by Shey Stahl
Cason leans into me, almost protectively. “Who’s he?”
“I don’t know.” I glance over at the proximity of our bodies and laugh. “You act like you’re going to defend me.”
“Look at me.” He gives me a look like, bitch, please. “You know I would.”
“Cute.” The man approaches, and I ask, “Can I help you?” With tense shoulders, I stare into the man’s eyes. Are they honest, or is he about to tell me something I don’t want to hear? Nervousness works through me, a steady thump of my heart pulsing in my ears. He’s wearing jeans and a polo shirt. Collin played golf every weekend. Or he said he did. What if he was embezzling money with one of them and putting it into an offshore account and then using it to purchase a mail-order bride? Or smuggling drugs over the border?
I think I’ve been watching too many crime shows.
The man’s attention shifts to Cason, his brow knits together, and then he glances my way. He probably thinks we’re together. Why am I not disappointed by that thought?
“Is the room still for rent?” he asks, shielding his face from the low afternoon sun peeking over my neighbor’s roofline.
Relief washes over me. He’s not here for more bad news.
“No,” Cason tells him, slipping his arm around my shoulder.
You know what I do? Leave it there. It’s nice. I don’t want to move away from him. “How’d you get this address?”
“Oh, the girl on the phone told me.”
Freaking Sadie. Giving out my address to everyone and didn’t even tell me someone else was coming by.
The man smiles at Cason. “Hey, aren’t you Cason Reins? I’m a big fan of your dad’s.”
His dad? Reins. I rack my brain, trying to recall where I remember hearing that name.
Cason’s entire body tenses at the question, a distinct frown settling on his face. “Wrong guy.”
The man examines Cason’s face and the ASU hat he’s wearing. “Really, you look familiar.”
“It’s not me.”
“Okay, well, so the room isn’t for rent?”
“Nope. I rented it already,” Cason tells him confidently.
I’m too caught up in the change in his demeanor to correct him. The mention of his dad really threw him, and I can’t place who his dad is. Reins. Hmmm. Professional baseball player maybe? I know one. Lucas Reins. A pitcher for the Seattle Mariners. Is that his dad?
The man steps back off the porch, turns around, and leaves. Just like that. I wait until he’s in his car, Cason and I standing there, his arm slung across my shoulders like we’re an old married couple watching their kid leave for college.
One of my neighbors walks by, notices, stares, and then continues walking her dog.
“Who’s your dad?”
Chuckling, he drops his arm when the guy’s car is out of sight. “You don’t know?”
“I never thought about it until now.”
He shrugs one shoulder and then runs his hand down his jaw. “Luke Reins. Plays for the Mariners.”
“Looks like the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree there.”
“I suppose not.” He half grins, searching my face. Sighing, he steps forward, eyeing me carefully. Placing a finger under my chin, he lifts it so we’re eye to eye. “So will you rent the room to me?”
My stomach jumps when he bumps his shoulder into mine. “I can’t.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“I should go check on Tatum.”
Though I can tell he’s disappointed in my answer, he smiles, drops his hand, and backs up. “You’re gonna change your mind.”
“I’m really not.” Would it be wrong to put his number in my phone under Call for Good Sex?
“Think it over,” he yells when he’s getting into his car. “At least you know what you’re getting with me.”
Ha. Cute.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
A ball that is hard-hit and appears to be hit in a straight line.
CASON
She won’t rent me the room. What kind of shit is that? Our night together was good, right? There were certainly no complaints from her, so why’d she turn me down?
Was I not charming enough? I laid that shit on thick.
The distant thwack of ball hitting leather, Chiasson yelling at Forest to hustle, and Ez whistling behind the plate fill the silence around me. It’s Thursday. Two days after Syd told me no. I even texted her, thanks to her sister giving me her number, and I still couldn’t convince her to let me rent the room.
“I don’t get it.” I throw a slider to Ez, down in the strike zone. Outside. If a batter was at the plate, all he’d have to do would be to swing low, lean over the plate, get the barrel on it, hit hard, and pull to the right. “Why wouldn’t she want me to rent the room?”
Standing, he sends the ball back to me. “She’s obviously too attracted to you to be near you.”
“Yeah.” I snort. “I’m sure that’s it, buddy.”
But then I think he’s right. She’s afraid if I live near her, our one-night stand will turn into more. I know she has a lot going on, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. She doesn’t need another man complicating her life. And believe me, given that I’m in college, unsure what the next six months will bring, I complicate the shit out of things.
I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t want another chance with her. Three times wasn’t even close to enough.
Also, I’m not trying to be a dick, but people usually don’t tell me no. I had a good life growing up. Anything I ever wanted. What I didn’t have?
Family.
I had my dad a phone call away, but he was on the road constantly. My grandparents would be here in a heartbeat, as would my aunts and uncles on my dad’s side.
My mom, like I said, she probably doesn’t even know what day of the week it is at her mansion in Key West. I haven’t heard from her in six months. The last time I did, she called to tell me she was getting remarried to some movie producer. I’m sure my dad would be thrilled not to be paying alimony to her anymore.
