Sweet Spot for Victoria
Copyright ©2015 Hayley Faiman
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editor: RC Martin, Another Pair
Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs
Formatting by Champagne Formats
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books by Hayley Faiman
Dedication
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Epilogue
Also by Hayley Faiman
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Hayley Faiman
Men of Baseball Series
Book 1: Pitching for Amalie
Book 2: Catching Maggie
Book 3: Forced Play for Libby
Russian Bratva Series
Owned by the Badman
Seducing the Badman (April 2016)
Notorious Devils MC Series
Rough & Rowdy (March 2016)
For Celia –
My pretty, Spicy, Latina friend.
This may not have happened without you.
Thank you for all my Spanish vocabulary help.
Thank you for being my friend for the past two decades.
I LOOK DOWN AT THE little stick. It proves what I have been in denial about for the past six weeks. I am indeed pregnant — again. Holy shit.
I am exhausted from the two children we already have; how can I possibly add another?
I close my eyes and inhale deeply.
Rocio is four years old, almost five; by the time this baby is born, she will be in kindergarten. Carlos Jr. will still be at home with me. He’s only two years old and he’ll be three by the time this new little one arrives.
“I can do this,” I whisper to myself.
“I will do this,” I say softly, screwing my eyes closed tighter.
“I must do this,” I say a bit louder.
I feel as though everything I do is by myself as it is. I’m so tired. So completely exhausted. I don’t blame Carlos, not exactly, but his schedule is grueling. Although he’s tried to talk me into hiring help, I can’t do it.
I don’t want to do it.
My mother raised five of us while working full time and she never hired help. My parents couldn’t afford to hire help, even if they had desperately needed it. I would feel selfish if I hired nannies and housekeepers. I don’t work, why on earth do I need the help?
So instead, I exhaust myself trying to be everything I think a good mother and good wife should be. I bake, I cook, I clean, I decorate for every holiday, and I craft with the kids.
What’s one more to add to the mix? Right?
I can do it. Right?
“Mama.” A voice calls out from the other side of the bathroom door before a little hand bangs deceptively loud.
Five minutes, that’s all I wanted, five minutes to freak the fuck out. Five minutes to look at this test and know that my life is forever changed, again. I should have made Carlos get a vasectomy.
That damn proud Mexican asshole.
How dare I even suggest getting his nuts snipped? Ridiculous of me.
I should have held out sex until he went and got the vasectomy.
I laugh.
I’m just as horny as that bastard, no way could I have held out.
“Mama,” Rocio screeches.
I take a deep breath, standing from the bathtub before hiding the positive test in a box of tampons.
“Looks like I won’t be needing those for another year,” I mumble to myself.
I close the cabinet before opening the door to my princesa. She is standing in the doorway, her hand propped up on her little, popped out hip, showing me some serious attitude. I will never admit it to anybody, but this girl is exactly like me. Attitude for freaking days.
“Yes, Rocio, what is it that my princesa needs?” I ask, arching a brow at her.
“That son of yours is putting all of my Barbie’s in his mouth,” she cries the last word like it is the end of her world.
Isn’t it though? Barbie is serious business when you’re almost five years old and a princesa like my Rocio.
“All right, baby, let’s go save Barbie,” I say with a grin as I take her little hand in mine.
Once we walk into the living room, I see exactly what she’s talking about. Carlos Jr. is sitting in the middle of Barbie’s discarded clothes and shoving her dark brown haired head into his mouth. Slobber drips down his chin as he chews on her synthetic hair. Calmly, I walk over to him and sit down as I gently take the doll out of his mouth and hand him one of his favorite Lighting McQueen cars instead. He doesn’t protest as he shoves the brightly painted car into his mouth.
I close my eyes and sigh. He’s teething his molars — he must be. There is a pool of drool gathered on his dark blue Lightening McQueen t-shirt and he’s going to town on the car.
I play with the kids, on the floor, for another hour before its naptime, my favorite part of the day. Once they are safely tucked into bed, I go into the kitchen and get a bottle of water out of the fridge.
My eyes scan over the Keurig machine and I whimper at the sight. No more coffee for, possibly, the next two years. I look down at my bottle of water with disgust.
I want to scream and cry, but how pathetic is that? Some people try for years to have children and are never blessed. I should feel grateful not irritated that I can’t have coffee and booze.
I snatch my phone up off of the counter and call the first person I can think of, the person who will understand my struggles and knock some sense into me at the same time.
Libby.
“What’s up, bitch?” she asks immediately. I smile. I love this girl.
“Apparently, Carlos’ dick — and too often. He’s knocked me up again,” I confess before my ear is filled with her laughter.
“Have you told him yet?” she asks between her giggles.
