Reluctantly Alpha (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 8)

by Ruth Cardello

  Angelina watched her son’s expression. He cocked his head to one side, then the other as he seemed to be trying to decide what to make of Connor. “There are theories that the Trojan horse was a battering ram.”

  Connor smiled. With one hand he did the motion of an explosion. “Bam. I knew it. I should write history books.”

  A slow smile spread across Whitney’s face. “I’d read them.” After a short silence, his expression turned serious. “What are your intentions regarding my mother?”

  Oh my God. Angelina started to say something but held back when she saw that Connor wasn’t uncomfortable with the question.

  “My intentions?” Connor scratched his chin. “Today? Or in general?”

  “In general.” Whitney held his gaze like two men in a standoff. Despite their significant size difference, Angelina was proud that her son didn’t seem at all intimidated by Connor.

  Connor pocketed his hands and let out a slow breath. “I really like her. I don’t have anything after that figured out.”

  Giddy warmth spread through Angelina. She wanted to throw herself in Connor’s arms and announce that was enough for now. She didn’t, though, because Whitney was as important to her as Connor would ever be. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten as well,” she said. Connor shot her a quick smile.

  She melted.

  Whitney looked from Connor to her. “Instead of taking my mom out, you’d really want to stay here and play board games all day?”

  Connor shrugged. “That depends.”

  “On what?” Whitney asked with another frown.

  “On how much you’ll cry when you get your ass kicked at those games. Dylan is a sore loser. He whines like a five-year-old an hour past bedtime. Sometimes I let him win just so I don’t have to hear it.”

  “I can’t imagine Dylan Sutton whining,” Whitney said.

  “You saw our movie?” Connor’s tone held real delight. “Trust me, I’m not brilliant and Dylan is a pus—wussy.”

  “No way.” Whitney’s eyes rounded.

  “Way. Next time he’s in town you and I will tag team and take him down in a game of UNO. As soon as he gets too many cards, I’ll bet my left testicle he’ll throw down his hand and quit.”

  Angelina winced at his choice of phrase.

  Whitney’s mouth dropped open. As far as Angelina knew, adults in her son’s world didn’t swear. They definitely didn’t reference their genitalia.

  Connor seemed to sense the mood change. His smile turned sheepish. “I shouldn’t have said testicle, huh? Too much? I was going to say I’d bet my left ball, but thought that was a little crude so I upgraded to testicle at the last second.” He sighed. “Listen, Whitney, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not the brightest guy you’ll ever meet and I get myself in trouble every time I try to be someone I’m not. I’m a simple man. I wanted to go to college, but there was never enough time or money for it. I’m really good at fixing machinery. After a significant amount of instruction, I’m not bad at acting. I’m not rich, but I’m not poor either. I like to laugh a lot more than I like to fight, but when it comes to the people I love there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. Your mom could do a lot better than me, but on the upside, she could also do a lot worse.”

  “Stop,” Angelina said with a laugh. It was hard to tell whether Connor was being entirely serious or not.

  Whitney took a moment then said, “I don’t know if I cry when I lose—because it never happens.”

  “Yeow,” Connor exclaimed with a chuckle. “Let’s test that shall we? To be nice, I’ll let you choose the first game.”

  “I’d say winner chooses the next game, but I’d hate for you to never have a chance to.” Whitney’s bravado was accompanied by a lighthearted smile that had Angelina’s heart singing.

  “Go pick a damn game,” Connor said, shaking his head.

  When Whitney walked over to the table, Angelina hugged Connor. In a low tone, she said, “Thank you.”

  He looked down at her and for a moment she knew exactly how it felt to be in love with someone who loved her back just as passionately. Exciting. Terrifying. Wonderous. He winked then said, “Whitney. Look at your mom trying to soften me up so I’ll let her win. Not. Going. To. Happen. Sweetheart. Everyone. For. Themselves.” He set Angelina back from him.

  For effect, Angelina put her hands on her hips and said, “You’ll eat those words. I wasn’t the captain of Reemsly’s chess team for nothing.”

