“That’s easy. The baseball gods,” Gavin explained matter-of-factly.
“You don’t say? What makes you so sure?”
“Because they gave me the gift too.”
I couldn’t hold in my burst of laughter at that. “Oh, yeah? Aren’t we a little full of ourselves? If you’re so awesome, why aren’t you in the big leagues?”
“Who says I wasn’t? There aren’t many sixty-year-olds still in the game.”
There aren’t many sixty-year-olds with an ass like that either, I wanted to say. It was then I realized I was actually caressing the throw pillow on my lap. Oh, lord. I flung the pillow to the floor and face-palmed again as he continued.
“So, have you changed your mind yet about the date?”
I had to shut this thing down. “No. Unfortunately, I have to stick to the game plan. But thank you for asking. It’s been fun talking to you.”
“Just imagine how much more fun it would be eating with me.”
I shook my head at his persistence. “I’ll have to just leave that to my imagination.”
“You do that.” Yikes. Why did that conjure images that had very little to do with dinner? Emerson, you idiot—stop right there!
An awkward silence followed. The first of our conversation.
“Okay, then. Um, I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he finally said.
“I guess so.” I didn’t want to hang up.
“Sweet dreams, Emmy.”
I heard the line disconnect. Sweet dreams, indeed. I picked the throw pillow back up and buried my face in it.
Chapter Seven
The Best Ever
EMERSON
“Jay, sweetheart, how arrrre you?”
My molars threatened to turn to dust as I ground them together in an attempt to mind my manners. In a move that was admittedly riddled in cowardice, I had coaxed my brother to join me for dreaded Sunday brunch with my dad and Mandy the next day. Although, watching Jay eye the opulent buffet at my dad’s club, I was feeling less guilty by the minute.
Jay flicked his eyes to Mandy and answered, “Good, thanks,” before his attention was drawn back to the large bed of iced shrimp beckoning him from six feet away. I debated advising her to never come between a teenage boy and food lest she find herself missing a hand, but then figured she could learn for herself. My dad had excused himself to take a phone call, so it was just the awkward trio left at the table, waiting for him to return before we approached the buffet. Manners, you know.
I crossed my legs in my seat and decided to suck it up, if for no other reason than to pass the time. That, and to distract myself from thoughts that kept wandering back to my phone conversation with a certain charming guy from the previous night. “What have you been up to lately, Mandy?”
She fussed with her napkin and glanced over to me. “Oh, you know. Volunteer work, running the house. Oh, and I’m in a book club now,” she said excitedly. She brushed a lock of platinum blond hair behind her shoulder.
Hmm. That was surprising. I wasn’t aware she could read. Okay, Emerson, that was below the belt. “Sounds…interesting.” But, honestly, what did she do with herself all day? Her life sounded so freaking boring.
“It is! This month, we’re reading a book about two women in Afghanistan. I’m only a couple chapters in, but it’s really good so far.”
I thought about asking her the title, but I was fairly certain I knew the book. It had had me in tears when I read it several years earlier. I wondered if she was prepared. I wondered if her shellacked face could produce tears.
“Sorry about that, ladies, Jay,” said my father as he returned to his seat, picking up his napkin and arranging it in his lap. He sighed as he took us in. “Well, isn’t this wonderful? Sunday brunch with my two favorite girls and an up-and-coming baseball star.” He winked at Jay.
I had to hand it to my father. He’d always been very accepting of Jay. But, then again, the kid was so easygoing, it would be nearly impossible to dislike him.
Ever since I could remember, I’d spent weekends and summers at my dad’s posh house near Lake Brandt. He’d always encouraged me to invite my friends, often to the dismay of whoever his wife happened to be at the time. Considering that Ari was usually one of the invited friends, who could really blame them, though.
