that way with her. No matter how much I want to, I can’t hate her the way she hates me.
Honestly, I never hated her at all.
“Can I at least give you my number?” Brandi asks, pulling my attention back to her.
I won’t use it, but… “Sure.”
She holds her hand out, waiting for my phone, but I know a whole hell of a lot better than to hand my precious over. When it finally dawns on her that I’m not going to give it to her, she digs into the oversized purse dangling off her arm and pulls out a wad of receipts and a pen. She quickly jots down digits I don’t plan to use and folds the scrap of paper, dragging this out longer than she needs to.
“I hope we can pick this back up…” Her eyes dart toward Denny. “Later tonight.”
“It’s after ten thirty—don’t you have school tomorrow?” Denny taunts.
Stripper Brandi huffs then stretches onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be up.”
As she disappears around the corner, Denny bursts into hysterical laughter.
“Please tell me she knows you’re not going to call her.” She stares after the girl, adding, “That is your MO after all.”
I ignore the jab, because I deserve it. “I mean, she did think you were named after a state, so you tell me.”
“God, Shep, you sure know how to pick ’em.”
That’s funny coming from Denver.
I picked her once upon a time too.
We fall into a silence, and it’s not one of those comfortable kinds you share with old friends. It’
s awkward as fuck, which isn’t exactly surprising.
If we’re not slinging insults at one another, we don’t know how to act. You’d never guess from the way we interact that Denny and I share a long, painful history.
“Well, this tension-filled silence is my cue. Have a good night with your right hand, Slug.”
And there it is.
This tension she’s referring to is unfinished business. We both know it, and if I can get Denny to give me the time of day, I intend to finish it.
“I’ll have you know I’m a switch-hitter. I was going to give Lefty some showtime tonight.”
“Such a gentleman,” she tosses over her shoulder as she pushes her cart down the aisle and away from me.
My shoulders sag in relief as she retreats—but only for a moment, because I know exactly what’s coming next.
Misery. Anger.
Toward her. Toward myself.
Denver Andrews used to love me. Now she hates me.
I used to love her too…and I still do.
2
Denver
I’m a big believer in everything happens for a reason. I’m one of those weirdos who truly subscribes to the idea that everything is mapped out for us from day one, even when we can’t see it for ourselves.
That said, why in the actual fuck the universe decided I should run into my ex…well, whatever he is…in the middle of Smart Shoppe while I’m dressed like this is beyond me.
I could slap myself for running to the store for the famous period trio—you know: sweets, salts, and stoppers—wearing this outfit.
Or non-outfit.
It’s just whatever I found lying around on my way-too-messy apartment floor.
Of course the universe would screw me over and I’d run into my mortal enemy.
Okay, that might be a little harsh, but the last person I expected to see was him.
Shep Clark.
The Shep Clark.
The guy I moved across the country to be with.
The guy who broke my fragile heart.
The guy I hate.
That Shep Clark.
I had to endure four years of college with the man who unceremoniously ended things. He ruled the campus, and I could never truly escape him.
When he was drafted for the MLB, I was ecstatic. He was leaving, meaning I’d finally be able to put Shepard Clark behind me. Sure, I was a journalist in his alumni town and I’d probably have to run an article or two on him and his accomplishments, but I could deal with that.
To actually have to see him, though?
I’ll take No Fucking Thank You for $200, Alex.
He may be a baseball legend to everyone else in this town, but I won’t be falling at his feet anytime soon.
Not again.
I angrily march myself down the aisle, pushing my cart much faster than I need to. I just want to get out of here before I run into Shep again. I don’t even pay attention to the chips I toss into the cart, something I’m certain I’ll regret later.
I don’t bother scoping out the ice cream selection for something new. I know I’ll inevitably choose my trusty mint chocolate chip—the green one, thank you—and cookies and cream in the end.
I bustle over to the feminine products and grab the biggest pack I can find before making my way to the front.
It would be my luck that they’ve closed self-checkout, there’s only one lane open, and the oldest lady on the entire planet is sliding groceries across the scanner in a painfully slow manner.
Eff you, universe.
I push my cart up behind the woman in front of me, who I’m fairly certain is the second oldest woman on Earth, then rest against the handle.
The cashier scans a box of cereal and I swear it takes a full thirty seconds to do so.
I’m going to die here.
My eyes drift toward the gossip magazines lining the shelves to my right. Normally, I ignore this trash, but I’m bored and since I’ll probably be here for another fifteen minutes, why the hell not.
I reach for one featuring my favorite Chris then something catches my eye.
Is that…
Holy crap, it is!
Can I not escape him?!
Shep’s mug shot is plastered across the front of the local newspaper—and my rival paper at that.
Local Star Arrested for Destruction of Property the headline reads.
Looks like King Shep went and did another dumbass thing—started a fight and racked up a pretty penny in damages to the inside of a fancy-schmancy club a few hours north of here.
