by Tara Wyatt
She let out a sharp laugh. “And I guess that’s why I have no friends?”
“Well, it is hard to make friends with people when you’re mowing them down.”
She made a little impatient sound and for the briefest moment, he wondered what kind of sounds she made in bed. What kind of sounds she’d make under him. “What was your question, Flores?”
“Were you always this way?”
She cocked one eyebrow. “What way?”
“You know exactly what I mean, and I’m not stepping into your trap. It’s fine, you don’t have to answer the question. I was just curious, you know, if this whole comic book villain thing is really you, or if…I don’t know. Something made you this way.”
She stared at him as though he’d grown a second head, and he had no idea what he’d been looking for with that question. It had floated to the surface of his brain like a long-submerged pond lily and he’d found himself really wanting to know for some unexplainable reason.
Just then, the elevator jolted to life, the overhead lights flickering and the pulley system whirring as they resumed their descent. Instead of answering his question, she slipped her shoes back on and hoisted her tote bag onto her shoulder. The doors opened onto the lobby with a soft ding and she brushed past him, clearly not able to get away from him fast enough, but then she stopped on the threshold, her hand on the door. She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Maybe I don’t have any friends because I don’t want any.”
And then she clicked away through the lobby, leaving Javi in her dust.
Three
To say Aerin hated weddings would be a massive understatement.
She hated the boring ceremonies, the false promises of forever, the way everyone was supposed to be happy and pretend they didn’t know this would probably come crashing down in flames. She hated the glorification of a hollow institution fueled by narcissism and capitalism. Hated all of it. All. Of. It.
So, no, a sentimental romantic she was not, but she’d had a hand in Abby and Jake making things work. She’d pulled strings to help Jake secure his retirement and land his dream job, and had made sure the media had eaten up their star-crossed lovers story, saving both Abby’s career and her reputation. So maybe this felt a little bit like a victory lap of sorts, too. In any case, there would be wine in her future. Lots of wine.
She shifted on her white wooden chair, the scent of eucalyptus dancing around her and making her want to sneeze. The ceremony space looked like a Tuscan garden, with its wrought iron gazebo with intricate latticework blooming across the rounded dome on top, and the dense copse of cypress trees enclosing the space. Rounded bouquets of white and peach-colored roses hung from the gazebo, while eucalyptus greens woven with white peonies lined the stone aisle. Water burbled softly from a nearby fountain, and Aerin tried to concentrate on its soothing sound instead of the vows Jake and Abby were reciting in front of 150 of their closest friends and relatives.
She didn’t want to hear them make promises they couldn’t keep. Even if she wasn’t a romantic, she hated the inevitable heartbreak of it all. Not everyone got divorced, of course. No, some just slipped into a quiet routine of seething resentment and bitter disappointment, stuck in a purgatory of apathy until death.
At least she’d escaped that fate.
Her hand itched to dig into her purse for her phone. Right now, faced with all this love, all this happiness and overflowing emotion, she wanted the compulsive distraction of work. There were always emails to answer, calls to follow up on, research to be done. In the wake of her divorce, work had kept her sane. It had become her lifeline. And then it had just become her life.
Really, she should thank Eric for breaking her heart into a million pieces and leaving her in his dust. Her career was thriving because of it.
The rest of her life? Her mind flashed back to that morning in the elevator, and Flores’s question about whether or not she had any friends. Something small and sharp dug in between her ribs, and she shifted in her seat again, glancing over to the other side of the aisle. Her stomach gave a little jolt when it landed on Javier, wearing a gray suit, white shirt, and deep purple tie.
Asshole. She made herself think the word, made herself pretend she thought it was true. But she knew that she’d not only started the animosity between them, but fed it regularly, like watering a plant. Other men in the sports world had taken her for a sucker in the past because she was a woman, because she was blond, because she was pretty. She’d eaten them alive, just to prove her point. Because she had to to survive.
