The Mitchell Sisters: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  But the same parts of me are also terrified that it’s not.

  I stare at him, wondering how the simple act of me licking a finger could make him lose his shit. “All football players are alike. You think you can get whatever you want, whenever you want without regard to anyone. And you never change. I know what goes on. I’ve heard about plenty of famous players in their forties who are on their third wives, girlfriends on the side, and a felony assault charge that was conveniently dropped to boot. What is it about being famous that makes you think you can disregard all the rules of basic humanity?”

  I immediately regret my words. I know I said them out of fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what this date could lead to. Maybe I’m sabotaging the night on purpose. He’s never given me any reason to doubt his intentions or his humanity.

  He puts down his fork and looks me directly in the eye. “That’s not me, Piper. I’m not like Charlie’s mom, if that’s what you think. I don’t believe the world is at my disposal. I don’t expect things to get handed to me on a silver platter. I fight for what I want. And right now I want two things—football and you.”

  My breath catches, his words taking me completely off guard. He doesn’t give me time to respond. “I know football players get a bad rap for being . . . well, for being players, but I’m not like that. I’ll admit I wasn’t careful when I was younger. I made a mistake. I got careless. But I’m not a bad person. Have I done anything to make you think I am?”

  “What about at the airport?” I ask.

  “Airport?”

  “When you gave that woman your phone number.”

  “Huh?” He tilts his head and studies my face. “What woman?”

  “The one with the kid. I think he was lost and you helped him find his mother. Then you gave her your phone number. Are you telling me that’s not being a player?”

  The strong muscles of his jaw try to suppress a smile before the features of his face soften with boyish charm. “It was an autograph, Piper. Not a phone number. I talked about football to try and calm him down. Turns out his dad was a big fan, so he asked his mom if it was okay for me to give him an autograph.”

  “An autograph?”

  He shrugs; a slow graceful movement of one muscular shoulder.

  I close my eyes and shake my head. “I’m sorry. You’ve actually been pretty nice to me considering some of the things I’ve said to you. But how do you know you won’t become those people? I mean, you’re just at the beginning of being famous. What happens if you get that starting position? What happens when women throw themselves at you whenever you leave your apartment? What happens if you want one of them, but they decide they don’t want you? Are you going to just take what you want, Mason?”

  He pushes away his half-eaten plate of food, seemingly losing his appetite. He pours the remaining wine into his glass and drinks it in one long swallow. “No, Piper. I’m not going to take what I want. But I am willing to fight for it. That’s where I’m different from them—the men in your past.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I growl at him, giving him a biting stare.

  His face falls into a frown and I can tell he regrets his comment just as much as I regret mine. “You’re right, I don’t. But I would like to. I hope you’ll give me the chance to get to know you better. Now, eat your sandwich or you’ll waste away. I’m willing to bet you ran more than you should have today. Am I right? What did you do, five, six?”

  I shrug. “Seven.”

  He laughs. “See, I know a lot about you already. I knew you would never stick to the marathon recovery guidelines.”

  We talk about running for the remainder of the meal. It’s a safe subject. I tell him about the marathons I ran in Amsterdam and Berlin last year. I tell him how Charlie got me into running back in high school. I even show him some pictures on my phone.

  “This must be Charlie,” he says.

  “That was taken in Austria the day after she broke her leg. We were supposed to go mountain climbing the next week, but obviously, we couldn’t.”

  “There aren’t any men in these pictures,” he says, taking the liberty of paging through more of my photos. “Does that mean I don’t have any competition from guys with really cool accents?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t date, remember?”

  He laughs. “Me neither. Until tonight. In fact, this is the first date I’ve been on since Hailey was born.”

  My jaw slackens with disbelief. “You haven’t been on a date in almost two years?”

  His eyes scrunch together like he’s working something out in his head. “Technically, a little over two years. Not since Cassidy showed up pregnant.”

