Top Notch (Man on Top Book 1)

by Nicole Richard

  “So, you ladies come to the games often?” Jason asked.

  “First time,” Gabby fibbed. “What about you?”

  “Whenever we’re in town,” Jason replied nonchalantly while he kept his eyes fixed on me. The smirk he had in the corner of his mouth filled me with unease. He gulped his drink and then asked, “You ladies have names?”

  “We do.”

  After a pregnant pause, Jason chuckled and asked, “Care to share?”

  I found it slightly odd that Jason was doing all the talking. Gabby shrugged, brushing his question off before feeding him more lines. “I’m Roxy and this is my best friend, Ava.” She was the queen of giving out an alias when uninterested or if a guy was acting a little creepy.

  “Beautiful names for two beautiful women.” His wink gave me the creeps.

  My left brow quipped and the sound of someone yelling pulled my attention back to the game. The umpire and a player from the opposing team were going at it, toe-to-toe, in each other’s crimson faces. I couldn’t quite understand the words they exchanged, but seconds later, the umpire yelled one final time and the player was ejected.

  “Would you ladies like to hang out after the game?” Jason’s pressing ignited a spark of irritation in me. Couldn’t he tell we were just being nice, that we had no interest in either him or his friend?

  “Not tonight, but thanks,” Gabby politely squashed his question, and I was grateful she was there to sideline this guy.

  “Ava, what about giving me your number? We could meet up another night?” He spoke low and close to my ear. The smell of beer on his breath sent an unpleasant feeling rippling through me. What was this guy’s problem? Did he not know about personal space?

  “Sorry, I don’t give my number out to guys I’ve just met,” I said in my sweetest voice possible, wanting to let him down easy since I had no idea how he would take to being rejected. His persistence made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Lucky for us, he caught the hint and backed off, giving me a chance to relax and enjoy the buzz around us.

  The Jumbotron gave an up-close view of who was up to bat. From the first time watching a live game, I thought it was the coolest thing in the world to see a picture of the player and their stats as his walk-up song played. I wonder what song would play when Levi went to bat.

  “Hey, Ava?” The sound of Jason’s voice grated on my nerves. “Ava. Why are you ignoring me, beautiful?”

  Jason playfully tugged on one of my French braids and I politely but sternly said, “Please do not touch me.”

  He pointed somewhere and when I made sense of it, he had me in a lip lock and our picture was up on the enormous screen for all to see.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Levi

  “Don’t touch me!” A woman’s strained scream jostled my concentration, pulling me out of my zone. I peered over my shoulder and within seconds, my eyes found her, trying to fight off some guy who had his arm banded around her waist, an evil smirk on his ugly face, refusing to let her get away.

  Charging for the stands, I threw my bat, adrenaline pumping viciously through my veins. I hurdled over the short wall, reached up, and grabbed the motherfucker seconds after he let her go.

  “The fuck you think you’re doing?” I snarled in his face, clenching the neckline of his polo shirt. My eyes cut to Rowan for a split second to make sure she was okay and then back to the prick who laid his hands on her—who touched her without permission.

  “Get the fuck off me!” he yelled, struggling to shove me off him, the stench of alcohol strong on his breath.

  “Ugh, what the hell!” a woman shouted. Rowan’s sister wiped the spilled beer off her arm, shook out her soaked shirt, her eyes shooting daggers at the idiot in my hold. “You’re such a jerk!”

  “Levi, stop!” Rowan hissed, pleading with me as she tugged on my jersey sleeve. “He’s not worth it!”

  No can do, sweetheart. Entitled pricks like him deserve every bit of punishment they get.

  “You’re going to fucking pay for this,” dickhead threatened right before my fist connected with his jaw, thrusting him into the dude next to him. Ready to ram my fist in his face again, I was yanked back, halted from following through. Straightening his shirt out with a smug grin, he continued to run his mouth, “But not before I fuck this beauty.”