Javier had never taken her for a sucker because she hadn’t given him the chance. She’d jumped down his throat before he’d said two words to her, making sure he didn’t get any wrong ideas about who she was or what she was capable of.
And then she’d kept it up, kept poking the bear, making sure he hated her so that any simmering attraction she felt toward him couldn’t go anywhere.
Christ, and now she was looking at him again, appreciating the way the sun glinted off of his black hair, the way his suit jacket hugged his shoulders. What would it sound like to hear him say her name in that velvety voice of his in a tone other than disdain? What would it feel like to have all of that confident, masculine energy focused on her?
As though he could feel her eyes on him, he shifted and looked her way, just for a second. Then he frowned and returned his attention to Jake and Abby, who were laughing, and crying, and finally kissing as a cheer went up. The first day of forever stretching ahead of them as they walked down the aisle, beaming at each other.
And while she clapped and cheered along with everyone else, Aerin felt sad for them, because as happy as they felt right now, she knew that true love wasn’t real.
Javi sipped his beer, watching but not really wanting to as Jake slowly twirled Abby around the dance floor, whispering in her ear as they swayed to “Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones. Abby beamed at him, glowing. She was incandescent with happiness, and Javi was happy for her. He was. But along with the happiness was something else, something smaller and darker, and much, much colder, like a sliver of ice sitting somewhere deep inside him.
He rubbed a hand over his chest. Since when had beer given him heartburn? Maybe he was getting old. Taking another sip of his beer, he forced himself to look around the beautifully decorated room, away from the happy couple. A head table sat at the front of the room, adorned with eucalyptus branches and tea lights, while round tables covered in pristine white tablecloths surrounded the gleaming wood dance floor. Sheer, white fabric swagged from the low-ceiling, giving the large room a more intimate feel. Toward the back, a dimly lit bar glowed invitingly, strung with miniature paper lanterns. Yeah, he’d definitely be making another trip or three up there in the foreseeable future.
This wasn’t how he’d envisioned his life at forty-two. Divorced, fighting for the right to be a father to Chloe and Olive while his ex had him wondering if he was destined to hurt everyone he cared about.
He shifted in his seat, watching as Jake dipped Abby and then kissed her at the end of the song. Her lacy white dress flared around her, whooshing out over the floor. And dammit, there was that heartburn again.
He wasn’t in love with Abby, and never had been. But he’d liked her, cared about her, and had had feelings beyond the platonic for her. What he hadn’t realized was that she’d already fallen for someone else—Jake. So that was that. And now she was married, and here he was, stag at her wedding.
He glanced around the table, taking in centerfielder Dylan McCormick and his fiancée Maggie, right fielder Hunter Blake and his wife, Marlowe, along with several other players and their significant others. Marlowe stood and excused herself, and Maggie followed her to the ladies’ room. Now that the wedding reception was in full swing, people started to file onto the dance floor, bopping in time to Pharrell’s “Happy.” The song pulled a wistful smile to Javi’s lips as he thought of his daughters and how much they loved those Minion mo
vies, especially Olive.
Jake ambled over, loose and liquid with happiness, producing a fistful of cigars from the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “Gentlemen,” he said, passing them out. “Let’s hit the patio.” The reception room opened onto a terrace that featured a fountain, a koi pond, and a roaring fire pit, along with several wrought iron benches. The evening was cool, hovering somewhere near the sixty-degree mark, with a light breeze rustling the leaves in the garden’s trees. The sounds of the reception flowed outside, dancing and laughter and clinking dishes mingling with the quiet splash of the fountain.
Once everyone’s cigars were lit and they’d taken appreciative puffs, Abby appeared on the patio, her hands on her hips and her cheeks a little pink. “You better have saved one of those for me, Landon.”
Jake grinned and pulled another from his pocket. “Of course.”
“I thought cigars were more of a guy thing,” said Beau, puffing on his.
