by Robin Leaf
“Man, this day was just filled with surprise sexual encounters.”
I laughed. “And I’m not even done.”
“Holy shit, Nathaniel. There’s more?”
“Two unknown guests were having sex in the bathroom stall when I got to the reception. I didn’t stick around to find out who they were. First of all, sex in the men’s bathroom stall is just gross, and secondly, they were too loud to ignore. They scared my pee away.”
“Nathaniel!”
“Then, I’m fairly certain I heard the tail end of Emily and Tater doing something naughty when you sent me to find them for the bouquet and garter toss.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. They seemed a bit rumpled when they came into the ballroom for the tossings.”
“And then, I saw Dugger and Kaelyn kissing, most definitely for Brody’s benefit. I certainly hope that was all they did, because after what I saw Dugger doing,” I shuddered, “I’m pretty sure no girl needs to be anywhere around his cock.”
“Gross.”
“Then I had to get ice for Brody’s hand because he punched the wall in the hallway.”
“Damn, Nate. Where was I during all of this?”
“You were mingling between dancing with everyone. After our one dance, you insisted I sit out, remember? Well, I didn’t exactly sit out. I had to keep everyone chilled out.”
She smiled. “Since I didn’t notice any of this, I’d say you did a good job.”
“You’re telling me. Then we caught your parents, and I think a man at the hotel bar had his hand up the skirt of the woman next to him. I’m not quite sure about that one because you arrived before I could really tell.”
“Jeez, you’re a perv.”
“Hey, I’m not a perv, but I do seem to have witnessed a lot of pervy acts today. There must be some weird planet alignment.”
After we pulled into Etta’s garage, she turned off the car and faced me. “All this conversation is doing is making me not want to ever have a wedding.”
Well shit. Plans… meet wrench.
We got out of the car, and I decided to follow through with my plan anyway.
“Etta, can you let Giles out? I really need to go to the bathroom.”
“Yeah, I’m on it.” She kissed me on the lips quickly.
I patted her on the ass. “Don’t let him talk you into throwing the ball for twenty minutes. You need to tell him you’re tired.”
She saluted me and opened the door leading into the house.
I knew full well that dog would not take no for an answer, and I knew she would give in… which was good, because I had work to do.
***
Jake and Ashley helped me. Etta thought they were coming over to feed Giles since we were away most of the day, but they were really there to prepare most of the surprise to my specs perfectly, well, and feed the dog, too.
I needed time to check their handiwork. Rose petals plotted the floor to line the trail she would take from one station to the next. Candles, ones I had to light, illuminated her path. Each one of the notes I wrote to her eight years ago were evenly spaced. Then I had to hide when she entered.
I couldn’t see her face, and I hated it. I could only see her stoop to pick up each note. The only part of my plan that I hated was that I couldn’t watch her as she discovered her surprises. But I would see her any second.
She rounded the corner and locked her watery eyes on me. I stood in the center of her living room, a single rose in my hand.
“You kept these?” She held up the notes in her hand. “All these years?”
I smiled and hit play on the remote for the music. “Yes, and you never opened the last one.”
Etta James’ “At Last” rang out through the speakers as I reached out my hand containing the twelfth and final note.
I watched a tear trail down her cheek and her lips tipped up in the corners.
“What, you aren’t going to sing this time?”
I felt my face flush. “Yeah, that hasn’t really worked out for me in the past. I’ll leave it to your namesake. I’m trying to right my wrongs tonight.”
She smiled bigger and took the note from my hand.
Note twelve: For accepting my heart and never letting it go.
When I heard her gasp, I reached in my pocket and kneeled down on the floor. Shit, I was nervous. I hoped I could do the next part without screwing up.
“I was going to give you this eight years ago.” I opened the box and the hinges loudly creaked. “It was supposed to be a promise. A promise that included commitment to each other.” My throat felt like it was closing up, so I had to clear it. “I wanted it to be a promise of forever.”
I watched her looking at the tiny little ring, the only thing my twenty-two-year-old self could afford, with wonder. It was white gold with tiny little diamonds that formed a small heart. When her eyes, flooded with tears, returned to mine, I continued.
“Etta, I am sorry for what happened between us… for every mistake I made, for waiting so long to tell you how I felt. I was young and stupid and so in love with you and so scared of losing you. It seems like every choice I made back then was wrong. I waited because I was scared you would turn me down. That led me to forcing something that should have taken a bit of finesse. Hell, maybe I’m forcing this now, but please know that isn’t my intention. I don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. I just want you to know that although you might not have accepted my heart back then, I’ve kept it safe for you. It’s always belonged to you.
“This doesn’t have to be anything but a promise of forever. That’s all I need from you. That’s all I ever wanted from you. Forever. We’ll take it day by day and follow whatever path you set for us. I know you’re a go-slow kind of girl, so I’ll let you set the pace, but I just need this promise…”
“Ask me.”
I looked into her eyes, her stormy greenish-blue eyes, stunned… not sure she said what I thought I heard. “Wha…”
“I said ask me, Nathaniel.”
