Slam: A Colorado Smoke Novel

by Andee Michelle

  “All right,” I reply with a shake of my head. “I gotta go. I’ll call Gracie this evening before bed to tell her good night.”

  “Sounds good. Have a good time tomorrow at the wedding.”

  “Thanks,” I respond, turning and heading back to my car.

  “Hey, Layne.”

  Turning my attention back to him, I don’t immediately recognize the look on his face, but when I do, I’m almost afraid of what is going to come out of his mouth.

  “Ya know, you really should start dating,” he tells me, his voice sounding soft like he’s afraid of how I’m going to respond. My face must be turning red because he quickly continues. “You are such an amazing mom, and I know it’s your priority, but you need someone in your life besides Gracie and Mandy.”

  The look of pity on his face makes me both angry and sad at the same time. He’s never, in all the years we’ve been co-parenting, made one comment about my love life.

  “What brought this on, Garrett? You’ve never cared about my sex life before.” I said sex life and not dating because I know it will drive him crazy and he pissed me off. If there is one thing about my prior relationship with this man I will never forget, it’s the fact that he is a missionary only, lights-off kind of lover. He doesn’t like to discuss anything sexually related and even didn’t want to watch his child being born because he’d be in a room full of strangers looking at his ex-girlfriend’s vagina.

  “I didn’t ask about your sex life,” he growls. “But your ‘sex life’ better be away from our daughter.”

  What in the actual fuck?

  I throw my head back and laugh without humor before turning my glare to him. “Garrett, the sheer fact you said that to me makes me want to rip your dick off. Maybe you’ve forgotten who you are talking to. You have no say in my life. I will always put Gracie first. Always. If that means I’m single for the rest of my life because no one is good enough to introduce to her, that’s my business.”

  He doesn’t respond, so I turn to walk away but stop a few steps later when he calls my name again.

  “I’m sorry. I was out of line,” he tells me, all anger gone from his face and voice. “I worry about you, Layne. You’re an amazing woman, and I hate you being alone. I want you to find someone who makes you as happy as you deserve. As happy as I am.”

  I’m stunned into silence, a feat in and of itself. I swear every time I second guess how our relationship ever happened in the first place, this side of Garrett shows up. It’s like the real Garrett is trying to come out of the shell of a person his parents raised him to be.

  “I don’t know how to respond to that,” I reply honestly. “Thank you.”

  He smiles in response before turning back toward the door.

  “Garrett,” I call out. “Please, let’s not do this again. It’s weird. If and when I decide to date or have a relationship, I’ll give you the respect of telling you if it ever becomes someone I am ready to introduce Gracie to.”

  I don’t wait for a reply. I don’t need one. As much as I appreciate Garrett’s concern for my love life, I know it will probably be a very long time before I introduce someone to Gracie. I’d have to be in a committed relationship for that to happen. The most dating I’ve done in the past eight years is a couple of dinner dates with men I wasn’t interested in and one date with a man not looking for a relationship. I will never be one of those single moms who introduces her kid to every Tom, Dick, and Harry she goes on a date with. Nope. Not happening. She doesn’t need that shit in her life.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe I really should try dating for real. That might help me put Bryant in the friend zone so I stop getting those damn flutters every time he calls or texts. What about one of those dating websites? I think Mandy did it once. I’ll have to chat with her about it tomorrow on our drive to Asheville for Matt’s wedding.

  Making my way toward the grocery store, my phone vibrates, playing “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, Mandy’s ringtone.

  “Hey, girl. What’cha doing?” I ask.

  “Do you have Little Bit tonight or is she at the D’s house?” I roll my eyes at her because she calls Garrett “the D” sometimes to get under my skin. D as in dick.

  “She’s at Garrett’s.”

  “Sweet, I’m coming to get you in two hours. Take a shower, do your hair and makeup, and put on something slutty. We’re going out!”

  And then the bitch hangs up because she knows I’ll argue with her about this. I want to take a hot shower, have a cold beer, and go to bed early. I shouldn’t complain I guess. She doesn’t drag me out often, so when she does, I go. Usually.