  “How is that even possible? I don’t know any guy who can go that long without . . . um . . . dating.” I feel a wave of heat cross my face and wonder if there’s ever been another time in my life when I’ve blushed so many times over the course of one evening. I know there’s not.

  I take a drink of water from my bottle to cool me down.

  “I told you, Piper, I’m not like most guys. I’m one-hundred-percent dedicated to my daughter.” He raises his hand and examines it. “And apparently, my left hand.”

  In a very unladylike manner, water spews from my mouth in a fit of laughter. Mason chuckles as he wipes droplets off my phone. He looks at the picture again before handing it back to me. “Charlie is the spitting image of her mother,” he says, eyeing the picture of Charlie with her blue cast and me supporting her on her crutches as we pose in front of the ski slope she broke her leg on. Charlie is a redhead. Her long, wavy hair a carbon-copy of the once-famous actress I grew to despise.

  “I used to see her mom in movies when I was a child,” he says. “Stole her mother’s looks is right. She’s stunning.”

  I’ve never once before been jealous of Charlie. Yes, she’s always been the beautiful one. The one men fawn over. The tall, mysterious redhead they take home while her awkward roommate sleeps alone. But right now, despite how I’ve always been relieved that she gets all the attention, my eyes fall to the table as a foreign feeling courses through me. It feels a little like defeat. “Yeah. She is, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, of course she is.” He leans over the table, reaching his hand up to my mouth. I tense when his fingers meet my lips. My pulse races and my breathing stops at the feel of his gentle touch. He swipes his thumb across my bottom lip, retracting his hand to reveal the barbeque sauce he’d wiped off. He puts his thumb into his mouth and sucks the sauce off. I almost fall out of my chair. I think that must be the single most sexy thing I’ve ever seen a man do. Then again, I’ve never regarded men as sexy. Until now. Until Mason. “But she doesn’t hold a candle to you, Piper. You’re gorgeous, don’t you know that?”

  Before I can disagree with him, or even have the time to blush, the Maître D comes over with a bottle of champagne and a plate of Tiramisu with a lit candle in it. He wishes me a boisterous happy birthday and several tables around us applaud as he pops the cork, pouring us each a glass of what looks to be an expensive Brut.

  I feel I might be sick right here in front of Mason at this fancy restaurant that serves barbeque on request. I pull my water bottle out of my bag and take a long drink. “I uh . . .” I fumble with the bottle and look around nervously to make sure people are no longer watching. I push the fancy confection away from me. “I don’t celebrate my birthday, Mason. How did you even know?”

  “Who doesn’t celebrate their birthday? At least until they hit fifty and want to live in denial.” He laughs.

  “I don’t,” I say, with the conviction of a serial killer.

  I watch the crinkle form between his eyebrows. “How come?”

  There’s a pregnant pause and I feel he can sense me scrambling for an answer. The wheels turn in my head so I can quickly give him one. I blow out a long breath to bide some time. “I just don’t think we need to celebrate the fact that we’re dying. You do know that from the minute we’re born, we start dying, rig
ht? We are literally born to die. There is no other certainty in life. And every birthday we celebrate is just one more reminder of how much closer we are to death.”

  He studies me while I speak and I wonder if he can perceive how my words tell a much different story than my eyes do. Does he believe all that crap I just spewed out? “So you’re a glass-half-empty kind of girl?”

  “No, I’m a realist,” I quip. “So tell me, which one of my sisters do I have to kill?”

  “Neither. It’s my fault.” He nods his head at my phone. “While you were in the bathroom, you got a text. I know it was wrong for me to look, but when I glanced down and saw Charlie wishing you a happy birthday, I couldn’t let the night go by without recognizing it. I didn’t go through your phone, Piper. I swear I just saw the text flash across the screen. I’m really sorry.”

  His eyes fill with regret and beg me to forgive him. I try to see it from his point of view. I get that most people celebrate their birthdays and he probably just thought I didn’t want to put the pressure on him for our date. Mark it down as one more noble thing he’s tried to do for me.

