Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

by Teresa Michaels

  “Oh, not much. Besides that you were drunk and hooking up with bimbos in public restrooms.”

  I groan recalling that she mentioned this at the airport. “Breanne—” I begin.

  “Don’t. I don’t want to know.”

  “I want to tell you. I don’t want any secrets between us, and it’s not what you think.” Well, it could have been if I hadn’t come to my senses.

  I take her silence as agreement on hearing me out. “The woman you’re referring to cornered me in the bathroom when I was wasted. I vaguely remember her offering to give me head after she forced me to feel her up,” I say, realizing my recap has probably been too blunt. “If it makes you feel better, she threw her drink on me when I turned her down.”

  She’s quiet for too long. Feeling the need to explain myself further, I continue. “At the time, I was miserable. I was looking for a way to get you and what happened out of my head, but in the end I couldn’t go through with it. I’m sorry you had to see that. I know if the roles were reversed I’d find the prick and beat the shit out of him.”

  “It’s my fault you put yourself in that situation. It still hurts though.”

  “We both messed up, but we’re together now. Do you forgive me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Is that all you read?”

  “No, I found out all kinds of things about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “For starters, your birthday is coming up.”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “When you returned from your UCL injury it was rumored that you were taking HGH and had to undergo testing.”

  “Actually, I didn’t have to. I offered because I had nothing to hide.”

  “The most important thing I came across, however, was that your baseball number is 45, not 4. The number 4 belonged to Joe Cronin and was retired in 1984.”

  At this I bust up laughing, recalling what I had thought was a smooth attempt on my part when trying to convince her to sleep with me right after our ordeal started in the woods.

  “Hey, I never said that my number with the Red Sox was 4, only that it was my number in baseball.”

  “Oh, really? So when did you wear the number 4? College? High-school?”

  “Little league,” I admit.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “We both know that using that line persuaded you to give me a chance, like it was fate. If I had told you that my number was 45, I would have never gotten the chance.”

  She scowls at me before turning her attention back to the running water.

  “That’s probably enough,” I suggest, noticing how high the water level has gotten. It’s only then that I calculate how long it took to fill the tub back up. Adjusting to look over the edge of the tub, I’m shocked by the amount of water that’s pooled on the floor, but I’m in no hurry to get out and clean it up. “Unless you want to flood the house.”

  Breanne looks over the edge and shrugs. “It’ll be fine…unless, you’re planning on a doubleheader?”

  She’s laughing at her own joke, and I can’t help but think that her laughter is my favorite sound…actually, all of her sounds are. Yes, I most definitely want a doubleheader.

  “Maybe I am,” I muse, lowering myself back after she turns off the faucet, pulling her with me.

  I nuzzle against her head and kiss her neck while giving her breasts some much needed attention. Although I want nothing more than to take her again right now, the thought reminds me of our pre-sex conversation, and I remember I have an important question to ask her.

  “What the hell is an IUD?”

  “I wondered if you were going to ask me about that,” she replies, casually, as if talking about IUD’s is normal conversation. “It’s a plastic contraption that’s inserted into a woman’s uterus and releases hormones to prevent pregnancy.”

  “Oh,” I cringe. “That sounds…painful.”

  She laughs, probably comprehending that this is the most in depth conversation I’ve ever had about birth control, which is basically nothing. “Not really, more like uncomfortable, but only during the procedure. It’s nice because it lasts for a few years so don’t really have to think about it.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I never have to wear a condom again.” My logic is stupid but I state this rather than ask because I don’t want to give her the chance to tell me I’m wrong.

  “Never.”

  “This day just keeps getting better.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  “How long have you had it?”

  “Since shortly after Maddie was born.”

  “Isn’t she three?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You said a few. Isn’t three a few?”

  “I believe it lasts for five years, but if it’d make you feel better I’ll get it checked out. I think my annual exam is coming up soon anyway.”

  Breanne has been very clear that having more kids is not something that she wants. I’m not looking to complicate things more than they are, but I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit that the idea of having a baby with her excites me. Too bad it’s not an option.

  “It’s not a big deal, baby. I was just curious.”

  Breanne tilts her head to the side, and gazes at me over her shoulder, smiling.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’ve never called me baby before,” she tells me. “I like it.”

  “Now that you’re mine, you should know that I plan on having several nicknames for you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Babe, baby, beautiful, love of my life, sex goddess with perfect tits—“

  “Drew!”

  “Hey!” I yell, having earned a jab to the ribs. “It’s not like I’d ever say that in front of the kids. Besides, it’s true. Turn around so I can have a better look.”

  “No way.”

  “Come on, I’ve gone days without seeing you.”

  She shakes her head, and I’m about to pout, until she rises up on her knees and turns to face me, biting her lip like I want to. Her hands are splayed out on her hips, giving me an unobstructed view of her amazing breasts, toned torso and curvaceous hips. Bubbles are very inconveniently blocking everything below. I’m so entranced by her beauty that I don’t register her talking until she loudly clears her throat.