Abby shot him a look that had Javi suppressing a smile. “And I’m not one of the guys?” She lit her cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring in Beau’s face. He waved it away.
“Point taken, Gossman. Hell, you’ve probably got bigger balls than all of us.”
“Well, you definitely don’t look like a guy today,” said Hunter, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“Gorgeous,” agreed Dylan, giving her a hug.
“Gee, I could get used to this,” she said, laughing. “Maybe I’ll have to trade in my leggings and cleats for this get up.” She swished her skirt and Jake shook his head.
“Please don’t ditch the leggings. Please.”
Abby laughed and skimmed her finger down the bridge of his nose, the gesture so tender and familiar that it sent an ache blooming across Javi’s chest. Not because he wanted Abby, but damn, did he miss having that connection with someone.
Someone he’d probably just end up hurting in the long run, but he missed it all the same.
“So, Jake, how’s the new job?” asked Javi, trying to change the subject. Jake had retired at the end of last season and would now be providing color commentary during Longhorns games. Javi had to admit it was a good fit for him—Jake was smart, charismatic and had the kind of looks that belonged on TV. He was sad to lose the experienced catcher, but he understood that everyone moved on eventually.
“It’s really good. Ron and Wayne are both great. I have a lot to learn, but it’s exciting to take on something new.”
“And we all know how much you hate being the center of attention,” teased Abby. He grumbled and then pulled her in for a kiss that went on just a half-second too long to be decent.
Maggie and Marlowe joined them on the terrace, Marlowe looking a bit pale and wrinkling her nose at the cigar smoke. Hunter immediately put his out and took her hand, leading her over toward the koi pond for some fresh air. Javi felt something wistful twist in his chest as he watched them. He was proud of Hunter and how far he’d come over the past year, and he knew his relationship with Marlowe was a big factor in how he’d turned himself around.
Maggie stood beside Dylan clutching two flutes of champagne, having taken Marlowe’s for her. She took a sip and then frowned.
“What’s wrong?” asked Dylan. Maggie glanced over at Marlowe and Hunter and said nothing, shaking her head.
And then Marlowe threw up in the bushes. Everyone moved toward them, but Marlowe was already standing, wiping at her mouth with a napkin Hunter had produced from his pocket. He looked surprisingly unconcerned for a man whose wife had just tossed her cookies in the middle of a wedding reception. In fact, he looked downright happy, and Javi had a feeling he knew why.
“Uh, I guess we tell them?” said Marlowe. “Since I apparently have no chill tonight.”
“We didn’t plan to say anything for another week or two, and definitely not tonight,” he said, shooting Abby and Jake an apologetic smile. “But, uh, yeah. Marlowe’s pregnant.”
“Ohmigod!” shrieked Maggie, running forward and throwing her arms around Marlowe. “Now I know why your champagne flute had ginger ale in it!”
A round of congratulations followed, Dylan pulling Hunter in for a man hug. After offering up his own congratulations, Javi slowly pulled away from the group. He felt old. He felt lonely. He missed his girls.
Most of all, he felt like he needed another drink, and something a lot stronger than beer.
Aerin ran her fingers up and down the stem of her wine glass, forcing herself to slow down. The first glass had gone down like water, but hey, it had gotten her through the speeches and the first dance and the cake cutting.
The worst part about being here wasn’t the wedding itself. It was actually pretty nice. Beautiful venue, good food, open bar. No, the worst part was the way it made her think of her wedding day, nearly fifteen years ago. The day she and Eric had promised each other forever and she’d never been happier. She’d left the baggage of the Prescott name behind and had become a Stone, and she’d seen her entire life stretching before her.
And she didn’t want to think about that day, because thinking about that day made her think about all of the cracks that had started to show in the thin veneer of their happiness. Eric had worked all the time, but so had she, and they’d started to drift apart. Then he’d kept putting her off about having kids. Then, finally, they’d started trying, but without any success. Then he’d traveled for work, more and more, and she’d poured every ounce of herself into the marriage, determined to make it work. Determined not to fail the same way her parents had.