I want to glare at her, but the bitch moved to Boston so I’m stuck glaring at the evil bottle of water that sits patiently waiting for me to drink it.
“No,” I grind out with irritation.
I won’t be able to tell him anytime soon, either. He’ll be home late every night for the next few weeks. Since the holidays are over, it’s time to gear up for spring training. They’ve started conditioning and practicing longer hours, preparing for March, when they will go down to Florida and start their spring training games.
When Carlos is in serious practice mode, he comes home, spends time with the kids, fucks me until he passes out, wakes up at five in the morning, and starts all over again. There is little time for conversation.
“How are you going to tell him? Are you freaking?” she asks distractedly. I know she must be doing something with her own baby.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him on Valentine’s
day,” I suggest and she hums in my ear.
“You could have his mom watch the kids and do a romantic weekend getaway?”
I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating on where we could take a romantic weekend getaway. There aren’t many places he would actually care to go without the kids. Carlos is a family man, one hundred percent. While I love that about him, I want time with him as well. Though, maybe we don’t need any unsupervised adult alone time; he can’t seem to keep from knocking me up as it is.
“If I plan something, will you guys join us?” I ask, suddenly nervous about Carlos’ reaction to another addition to our already perfectly sized family of four.
“I don’t think you want us there for something romantic,” Libby chuckles.
I don’t really hear her because all I can think about is this cute Inn Carlos and I visited when we first moved to the city. It was in Aurora, New York, and it was quiet—nice and secluded.
“No, I want to rent out the E.B. Morgan House in Aurora for all of us,” I say.
Libby stays silent so I continue.
“Remember, I told you about it years ago? It’s an awesome mansion turned into an Inn. It’s perfect and you can rent the whole place. It only has seven rooms so we can get one for you and Pete, Maggie and Jackson, and Amalie and Jarrod. It’ll just be the four of us couples and I can tell Carlos there, with all his friends present.”
“Are you afraid of something, Victoria?” she asks, knowing me too damn well for her own good.
“No, shit. Fine, then don’t come,” I bark, harsher than I truly mean it.
“No, babe, we’ll be there. We’ll make it happen.”
I hang up the phone, a new mission set before me, and I call the E.B. Morgan House, praying they aren’t fully booked for Valentine’s Day weekend. I think that I could be wishing on a prayer. Why would a romantic Inn not be booked at least a year in advance?
The woman at the Inn informs me that they are indeed booked for Valentine’s Day, but the weekend before is completely open and they are willing to rent the entire Inn out to me. The price is astronomical but I don’t care. I immediately give her my credit card number and then send texts out to Libby, Maggie and Amalie. Within minutes, I have confirmations from all of them. With one less thing on my mind, all I can think about is this new life growing inside of me.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and call my obstetrician’s office. I make an appointment for two weeks from now, one week before our trip to Aurora with all of our friends. I don’t know if I can keep this little — big — secret from Carlos for another three weeks.
I’ll be around nine weeks along and, unless God shines his light down on me, my body will already begin to change. With Carlos Jr., I started showing around nine weeks. Like, really showing. It was a ridiculous amount. I feared I was pregnant with twins, I was so large.
Exhaustion suddenly takes over and I make my way to the sofa, promising to only sleep for a moment before I get up and start to prepare dinner for my family. I close my eyes to thoughts of the baby I am going to bring into this world.
Will it be a boy or a girl?
Will he or she have Carlos’ dark chocolate eyes or my lighter amber colored ones?
I am beat to fucking shit. No fucking around, my body feels like it’s gone through a knockdown, drag out fight with my main man, the original icon of boxing, Julio Cesar Chavez. This conditioning and practicing is for kids.
I’m too old for this shit.
At thirty-two, most wouldn’t think I’m necessarily old; but as a professional athlete, I am, and I feel fucking ancient. I slowly walk toward the elevators in my apartment building and punch the button to my floor.
I close my eyes and lean back, breathing deeply as I think about my family, who is no doubt waiting by the door for their padre. My Rocio, with her long brown hair. She looks so much like her mama - my Vic - that sometimes it aches to look at her.
I know what I have in store for me with the boys and it already angers me—even though I realize she has another thirty years until she’s allowed to date. I know how those high school boys think. No way in fuck is my baby girl going anywhere with any of them.
My little baby, my Carlos Jr., is so fucking crazy, just like me as a kid. Bouncing off of the walls and giving us mini heart attacks already, at the young age of two years old. Then, the boy turns and looks at you with the sweetest smile and you forget about what a little shit he is.
Fucking heart melted.
Then there’s my Vic, my Victoria. The woman I fell in love with when she was just fourteen years old. I still remember the moment I saw her. It was the first day of school. She was wearing an overall dress thing; it was short and hugged her slight curves. Her hair was in a high ponytail and she had white Ked shoes on her feet. She was walking with a group of other girls, but I couldn’t see them—I could only see her. She stole my heart the second she looked up and her eyes locked with mine.