  I grab the few things I need at the store and head home to get ready. She said two hours, but I know she’s probably already ready and will be at my house in no time at all.

  The minute I step out of the shower, I hear her in my kitchen and it makes me laugh. At least I beat her here. I throw my hair up in a towel, wrap another around my body, and head out to the kitchen to see what the hell she’s doing.

  “Two hours, huh?” I laugh out when I find her pouring us both beers into frosty mugs.

  “I couldn’t wait. I’m excited to get going.”

  “No way. I’d have never guessed.”

  “Here,” she says, holding the mug out to me. “Let’s get this party started while we sexy your ass up.”

  Taking the mug from her, I turn and walk back to my room. There’s no sense in arguing with her. Honestly, I need this night out. I don’t like to do it often, but every once in a while, I love to let loose and dance until my feet hurt. Before I had Gracie, I used to love to go dancing.

  Mandy does my hair and makeup, like I knew she would, and chooses the sexiest outfit she can find in my closet—which would include skintight skinny jeans, a loose-fitting off-the-shoulder blouse, and a pair of stilettos she bought me for my birthday last year, which I’ve worn exactly twice.

  When I look in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself. It’s like Mandy has magic makeup skills or something.

  “Dude, you look hot as hell. I’d do you if I was into girls.”

  I laugh and throw back the rest of my beer so we can head out. “I’m almost hard up enough right now I’d consider it,” I mumble to her.

  “Stop it!” she snorts. “Let’s go.”

  We make our way to the club via Uber ’cause there is no way we’ll be in any shape to drive home later. The Uber driver hits on Mandy the entire drive, and she gives him her number when we get to our destination. I swear the girl would give a priest her number if he was hot.

  The guy working the door must recognize Mandy because the minute he sees her, his face lights up, he winks at her and motions toward the door as we bypass the line.

  The minute I take a seat at the bar, a guy with way too much cologne on steps up behind me and stands way too close while trying to order a drink over the top of me. Turning to the guy, he takes a step back when I swing my legs around.

  “Hey, beautiful. Can I get you a drink?” he asks, a cocky grin on his face. He’s not bad looking, but he’s young, like barely old enough to drink kind of young, if I had to guess. This is one of the main reasons I hate coming out. I like to let loose, and dance and have a few drinks, but I do not like the frat boys with their eyes peeled for a piece of ass.

  “Thanks, but no. My boyfriend will be here in a second,” I reply, trying to get him to go away.

  He rolls his eyes and walks away without another word. See. Douchebag.

  “That guy was hot, Layne. Why didn’t you let him buy you a drink?” Mandy screeches at me.

  “Because he’s twelve and I’m not interested.”

  “Whatever. He’s at least twenty-one.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m here to dance and have fun with my best friend, not hook up with a guy about ten years too young for me.”

  “You’re so irritating. Getting laid would make you in a better mood.”

  “True. But it won’t be tonight. Stop it.”
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  She orders us a couple of beers, and we make our way to a table near the dance floor.

  Within minutes, a nice looking guy walks up and drags Mandy to the dance floor with a flirty grin. It doesn’t surprise me because she’s always got a welcoming smile on her face and I suffer from RBF syndrome.

  When a slow song comes through the speakers, I feel a tap on my arm and look up at a familiar face. It takes me a second to place him, but when I do, I smile lightly.

  The stranger from the baseball field holds his hand out for me to take and motions toward the dance floor. Placing my hand in his, I let him pull me up and lead me out to the crowd of dancers.

  My hands find their way around his neck, making me realize how tall he is. He sets his hands on my lower back and slowly starts to move us to the music.

  “I could continue to think of you as the beautiful but clumsy stranger from the ball field, or you could tell me your name,” he says into my ear.

  “Layne,” I reply, tilting my head to look up at him. “And you are?”

  “Malcolm.”