My mom, Lydia, is a perfect example of why professional athletes should pull out and take the condom with them. Sadly.
After practice, we’re heading into the locker room when Ez bumps me. “You can sleep on the couch still.”
I frown at the idea. The last thing I want is to be around Luca any more than I need to. “I don’t get it. I would want to live with me.”
He laughs. Out loud, and then stops and looks over at me as I push the doors open. “You’re messy.”
“I’m not messy.” I roll my eyes at the absurdity. “My piles have a purpose.”
Rolling his eyes, he rips his sweaty shirt over his head. “Yeah, sure.”
“What am I going to do?” I sit down at my cubbie and sigh. “I’m not living with you and your scary-ass uncle anymore.”
“Call your dad.” He sits across from me, the guys filing inside, and their loud, crude behavior follows. “He’ll hook you up.”
The suggestion doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve never had to ask my dad for money yet or use his fame to get what I need, and I’m not about to start now. For ten years, I mowed lawns before and after practice and never spent a dime of it. I have my own money and housing allowance. Besides, it’s his final season before retirement. He’s given baseball most of his life, and the last thing he needs is my drama. “I’m not calling him. I’ve got no reason to.” I twist the cap to my water bottle on and then off again. “Besides. The season is starting. I’m not buggin’ him.”
Ez smirks. “You just don’t want him to know you got kicked out of the dorms for being a shit.”
There’s some truth to that one. I hate disappointing my dad.
Forest bumps me from behind. “Can I get that lawyer chick’s phone number?”
I lift my head and look up at him. “No. She’s married.”
He smiles, waggling his eyebrows. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
I lean my head back against my locker, trying to think of a way I can convince Sydney I’m her best option. Got any ideas? Because I’m fresh out of them. I’ve even thought of showing up and trying to befriend the kid to convince her, but that might look bad. Creepy guy trying to make friends with a kid? That’s not weird at all.
In just his boxers and thankfully showered, Ez sits next to me. “I got an idea for you.”
I don’t bother looking over at him. “Last time you had an idea, I got arrested by campus security because they thought your crushed-up Altoids were cocaine.”
He stares at me, blinking slowly. “How was I supposed to know they would turn to dust in my back pocket?”
“Most everyone knows that.” Reaching down, I grab my towel, intending on showering before I leave. “It’s why they’re sold in a tin container and not the plastic bag you put them in.”
“Whatever.” He waves his hand around. “Do you want to hear my plan or not?”
“Not really.”
“Hear me out. Give her tickets to the game tomorrow.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“You said she’s a baseball fan, right?”
I nod. “I think she is.”
“Okay, give her and the kid tickets. Then you can do your thing. If she sees you throw, guaranteed she’ll fall for you.” He winks at me. “Hell, I did. And bonus, no Teslas will be harmed.”
A smile lifts my lips. Not at the Tesla comment. I still don’t know what happened there, but the fact that his plan might work and way easier than stalking the child. At least this way, I can score some points with the kid.
After I shower, I stop by the PR office on my way out and have them send over four tickets to tomorrow night’s game, right behind the dugout. If I can’t impress her with my pitching, I’ll befriend the kid.
In my car, I try to recall what I know about the kid. She said her name was Tatum. She’s three and loves country music. With my phone in hand, I think about texting Sydney, but I think I’ll leave the tickets as a surprise. I do pull up her Instagram page and see what I can find out about her.
In my experience, if you need to convince anyone to do anything, you need to know their weakness. Judging by Sydney’s Instagram… Tatum is her world. And her business. Sydney Hannah. She’s an artist and a damn good one at that. I’m fucking impressed for sure.
I follow the links to her Etsy page and buy the most expensive painting I can find and have it shipped to my grandma Andrea in Washington. If she won’t let me rent the room, yet, I’ll support her business.
I go back to her Instagram picture and click on a recent one of her and Tatum together. They’re identical to one another. Same smile, nose, and wide blue eyes. Tatum’s wearing feathers in her hair and a dress I’m pretty sure my great grandmother owned, but she’s cute with a mischievous smile.
Me and this kid, we’re gonna be friends.
Generally, a save situation is when a pitcher enters the game in the seventh inning or later with a lead of three runs or fewer. This is typically what the closer (closing pitcher) is brought into the game for.
SYDNEY
If I thought the calls before were bizarre when we first posted the ad, I was in for a rude awakening. Sex doll guy, strange. Sex offender, not surprised. Cason wasn’t expecting that.
What really made me rethink renting out the room?
A younger woman, maybe twenty-five. She seemed perfect to me. Absolutely perfect with outstanding references and could pay a year’s worth of her rent. And, bonus, I didn’t want to have sex with her.
Nahla drew up a lease agreement, and Friday morning we were about to sign it when she started asking questions.
“I love that it’s a gated community. I’m trying to upgrade the security of my clients.”
