Top Notch (Man on Top Book 1)

by Nicole Richard

  “Take a guess.”

  Levi’s confidence came out in the form of a cocky retort, and it gave me a tiny sense of relief. He was talking to me and not giving me the silent treatment. I peeked at the score and saw they were barely leading by one run. Ready to give him my comeback loaded with sass, I glanced his way and our eyes locked, rendering me speechless.

  “So, what brings you by?” he asked, seemingly unaffected as he reached for a bottle and twisted the top off, handing it to me.

  “Umm . . .” Think Ro, think. “Well . . .” I pressed the bottle to my lips and stalled. I watched him as he watched me with a keen eye and the hint of that damn knowing smirk. Jerk. Fidgeting with my bottle, I set it between my thighs and concentrated on it as I offered my thanks. “I wanted to thank you for yesterday and getting that idiot off me. You really didn’t have to—”

  “Rowan.”

  “I mean, that was crazy. He was in the wrong and you get suspended ten—”

  “Rowan.”

  I swallowed hard. “—games.”

  I had no idea he had moved close until he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me to him, crashing his lips to mine, tracing the seam of my lips, coaxing them open. The tiny grunts pulled from deep in his chest had me on the verge of straddling his lap and showing him how grateful I had been.

  One hand latched on his bicep, gripping his hard muscle, vaporizing every coherent thought, leaving me to feel like a big pile of goo. Then Levi pulled back, breaking the kiss, and shifted his sexy ass back to his corner of the soft leather sofa.

  “Relax,” he soothed and the tension left my body. “You were saying?” This time he actually smirked. Big fat jerk!

  Distracted, I touched my lips, swollen and most likely pink from his too short and welcome assault. “Saying . . . right. Umm . . . yesterday. Thank you. I wanted to thank you for standing up to Jason.”

  “Is he an ex or something?”

  I shook my head. “No, he’s not. Just some random asshole with personal boundary issues.”

  “You got that right,” he muttered and took a long drink, settling his gaze on me. “Thank you for this.” He pointed to the beer and wings on the table. “Let me grab some plates and napkins.”

  Effortlessly, he pushed to his feet, and my eyes did a perusal of their own, enjoying every last second his hard body was in view. Baseball uniform Levi was hot and sexy, but barefoot and shirtless Levi . . . burned my vocabulary and panties to a crisp.

  He disappeared into his kitchen, and a minute later returned, wearing a T-shirt, much to my disappointment. Two paper plates and a short stack of napkins in his hands, he set them down and opened the box, gesturing for me to start.

  “Ladies first.”

  I smiled and set two wings on my plate. He of course didn’t use a plate, just grabbed a tasty limb and tore right into it. We ate in somewhat comfortable silence. Glances were snuck, beer was sipped, and while I reached into the box for seconds, I said, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  “I’m not.” He was quick to reply and unapologetic.

  “Why not? That was obviously an unfair punishment you were slapped with. Ten games. Come, on . . .”

  “It is what it is, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Levi

  What the hell was I thinking inviting her in, and then kissing the woman, like there was no looming threat of my ass being shipped off to some shitty-ass team that didn’t even make the ranks.

  “But that’s a lot of money,” she continued, arguing on my behalf.

  “And I can afford it,” I answered, pushing any thoughts of Greg to the back of my mind. I’d deal with that later.

  A hundred grand is a lot of money, and the league could fine me an entire year’s salary, suspend me a full season, and I still wouldn’t have thought twice about my actions. It wouldn’t put me out and frankly, the money was the least of my concerns. What had concerned me the most was her safety and how protective I had become over this woman. I wasn’t raised to turn a blind eye when some guy was manhandling a woman. My woman. What the fuck am I thinking?

  “You could always appeal.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” she pushed.

  “And drag shit out?” I shook my head. “Not my style.”

  Thankfully, she caught my drift and quickly changed the subject.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do while you’re off?”

  What was I going to do? That was a loaded question. I was temporarily eighty-sixed from the field and the clubhouse. I did have a small home gym I could do my workouts in, and there was always the gym, but I didn’t particularly care for those meat markets. I went there to train, not solicit dates (I use the word “dates” loosely).

  I lowered the volume on the television.

  “Probably head home for a few days. My mom has been hinting how she hasn’t seen much of me,” I answered and oddly, the twinkle in her eyes dulled.

  “And where’s that?”

  “Savannah.”

  “That should be nice.”

  “Yeah, I kind of miss them.”

  We let the game occupy us for a while, giving us both a reprieve to figure out what was going on—what we wanted to say. Me, I preferred to put all the bullshit behind us. Done. Gone. Move forward. And, obviously, she came here for a reason. A niggling feeling told me it wasn’t just to offer her thanks. At least I hoped that wasn’t her only reason.

  On the screen, Chase strolled to the batter’s box and from his walk alone, I knew what was going down, happened every time we played Colorado. They were the only team in the entire league we had bad blood with, minus a small handful of the players.

  Rowan drank her beer between watching the game and me, and I found I didn’t take well to the silence separating us.