  “Dead,” I mouthed to him.

  “Dude, relax,” Trevor warned, and I shook him off, my breaths coming out hard while gaining my composure, not once taking my attention off the asshole that touched Rowan—who threatened her.

  Touch her again, motherfucker. I dare you! Give me a reason to bash your face in and break every bone in your weasel ass body.

  The seething thought raced rampant through my mind, through my entire body, wanting and waiting for him to so much as glance her way. One wrong move, I’d end him. No questions asked.

  “You’re out, let’s go.” Trevor gave my sleeve a hard tug. I knew I had been ejected. I didn’t need the umpire shouting the call in my face; my actions had guaranteed it.

  “Are you okay?” I pointed at her, sucking in deep breaths. The fear in her eyes had me wanting to pull her into my arms and let her know it would all be okay.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice quivered.

  I gave it a second, making sure her words were true. Then, I nodded once and turned toward the dugout, pushing past a few of the guys who had followed me into the stands. After a few steps, I heard her call my name, but I resisted looking back. I ignored her plea, too worked up and pissed the fuck off not to. Today was supposed to be a good day, a day to clear shit up and move forward. A means of making peace, not start another war.

  Trevor and the guys made their way back to the field while I went to the locker room and waited for what I knew was coming. For the punishment I’d be slapped with.

  Tonight was going to be a long night.

  “Fuck!” I roared, my voice echoing off the concrete walls as I stomped through the walkway, looking for something to hit. This was all kinds of fucked-up.

  The next two innings, I sat agitated, fuming, and restless as I watched the game on one of the flat screens. The guys were killing it out there—and without me. That alone caused a spike in my blood pressure. Had that idiot-fuck kept his hands to himself, none of this would have happened and I wouldn’t be sitting like a lonely duck waiting to be slapped with my temporary fate.

  More than likely, I’d be suspended two, maybe three games at most and a measly couple thousand dollar fine, but who the fuck cared? That jerk deserved my fist to his face for putting his unwelcome hands on Rowan. On any woman. My woman.

  What the fuck was I thinking, my woman? You know you want her.

  I wanted her body, yes. But did I actually want her? Maybe you do.

  By the seventh-inning stretch, I was going out of my mind and couldn’t take waiting around any longer. I started down the tunnel, my cleats echoing against the concrete, anxious to catch a glimpse and see if she was still sitting in her seat. Somehow, I needed to talk to her, apologize one last time—for all of it—our first night, the wedding, tonight—everything. I was counting on her understanding my reasoning and hoped she would forgive me. I was raised to be a better man than my actions had displayed.

  Halfway down the wide concrete hall, I came to the conclusion that nothing good would come from me hashing shit out at the field. And that was if I made it past the dugout.

  I turned around and headed back to my post. Thought about hitting the weights, releasing some steam, but without a spotter, I tossed the idea. I contemplated eating something, but just wasn’t feeling it. Knowing Coach was going to ream my ass for this infraction, I headed for the showers. I would get this over and done with, and as soon as he was done chewing my ass out, I’d take off, grab a beer at Bucks or lie low and head home.

  * * *

  “Montgomery.” Greg’s voice was eerily calm. “Five minutes. My office,” he added before disappearing behind the heavy m
etal door. I squared my shoulders and nodded, ready to face what was ahead for me.

  Seconds later, the clubhouse started to fill with voices as the guys filtered in, cheering and congratulating each other over a well-deserved win. Some of the guys went straight for the showers, a few grabbed a quick bite to eat, and the remaining were just unwinding and hanging out.

  Hatch came up and clapped me on the shoulder. “You did a solid tonight. Any one of us would’ve done the same.” I nodded once more in appreciation. His words were validating, I had done right by Rowan, although, it was a universal, unwritten rule: A man never lays his hands on a woman without her permission. Never.