  He has no idea. No idea that for the last four years, I’ve gotten so drunk I almost ended up in the hospital. Not because I was celebrating, but because I was trying to forget. Forget the worst day of my life. Forget the unimaginable pain of losing that part of me I could never get back. Forget the day I stopped living.

  His eyes fill with compassion. “Okay, so no birthday.” He leans over and blows out the candle, removing it from the dessert. He picks up my champagne glass and hands it to me. “To us, then. To completing the Boston Marathon—a distinguishable accomplishment only a select few can claim.”

  How he can manage to pull me from the depths of self-abhorrence, I’m not quite clear on, but at his remark, I crack a tiny smile and take my glass from him. “To you, for making it possible for me to finish.”

  We clink glasses and drink. I down the whole thing in three swift gulps. Mason laughs. “Ahhh, so I’ve found your drink. Unreasonably overpriced champagne it is.” He pours me another. As I watch the bubbly liquid effervesce in my glass, I remind myself what happened the last time I drank too much around Mason. I ended up panicking and punching out the valet. I vow to limit myself to two glasses—enough to loosen me up and allow me to enjoy the evening Mason is trying so hard to orchestrate.

  “Come on.” He gets a forkful of Tiramisu and offers it to me. “It’d be a shame to waste this dessert that in no way, shape or form even begins to resemble a birthday cake. I’m not even sure why they brought this, I mean what idiot serves Tiramisu for someone’s birthday? This is obviously an ‘I finished the marathon’ cake.”

  I laugh and take the bite, holding his inviting stare. I’m not sure what it is that makes it so intimate when one person feeds another. Mothers feed their kids all the time. So why then, when he pulls the fork slowly from my mouth, do I feel a shockwave traveling all the way from my mouth to the very core of my being?

  I take a sip of my champagne and try to form a coherent sentence. “Actually, it means ‘lift me up’.”

  “Uh, what?” He loosens the top button of his blue dress shirt and I realize he’s just as flustered by my bite of cake as I am.

  “I lived in Italy for six months,” I explain. “Tiramisu means ‘pick me up’ or ‘lift me up.’ So, you see, it is appropriate. You literally lifted me up in the race and forced me to continue. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to truly thank you for that.” I fiddle with my bracelet, twisting the charm around it on my wrist. “As a matter of fact, I have a lot more to thank you for than just the race. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say it, but I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  His face lights up as he digs in and offers me another bite. “Believe me, Piper. It’s been my pleasure.”

  Someone clinks a spoon on a glass and our attention turns to the table beside us. We watch a man make a toast to his son who is graduating from law school. My eyes fall on Mason as he longingly witnesses the exchange between father and son. We cheer along with the other patrons and raise our glasses in toast.

  When the applause dies down, I reach across the table and place a sympathetic hand on Mason’s arm, relishing the electrified heat that I’ve come to expect with our touches. “I’m so sorry about your parents. I can only imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I’m sure they would be proud that you’ve accomplished so much.”

  He nods, not taking his eyes off my hand that still rests on him. He covers my hand with his other one, holding it in place on his arm. “Thank you. I’ve learned to live with it. It’s a part of who I am. But I won’t let it define me.” His eyes capture mine, burning into the far reaches of my mind as if he knows my deepest, darkest secrets. His thumb caresses my knuckles, sending a comforting warmth through me. “Bad things happen to good people, Piper. We just can’t let our past dictate our future.”

  I pull my hand back and he instantly releases it, smiling over at me, almost like he senses my fear of being held down. He picks up his drink and touches the rim of it to mine. “So, where am I taking you next Saturday, Piper?”

  chapter fourteen

  mason

  Jarod delivers our orders, interrupting the conversations at the table, and it reminds me of last night. The waiter had shitty timing. I never did get an answer from Piper about a second date. Then when I took her home and walked her up the stairs, this two-hundred-twenty-pound quarterback was afraid to repeat the question for fear of rejection.

