Summer Heat (The Storm Inside #5)

by Alexis Anne

  She and I had become close and three months ago she moved in as my one and only roommate. It was only occasionally weird when it came to the fact that she worked part-time for Eve as the nanny to Max and Sam, my nieces.

  I held up an empty piece of stemware. “Please join me. I’ve had a day and probably shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

  Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shut the gate and trotted up the porch steps. Zoe and I were both twenty-seven and single and bonded by the fact that we both doted on Sam and Max. It was natural that we’d become friendly, but actual friendship wasn’t a given. It was a nice bonus, though.

  “What happened? You look like shit.”

  Plus she was blunt, and I really liked blunt. “Pour a glass and I’ll tell you.”

  Five minutes later we were both a little lightheaded from the alcohol when I started to spill my guts. “You remember that guy I told you about?”

  Her brow furrowed as she thought, then she narrowed her eyes. “Wait, you mean the guy. The one in college? The one you’ve never told anyone about?”

  “Except you.”

  She shook her head. “Vague details are not the same thing as telling me about him.”

  “It’s still more than I’ve ever told anyone else.”

  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “So what about him?”

  I waited until she’d taken another sip of wine. “I saw him today.”

  Luckily she’d already swallowed, otherwise I was pretty sure I’d be wearing that gulp of wine. “What?” she howled. “What do you mean? Explain! Quickly!”

  I laughed because her reaction was hilarious, but then it hit me. I was about to tell someone about Roman, and that was terrifying, but also kind of nice that it was Zoe. It was one thing to tell my sister, who would be horrified and angry, but it was something very different to tell a friend who had no stake in this ridiculous feud.

  “His name is Roman and today I discovered that he’s become a sports agent. One of his clients was injured and Marie gave him my number.”

  “But Marie had no idea about the two of you.”

  I nodded. “But Roman did.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What happened?”

  I shrugged because I was overwhelmed and wished there was a way to download everything I was thinking and feeling without having to find the words. “Well, the really, really short answer is that nothing’s changed. We still . . . spark.”

  She set down her glass and slid closer. “From what you’ve told me, that’s not a good thing.”

  “No it is not,” I said while shaking my head slowly. “He lives here now, Zoe. He works for Marie. How am I going to keep from seeing him?”

  “What happened? It was one thing when we were trading hypothetical stories about past relationships we wished hadn’t happened, but this is real. It’s something you’re dealing with right now. I want to help, but until I know all the facts…”

  “I was four.”

  Her eyebrows shot up again. “What?”

  “I was four when all this started. Dad was still playing for the Twins and Roman’s dad, George, was a center fielder for the Royals. He was leading the league in home runs that year, already on track to go down in history and join the Hall of Fame. He and Dad had never been friends.” That was putting it nicely. “And their rivalry had really heated up that season.”

  Zoe took another drag of wine. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like what you have to say next?”

  “Because you’re not.” I finished my glass. “It was a crazy game. Stolen bases, grand slams, switch hitters—the whole nine yards. The teams had already threatened to come out of the dugouts twice but the coaches managed to keep them back.” I was too young to remember the game but my sisters did and they spoke of it often. “George was on first when his teammate hit a pop fly. Stealing second was a stretch as it was, but he didn’t stop there, he rounded for third like a freight train. The man was bound and determined. Dad took the relay and blocked third. George tried to slide under him. It was . . . ugly.”

  Zoe cringed. She knew next to nothing about baseball when she started working for Eve but had been a quick study of the game and actually understood most of the intricacies of the sport now, but she was still learning the subtleties of baseball as a lifestyle.

  “So he got hurt?”

  “It was the end of his career. Blew his knee to smithereens.”

  “And he blames your father?”

  I nodded. “It took the bad blood to an entirely new level. A year later, after George’s knee had been repaired and he’d had enough rehab to get around fairly well on his own, he came to an after party my parents were also at and accused Dad of intentionally hurting him.”

  She frowned. “You’ve lost me now. If he slid into third, how could it be your father’s fault?”

  “Aside from blocking the plate? George claimed that Joe lifted his foot as George slid past him.”

  “And that lift was what tore his knee to shreds,” she finished. “Is it true?”

  I shrugged. “Dad will swear all day every day that it’s ridiculous. This was before instant replay or hi-definition cameras were used at the games. There was speculation about both of them playing dirty, but there was never anything clear or definitive to say one way or the other. Just the word of two men who hate each other.”

  “And nothing has changed in all these years?”

  Oh, but I hadn’t finished the story yet. “They got into a fight at this party. George managed to land some pretty nasty haymakers before he lost his balance and was pulled away by security. Dad lost some of his peripheral vision and broke three fingers. He was never the same after that and retired at the end of the season.”

  She closed her eyes. “They ended each other’s careers. Of course nothing has changed.”

  “Exactly.”

  She laughed, but it wasn’t with humor, and sat back in her chair. “You and Roman were Max’s age when this happened.”