Did that sound odd to you, or did I hear it wrong? Are the gears turning in your head too?
It’s then, as we’re seated at my kitchen booth, the one I feed my toddler at every morning, that I get that feeling in the pit of my stomach like something isn’t completely legit in Leslie Logan.
Nahla did a background check on her and everything. As far as I know, she wasn’t sleeping with my husband.
Kidding.
I hope she wasn’t, because I don’t know and I can only handle one mistress. Because guess who’s watching Frozen with Tatum at the moment? Freaking Remi. She keeps showing up. This time it’s to bring my lip gloss back that I stuffed in her bra the night we went out. I don’t recall doing that, but I don’t remember a lot of that night. Other than amazing sex, but that’s beside the point. The point is it’s like my husband died and I became a magnet of disaster and gained some dependents. I don’t even know how to handle it, let alone tell Remi to leave because, knowing Collin, he completely took advantage of a young college girl.
Anyway, back to this Leslie Logan. I take in her appearance. Nice clothes, conservative. Eyelash extensions, manicured nails, and lip filler for sure, but that’s common these days. I feel like everyone has that.
My pen halts on the paper, her check for a year’s worth of rent in front of me.
She stares at me, unseeing to my silent alarms. “Do you have discrete parking? Maybe behind the house?”
Okay, what the fuck? “No, just the garage parking in the third stall. You can park there.” I don’t sign my name to the lease yet. “What did you say you did for a living?”
She blinks those impossibly long lashes at me. “I’m an escort. Discretion for my clients is super important to me.”
I push the papers away from me. “I can’t rent you the room.”
She honestly looks fucking surprised. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t have you bringing men here to have sex. I have a three-year-old daughter here, and this is a nice neighborhood.”
Her expression hardens. “I’ll have you know, Sydney, my clients are wealthy businessmen.”
“I don’t care who your clients are. I’m not renting you a room.”
Leslie snatches her check from the table and reaches for her bag. “Fine. Whatever.”
Remi looks over at me from the couch, her eyes wide when Leslie leaves. “What happened?”
“She’s a prostitute,” I mumble, relieved I sold a painting this week because I’m going to need that money to get through the next month if I can’t get this room rented.
She stands, leaving Tatum to watch her Olaf scenes alone. “No cap?”
Ugh. Of course she says shit like that.
Anxiety gnaws at my throat. It’s like I have a permanent lump in there I can’t swallow. I lift my eyes to Remi and her perfect face. “Why are you here?”
Remi smiles. “I like you.”
“I can’t be your friend.”
Her brow collapses. “Why?”
I lower my voice so Tatum can’t hear me. Funny enough, she’s singing along to “Let It Go,” cementing the idea that we might let all this shit go and become gypsies. “You were fucking my husband, Remi. That automatically makes us not friends.”
Her eyes flood with tears. “But I didn’t know he was married.”
My resting bitch face surfaces. “Yes, you did.”
“Okay.” She sighs and sits across from me. “I knew he was married, but he made it sound like you were awful.”
“Surprise.” I sit back in the booth, defeated. “I am.”
Halfway through Tatum’s very loud performance of “Let It Go,” Remi bursts into tears and cries into her palms. Fuck. Why me?
I have no idea if I should hug her, tell her to leave, or hand over my last bottle of wine. Let’s not get crazy. I’m not giving up my last bottle. “Are you okay?”
“I’m feeling really vulnerable r
ight now.” She sobs. “I need someone to talk to.”
“Don’t you have friends?”
Her tears slow. “Believe it or not, other women don’t like me.”
“I wonder why.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Reaching forward, I touch her hands. “Remi, I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time. I’m sure this is traumatic for you, but I have a lot going on. I’m raising a kid, trying to figure out all this mess of my life. I have a business to run, and news flash, the guy you were fucking who was spoiling you with gifts, he had this family at home, lying to them, and wasn’t paying our bills. This house, it’s in foreclosure, and if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to lose it.”
Those gold eyes with the navy border peer back at me like I told her I wasn’t human. “Oh my God. Seriously?”
I nod. “Yes.” I haven’t gathered up the nerve to ask Remi any questions about Collin and her and how it started. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t want to know or if I’m afraid. Either way, I don’t talk about them.
“I didn’t know.” Her mouth gaps open. “I wouldn’t have…. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, so I got my own shit going on, so I’m sorry, but I can’t be your friend right now.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Know anyone without a criminal record or a strange fetish who wants to rent a room?”
She taps her finger to her chin. “I might. Actually, I think Cason’s looking for a place.” Her cheeks warm. “You remember him, don’t you?” And then she offers the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, and I can see why she caught Collin’s attention. Hell, even I’m staring at her now.
Fuck.
Sadie comes inside the house. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to class this morning.” She sets her bag on the table next to me and then slides into the booth beside Remi. “Hey, girl.”
Oh, super. We’re all best friends now. Me, my sister, my baby, and my husband’s lover. Perfect little family. Feeling like a weight is pinning me into the booth, I look up at Sadie. “Why?”
