On the DL (The MVP Duet Book 1)

by Laramie Briscoe

  The person who was staring at my ass is now staring at him, gaping. “Savage? Oh my God, can I get your autograph?”

  “Not after you ogled her ass, man that’s my high-school sweetheart.”

  Hearing him say those words lights up a spot in my chest that’s been dark for far too long. “You still call me that?”

  “To anyone who will listen.” He offers me his hand as I climb over the row, to get to the aisle. The small touch sparks in between us, but it’s probably just because I haven’t been touched by a man in so long. At least that’s what I tell myself. “There wasn’t more than one, Mal, you know that as well as I do.”

  As he pulls me over and I get situated, he helps to right me. His eyebrows come together in question, amusement playing on his face. “What are you doing here? Watching a minor league game?”

  “What? You think I don’t watch baseball just because I don’t have a vested interest in it anymore.” He doesn’t need to know that I haven’t watched it in years, especially when I’m feeling sassy.

  “Son of a bitch.” He grabs his chest, stumbling back a little. “That hurt, sweetness. Right there in the motherfuckin’ chest.”

  I give a little laugh. “Kayla invited me, her family has season tickets. I didn’t have anything else to do today and thought maybe I’d like to get out in the sunshine,” I explain. “What’s with the sweetness? You’ve never called me that.”

  “You smell like cake, or frosting.” he leans in, sniffing of my hair.

  “It’s because I’m working at Sweeties,” telling him more in this little conversation we’re having than I’d really wanted to. Hell, we’re talking more than we have in the last decade.

  “The bakery? Mom got some brownies from there the other day and they were to die for.”

  “I’ve only worked two shifts, so I’m pretty sure they weren’t from me. I’ll pass the message along.” I grip the strap of my purse, forcing it to keep me grounded. I can’t lose my mind around this man; pretend things are different than what they are. “I was going to get some water, it’s hot out here.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead.

  “I bet you forgot how hot the South gets, what with being out in California for so long,” he follows along as I turn to the concession stands.

  “There is something to be said for that dry heat.” I slow my pace so that we can walk together. He’s without crutches, but a brace covers his knee, and causes his gait to be slightly stunted. “When will you be able to take it off for good?” I point down.

  “Next week and it can’t come fast enough. This shit is hurting my hip. But it’s only when I walk. If I drive, or anything like that, it’s easier - I was cleared to do that last week. What I can’t wait to do is run,” he admits as we get in line behind a group of what look to be adults out on day dates.

  “You still run, huh?” I ask him, allowing my gaze to move up and down his body. He’s still lean, still an athlete, and still amazingly fit even though he’s been injured. He rests his hands on his hips, pulling his t-shirt flush against the tight muscles of his stomach.

  “You know that’s my relief from everything.” He gives me a bored look, pursing his lips. “From stress, annoying people, sexual tension. Nothing can’t be fixed with a couple of miles on a path or on a treadmill, and I’ve been missing it for far too long.”

  The way he says sexual tension, I know he’s baiting me. To this day I’ve never had a lover as good as Savage Harlow, but I wisely ignore it. “Hopefully you’ll be able to get back to that soon.”

  “Needs to happen quicker than I can tell you.” He stretches his neck as he moves it around on his shoulders. It’s a move that’s undeniably sexy, like a caged panther not sure how to deal with pent up desire. There’s a tension there that I can see, and inexplicably I kinda wanna help him work it out. “I’m not used to being cooped up and not feeling that adrenaline rush, ya know?”

  I don’t know, but I do remember how he’d bounced with energy when people had tried to get him to sit still, how it’d seemed he was a whole new person after he’d get done with his runs. Distinctly there are memories pushing against my conscious of how he’d move in his sleep on the rare nights we got to sleep next to one another. “Can you walk?” I ask him slowly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like walk at a fast clip? It’s what I do. Right now I can’t afford a gym membership and you know I’ve never been a runner.” I allow the embarrassment to color my cheeks. “It’s a long story, but the truth is I can’t, so I’ve been walking at the track over at the high school. I go out there, work up a sweat, and try to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do with my life. It’s working pretty well for me.”

  “I can.” he nods. “But they don’t want me to do it alone. I can’t take anymore of my parents looking at me like I’m about to break, and Six doesn’t give two shits about me.” He motions to the field with his hand. “I don’t have any friends left from high school.”

  The sadness in his tone, the way it looks like he would rip his skin off and shred it if given the chance, makes me reach out my hand to him. I’ve never liked to see him in pain, never liked to see him doubt himself. It’s a lonely world when you lose everyone you’ve ever known. We both know that, and to see him going through it a second time affects me. He grips my fingers with his, offering up a small smile.

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  The invitation is out before I can stop it. In ways it’s like coming home again. The last time I was in this small town, Slater had been my entire life. Coming back while we’re both going through such big changes? It doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me.

  “You serious? I might slow you down a little.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” I shrug. “I seem to remember someone walking slowly with me in the halls our junior year when I sprained my ankle and carrying my books while I was on crutches.”

  “You don’t have to repay me for that.” He scowls, dropping his hand from mine. “I did it because I loved you.”