  I thought of my adorable niece who had just turned four. What was happening right now that would affect her twenty-plus years down the road?

  “So you and Roman met in college, had a fling, and when you realized you really couldn’t ever make your families get along, you split up?” she guessed.

  I nodded. “That was part of it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Let me get more wine. And food. We should really be eating if we’re going to drink our way through this.”

  I followed her back inside and refilled our glasses while she pulled chilled chicken breasts from the fridge along with all the stuff to make a delicious salad. “Hey Zo . . . ”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for listening to all this.”

  She shrugged. “I’m hoping you’re going to return the favor one day. This is selfish on my part.”

  I’d been begging Zoe to tell me more about why she left her last boyfriend, packed three boxes, and moved to Tampa out of the blue, but so far all I’d gotten were the same kinds of details I’d given her—which was next to nothing.

  Once we’d eaten she pushed back her plate. “Your reprieve is over. I need details and I need them now.”

  I took her plate and rinsed it. Then rinsed my own. Then made myself busy with forks and wiping down the counter. The kitchen almost always stayed clean unless Max and Sam spent the afternoon with us. There was no reason for there to be a mess. It was just two busy, capable women in this big house.

  “June . . . ”

  I sighed and slid up onto the counter, looking out at the quiet house. Until Zoe had moved in with me I’d been lonely all alone in what was essentially Eve’s old life. I didn’t enjoy being by myself, per se, but I preferred it to living by someone else’s schedule and demands. I was okay in the quiet.

  But not Roman.

  He wasn’t the kind of guy who was good at being alone. He was an extrovert by nature, but it was more than that. It was as if his fat
her had screwed him up in the head so much that he was afraid of being alone. He sought out company even when he didn’t like the people he was with—simply because it was preferable to being on his own.

  “He was immature,” I started carefully.

  She slid onto the counter opposite me, swinging her legs. “We’re all immature at twenty-one.”

  “Not like this. He . . . ” I searched for the words to explain what it was about Roman. “He and Wes, his best friend, were silly, but that was normal college behavior. You know, dumping people in the fountain, mooning the team, putting salt in everyone’s food. That’s not what I’m talking about. He,” I fumbled over my words as my mind swam with memories and feelings I hadn’t unboxed in years. “He hadn’t figured out who he was yet,” I finally said with a shrug.

  “I didn’t know who I was in college. Hell I didn’t know until about two years ago when I moved here. I’m still figuring it out.”

  Okay, maybe I was being hard on him. But it was so much more than finding himself. Roman had been lost. “The guy I knew, the one I got to see when we were alone, was an amazing man. He was sweet and kind. He was confident in his abilities and sure of what he wanted to do with his life. But in public? He was George St. James’ boy. He made choices I know he wouldn’t have made on his own. It was his father calling the shots—and Roman let him.”

  The truth was, I was disappointed. Roman’s potential was massive. The glimpses I saw of the man inside were overwhelming. To see him intentionally squash that down in favor of the asshole his father wanted him to be was more than I could handle.

  “Roman was a dick and the last straw was the day he was a dick to me.”

  That got her attention. Zoe sat straight up. “What did the ass do to you?”

  I kind of loved the protective edge to her voice. I didn’t doubt that she would walk right up to Roman and punch him in the nose. I’d certainly do the same if anyone hurt her.

  “He insulted me. Well, he insulted everyone that night, but I never thought he’d turn on me. Not like that.”

  “What do you mean, he insulted everyone?”

  I smiled sadly. “Are you asking if the apple fell a little too close to the tree? No. Not really. If Roman were raised by a different man he would be a kind, good man. But he wasn’t raised by a different man. He was raised by George. There were times when Roman was talking and I could hear George reciting the speech in my head. His father wants to be better than everyone else and he expects his son to act in exactly the same way. And on that night, that was exactly the man Roman chose to be. He was egotistical, self centered, and downright cruel.”

  “And cruel to you as well?”

  I shook my head. “Even worse. He ignored me completely. Like I was the scum of the earth he couldn’t be bothered with.” I thought back to that night from time to time, wondering what had transpired before the party, why he’d said what he said when we were alone in his room. Something had to have happened to make him snap like that—but I had no idea what. “Anyway, long story short, we got into a fight and he said some things that hurt. Things that were meant to hurt me. I walked away and we’ve never spoken again. Until today.”

  4

  Five Years Earlier, Team Bus

  I ’d just settled into the seat by the window of the team bus when the doors hissed shut. I popped in my ear buds and started scrolling through my music when a shadow appeared. When I glanced up it was into warm brown eyes.

  “This is the only seat left,” he said, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably.

  My skin tingled with anticipation. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  He blinked, then a slow smile pulled up on his lips. “Now, that’s not what I hear at all.”

  “Well, according to lore, a St. James is incapable of smiling and here you are smiling, so I’m pretty sure we’ve both been fed a few exaggerated lies over the years.”

  That earned me a chuckle. “You really don’t mind?”