  “Did you say something?” I lean forward, take her hand and intentionally direct my question to her chest. I am literally the luckiest man alive. “What do you feed these things?” I ask, forcefully palming her spectacular assets.

  “You’re such an ass,” she laughs, splashing water in my face. “I asked if you were satisfied. I’m getting cold.”

  “I can see that,” I mutter over a mouthful of soapy water. “Stop splashing!”

  While I cough and spit out suds, Breanne slips through my hands and slumps into the water at the opposite end of the tub, laughing hysterically. I lurch forward and pull her towards me, wrapping my arms around her, which turns into a full on wrestling match. Flipping her over as she squeals, I pin her arms to the side of her head and trap her core between my legs.

  Breanne continues writhing. “Are you done yet?” I ask, smirking.

  “Nope,” she sasses, popping the ‘p’ for effect, and bucking her hips trying to get loose, but all she’s doing is turning me on.

  “Careful,” I warn, pressing my erection against her. My humor has been replaced with hunger. “And to answer your earlier question, I’m far from satisfied. When it comes to you I’ll never get enough.”

  I tilt my hips back, and then slide forward so that she can feel the extent of my arousal. She closes her eyes, a moan escaping her parted lips.

  “I’m not stopping you.” My heart races at her words. She is so fucking sexy. Her legs reflexively push against mine so I shift my weight and use my knee to nudge her legs apart. “I want you.” Her legs spread further on her own. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

  I lower myself onto her and begin rocking back
and forth, sliding my length against her slick folds. “I can’t wait.”

  I want her so badly, though I’m not going to tell her that the real reason I don’t want to wait is because I’ll never take her in a bed that she shared with another man.

  Breanne’s legs wrap around my waist in silent agreement. Drumming up as much restraint as possible, I push into her slowly, determined to make it last, savoring my version of paradise.

  After drying off and mopping up the floor, Breanne’s phone pings again, and I immediately recognize the sound. She pauses, eyeing me with a suspicious glare.

  “If I had to guess, those alerts probably have something to do with my flight,” I offer, answering her silent question.

  “Why would you choosing not to get on a plane be newsworthy?”

  “Because I did get on the plane.”

  “You what? How are you here then?”

  I take a deep breath and start explaining to Breanne how I was able to get off the plane. I read her letter several times and started freaking out. It was painfully obvious that I’d made a huge mistake by not listening to her. Brett tried calming me down by telling me he’d get us on a flight back to Boston the minute we landed, but I couldn’t wait that long. I began hyperventilating and was punching the seat in front of me. Unbeknownst to me, O’Conner was able to get the stewardess’ attention and she notified the pilot that there was a potential medical emergency onboard. Not ten minutes later, I was ushered off the plane and taken by ambulance to Mass General for evaluation. Just when I thought I was going to be released, two TSA agents paid me a visit.

  “Well, I guess that explains why it took you so long to get here,” she says with a smile as she brushes her hair.

  Breanne’s phone rings and she quickly checks the screen before sending the caller to voicemail. “Who’s that?” I ask curiously.

  “Agent Patterson.”

  “Don’t you think you should answer? He might have an update on the investigation.”

  “He’s probably calling about Mark.” She watches for my reaction in the mirror.

  “I heard they were going to exhume his body.”

  She frowns, nodding. “I’m not interested in talking about that today. I only want to focus on us.”

  She steps back and spins into my arms, linking her hands behind my head. Smiling, I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her forehead.

  “So, Mr. Scott, besides your plane stopping shenanigans, is there anything else I should know about before I open up my email? Any more bimbos?”

  “No,” I assure her. “And though I’m loving your jealous streak, it’s probably safe to get rid of the alerts now.”

  “I think I’ll keep them. They came in very handy. Who knows when I’ll need to rely on them again.” She further justifies this with a kiss. “By the way, what should we do for your birthday? December 5th is right around the corner,” she beams. “And, it’s almost seven months away from my birthday. Do you know what that means?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “That we’re only six years apart!”

  “Does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes, actually it does.”

  “Are you going to tell me when your birthday is or should I try and Google it?” he asks.

  “June 15th.” I watch Breanne silently laugh at my confused expression. I’m about to challenge her on how that barely counts as seven months, but she beats me to the punch by blasting her hair dryer. I decide I’ll let her have her moment, grab my phone and step out of the bathroom to call Brett.

  “Drew. How are you?” he asks in a rush, having answered on the first ring.

  “Much better. Thanks.”

  “I’m glad you called. My phone has been ringing nonstop since we left the hospital. We need to agree on an approach with the media.”

  “Release a statement that says I had an anxiety attack due to the stress of being on a plane so quickly…or don’t tell them anything. It’s no one’s business.”

  “Drew, there was a crowd in the departure area that witnessed Breanne and you fighting. Pictures have already been posted to every major social media site. Those pictures surfaced before you were taken by ambulance from the airport.”