  The next few hours were filled with laughter and a variety of board games. Angelina was too distracted to pull in a win, but Connor and Whitney took turns taking victory laps around the table.

  They paused the games to eat a late lunch. Angelina cooked, Connor and Whitney cleaned up afterward. As they gathered around the table again, Connor surprised Angelina by saying, “This may sound corny, but I’d like to teach you a game Viviana taught me and Dylan. One person starts a sentence and the other finishes it as honestly as they can.”

  Angelina placed her hand over his on the table. “That sounds like a beautiful game.”

  Connor shrugged. “After my mother died, Viviana said trying to get men to talk was like trying to teach a goldfish to sing. She didn’t give up on us, though. And some of her ideas weren’t half bad. Okay, I’ll start with you, Angelina. I didn’t win a single game today, but—you finish.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “But winning isn’t everything?”

  Connor made a face. “You’re supposed to say something meaningful or insightful.”

  “Oh, sorry. Let me try again. I didn’t win a single game today, but I loved watching the two of you get to know each other.”

  Connor smiled. “That’s more like it. Now you try it.”

  Angelina considered several options, then said, “Connor, I wasn’t able to go to college when I was younger and now—”

  His cheeks turned pink, but he said, “I’m too scared to try. College is for—”

  Angelina’s hand tightened on his. “Dammit, stop. Don’t you dare say anything about not being smart enough. I hate that someone made you feel that way.”

  Whitney whistled. “She means it. She never swears.”

  Connor raised her hand to his mouth and gave it a kiss. “I know I’m not stupid, but I’m a slow reader. I didn’t pay much attention in elementary school, or middle school, or high school really. It didn’t feel important at the time. Now there’s just a lot of shit I don’t know. I’d like to change that, but . . .”

  “Colleges have online courses now,” Whitney said in a tone so supportive, Angelina nearly gave in to proud mama tears. “If you ever need help with them, I took several academic courses online recently and I could show you how it works.”

  “Seriously?” Connor asked.

  “Seriously,” Whitney answered. “You could learn at your own pace.”

  Connor smiled. “I’d like that. I don’t need the degree, but I do like learning new things.”

  “Me too,” Whitney said.

  “Me three,” Angelina added. She turned to her son and said, “Whitney, I’m happy with my new school, but—”

  Whitney hunched his shoulders forward and looked down at the table without answering at first. Finally, he said, “I don’t want to be in the technology club. I want to be on the soccer team.”

  Angelina reached over and took her son’s hand in hers. “Oh, honey, then let’s get you on that team.”

  He pulled his hand away. “It’s not that easy. I’d have to try out.”

  “Okay. So, you try out.” She didn’t see the problem.

  Whitney stood. “I’m going to my room.” He waved once at Connor. “Nice to meet you.”

  Angelina raced to intercept him. “Wait. Talk to me, Whitney. Are you afraid you wouldn’t make the team?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Mom,” Whitney said between clenched teeth.

  Connor moved to stand with them. “If you’d like, Whitney, you and I could practice kicking the ball
around.”

  “You played soccer?” Whitney raised his eyes to Connor’s.

  “A few times and I totally sucked at it. Apparently, you’re not supposed to tackle anyone,” Connor admitted.

  Whitney looked down again. “Thanks anyway.”

  “But I’d be glad to learn with you. Hell, I know this guy who is so good at it he could probably teach your mom how to score goals.”

  “Who?” Whitney challenged.

  “Ever heard of Ronaldo Torres?”

  “The Brazilian World Player winner three years in a row? You’re shitting me.”

  “Whitney, watch your language,” Angelina said automatically.

  “I’m serious,” Connor said. “He’s probably crazy expensive, but I have a fairy godfather who is itching to pay for something and this would be perfect. That is, if you’re interested.”

  “Is this all about impressing my mom?” Whitney challenged.

  “One hundred percent. Work with me here, Whitney. After I get you on that team, she’ll totally forget about how I nervously discussed my testicles the first time I met you.”