  Here went nothing.

  “You looked real cute yesterday in your Bucks T-shirt and braids,” I lied with good intentions. Had I told her what I really thought of the way she looked—hot, tantalizing, fuckable with those damn braids I wanted to yank on as I fucked her from behind nice and hard while she screamed my name over and over—the outcome might not have been in my favor. It was important I ease into the conversation. Go easy on her. I’d rather go easy in her while on top of her. My dick twitched at the thought and I shifted in my seat.

  “Thank you.” She reached up and absently toyed with the tips of her hair.

  “I’m glad you could make it. Aside from what happened of course. I wasn’t entirely sure if you would show.” Her brows bent in obvious confusion. She had no idea I had given those tickets to Spencer and asked him to bring her along.

  “You weren’t sure if I was going to make it?” she mocked, her head jerking back a bit.

  “Yup.”

  “And how is it you knew I might be at the game?” Her defenses were up.

  This was about to get interesting.

  “Who do you think gave Spencer the tickets?”

  Realization had her lips parting, but no words came out, and then her brows pinched lightly. I gave her a minute to process what I had just said.

  “It was meant to be a peace offering, and the only way I could do that was to get you to the field. I’ve been a jerk and needed to apologize once and for all.”

  “Couldn’t you have called?”

  “Didn’t have your number.”

  “You could have asked Spencer.”

  “Maybe.” I could have, but for some reason, it didn’t feel right. In my mind, my apology would have been better received had I done it face-to-face.

  “And now?” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “For starters, I’d like to apologize. Normally, I’m not such a jackass, but . . . I’d like for us to be friends.” I waited for her to flinch, laugh, and tell me I was crazy and to get the fuck out of here even though we were in my house. That her being our GM’s daughter would pose some kind of threat. Something—anyth
ing, and before she could storm out, the words rushed out of my mouth, “Have dinner with me, tonight.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Rowan

  Levi led me into the dimly lit steakhouse, and it was near impossible not to wonder if the patrons would respect his privacy. Doubt and countless questions filled my mind. Would our being out together raise any of those questions? Would people be staring at us the whole time while we tried to eat in peace? Would someone snap a photo and sell it to the tabloids?

  Was I just being overly paranoid?

  “Levi,” I whispered after our hostess had seated us and left. “I’m not sure being here together is such a good idea? What if Greg—?”

  He reached for my hand and squeezed. “I got it covered.”

  I raised an inquisitive brow.

  “We’ll just say it was a thank you dinner. For me getting that prick off you.”

  “So does that mean I’m paying?” I teased.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Thankfully, throughout the rest of the night, I had nothing to worry about. We made it easily through dinner without any hiccups. Even the conversation between the two of us was light and flowed effortlessly, like my red wine each time I took a sip. We asked the customary “what’s your favorite this” and “what’s your favorite that” questions until things got somewhat personal, particularly him wanting to know about Greg.

  “So, I’m curious,” he started to ask. “I get why you never mentioned Greg—”

  “I’m sorry about that,” I apologized, bunching my napkin in my lap. I lowered my gaze, a part of me still hating that I had wronged him. After waiting out the short sting of silence, until it became awkward, I chanced a glance in his direction, only to find him staring at me with forgiving eyes.

  “That’s in the past and I didn’t ask to watch you grovel. I asked because I’m truly curious why Greg never mentioned any of you?”

  I took a long sip of my wine.

  “It’s kind of a long story.” When he nodded, I continued, “I think it was his way of protecting us.” I fidgeted with my napkin. “He never wanted Gabby and me exposed to the lifestyle. And around the time I turned fifteen is when he stopped bringing us around the clubhouse.” I felt the need to inject some humor into the conversation. “Can you imagine if he allowed us around the guys when we were teenagers? The kinds of trouble we could have gotten ourselves into?” Gabby and I weren’t radical girls by teenage standards, but we weren’t angels either. Whatever mischief we did get into, we made sure it flew under the radar.

  “Do I really want to know?”

  “Probably not.” I smirked, and Levi sat quietly, mindlessly stroking his chin, contemplating for a minute.

  “It makes sense to keep the two of you out of the public’s eye, but I still don’t understand how or why he kept it from the team. I mean, we didn’t know he was dating anyone, let alone engaged to your mother.”

  “That, I’m not too sure.” I drained what was left of my wine and when I set the glass down, Levi took the opportunity to refill it. “Thank you.”

  He nodded in response. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long has Greg been in the picture?”

  “Since I was ten.” He didn’t even try and hide the look of surprise on his face. “Right after we moved from Macon to Decatur. Greg and his wife lived two houses down from ours, and my mom and Sandi became really good friends. More times than I can count, Greg and Sandi would take care of Gabby and me while my mom was busy working on some lucrative case.”

  “Lawyer,” he guessed correctly.

  “Yes. An estate lawyer.”

  The look on his face was enough of a tell that he was putting the pieces together.

  “What about your father?”