  I didn’t try to kiss her. I wasn’t going to push my luck. I was grateful she didn’t run out on me after all the mistakes I made seemingly putting my foot in my mouth more than once. She wasn’t ready. But she was conflicted, I could tell. As we stood on the porch, she kept staring at my lips, a sure sign she was thinking about kissing me. There was nothing more I wanted to do in that moment. The pull was so strong I had to physically restrain myself by grabbing the railing behind me. Her lips were so soft and vaguely pouty. Simply perfect. And since I’d touched them earlier when I wiped the barbeque sauce from them, I knew exactly what I was missing.

  I only hope I have another chance.

  But as I watch Jarod serving the food, I notice his eyes never stray far from Piper. He wants her. What if I’ve opened up the door to her dating and now he’s going to take the opportunity I’ve afforded him? Why the hell did we have to have brunch here today? Why not Maple Creek or Long Island?

  “Hey, Piper,” Jarod says, putting her omelet in front of her. “Are you working later?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Not until tomorrow.”

  His faces falls in disappointment. “Oh, well, me too. I guess I’ll see you then.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” she says, smiling up at him.

  Smiling. It’s a rarity for Piper Mitchell. Why is she smiling at him? As I ponder it, she looks over at me to catch me staring. Her smile gets bigger. And just like the fucking Grinch, my heart expands and almost bursts through my chest. I think for a brief second that maybe I’m the one who put the smile on her face. Perhaps she’s simply in a good mood after our date? She seems relaxed today. Carefree. Dare I say . . . happy.

  I glance over at Jarod, who is still paying close attention to our table. Probably because the owners and his manager are all in attendance. I’ll give her the day to think about it. Then I’ll catch her at the gym tomorrow. Before she comes to work. Before the tatted-up boy has a chance to ask her out and butt in on my girl. Because that’s exactly how I see her. Mine. I can’t bear the thought of anyone else being with her. Touching her. But deep down, I know that’s exactly what happened in her past. And not in a good way.

  I start to lose my appetite.

  “So, how’d it go last night?” Griffin elbows me from his seat next to mine, whispering so nobody else can hear. “If I had to guess, pretty damn good. I’ve never seen Piper wake up in a good mood. That woman is not a morning person.”

  “Rea
lly?” My previous thoughts fall away as a smile threatens to split my face open.

  “Yeah, I’m telling you the girl was walking on cloud nine. She even made coffee for us. That’s a first. Whatever you’re doing, just keep on doing it.”

  “Did she say anything?” I ask, hesitantly.

  “What are we, in high school?” He laughs.

  “What’s so funny,” Skylar asks from across the table.

  “Nothing,” Griffin replies. “I was just noticing what a good mood my friend here was in.”

  All eyes turn to me. Then one by one they go across the table to Piper, who instantly blushes and looks slightly forlorn by the attention.

  “Must be this fantastic weather,” her dad says.

  “Must be,” Skylar adds, winking at me.

  Piper gives her a dirty look. I think she must have kicked her under the table, because Skylar whispers loudly, “What?”

  I look around the table and see exactly what I want for my future. For my daughter’s future. The Mitchells are one big happy family. Bruce and Jan have taken me in as one of their own. If they only knew how much I wished that were true. They did an impressive job raising three incredible daughters.

  Bruce is a big guy like me. Intimidating as hell sometimes, but once you get to know him, you realize his bark is far worse than his bite. Still, I’m not sure I’d want to be on the wrong side of a conversation with him. I’ve heard enough about how that can go from Gavin and Griffin. They both had to earn his trust the hard way, after abandoning his daughters.

  Jan shared the gorgeous color of her eyes with both Skylar and Piper, and she dotes on Hailey as much as she does her own grandchildren. It makes me sad that I can’t have my daughter with me every day. The more I’m around the Mitchells, the more I realize what true family is. Perhaps it’s time to think about hiring the lawyer I always threaten Cassidy with.