He’s lucky he’s not being hit with assault charges too.
I sneer at the paper in front of me. The urge to rip every copy off the shelves just so I can burn them all is strong.
Shep doesn’t deserve any kind of attention. He’s a liar, the biggest asshole in the history of assholes.
I hate him with a fiery passion.
I scowl at the image of his face, resisting my desire to snatch and burn, and instead grab a candy bar sitting below the papers, open it, and shove at least half into my mouth.
“Wow, I’m impressed.”
I groan when I hear his voice.
“Go away.”
“Can’t—it’s the only lane open.”
“What are you even doing here, Slug?”
I swear I can hear him grind his molars together at the nickname. Good. Asshole. His dentist must have a hell of a time rooting around in his mouth with how much he gnashes those teeth.
“Grocery shopping. This is the grocery store, isn’t it? That’s what you’re supposed to do here,” he deadpans, repeating my words back to me.
“I hate you.”
“You only think you hate me, Den.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me, and he chuckles because he knows I did it.
I’m certain he’s standing back there with that famous smirk of his lining his lips. That’s the thing about Shep—you can never tell if he’s upset or not because he’s always sporting that fake-ass smile of his.
But, if you look close enough, you can see his jaw tick.
That’s his tell.
I nod my head toward the magazine racks. “I see you still don’t have your shit together.”
“And I see you’re still as uptight as ever. You can take the girl out of that sheltered Montana life, but you can’t get the stick out of her ass.”
I whirl around at his words.
In true Shep fashion, the smirk is there—but that jaw? Tight, teeth gnashing painfully.
It appears I’ve ruffled the king’s feathers.
“Seriously, Shepard, why are you here? I thought you were off playing in the big leagues.”
His eyes shift toward the newspaper, lingering there for several beats before he pulls his attention back to mine.
“I’m…taking some time off.”
I raise a brow, unconvinced. He’ll have to try a little harder, especially with me. “From the MLB?”
“Yes, Denver, from the MLB.”
“But this is your first year. Your stats are outstanding for a rookie. You can’t miss the end of the season…”
He leans closer, his grin returning. “I’m aware of how my baseball career is going. Question is, how do you know?”
My cheeks heat and I hastily take a step back, tripping over my own feet and bumping into my cart, sending it rolling forward with a force I didn’t intend.
“Ouch! My hip! You’ve hit me!”
My heart hammers in my chest as I turn toward the older woman in line in front of me.
There my cart sits, right against her hip. Sure, it probably didn’t hit her that hard, but it did make contact.
“Oh gosh, I am so sorry, ma’am! I didn’t mean to run into you. I tripped on my flip-flop and lost my balance. Please, ma’am, I apologize.”
She huffs and turns away from me, dismissing my sincerity.
Shame radiates through me. I feel horrible, and it’s all Shep’s fault. If he wasn’t al
l up in my personal space, I wouldn’t have had to move. Then I wouldn’t have tripped and run into the cart, pushing it into the woman.
Fine, fine—it’s my fault for letting Shep get to me, but whatever. Semantics.
“Add my stuff to her order—I’ll pay for everything,” I instruct the cashier. It’s the only way I can think of to make this up to her. My mom would whoop my ass if she’d seen what happened, and she’d demand I make it better…now. This is how I can do that.
The woman ahead of me mutters something I don’t quite catch before collecting the last of her bags and pushing her way out of the store.
That’s it. Nothing else.
“Are you serious?” I mutter to no one as I watch her walk away without looking back. “I accidentally hit her with my cart, offer to pay for her groceries, and she doesn’t even say thank you? This night cannot get any worse.”
“Better knock on wood, miss,” the cashier warns.
I ignore her and load my groceries onto the belt.
“I think I love tonight,” Shep comments.
Before I think twice, I launch whatever’s in my hand at him, and he barks out a laugh, catching it with ease.
Stupid freakin’ baseball reflexes.
“Ah, this explains why you’re extra grouchy tonight.”
I take a look at the box I launched and, yep, just my luck—I’ve thrown my tampons at him.
Awesome.
“I wish they would have smacked you right in the eye—with the corner of the box, to be specific.”
“Now that,” he says, tossing the feminine products into the air and catching them without looking, “is rude as hell, Andrews.”
“I hate you, Shepard Clark,” I repeat with as much venom as I can muster.
Cue famous grin. “You only wish you did.”
The worst part?
He’s right.
“How? How is this my life tonight? First, I run out of tampons, then I run into the king of assholes. Next, I accidentally ram my cart into an old lady, fork over sixty bucks I was not expecting to spend in order to remedy that situation, and now I have a flat tire. Great. Just great.”
I toss my head back on a groan and stare up at the night sky.
“What in the hell is your problem, universe? Huh?”
No response.
Texting (The Complete Series Page 65