I had to have her.
At the time, all I could think about was sinking my sixteen year old dick inside of that pretty thing. I had never thought that way about a girl before. Baseball was what interested me. Girls weren’t important. Sure, they were fun to look at, but I spent my life on the ball field focusing on my game.
When I saw her, everything changed. I wanted her. I needed her. I was so physically attracted to her it was like a lightning bolt hit me. Later, when I got to know her, it quickly turned into love. I never did get to sink my sixteen year old dick inside of her. I knew she would be my first though. My first everything.
My Vic was a good catholic girl. Well, mostly good. We fooled around a ton before we were married. We both wanted to solidify our relationship with sex, but neither of us were willing to break the rules. I marched her ass down to the church when she turned seventeen to start our marriage classes. I married her on her eighteenth birthday. It was against our parents’ wishes, but I didn’t care.
I wanted her by my side forever, nobody else would ever do.
I have never regretted it a day in my life.
The elevator doors open with a ding and I find my key, slowly opening the apartment door in hopes that my kids will hear it and crash into my legs once I clear the doorway. However, I’m greeted by fucking mayhem instead. Rocio is sitting in the corner, crying her pretty brown eyes out, and Junior is throwing his Legos at her — do not ask me why.
Making my way further into the apartment, I notice Victoria is sprawled out on the sofa, one arm dangling down onto the floor while the other one clutches her phone to her chest.
I rush over to her, complete and total fear washing over me. I worry that she is somehow sick, concussed, or worse. I gently shake her, calling her name, only to hear her moan. It fills me with relief.
My feeling of relief is short lived and anger takes over as she slowly bats her pretty amber eyes, waking up from what I can assume is a goddamn nap.
“Los?” she asks, looking slightly confused, her eyes searching mine.
“Are you sick?” I bark. I instantly regret my intensity as she winces.
“No, I was just so tired,” she says groggily. When she yawns, I have to fight my dick from getting hard.
Her pretty mouth is one of her best features, next to her thick Latina ass and thighs. Christ, and her tits, real or fake, they have always been fucking mouthwatering. I shake my head, trying to get rid of the lustful thoughts swimming inside of it.
“Tired?” I ask, trying to keep my cock from winning over my brain.
I have to remember to be pissed off. It’s a feat with my sexy as fuck wife lying down right next to my hip.
“What time is it?” she asks, still looking confused and still cute as shit.
“It’s six, hermosa,” I say. Beautiful—she is beautiful, too.
Always, even when that mouth of hers gets her into trouble.
“Holy fucking goddamned shit,” she cries, sitting straight up. All of my anger dissipates at her obvious upset over the time.
“The kids,” she cries.
I shake my head, looking over to where Rocio still sits in the corner, but no longer crying. Junior is pretending as if he has been a good boy playing with Legos.
“How could you sleep like that when you’re here alone with them, Vic? How could you not hear them?” I question.
When I do, I watch as her bottom lip trembles and I feel like an ass—but fuck, I’m tired too and no way in hell could I do that.
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Carlos,” she says, her voice ragged with emotion.
“You need to be more careful. You need to be vigilant when you’re here alone with them, or you need to hire help,” I lecture. I watch as worry is wiped from her features and red hot, spicy, anger replaces it.
“I don’t need any fucking help, you pendejo. My mama raised five of us with no fucking help. I can manage the two I have,” she argues.
As much as I want to rapidly fire back that she’s doing a shit job — since she was asleep and there’s no fucking dinner on the table, I don’t say a word. I just shake my head instead.
“Best go to bed earlier tonight then, I don’t want you too tired to care for our babies,” I offer as she glares at me.
“Maybe if you didn’t keep me up all night long, trying to shove your dick into every single one of my orifices on a nightly basis, I wouldn’t be so fucking tired,” she practically growls. Her retort pisses me off.
“You better think about the words you’re saying, hermosa,” I warn. She rolls her eyes, pissing me off further.
“Whatever,” she mutters.
She tries to sit up, but I press my chest against hers. I feel her nipples harden beneath her thin tank top and I want nothing more than to show her just how I can fuck every single one of her orifices.
“Keep being a bitch, Victoria, and you’ll give me no choice…” I murmur, pausing to run my nose along the side of hers. My breath hot against her cheek, I continue in a whisper, “but to fuck the bitch out of you.”
Victoria gasps beneath me, but her short breaths speak of her excitement. Her chest is pushing even harder against mine, proving just how much I can affect my bitchy wife. I love it, too.
Sweet Spot for Victoria (Men of Baseball Book 4) Page 1