“You want me to…?”
She smiled and kneeled down on the floor with me. “Yes. Very much so.”
I closed the box. “No. I need to get a different ring for that.”
“No you don’t. I want that one.” She grabbed the box, opened it, and lifted the ring out of it. “It’s so perfect. Here,” she said, extending the ring toward me. “Please, put it on me, Nathaniel. Ask me.”
I grabbed her left hand, noticing for the first time how much my hand was shaking.
Etta ran her fingertips down the side of my face and whispered, “Just take a deep breath, Nate, and say the words.”
I breathed in and held it for a second. On the exhale, I looked into her beautiful, ethereal eyes.
“Etta Fontella Sullivan, will you fulfill my greatest dream and marry me?”
“Yes,” she sobbed and nodded, “yes, I will.”
I slid the ring onto her finger, thankful it fit, which was a good thing since it would stay there.
Forever.
Thank you for reading. If you liked Batter Up, please consider leaving a review on both Goodreads and Amazon.
Look for One Up, the story of Kaelyn and Brody, to be released next summer.
Stay tuned to the for bonus content: the first chapter of Riled Up, my first novel.
Etta’s Playlist
Titled – Get Over Him Blues
Little Black Submarines – The Black Keys
Tush – ZZ Top
She’s Long Gone – The Black Keys
True Lies – Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Oh Well – Fleetwood Mac
Lonely Boy – The Black Keys
Slow Burn – Black Pistol Fire
Lies – The Black Keys
Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers – ZZ Top
Drink You Away – Justin Timberlake
Heavy Soul – The Black Keys
Cold Shot – Stevie Ray Vaughn
Dreaming With a Broken
Heart – John Mayer
I Got Mine – The Black Keys
Boy Got it Bad – Kail Baxley
Too Afraid to Love You – The Black Keys
Show Pony – Black Pistol Fire
Last Goodbye – Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Run Right Back – The Black Keys
Nothing to do With Love – Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Hipster Shakes – Black Pistol Fire
It’s Only Love – ZZ Top
Girl is on My Mind – The Black Keys
Ball & Chain – Martin Harley
Life Without You – Stevie Ray Vaughn
Next Girl – The Black Keys
About The Author
Robin Leaf is an author from Texas where she lives with her husband and three kids. When she’s not binge watching Supernatural on Netflix, she can be found reading a novel a day or watching her dog chase those nasty little demons, the squirrels, out of the yard.
Acknowledgements
I read one of these pages from another author who said she hates writing these things. I thought, “How can you hate it? It would be so easy.”
Boy, was I wrong. It’s not easy; there’s always that fear that someone will be forgotten. So I apologize to you, aforementioned author, first and foremost (even though, for the life of me, I can’t remember who it was) for judging you.
This book has been a labor of love. It took forever to publish my first (five years), and the second was written while I grew the cojones to finally release Riled into the wild. Batter, too, has been waiting to be unleashed. (Don’t tell Riley, but I love Nathaniel so much more.) In that time, so many people stepped in to support and help me. So, here goes. *clears throat*
Thanks to my husband and kids for understanding my obsessive need to get this story written. I love you for being patient and supportive.
To my group of bad-ass alpha readers who read Batter either as I wrote or soon after, you are pretty cool chippies.
Bindi, again, thank you for loving Nathaniel like I do and being my first Beta reader. I hope you like the ending.
Thank you, Marianne Nowicki, for creating a cover that went beyond my wildest dreams. You captured what I wanted exactly.
Mad Dog, you said not to thank you, but I often don’t do what I’m told. Thank you for whipping me into shape in that awesome way you have. You’re like the teacher everyone wants to impress.
Mary Meredith, your proofing skills are amazing. I appreciate you and all your beautiful parts.
Fellow newbie author, Rebel Nicks O’Dey, you are an amazing friend who I appreciate more than I can express here. We’re living the dream. L-I-V-I-N
Last but not least, thanks to all who have read my work, especially those who take the time to tell me how much they like it. I write the stories I want to read, and it warms my heart that you actually like them, too.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Etta’s Playlist
About The Author
Acknowledgements
Table of Contents
Bonus Content: Chapter from Riled Up
Bonus Content: Chapter from Riled Up
ONE
“You want to run that by me one more time, Mr. Pickney.”
“It’s simple, really, Ms. Taylor.”
“DOCTOR Taylor.”
“Ah, yes, Dr. Taylor. . .”
“I earned that title, Mr. Pickney,” Vanessa Taylor interrupted indignantly; she was already tired of correcting so many people who couldn’t seem to believe that a twenty-seven-year-old, 5’3”, 120-pound woman from Texas could be smart enough to have earned a doctorate in psychology from UCLA. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask for people to remember it. And if I understand you, which I’m not sure I do, I really don’t think I am the one to handle this particular matter. I’m not a miracle worker.”