  “What are you saying, Brett?”

  “That we have to address the link to Breanne.”

  “No.”

  “Drew—“

  “Leave her out of this. I don’t want to bring more attention to her if I can help it.”

  Brett’s quiet for nearly two minutes. “Fine. Admitting she played a part in your breakdown would probably make you appear unstable to your other endorsements. As it stands, you’ll probably lose the Vitamin Water deal, and I still haven’t heard back from the Giants.”

  “Screw them, then.”

  “When I do hear from them, what do you want me to say? Are you still interested?”

  “What about Boston? Have you heard from them?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I want to stay.”

  “I take it things with Breanne are looking better.”

  “Perfect actually, thanks. I mean it, Brett. Thank you for telling her I’d be at the airport, for getting me off the plane…for everything.”

  “I’m happy for you. Let me worry about the press and I’ll run the statement by you before it’s released.”

  “Sounds good. I plan on lying low until things are rescheduled. I still need to get out to Cali soon to sort out Alexis’s house, but I’d appreciate a few weeks here if it can be helped.”

  “You got it, man. I’ll see what I can do and we’ll talk later.”

  I get off the phone and absentmindedly look around Breanne’s bedroom, contemplating our future together, when I notice all the boxes and garbage bags. What’s all this? I stand up from where I sat on the edge of the bed and make my way to the bathroom. Leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed, I relax, watching the beauty before me dry her hair. I don’t think there’s anything she could do that wouldn’t completely fascinate me.

  Breanne takes note of my gaze in the mirror, turns off the dryer and sets it on the sink.

  “What are you looking at?” she smirks.

  “My…” I struggle to finish my thoughts, causing Breanne to frown.

  “Are you uncomfortable calling me your girlfriend?”

  “No, it’s not that. The word girlfriend doesn’t exactly sum us up, you know? It doesn’t feel strong enough.”

  “Considering how the day began, I think it’s a good place to start,” she winks, walking past me into her bedroom. Dutifully, I follow behind.

  “What’s up with all the bags and boxes?” I ask.

  “This morning I decided to purge,” she explains.

  “Mark’s things.” I clarify and Breanne nods.

  “It was time.”

  “I hope you’re not doing it for my sake.” I try to hide my happiness at her decision to let Mark finally go.

  “Not directly, though, if I did nothing I wouldn’t really be moving on.”

  “It wasn’t until you left the airport that I realized you had taken off your wedding ring. Is the necklace gone too?”

  “I put the necklace away today with the other things. My ring came off the night I came home from dropping my father off at the airport. That’s when it all sank in,” she tells me as she begins getting dressed. “Is that what made you want to hear me out?”

  “It was everything. The letter. Your texts and voicemails that I tried to ignore. I was reluctant to listen because I didn’t think you wanted me. I thought your messages were going to be some version of what you’d already told me, that some complication down the road could drive us apart so we were better off apart. After you left and I listened to your messages, I had an epiphany; there are no guarantees in life and I wasn’t going to worry about what might happen or how bad it would hurt if we eventually ended. Not being with you hurt enough, and I knew that I’d regret it the rest of my life if I hadn’t grown a pair and
given us a chance.”

  “I have no intentions of leaving, Drew. I want us to be together just as much as you do. We’ll make it work.”

  “I know,” I agree as my phone begins ringing. “It’s Agent Patterson, I think we should find out what he wants.”

  Breanne reluctantly agrees.

  “Agent Patterson, I’m here with Breanne. You’re on speaker.”

  “About time one of you answered,” he replies.

  “How can we help you?” I ask.

  “I’m calling because our team has made progress in our investigation. As you’re aware, the media and government officials have been hounding us for an update. We thought it prudent to inform you of the details we’ll be releasing to the public by the end of the week.”

  “We appreciate that. What have you found?”

  “The forensics team ran Luminol tests in various areas of the safe house as we previously discussed would happen. Large traces of blood were found in the basement, creating a trail that led up to the main part of the house, stopping at the door. DNA testing has identified four different blood types, which confirms your theories that there were two sets of people at the house. The team is currently comparing the DNA found at the scene against DNA in our criminal database, but so far there hasn’t been a match.”

  “Ok,” Breanne says, urging him to go on.

  “We’ve also identified the gas that was used in the oxygen masks. Turns out it was similar to an anesthetic commonly used in surgery, but the levels were too high which caused the passengers to go into immediate cardiac arrest, resulting in sudden death.”

  “Do you have any leads on who could have done this?”

  “We have a few, but I can’t share that with you at this point,” he states. “The only other facts I can share with you are that we have confirmed that the black box was replaced, though we haven’t been able to come up with a motive. There’s no motive for any of this. We expected terrorist organizations to have come forward by now,” he clears his throat, obviously frustrated with the state of the investigation.

  “You said ‘facts,’ plural,” I remind Patterson.

  “Right. We’ve also discovered a connection between passengers and two charitable organizations whose missions involve advancing technology.”