  We continue to sway to the music, Malcolm slowly pulling my body closer and closer until we are pressed against each other. He smells good, and the way he’s holding me makes me miss the intimacy of a relationship even more. I miss the slow, soft kisses and the gentle touches. Laying my head on his chest, I drop one of my hands from his neck down to his bicep, which is more muscular than I’d have guessed. I feel the lump start to form in my throat but close my eyes and try to make the tears go away. I know my emotions are out of whack because I’m PMSing, but until a few minutes ago, I’d forgotten how good it felt to be held in the comfort of a man’s arms.

  When the song comes to an end, I start to pull back from him, but he seems reluctant to release me. The next song comes on, and it too is a slow song, so I sink back into his embrace. I want to hold on to this feeling for a few more minutes.

  When his chest starts to rumble, I realize he’s singing and am immediately mesmerized with the deep rasp of his voice. He’s gorgeous, has an amazing voice, and seems to be interested in me. He did ask me out at the game but didn’t wait around for my answer once Conor interrupted us. Making my decision before the song is even over that if he asks me out again, I’m going to say yes. As much as I don’t want to admit it, Garrett is right. I need someone in my life other than Gracie and Mandy. Not just friends. I’m done with men who don’t want commitments. As much as I seem to crave Bryant, I won’t put myself in that position again. Ever.

  When the song ends and I pull out of Malcolm’s arms, he grabs my hand and walks me back to my table. Mandy’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of her head when she sees us coming. We make it to the table as he pulls his phone from his pocket, looks at it with irritation and shakes his head. It’s getting busy and is pretty loud, so it doesn’t surprise me when Malcolm leans into me to say something in my ear.

  “I have to run.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes sweeping my hand before he speaks again. “So, is there a boyfriend or husband?” he asks, reminding me of how Conor acted at the field.

  “Nope,” I tell him and watch as his face lights up.

  “Does that mean I can take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

  “I would like that, but I’m heading out of town for a wedding tomorrow morning. Another time?”

  He hands me his phone, and I program my number into it before handing it back to him.

  Once again he leans in, kisses me gently on the cheek before telling me he’ll call me soon to set up our date. I watch as he returns to what I assume is the table he was sitting at before he came over, noticing for the first time there are several other men with him. He says a few words to them, one of them looking up and meeting my eyes before smirking and returning his gaze to Malcolm. He speaks to them for several minutes before turning to me, winking, and then heading for the door.

  When I turn my attention back to Mandy, she has the biggest stupid smile on her face.

  “Don’t start.”

  “Dude. That guy was hot as balls!” she screeches. “Please tell me I really witnessed you give him your number and I wasn’t seeing things.”

  I smile at her, which causes another screech.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she tells me. “Now, let’s dance for a bit before we head home. I need to work off all the damn donuts I ate for breakfast this morning.”

  So, we dance and drink and then pour ourselves into an Uber to take us home.

  As I climb into bed, my mind wanders to Bryant and the kisses we’ve shared. I can still almost taste his bubble gum flavor just thinking about it. Something about him sends every single one of my nerves into hyper mode. As nice as it was to be wrapped in Malcolm’s arms, my skin doesn’t crave his touch like it does Bryant’s.

  Nope. I can’t go there anymore.

  Just friends. Nothing more.

  Bryant

  I'M NOT SURE if I'll ever understand how someone can work their way so far under your skin you feel like you can’t focus on anything but them. It’s almost like the more I try to convince myself I need to focus and not let her distract me, the more I think about her. I’ve talked myself out of calling her no less than ten times in the past week, because I’m supposed to be focusing on my playing and not on her. That was the main point of me putting a halt to whatever was happening between us. I need to focus.

  Making my way down the steps of my condo to my car, I regret slamming the door the moment I hear her voice.

  “Hey, Bryant,” Sarina’s high-pitched voice carries through the air.

  “Hi,” I shout, continuing my way to my car. Do not make eye contact. Do not make eye contact.

  I pull the car door open and am almost into the car when I hear her call out my name again, but I act like I don’t hear her, shutting the door quickly and starting the car.