  Angelina covered her mouth with her hand. Connor was hilarious even when she wasn’t sure he was trying to be.

  Whitney pressed his lips together as if holding back a similar smile. “She might forget sooner if you stopped mentioning them.”

  “Good point,” Connor said so seriously, all three of them burst out laughing. “So, should I set up a lesson for us this week? All three of us. Your mom and I will just be on the field to make you look good.”

  “Yes, if you’re serious,” Whitney said, his tone full of wonder.

  “I am. I used to practice football with my dad and Dylan. Those are some of my favorite sober teenage memories.” He raised a hand. “Not that I condone drinking. Not at your age, anyway. And not at mine. Really, I think they have the age limit backward, though. At thirteen if you got drunk, no one should care. You can’t drive anyway. The young are expected to be stupid. Now me, I’m almost thirty. I have to be more responsible. I have to keep down a job, maintain a certain public reputation. There’s a lot of pressure when you’re an adult.”

  “He’s joking,” Angelina said.

  “Is he?” Whitney countered with a smirk.

  Angelina elbowed Connor. “He is. Connor, you’re not suggesting it would be okay for my child to start drinking early, are you?”

  “No, not until he’s like eighteen.”

  “Twenty-one is the legal age limit,” she reminded him. “And by ‘drinking’ Connor’s talking about consumption with moderation. A beer once in a while.”

  Connor nodded obediently. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Don’t touch alcohol until you’re much, much older and then only like half a beer once a year.”

  Whitney laughed. “Whatever. I’m going to my room. I approve, Mom.”

  After Whitney’s door closed, Angelina linked both hands with Connor’s. “He approves.”

  Connor kissed her lips lightly and asked, “Did you ever doubt it?”

  “Honestly? I did worry. It wouldn’t have been a deal breaker, but it would have made things . . . complicated.”

  Pulling her in for a hug, Connor tucked her beneath his chin. “I worried a little too. Not much makes me nervous anymore, but this was important to me. Which might explain why I babbled on about the Trojan war and my body parts.”

  Angelina chuckled then hugged him tightly. Never had she imagined she could find a man who fit her as perfectly as Connor did. On the surface they might not appear suited, but he filled a place she hadn’t known anyone could. “You were perfect.”

  “I’m far from that, but I’m becoming more comfortable in my skin. I am serious, though, about signing up for college classes. For me, not for anyone else.”

  She smiled against his chest. “I love that about you. Socrates once said, ‘The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.’”

  “He was a pretty smart guy.”

  “Yes, he was. And mostly he just asked questions. Here’s another good quote, ‘Aha, universe, we have solved all of your mysteries—said no scientist, ever.’ We’re all learning, Connor. At least, we should be.”

  He set her back a little and met her gaze. “What are you learning?”

  She considered the question, then said, “That it’s okay to not want to be alone. That being too proud cost me more than being foolhardy ever did.”

  He ran a hand through her hair. “With your family?”

  She nodded. Connor would make a good counselor. He saw through layers of defenses right to the heart of a person. “I miss them. I hate that Whitney doesn’t have a relationship with them, and it’s my fault.”

  Connor nodded then hugged her to his chest again. Another man might have lied and said it wasn’t her fault or told her there was nothing she could do about it. Connor did neither. He saw her . . . the good and the bad . . . and accepted her as she was.

  She stood there, listening to the even thud of his heart, and didn’t have to chant to herself that things would be okay. She knew they would be.

  She raised her head and asked, “Hey, today was perfect, but I have to ask—what did you plan for the alternate date?”

  He smiled down at her. “I’d signed us up for a cooking class.”

  “You cook?”

  “Nothing beyond pasta, but that’s why a class would have been fun. Actually, I can’t imagine a day with you that wouldn’t be amazing.”

  She blushed. “You always know the right thing to say.”