“What’s not to understand? You treat my client for one month, I pay you $10,000.” Charles Pickney leaned over and placed his very large, sausage-stuffed hands on his desk.
Vanessa took a moment to study the situation. Seated in “Agent to the Stars” Charles Pickney’s very shiny, gaudily-decorated office, she could tell two things. One, Mr. Pickney was doing well for himself. Two, he had not always been. Remnants of his smarmy beginnings remained, like his fake-designer suit and his flashy, knock-off furniture. Although he was dressed for success, his actions and demeanor were still very rough around the edges and lacked the refinement his attire and chosen décor intended to display. His voice may have been smooth, but she noticed a hint of some accent, Bostonian maybe, he tried to cover, probably because it didn’t exactly fit the image he was trying to convey.
He was large and imposing, not fat, but full-bodied, with full cheeks and round nose, but there was something odd about his face, like it was mismatched somehow. Some would probably say he was attractive; he could have easily passed for Vin Diesel’s younger brother, if the younger Diesel had hair and was not as fit. However, she was not captivated by his looks. He seemed more like a hulking bodyguard than an agent, or maybe like someone who would be comfortable doing business in both a shiny board room and a seedy back room. This was not a man who took no for an answer, and honestly, he probably didn’t hear no often. She could tell he was not above bullying to get his way, but he would be smooth about it.
His long, thinning dark hair fell across the collar of the very seam-stressed, broad shoulders of his almost-too-good-to-be-imitation Brooks Brothers’ navy blue pinstriped suit jacket. The suit was just a bit too shiny to be the real thing. Huh. You’d think a person trying to show off his wealth like this guy would go for a fake Armani. Vanessa smiled, glad that thought didn’t make it out of her mouth. Sometimes she had a hard time keeping her thoughts to herself. Freud would say that her superego didn’t always have a good hold on her ego. She was glad at this moment her superego maintained control. She was momentarily distracted by the swing of his outlandishly shiny purple tie grazing the pencil lying on his desk. His attempt at intimidation was almost working.
She smiled again and shifted her gaze to his face. “One month is not much time, Mr. Pickney. I need to know more. What makes you think he needs psychological help, especially from someone whose ink hasn’t even dried on her doctorate?”
“I’ll address the second part of that question first,” he rumbled as he sat back in his over-stuffed chair, turned slightly sideways and placed his right ankle on his left knee. “I need someone no one will recognize. I need someone young and pretty enough to convince the media she is someone he might be dating. And I need someone familiar with treating people in the public eye.”
“I’m not really familiar with that. My doctoral thesis was on overly aggressive parenting and the detrimental effects to a child in the limelight.” When the confused look covered his face, she added, “Stage mothers, not those who are famous.”
“Oh, your professor said you worked with famous kids,” he squinted his eyes at her, studying. “But I guess whatever you said is close enough.”
He swiveled back and forth in his chair, narrowing his eyes at her ankles. With eyes that were assessing, not leering, he slowly moved up her seated body, as if drinking in her petite frame. His gaze traveled up to her small hands resting on her crossed knees and ascended to her torso, skimming over her large breasts, and finally, to her dark
honey-blonde curls. He stopped at her dusky blue eyes, giving what she interpreted to be an I-guess-you’ll-do nod of approval.
He smiled. “I went to high school with your professor at UCLA. When I called him asking for recommendations, yours was the only name he gave me, Ms…” when she lifted her hand in protest, he corrected, “DOCTOR Taylor. He said that your thesis is on its way to getting published. Impressive.”
“Many accepted theses get published, Mr. Pickney,” Vanessa added quietly, averting her eyes modestly. She took a deep breath to bolster her courage. “But I still don’t see the connection between my thesis and what you are asking me to do.” She swallowed hoping her inexperience didn’t show. She blinked and continued. “Anyway, back to the first question I asked. Why do you feel that your client needs psychological help?”
“Well, he has suffered some pretty significant blows to his personal life lately. His work is suffering because of it. I asked him to take some time off, but he insists on going forward. Production on his latest project has had to take a delay. They were scheduled to film the next part of the shoot in the Caribbean, but that damned hurricane damaged a large part of their shooting location, and now, I’m worried about him.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. A flash of concern washed over his face quickly. He looked down at his desk, pretending to read the paper in front of him, but she knew he did it to carefully measure his next words. “Honestly, I’m afraid without work as a distraction, he will hit rock bottom into full-time depression. His behavior has been increasingly erratic lately – way out of character for him.” He paused and squared his shoulders toward her. His expression changed back to his no-nonsense, intimidation face. “I want to protect my client, Dr. Taylor. Simple as that.”
This man was hard to figure out. Something about him had her subconscious screaming not to trust him, yet there was something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Sincerity didn’t seem to be the right word to describe him, and he was certainly not honorable. Usually someone who had her Spidey-senses tingling would have had her walking out of the office in a heartbeat. However, she stayed, willing to hear his attempt to convince her to do this. Then she would revel in telling him no. But until then, something compelled her to at least play the game.