  I shook my head and after another moment of hesitation he slowly sank down into the seat beside me. I caught the eye of Coach Williams and got the distinct impression he’d done this on purpose. My best guess was that it was still early in the season and so far we’d been great, but he wanted to put that to the test before we got too much further along.

  Well, I was more than happy to prove that Roman and I could work together—even sit together—without it being an issue. I took out my ear buds and adjusted in the seat so I was turned slightly toward my new seatmate.

  “Great game.”

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks.” Then he automatically stretched his right arm and winced.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Roman … there is something wrong with your arm. If you don’t let me look at it you might injure it more. And if you let it go it could turn into a career-ending injury.” He didn’t move or say anything so I threw my hands in the air. “Fine. End your career because you’re too manly to admit you’re hurt.”

  After another minute of silence he cleared his throat. “I’m not too manly to admit I’m hurt.” Then he turned completely in his seat so he was facing me. “I’m concerned about how it will feel to have you touch me.”

  My eyes snapped up to lock with his. The look there took my breath away. It was that same warm, intense look I’d first seen when we shook hands in the dugout three weeks earlier.

  “Because of my name?” I held my breath while I waited for his answer.

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t care what your name is.”

  My mouth went dry. Then I reached out and took his bare forearm lightly in my hands. Electricity shot up my arms and I couldn’t quite catch my breath.

  “See?” he said breathlessly. “It happens to you, too, doesn’t it?”

  “What?”

  He placed his other hand on top of mine and another shot of tingles raced over the surface of my skin.

  “That,” he whispered, watching me carefully.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. Maybe if I pretended it wasn’t true it would eventually happen.

  His eyes narrowed. Was he angry or sad that I might not feel the same way? Then he forced a smile onto his lips. “Well then I guess I was worried about nothing. Here,” he straightened his arm. “It hurts here whenever I move my arm.”

  I carefully moved his arm around as I examined the injury. “I’ll have the team doctor order you an MRI.”

  “Do you think it’s bad?”

  I shook my head. “I think you throw too hard. If you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing to your arm it will become a problem.”

  He shrugged his strong shoulders and moved his hurt arm in a circle, then shot me a curious look. “What do you mean? What should I pay attention to?”

  He seemed genuinely interested, which was still an idea I was coming to terms with. Actually, I was desperately trying to come to terms with a lot of things. Based on family stories, everyone in Roman’s family was selfish and superficial. They were also rude to everyone, but especially members of my family. And yet I’d seen very little of this from Roman. I’d been watching quietly from my place on the fringes of the dugout or the locker room. He had moments of hardness—especially with his teammates during games—but that was all. Otherwise he was . . . well, nice. He and Wes were practically brothers. They watched out for each other and were downright silly most of the time.

  And then there was the other thing I couldn’t quite figure out. A thing I had trouble naming because it kind of terrified me. Even now, sitting beside him, it was so overwhelming it scrambled my brains. It was as if anytime we were within twenty feet of each other I could feel him. Which made no sense. But several times now I’d felt like someone was watching me and when I finally couldn’t take it anymore and looked around I always found Roman shooting glances my way.

  Even now I was keenly aware of every breath he took. Hell,
I even noticed every time he swallowed. It was if all my senses dialed up when he was around and I didn’t know what that meant.

  So here I was, squashed in beside him, feeling confused. Add in the fact that he seemed to feel exactly the same way and it multiplied that confusion by a hundred.

  “Well,” I said slowly because I was trying to control the waver in my voice, “I’m still new at this but, from what I’ve seen—”

  “Spit it out, Daniels!” And he was grinning now. My heart fluttered. He had a really good smile but it was downright breathtaking when it was because of me.

  “Your technique could use a little refinement.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “My technique?”

  I nodded. “If you correct a couple of things you’ll put less stress on your muscles and rotator cuff. Now, outside of that, we can also put together a stretching and strength training routine to help protect your arm.”

  He stared at me for several moments. “Did you just critique my technique?” His eyes had unfocused as if he were thinking too hard to pay attention to me anymore.

  “Well . . . yes. Your arm comes just a little too far out to the side and when you’re throwing extra hard—like to hit a base runner at first—you’re pulling the muscles here.” I ran my hand along his arm, holding my breath because the contact lit me up from the inside out.

  “Huh.” He ran his own hand over the spot I’d just touched. “Well that’s nice.”

  “What’s nice?”

  He gave me a half smile and a shrug. “Not many people have the balls to tell me what to do. Not even the coaches.”

  “Coach Williams yells at you all the time.”

  Now he grinned from ear to ear. “That’s why I like him. He’s here to help me and he doesn’t care what my last name is. But usually? My last name shuts people up real fast.” The air crackled between us. “I want you to swap with Chris. He’s a great guy but he’d never have told me to correct my throw.”

  Chris McKenzie handled Roman, Wes, and anyone they considered friends, so that my path rarely crossed Roman’s.