  I don’t have time to wait for it to warm up. I have to get out of here before she throws herself on the hood of my car. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but the woman doesn’t take a hint. The night before last, she came outside to “get her mail” in lingerie.

  As I pull away from the curb, I glance her way to see her standing on her front steps, arms crossed in anger, a glaring pout of her face. With nothing more than a bra, panties, and sheer robe on for everyone in the neighborhood’s viewing pleasure.

  I look away quickly and head to the field. One more day of practice before we head out for the pennant race.

  It will be my first and last chance at this title.

  Focus.

  Not on Layne.

  On my game.

  As soon as I step out onto the field, I take a deep breath. This is my zen. The smell of the grass and dirt. The serenity that comes over me as my body accepts the familiarity of the field is my safe place. It calms me and helps me focus.

  Maybe I should move into the locker room temporarily until this is over. I can’t keep her out of my head, and she is not what I need to think about.

  The amount of testosterone pulsing through this place is out of control.

  Making my way into the locker room, I change for practice. When Conor sits down next to me and stares at me, my irritation grows.

  I shouldn’t be irritated with him. I’m not really. It’s not his fault I can’t stop thinking about her, but the fact that he knows me well enough to know I’m off my game aggravates me.

  “Why are you staring at me while I change?” I grumble. “You’re suddenly into dudes?”

  “You talk to her lately?” He ignores my jab and gets straight to the point.

  “Not in a couple days, and I’m probably not going to.”

  “And why not? Are you still on the ‘she deserves better’ kick?”

  “I’m on the ‘I need to focus on my game and she’s a distraction’ kick.”

  “You know you’re fucking this up, right?”

  I slam my cleats down on the bench he’s sitting on and get in his face.

  “Th
ere’s nothing to fuck up. Layne and I can’t be anything more than friends,” I rant. When he clenches his jaw and his eyes narrow, I take a step back because I see the storm brewing in his eyes. Conor and I don’t fight. Ever. He is always the playful jokester. It’s the reason we are best friends. I put up with his shenanigans, and he brings humor into my life.

  He stands and takes several steps toward the door, his back stiff. He’s pissed, and I don’t blame him. I shouldn’t have yelled but, Jesus, I’m having a hard enough time making myself accept it’s best to walk away from her, I don’t need his constant reminder.

  When he stops and turns to me, I know he’s going to rip me a new one by the look on his face.

  “Goddammit, Bryant! Will you listen to yourself!” he bellows. He puts his hands behind his neck and looks at the ceiling before taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t take a genius to see the connection you two have. In the small amount of time I’ve spent with you two, even I can see you’re different with her. We’ve known each other a lot of years, and I’ve seen you with other women. I’ve never seen you like you are when you’re with her.”

  I start to retort, but he knows it’s coming and continues over the top of me.

  “She’s different and you know it!”

  “I can’t do this right now,” I grind out. “She is a distraction I don’t need, Conor! This is it for me! My last chance at that ring.”

  He drops his head and shakes it slowly.

  “Yep, and in exchange for that ‘last chance,’ you very well could be throwing away your person,” he replies, his voice monotone. “I’ve spent years looking for what I see when I watch you two together. She’s right in front of you, and you’re letting her walk away.”

  I know he’s right. In my heart, I know I’m fucking it up bad, but my brain is screaming at me this is just another woman. That I’ve worked my ass off my entire life to have this opportunity and I can’t throw it away. I won’t.

  “I’m not giving up what I worked my entire career for because of a woman I barely know,” I roar.

  “Dude! You’re acting like getting into a relationship with her will end your career,” he barks out. “She loves baseball. She understands the sacrifices we make. And for shit sake, she’s already a distraction, Bryant! You do nothing but think about her and you aren’t even together.” He pauses for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his frustration. “And don’t try to give me the ‘she deserves better than a traveling boyfriend’ bullshit either. You’re making excuses because you’re scared of what you feel for her. Stop lying to yourself.”