  “And I’m doing this because, no matter how much water is under our bridge, I still care about you. You were a huge part of my life for so many years. As much as I’ve wanted to, and as much as I’ve tried, I can’t turn it off.”

  Those are the truest words I’ve ever spoken. As much as I don’t want to worry about him, I do. As much as I convince myself I haven’t watched from afar, I have.

  “Well, give me your number, so we can get a time to meet up.” He holds out his phone. “Text yourself, and then we’ll be able to set up a schedule.”

  “I can’t believe Savage is handing me his phone. There’s no telling whose numbers are in here.”

  He snorts and rolls his eyes. “You’re one of the only people I’ve ever trusted, Mal. Even after you ripped my heart out, I knew I could trust you.”

  “Thanks.” I grin as I input my info and hand him the phone back. “I need to get something to drink and then get back to Kayla.”

  “Crazy to think you’re here with her, and I’m here with you.”

  “Yeah.” When it’s my turn, I order two waters. “What can I say? Maybe coming back is doing both of us some good, even though neither one of us really wanted to be here.”

  The worker hands me the waters as I turn to Slater. “Text me, and we’ll set up a time to meet. I promise I won’t flake out on you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he tells me as I turn to walk back to my seat.

  The whole way there I can feel his eyes on my ass, and I’m wondering what in the hell I just opened myself up to.

  Savage

  I’m not sure what just happened between the two of us, but I’ll take it. After dreading seeing her for so many years and figuring it would go one way, I’m kinda thrown by the two encounters we’ve had go another way. Maybe that was just me planning for the worst and hoping for the best. Either way, I think I might like having her back in my life, even if it is as a friend. Back in the day, she and I? We’d
been the best of friends. There was no one else I would tell my secrets to. No one else I’d trust more than her.

  As I sit in the aisle seat our family has purchased for the season, my mom looks at me. “That took you a long time. Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” I throw some of the boiled peanuts I got in my mouth. “I ran into Malone.”

  “And how’d that go?”

  Mom had rooted for us, even after she’d left. She’d listened to me wallow in my own misery for a week and then told me to go after her. I never did, but now, with the turn my life is taking, I kinda wish I had. “It went okay, I got her number.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, searching for her contact info.

  Immediately I go to the M’s, but when I don’t see it, I get a sinking feeling in my gut. Maybe she’s not ready to move past what we did to each other. Maybe I’ve been reading the whole situation wrong. Thumbing back through my contacts, I’m looking for something that will jump out at me, something that will tell me it’s Malone. Confused, I go to see the text she sent to herself, laughing as I see it labeled Ex-Fiancée with a smiley face emoji next to it. At one point, her putting that in there would have pissed me off beyond belief. I probably would have thrown my phone and refused to speak to anyone for the next few hours. Today, it causes laughter to bubble up in my stomach, and I shake my head, remembering how much I loved her sense of humor. How she could keep me laughing for hours. It hits me with great clarity; maybe I am ready to move on.

  “Now batting third, Crafton Harlow!” Is there any wonder why my brother goes by Six? Crafton had been my great-grandfather’s name, and while I know he takes great pride in that, it’s not really the coolest of names.

  “C’mon, Six!” I clap loudly as he takes his place in the batter’s box.

  With a critical eye I watch as he digs in, squaring himself up. He’s gotten bulkier since the last time he visited me in Birmingham, and it’s obvious he’s been working hard in the gym. His priorities might be a little skewed, but there’s no doubt he’s a hard worker who will figure out what he needs to by the time he gets there. “Be patient!” I yell through cupped hands as the pitcher throws a breaking ball that looks like it’s right down the middle until the last second.

  My heart is pounding in my chest as I watch him take his bat. I’m not sure why this makes me so nervous, but I want him to do well. For both him and for me. There’s nothing that makes me happier than to see him succeed.

  He lays back on the pitches, and I’m proud of him for showing growth and patience. He doesn’t immediately go for the first ball - he works the pitcher. Shows he’s got the eye and determination of a veteran as he steps out of the box, rubbing his face on his shoulder, practicing a few more swings, after getting the count to three and one. This pitch is the make it or break it, I feel it in my bones.

  When it comes across the plate, it’s so far down the middle I can see it from where I sit in the stands. The crack of the bat is deafening as he launches it high into the air, turning at just the last second to shift his hands farther back, and direct it over the outfield wall. The stands go wild as he flips the bat and starts to take his lap around the bases.

  We’re yelling and screaming for him. The pride I feel that I was here to see it is immense. When he puts his cleat on home plate, he looks up at us in the stands and double taps his heart – it’s what I do when my family is in the stands – and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. No matter how much we annoy each other, we’re still brothers and we’re still proud of the work both of us have done.

  Ten

  Malone

  My phone is beeping loudly, awaking me from a slumber that was so deep, I’m pretty sure I drooled on my pillow. Cracking open an eye, I look around my childhood bedroom and sigh loudly. I’ve never been what anyone would call an early riser, but to pay the bills, I have to do what I have to do. Pulling my phone off the bedside table, I literally shudder when I read the three-thirty AM with my own two eyes.