  I tucked some hair behind my ear, a little nervous to explain, even though there wasn’t much to tell. Thinking about the pictures in Levi’s home, on the outside, it looked like he came from a perfect cookie-cutter, All-American family. Something Gabby and I didn’t. “I’ve never met him.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. He was a foreign exchange student when he and my mother met. A few months into her senior year in college, she got pregnant with me but was determined to stay in school and get her degree. By the time she was able to track down my father, he had already met someone back home and was starting his life there.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow,” I mocked in a blasé tone.

  “Where does he live?”

  “France.” His eyes went wide. “And Gabby?”

  “My mom met her dad kind of on a rebound, so to speak. When Gabby was a year old, he actually asked my mom to marry him. She didn’t want to marry him out of obligation and when she declined his proposal, he left.”

  “Just like that?”

  I snapped my fingers. “Just like that.”

  Being that was a mouthful of information to digest, I took a break from talking and drank. My mother’s choices were her own and if she hadn’t done such a great job raising Gabby and me, providing for us, giving us the best life possible, I might have been embarrassed with the outcome—but I wasn’t.

  But I was starting to realize that somewhere down the line teaching us to be independent women caused us to set high standards when it came to men, maybe some a bit unattainable.

  “It makes sense how successful you are. What about your sister, what does she do?”

  “She’s a radiology tech. Travels the country a few months at a time, always getting to experience new places—new things—kind of like you.” I eyed him over the rim of my glass, thinking how much he experienced while out on the road, the women in particular. Quit! Or you’ll ruin the night.

  “Sounds like your mom did an amazing job.”

  “Thank you. I think so.”

  And before the conversation could get awkward or move any further, our server came around and asked if she could remove our empty plates. “Did either of you save room for dessert?”

  He said, “Yes.” And I said, “No, thank you.”

  Under normal circumstances, I would not have declined the offer of dessert. That was the best part of going out to dinner. But had I known we’d be dining on a four-course meal, I would have made sure to save a little room for something sweet.

  “You’re breaking rule number one,” Levi bullshitted with a straight face.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Life is short. Never decline dessert.” There was definitely a double meaning to his words. He looked to our server, cracked a smile, and said, “We would like a dessert menu, please.”

  “Menus are right back there.” She pointed to the other end of the table and rolled her lips, trying not to laugh. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, opening a menu he laid out on the table. After a short minute, he looked up and offered, “We could always share, you know.” A cute boyish smile spread across his face and playfulness shone in his brown eyes. How could I resist that?

  “Depends on what you like.”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  He handed the menu over and I took a quick look. If he left the choice up to me, I would have at least five different desserts sitting between us, not caring about the hundreds of calories I would be sleeping on.

  “How’s about I tell you what I like and you choose one?” I bargained.

  “Deal.”

  “Perfect.” I skimmed the list and went on to say, “I love any kind of cheesecake, but raspberry is my favorite. The double-fudge brownie sounds delicious . . . or the warm apple crostata.” I closed the menu and passed it back to him. “If I’m being honest, I’ll eat anything besides tiramisu.”

  He laughed. “Got it. No tiramisu.”

  Observing him and the way he deliberated on each item was endearing. On the outside, Levi was all handsome and hard body, a famous athlete whom I assumed was disciplined and took great care of himself, not to mention the things he p
ut into his body.

  He must have sensed me staring, taking in every little thing. When he looked back up, his eyes had softened, and he asked curiously, “What?” I just shook my head slowly, taken by this man. The side I was sure most people didn’t get the chance to see, and after how we started, I was glad he was giving me a chance.

  Our server approached, and after some careful consideration, Levi decided on the warm apple crostata. Next to the cheesecake, that would have been my first choice, and I was more than happy to share. A few bites wouldn’t hurt, although I had no idea how I was going to manage fitting anything more into my overstuffed belly. For him, I’d try.

  After a few minutes of quiet conversation, another server delivered our dessert and two spoons. Not wasting any time, I spooned a small scoop of vanilla ice cream and glanced around the busy, but somewhat quiet restaurant.

  “You know what I just noticed?” I may have had my reservations about it earlier, but only then did I dare speak about it.

  “What’s that?” He shoved a heaping spoonful of the apple and ice cream in his mouth; a soft and sexy gravelly sound followed, making me momentarily forget what I had been thinking.

  I took one more quick look around.

  “With as much celebrity status you and the guys have, I’m kind of surprised no one has come up to you tonight asking for a picture or an autograph.”

  I was pretty sure anytime the players were out in public, they were bombarded by fans of all ages and genders. A flare of jealousy pinched me, thinking of all the women who threw themselves at the players. How easily they took advantage of the advances. There was no rhyme nor reason to feel that way, aside from natural human instinct of course—at least for tonight. Plus, it was nice that we could avoid the fanfare while getting to really know one another.

  “There are a few places we can frequent in the city where fans usually respect our space. But it’s Hatch who gets most of the attention; everybody wants a piece of the star pitcher.” He smiled. “And that’s just from the people who follow baseball. Back home, most people don’t care anymore that I play major ball. To them, I’m just Levi, the bucktoothed kid they went to school with.”