  He kissed her breathless, then said, “Only with you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Six weeks later, Angelina was seated on the bleachers of a soccer field with Connor at her side. Clay Landon and his wife, Lexi, were seated beside Connor, standing and cheering every time Whitney got the ball. At first the idea of having a fairy godfather hit Angelina as strange, but the more time she spent with Clay the more she saw him the way Connor did—as a man seeking connections. Lexi was a spitfire, but she seemed to be yearning for the same. Angelina had invited her out for a girl’s night with Aly and Joanna, and Lexi had gushed with gratitude. They’d stayed in touch since.

  Apparently being the wife of one of the richest men on the planet made it difficult to make friends. Thankfully, no one was more down to earth when it came to wealth than Aly and Joanna. For all the jokes they made, Angelina’s friends were both living their best lives and that came across in their confidence and open natures.

  From one seat back, Joanna said, “So, is anyone else wondering if the soccer coach is single? No? Just me?”

  Aly leaned forward between Angelina and Connor. “Connor, quick, cough up a single friend for Joanna. I don’t want to diagnose the coach without ever seeing him in my office, but the way he shifts his weight back and forth makes me think he’s itchy down under . . . it’s not a good sign. Please, offer her a better alternative.”

  Connor looked over at the coach. “Oh my God, you’re right. Hey, for someone who looks at vaginas all day, you’re observant of the concerns of the cock.”

  “Thank you.” Aly laughed. “I consider that a compliment.”

  Joanna broke out laughing as well . . . then Angelina joined in. “Connor, have we told you lately how much we adore you?”

  “A man can never hear that too much,” Connor said with a thick British accent.

  “Don’t encourage him.” Angelina rolled her eyes. “He’s practicing for a role he just accepted. It’s a comedy set in England, which means he thinks everything he says in that accent is hilarious now.”

  “Isn’t it?” Connor joked, sitting up straighter and looking down his nose at her with a fake stern expression. “I would have bet my left scone it was.”

  This time Angelina gave up and laughed along. “You’re a goof, you know that?”

  He hugged her closer. “But I’m your goof.”

  “Yes, you are.” They kissed briefly then turned back to the field just
in time to see Whitney score a goal. Everything else was temporarily forgotten as they cheered.

  When they settled back to their seats, Angelina realized her hand was still laced with Connors and she smiled. This was really happening. She and Connor were a thing. When he’d first said he wanted to teach Whitney how to play soccer, she’d imagined him doing it once. He’d said it was a ploy to impress her, but all it had taken was watching him on the field once with her son to see that it was about so much more. Connor invested in people and, in turn, they tended to invest in him.

  Despite her protests that she wanted to pay, Clay Landon had flown in Ronaldo Torres. Three times a week, Angelina, Connor, and Whitney had attended his after-school boot camp.

  Together they’d struggled.

  Failed.

  Laughed.

  Tried again.

  Grown.

  Connor had been at her side in the stands the day Whitney had tried out for the team. Afterward, they had had celebrated with pizza and the Fetters in Queens.

  And just like that the three of them had become a family.

  “I love you,” Angelina said spontaneously.

  He grinned down at her. “Of course you do. I’m fucking amazing.”

  She socked him in the arm. “Jerk. You’re supposed to say you feel the same.”

  “So bossy.” He brought a hand to his upper arm as if she’d hurt him and turned to Aly and Joanna. “Did you see that smack? And now she says she wants me to tell her I love her. She wants to see me get all sappy and say that before her I didn’t know what love was. Hell, that I didn’t know who I was. She’s looking for me to proclaim that I can’t imagine my life without her in it.”

  Aly and Joanna were all smiles. Aly said, “You might want to say it then, before she kicks your ass.”

  Joanna brought her hands to her heart. “If she doesn’t know how you feel by now, dump her and marry me. I’d never smack those beautiful, perfectly sculpted arms of yours.” When Aly’s eyebrows shot up, Joanna announced, “Kidding. Unless it doesn’t work out between you, then after an appropriate grace period . . .”

  With a laugh, Angelina jumped in, “He’d still be off-limits.”