  After entering Coach’s office and taking a seat, I held my eyes on him, gauging, mentally preparing for the worst. He blew out a hot breath toward the ceiling, struggling with his words. He paced a few steps back and forth from behind his desk. He stared at me for a few beats, clearly struggling with what he wanted—no, needed—to say.

  Finally, Greg took a seat and stared at me for a beat longer. He shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, and came to rest his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands, only to stare at me again. “Off the record, I’d like to thank you.”

  My brow rose in curiosity.

  “You took one for the team tonight, stood up for one of my girls, and I appreciate that.”

  I nodded once, knowing exactly what he was getting at, and appreciated it. But then the look in his eyes had me silently questioning if he knew more than he was letting on. Had he found out?

  “But you do know your actions tonight cannot go unpunished.”

  I nodded. I knew this. I’d played the game long enough to know that was a fact.

  “You’ve been given a ten-game suspension and a hundred-grand fine.”

  “What!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the concrete walls as I jumped out of my seat. “Ten games! That’s fucking ridiculous.” I stared at him for a measured moment and then argued, “Albright gets suspended two games for making contact with the ump. Two!” I emphasized, shoving two fingers toward him. “Sochi, three games for false cracking Colorado’s pitcher. Duck, seven games after they arrest him on harassment charges.” I pounded my fist into the desk, adrenaline pumping hot throughout my body. “And I get slapped with ten fucking games and a hundred-grand fine?” I seethed. “How the fuck did they figure that?”

  From my neck to my toes, every muscle in my body tensed, my pulse pounded against my neck as I fantasized choking every last morsel of air from that sack of shit who didn’t know how to keep his hands to his goddamn self.

  “This is bullshit, and you know it!” I shouted. “There is no fucking way they can slap me with that.” I yanked at the short hair on the top of my head. “How the fuck!”

  “You finished?” Greg asked stiffly. I nodded once and slumped back in my seat. “The media’s gonna have a field day with this one,” he muttered and my brows furrowed. It was normal for the media to report this kind of shit. We all knew how “in our business” reporters were. Greg huffed and continued, “You assaulted the mayor’s son.”

  “And?” I didn’t give two fucks if it was the mayor himself, I’d do it again a thousand times if it meant keeping his hands off her.

  “And . . . they were pushing the commissioner for a harsher punishment. You could be in handcuffs right now for that shit, but I brought it to their attention just who that prick had violated.”

  “Fucking reject,” I grumbled.

  “He’s a pain in the ass, that’s what he is. Always has been.”

  “And he probably gets slapped on the wrist for being a bad boy. Motherfucker . . .” I mumbled my last word.

  The muscle in Greg’s neck twitched and from that, I told myself to relax. This wasn’t easy on him either, and he was doing a damn good job at keeping it together, unlike me.

  I huffed, letting defeat trickle in. I clenched my jaw. I basically sat there and killed off the bastard in my head. Thought about all the places I could dump his body so he’d never be found. Then I stood.

  “Maybe it’s time you found yourself representation—”

  “Not happening,” I clipped. Not again, at least. Getting screwed in the ass by one money-hungry prick was more than I had bargained for. I liked being a free agent, having control over my own career.

  “You could always appeal.”

  “No disrespect, Coach, but fuck that. I’ll take my punishment. I’ll own that shit. But I won’t waste anymore time on that undeserving asshole. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “Figured you’d say that.”

  “I’m sorry.” I looked him dead in the eye and made sure he heard me when I said, “Not for standing up for your daughter. No.” I simply shook my head. “My only regret is putting you and the team through this shit.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rowan

  I was ten years old when we moved from Macon to the suburbs of Atlanta—Decatur to be exact. I was excited for a new home, new school, and new friends. What I hadn’t accounted for was the fact that I wouldn’t be openly welcome.

  My saving grace: Riley Peterson.

  Our friendship was instant. And thank goodness, because had I known how cruel and malicious girls were at that age, I might have asked my mom to convert her home office into a small classroom and homeschool me.