And when my mom finally remarried and had Jay, the invitation had been open to him as well. There had been times when I’d been relieved to bring Jay with me so I could watch over him and be assured he was fed actual food and received the occasional bath. Naomi and Aldo were of the school of thought that the more you’re exposed to germs, the higher your tolerance would be. Predictably, I vehemently disagreed. So, having my toddler brother join me now and then at my father’s was a nice treat, as well as a relief to me and my worrying mind.
But, then I’d gone off to college, and our mom took the rest of the family to one of what would turn out to be many new destinations—or “adventures for the soul” as she would say. I was acutely aware that she’d only stayed in Greensboro all that time for my sake. She knew my desire for consistency, even if she didn’t understand it. And she felt the importance of keeping me near my father so he and I could have a close relationship. I was grateful she’d done that for me, even when her heart clearly wanted to kick off the dust of North Carolina and hit the road.
“Well, it’s been too long,” I replied to my dad. “My fault—sorry I’ve been so busy.” I left out the end of that sentence, which would have been something along the lines of avoiding your annoying child bride.
“Taking the world of corporate law by storm! How can a father complain too much?” He smiled in my direction and I returned it, my chest involuntarily swelling at the notion that I’d made him proud.
“I was just telling Emerson about my book club,” Mandy chimed in. Her desperation to bring focus back to herself was so transparent I found myself suddenly feeling a bit sorry for her.
My father took a sip of his coffee. “Oh, of course. That’s lovely, darling.” I almost cringed at his dismissive tone. See. This is what happens when you get involved with someone out of your age bracket.
Had she asked me before taking up with my dad, I’d have told Mandy the only way to impress him was to play the game his way. You could either be the trophy wife or the partner, but you had to choose. She’d made her bed, and now had to lay in it, tiara firmly in place. No use trying to change her role now. But, of course, I kept my mouth shut and gave her a half-hearted smile which I couldn’t decide was genuine or not.
I took in the little tableaux we made. I’m sure to any onlooker, we appeared to be a single father—or perhaps even a widower—taking his three children out for brunch. Not that my dad looked particularly old. No, he kept himself up very well. His hair maintained its youthful light-brown shade, and it was always neatly trimmed. No stray neck hairs for Robert Scott. And he stayed in shape by pursuing the same sports I did, sometimes inviting me for a round of golf or a tennis match at his club. The managing partner at his own firm of tax attorneys, my father affected an impressive image. One that remained composed in the most difficult of situations. Cool as a cucumber, my dad was, and that was the image I had strode for my entire life.
Mandy, I noticed, was fiddling with her cloth napkin again. I could practically hear her brain working to conjure something to add to the conversation. I decided to take pity on her and gestured to the buffet. I knew Ari would have rolled her eyes at me had she been forced to attend this little scene. “Shall we?”
Mandy shot me a brief look of relief, and I felt another unexpected pang of sympathy. Hmm. That was odd. But I didn’t give it much thought as I was distracted by my little brother practically whimpering in relief as he rose from his seat and power walked to the stack of sparkling white plates at the front of the extravagant buffet.
“Well that was exhausting,” I said as I shut my car door, enclosing Jay and me in the silence of my Volvo S90.
“Food coma?” Jay asked, buckling his seatbe
lt and settling in.
“Diabetic coma from Candy is more like it.”
“I don’t know why you let her bug you so much. She’s harmless.” Oh, my dear, sweet brother.
“I guess. She just rubs me the wrong way. Don’t mind me—I’m being petty.” I pulled out of the spot and maneuvered my way out of the parking lot.
I knew I was overly critical of Mandy, but she’s done very little to endear herself to me over the years. From the very beginning, she’d made sure I knew she was at the top of my father’s list. Trophy wife outranked daughter, in her opinion, and she’d done her best to ensure his focus was firmly on her whenever we got together. I tried not to let it bother me, and I vowed to just wait her out. Women never lasted long with him, so why should she be any different? I had to hand it to her—she’d certainly surprised me by hanging in this long. If today’s interaction was any indication, however, I was thinking her days were numbered. And she knew it.