But it hadn’t mattered, in the end. Eric had had an affair with a pretty doctor and gotten her pregnant. And so he’d left her and started a new life and the family she’d always wanted but had always been denied to her with someone new, leaving her to pick up the tattered remains of her life. Of her self-esteem and her heart.
Never. Again. She’d learned her lesson the hard way, and while Aerin Stone was a lot of things, a fool she was not.
Tossing back the rest of her wine, she stood and made her way to the bar, weaving between tables as “Uptown Funk” blared from the speakers. The dance floor was full nearly to bursting, and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Javier, leaning against the wall and chatting with Dylan McCormick. Of course, he picked that exact moment to look up, his eyes slamming into hers. Heat flashed through her body, but she kept her expression neutral and looked back toward the bar.
But then, unable to help herself, she glanced back over her shoulder, finding Javier’s eyes still on her. Her mind jumped back to the elevator that morning. Sadly, it had played out differently—very, very differently—than her dream. In her dream, they’d started out by arguing, and ended up with his face between her legs, her skirt pushed up around her waist. A warm, tingling flush rose over her skin, tightening her nipples. Goddammit. What was she doing, letting herself fantasize about Javier Flores, the man who thought she was a bitch with no friends?
He never called you a bitch, her brain chimed in helpfully. And you don’t really have any friends because clients don’t count.
“Shut up,” she muttered, leaning against the bar.
“I didn’t even say anything yet,” said Javier from a few feet away. He’d ditched the suit jacket and tie, his collar open and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his mouthwateringly strong forearms.
Baseball players—even former ones—really did have the best arms. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the melancholy feeling weddings always gave her, or maybe it was because the simmering attraction she fought so hard against was starting to boil, but she let herself look. Really look.
His black hair was short and thick, styled with some product. Tan skin with little smile lines fanning out around his eyes—not that he smiled much when she was around. A clean-shaven, square jaw that complemented the rest of his masculine features, including those melty brown eyes.
And then there was the rest of him. Broad shoulders, muscular arms,
flat stomach, and his ass—oof. It was the ass to end all asses. Round and strong and perfect.
Her eyes drifted back up and he smirked, quirking an eyebrow at her. Her cheeks flushed at having been caught checking him out. He moved a little closer.
“You know, I can’t figure you out.”
She licked her lips, keeping her gaze ahead. “In what way?”
He moved closer again, then leaned on the bar, facing her. “All. Any. You come into my clubhouse and bark orders at me despite the fact that we’d never even had a conversation before that point. You talk to me like I’m gum on your shoe.” He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear. He smelled incredible, like expensive cologne and whiskey. Like a man. “And then you look at me like you’re trying to picture me naked.”
Butterflies erupted in her stomach, and she whipped her head around to look at him, caught so completely off guard by what he’d just said.
She took a sip of her drink, and then met his eyes with a little shrug, collecting herself quickly. “Maybe I am.”
He held her gaze for a moment, the air shimmering with heat, and then he laughed, flashing his dimples and making her brain short circuit. “You’re fucking with me.” He shook his head and ordered another drink. “It’s like messing with me is a sport for you.”
At that, she smiled a little. “It is fun to push your buttons. And you make it so easy.” This time she leaned in, almost brushing her lips against his ear. “But I was totally thinking about you naked.”
Okay, she was officially tipsy. No more wine for her.
The corner of his mouth quirked up, the heat in his eyes smoldering. “Bullshit.” God, he was sexy. Too sexy. Too masculine and hot and the stuff of fantasies. She should be glad that she’d done such a good job of pushing him away that he didn’t believe her when she told him she was thinking about him naked. She should be, but she wasn’t.
Just then, the DJ started playing “Ladies’ Night” and announced that Abby was about to toss her bouquet.