  Flinging off the covers, I stumble to the small bathroom attached to my bedroom and turn on the faucet as cold as it will go so that I can shock my system into wakefulness. This and the espresso Cherry makes at the shop are the only things that have kept me going these first few days. If I’m objective though, I can admit that I do like working with my hands, I like being on my feet, creating something.

  Before in my PR background, I was creating, but it was different. I was creating graphics and slogans, and campaign marketing. Here it’s tangible, I can immediately see the results by the way people either immediately grab it out of the case or pass over it. I have a few ideas already, and I’m wondering if Cherry will be open to them.

  At three-thirty in the morning, makeup is minimal, but I was raised a Southern woman, so I do at least put on some tinted moisturizer, some blush, mascara, and a little bit of lip gloss. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna fix those dark circles under your eyes, girl,” I tell myself as I give one final look in the mirror.

  Quickly, I pull my hair up in a top-knot, throw on some clothes, and make my way out into the muggy, dewy morning. A thought crosses my mind. What if I’m still here doing this in the winter? Maybe a remote starter will be something I need to invest in so I don’t have to get up earlier and warm my car up.

  The thought catches me off-guard. Plans for the future aren’t something I thought I would make a few days ago, but it’s amazing how quickly you fall into old habits when you come home. How the familiar sweeps you up and plans begin to take shape without you even realizing it.

  It takes me a total of ten minutes to get to the bakery, and I enjoy that time. I roll my window down, loving the chill of the air as I crank my radio up louder than normal. At this time of day or night, depending on how you look at it, there’s no one around to give you judging looks for jamming to Justin Bieber, even if you are on the other side of twenty-five. Say what you will, but Sorry is my jam.

  The downtown area is quiet as can be as I park my car and get out, glancing around to make sure no one is sneaking up on me. Letting myself in, I turn the alarm off and go about turning things on, cranking up the radio inside. If someone had told me this would be my life a month ago, I would have told them they were crazy.

  “It’s gonna be a beautiful day.” Cherry comes through the door, a huge smile on her face like always. “The high is supposed to be up in the eighties. Maybe today I can introduce my shaved ices?”

  I’m so glad she’s decided to do this. “Hey, I know I’m brand new here, only worked a few shifts, but I have a couple of ideas. Back in my other life I worked in marketing at a PR firm. I can bring some of the ideas we used there to what we do here, if you’d be agreeable to it?”

  “I’d love it! That’s something I can’t afford on my miniscule budget. Hopefully the two of us can help each other?”

  “Great!” I quickly hurry to start frosting the cupcakes that have to be out in the case when we open, but already I’m thinking about what we can do.

  Once those are done, I get them all set out, and then go to the catch-all closet. “Cherry? Is that a chalkboard sign right there?” I point to something stashed in the back.

  “It is, I just haven’t been able to use it yet. I don’t have the best penmanship, and I can’t draw for shit. I keep meaning to pay someone to draw me something awesome, but I’ve been too busy every day. Totally why I hired you, girl. I needed some help.”

  “And help you is what I’m here to do! You got some colored chalk to go with it?”

  She gives me a grin. “Is my name Cherry?” She reaches behind the counter, tossing it to me.

  Now that we’ve got everything else taken care of, I sit down at one of the empty tables and begin drawing a sign. With careful deliberation, I use each color, making it eye-catching as I draw a snow cone, using the colors to make it pop.

  “That’s so good,” she praises as she comes to stand behind me.

  “Thanks!” I grin up at her. “I love to draw, and I didn’t ever
get a chance to at my old job. It’s nice to do something I truly enjoy.” I give her a shrug.

  “What did you do there?” she asks as she opens the doors, turning on the lights.

  “Worked social media, came up with tag-lines, wrote up press releases, and kept track of everything that needed to be done on the website. It was basically a web-based job, but drawing is something I love to do. It’s all a way to use my creativity. I enjoy it all, to be honest with you.”

  “That’s one talent I wish I had.”

  For a few seconds I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. I’ve never told anyone what started me drawing, what fed the desire. “I didn’t know I had it,” I tell her, wondering if I should be honest with someone. “Not until I was eighteen years old.”

  “Oh wow! What caused you to figure it out?”

  Figuring I might as well go for broke, I just lay it all out. “Got my heart completely broken. As much of my own doing as of the guy, but it gave me a lot of time on my hands. Instead of crying, instead of being angry, I decided to do something about it. I poured every little bit of heartache into it, actually sold a few pieces back in the day.”

  “I can see why.” She reaches down, lightly running a fingertip over one of the lines I made. “Even on this, I can see a depth to it, some sort of emotion.”

  “Well hopefully it’ll help us sell a few.” I finish it off with a flourish, just as the first customer comes through the door.

  Savage

  “Pete, I hear what you’re saying, I do.” I fist my hand at my side, annoyed that I don’t have better answers for what he’s asking me. “But I don’t think I’m ready to come back there and face everybody asking me questions. Like how is my recovery going? When do I think I’m coming back? While I get that they want to know, I’m not even sure. So far I haven’t run yet, and it’s a crapshoot on what’s going to happen when I do.” That’s the biggest fear I have, and it feels good to get it out in the open.