In true Mandy style, she’d compensated by pointing out the calorie count in my salad dressing (“It’s so great that you don’t worry about gaining weight, sweetheart. I wish I could be that relaxed.”) and asking if I needed her help finding a new hairdresser (“I’m soooo jealous that you don’t have to spend time getting ready in the morning, Emerson. But change is always good.”). Like I’d ever let someone work my hair into an overdone rat’s nest like the one resting on her scalp.
Oh well, it was over now, and I wouldn’t have to endure another one of these outings for several weeks, thank God.
I looked over at Jay, envious of his ability to set people’s comments aside and just go about his business. He really was a great kid.
“So, do you have a ride lined up to the Academy this week or do you need me to arrange something?” He was going to his first training after school on Tuesday and the bus wasn’t an option.
His eyes lit. “I got it covered. Coach is going to take me over to get me settled in.” His voice was practically vibrating with excitement, and I thought again of Gavin Monroe and how he’d worked so hard to get Jay this chance.
No. No thoughts of too-young guys with sexy backsides. I wasn’t going down that road. I was going to go home, prepare for my pro bono case, and curse Craig’s name a few more times. And maybe Mandy’s too, just for good measure.
“Sounds great, but just let me know if you need a lift home,” I told Jay as I pulled onto the main street, leaving the club behind and driving us home.
Too Young for You: Change your mind yet?
My phone vibrated on the coffee table with an unexpected text from a certain young coach. After our conversation the night before, I’d created a contact name to help me remember the bigger picture. Too Young for You. Gavin Monroe was off limits. End of story.
I’d just ignore this text and continue focusing on my laptop.
But my phone had other ideas. It vibrated again, reminding me I had a new text I hadn’t officially opened. I took off my reading glasses and closed my eyes, waiting for the third and final reminder I knew was coming. Finally, the phone vibrated again and then stilled.
There. I’d done it. I’d successfully conquered the temptation. He’d realize I was serious about not going out with him, and he’d leave me alone.
The damn phone suddenly rattled again, causing me to jump in my seat, as if Gavin had just appeared by my side on the couch. Before I could think better of it, I replaced my glasses and leaned over my laptop to peek at the new text notification.
Too Young for You: Because I have an awesome date planned out, if I do say so myself…
Darn it. Now I was curious. I chewed on my bottom lip as I debated what to do next, but the phone vibrated again with another new text.
Too Young for You: Unless you don’t like awesome dates.
I smiled. Okay, it was time for a break anyway. I set the laptop on the couch beside me and picked up my phone.
Emerson: I have nothing against awesome dates, per se. I do have other reasons, however, as I’ve already explained.
There. That should do it. But, of course, the three little dots appeared, telling me he was typing his response.
Too Young for You: We can work around those reasons. I’m a very hard worker.
Why did that sound vaguely dirty? My pulse sped up a tad, and I ordered it to calm down.
Emerson: I’m sure you are, but I still have to say no.
Too Young for You: So, you’re saying I’m going to have to go on the best date ever by myself? Harsh.
I laughed, despite myself, and typed my response.
Emerson: Oh, it’s the best date ever now, is it?
Too Young for You: I guess you’ll never know…
Emerson: I’ll have to live with the disappointment of never having experienced the best ever.
Too Young for You: Wow. I’m flattered. I didn’t know word had gotten around.
Momentarily confused, I read over my last text and realized what I had implied. I could feel my face burning as my thumbs moved frantically over my phone.
Emerson: Shut up. I meant “best DATE ever” and you know it.
It was time to stop this and get back to reality before I embarrassed myself further. Or worse, accepted a date.
Emerson: Jay is excited for Tuesday.
Too Young for You: Hell, I’m excited to train him. He’s phenomenal.
Sisterly pride swelled in my chest.
Emerson: Yeah, pretty much.