  Barely a month in three girls who lived on my block started acting strange. First, it was just some snarky looks. Nothing I couldn’t handle. For the most part, I leaned toward being an introvert, so their attitude didn’t bother me too much. I had learned to brush off the small stuff and was used to keeping more to myself.

  Then it turned into little pranks, stupid, petty stuff. Until they pulled out the big guns and started using their words. That old adage: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me, was written by a liar. Words did hurt. Words burned, leaving scars invisible to the naked eye, but deep within, especially to an impressionable ten-year-old girl who didn’t understand why they were being directed at her.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long to figure out it was all because of my new best friend.

  And they were jealous.

  The girls, well, they didn’t take too well to Riley giving me his undivided attention. And that’s when the mean-girl mentality commenced.

  I couldn’t believe the kind of lies a group of young girls could come up with.

  The best part? Riley made sure to squash those rumors real quick.

  Just like Levi squashed Jason.

  And that was all I could think about as I stared out the passenger window of my car while sitting unstalkerish-like outside of Levi’s home. Convinced that Levi was my Riley, and at the very least, I owed him my personal thanks.

  And, it was going to be in the form of the six-pack of beer and bucket of dirty wings, sitting opposite of me on the seat, waiting to call a truce. I hope he hadn’t had lunch yet.

  With the blinds drawn and no movement for the last fifteen minutes, I wondered if he was home. His ten-game suspension amounted to a few weeks, but that didn’t mean he was holed-up in his house. He could have very well been out somewhere—or with someone.

  The latter left a shitty taste in my mouth.

  Inhaling a large breath, I told myself this didn’t have to be difficult. All I had to do was march my ass up there, ring the doorbell, offer him the olive branch I had brought in the form of refreshments, and thank him for standing up for me against that jerk. It had come at a high price, and I hated that it was all because of me, a woman he didn’t even like.

  I was there to rectify the situation.

  I shifted my car into drive and drove to the gate. I entered the code he had given me that first night, hoping he hadn’t changed it and wouldn’t feel the need to call the police on me for trespassing. The whole way up the driveway, my heart raced and my palms became clammy.

  After killing the engine, I carefully made my way to the front door and took another deep breath. Sin
ce both my hands were occupied, I used the tip of my elbow to press the button for the doorbell. I took a step back, stared at my sandal as I scuffed it on the smooth concrete surface below my feet, and waited.

  And waited a little longer.

  Basically, I waited for what felt like an eternity, until the sound of a lock clicking and a door opening grabbed my attention.

  Levi stood in front of me, barefoot and in nothing but a pair of black mesh shorts hanging loosely on his tapered hips, his short brown hair in a sexy disheveled mess, and an impassive expression on his ridiculously handsome face. He reached up and leaned into the side of the door, eyeing me without any type of greeting.

  I swallowed hard and offered an insecure smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he replied, not once taking his eyes off me. The heat of his stare suffocated my breaths, making that secret little spot between my legs tingle. The spot he had an invisible connection to.

  Nervous and starting to feel in over my head, and before I turned around and hightailed it out of there, I held up my offerings. “I brought beer and wings.”

  A smirk toyed at one corner of his lips. He cocked one brow, and after a few more seconds of nerve-wracking silence, he stepped aside and welcomed me in.

  “Christ, this should be interesting,” I mumbled under my breath. He didn’t even touch me and I was flushed and turned on.

  Following him deeper into his home, I got a good look at the man who turned my brain to mush and melted me from the inside out, noting the familiarity of our first and only night. My eyes searched out the window and heat collected in my cheeks. How could it not? The memories of the two of us, wild and intimate were vivid. Palpable.

  “Have a seat,” he offered, bringing me back to the present. He grabbed the remote and released the television from pause the same time Hatch threw out what looked to be a fastball pitch.

  I set the beer and wings on the glass table in front of us and asked, “Who’s winning?” while my eyes remained glued to the enormous flat screen.