Too Young for You: I know I’m completely jumping the gun, but I feel like he’s really got a shot.
Emerson: A shot?
Too Young for You: At the Majors. It’s a long ways down the line, I know, but I’ve got a gut feeling.
Wow. I had no idea.
Emerson: Seriously?
Too Young for You: I don’t joke about baseball.
Emerson: Something tells me that’s about the only thing you don’t joke about.
Too Young for You: Well, there is one other thing.
Don’t ask, Emerson.
Emerson: Do tell.
Dammit!
Too Young for You: I think you’re amazing and I want one date.
My belly started swimming with warmth and I bit my lip.
Too Young for You: If you don’t want to see me again after that, I’ll leave you alone. Hand to God.
Honestly, what could it hurt? One little date and we’d realize we have nothing in common and go our separate ways. In fact, it was probably a good idea.
Emerson: Coffee
Too Young for You: What?
Emerson: I’ll get coffee with you. No “best date ever” business.
Too Young for You: That’s putting a lot of pressure on a cup of beans, but I’m up to the challenge. Coffee it is. How about tomorrow?
Best to get it over and done with, and then I could stop thinking about him and my stupid, inappropriate attraction to him. I switched to my schedule to see when I’d be free before texting him back.
Emerson: I’m swamped the next couple days, but I could do Wednesday.
Too Young for You: It’s a date.
Emerson: It’s coffee.
Too Young for You: We’ll see.
Why did I get the feeling he knew something I didn’t?
Chapter Eight
Call the Police!
GAVIN
Not even the mind-numbing sound of multiple nail guns simultaneously firing into drywall could dampen my good mood Monday morning. I’d somehow convinced Emmy to give me a shot. Well, it was just coffee—for now. But I’d do my best to win her over and get her to go out on a real date with me. I was dying to get to know her better, or at all, really. Right now, I only knew that she was beautiful, funny, and a great sister. I didn’t even know what she did for a living and I was kicking myself for not asking more questions this weekend. But there was time.
“Yo, Junior, get that dopey-ass grin off your face and come give Trey a hand next door. You can think about giving yourself a hand job later.” Mark
swung past me and smacked me on my hardhat with a clipboard.
“Hey! I’ll have you know my hands were behind my head the whole time—right where they should be. I didn’t have to lift a finger!” I threw back at him.
“That’s not what I heard. Word is you’ve been striking out big-time lately!” he yelled as he strode out the door, giving me zero chance to defend myself. The three other guys wielding nail guns all guffawed.
“Laugh it up, assholes! That shit is far from the truth and you know it,” I grumbled as I made my way out the back and to the apartment next door. So what if Mark’s comments hit a little too close to home? I’d been busy. What can I say? Between the two jobs and my online classes, I didn’t have much free time to pursue extracurricular activities.
All that would change on Wednesday, though. I could feel it. I’d make the fucking time.
I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon assisting with pipefitting before taking off to go home and grab a shower. I’d gotten word that Chris’s court appearance was this afternoon, and I was determined to show up and support him. Granted, his parents weren’t completely thrilled with me at the moment—but they were reasonable enough to realize I hadn’t actually encouraged their son to steal a goddamn car. I hoped they wouldn’t mind me showing up.
I also hoped the neighbor would see reason and drop the theft charges. In the end, most of it was resting on the shoulders of Chris’s lawyer, Ms. Scott. I sure as hell hoped Jake had steered me in the right direction with that one. There wasn’t a whole lot I could do at this point, though, except show up and be there for Chris.
I’d never been to court—I know, I’m as surprised as you—so I wasn’t too sure what to expect. By the time I found the correct room, I was already twenty minutes late and I was sweating like a whore in church. The room was a smaller version of what I’d seen on TV, with a judge’s bench at the front, two tables for prosecution and defense, and a viewing area filled with chairs. There was no jury box, and the chairs were folding chairs, but otherwise it was like TV.
The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4) Page 7
