by Tara Wyatt
“Whyyyyyyyy?” she moaned into the plush duvet. As soon as Javi had entered the meeting room, her entire body had responded to him. Her mouth had gone dry, goosebumps had erupted on her arms, her heart had doubled its rate, her stomach had flopped over on itself and a delicate ache had settled between her thighs. One night with him and he’d turned her into Pavlov’s dog, apparently.
Not only had he thrown her off her game with his unexpected appearance, but he’d thrown a major wrench in her plans to get Alvarez signed with the Red Sox, who’d offered double what the Longhorns had. But no, Javi had come in and charmed the pants off of her client. Not unlike the way he’d charmed the pants—er, dress—off of her.
But worst of all was that a tiny part of her had been happy to see him. Something buried deep down inside had lit up like a sunrise when he’d pulled open that door. Even though he’d come to poach a player he had no right to.
God, she was so stupid. What had happened between them had been a drunken one night stand. A dirty hook-up between two lonely people at a wedding. Nothing more.
“Whyyyyyy,” she moaned into the duvet again just as her phone started ringing from where she’d dropped her purse by the door. With a sigh, she pushed herself up off of the bed and retrieved it. The name Theo flashed across the screen, and she smiled despite her sour mood.
“Hey,” she said, making her way back to the bed and lying back down, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “What’s up?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Working too much. Avoiding mom. Living the dream.”
Aerin let out a little laugh. She’d grown up in a family of five kids, and Theo was the baby. He was also one of the most successful divorce lawyers in all of Manhattan.
She’d always been close with Theo. She’d felt protective of him growing up, especially because things had gotten so messed up in their family when he was so young. She’d felt compelled to look out for him, since it was clear neither of her parents would. Her mother had been too busy popping pills and taking part in high society events to escape her father’s philandering workaholism—and that was before the divorce that had made the War of the Roses look like child’s play. Yes, they’d grown up with money, but that didn’t mean her childhood had been pretty. Far from it.
“Staying out of trouble?” she asked.
“Define trouble.”
“No, I’m not doing this. I’m not getting sucked into an argument with you where you go all lawyery on me and I come out of it not knowing which way is up.”
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
“But seriously, what’s up?” She got the distinct sense that he was stalling.
“Uh…” He paused, and she could just picture him loosening his tie and shoving a hand through his thick hair. Through the phone, she heard the sound of ice cubes hitting a glass. “Some family stuff.”
“Like what?” She sat up on the bed, steeling herself for whatever Theo was about to say. She was the only Prescott who didn’t live in NYC anymore, and usually she was glad for the disconnection, but now guilt seeped into her veins, making her feel cold. She’d fled after her marriage had gone down in flames, and most days, she felt confident she’d made the right choice to start fresh in Dallas. But now, with Theo clearly struggling, doubt ate at her.
“Well, Max is working too much, as usual. I saw him yesterday and he looked like absolute shit. I tried to get him to come to dinner tonight, but he bailed, saying something about some stolen code from his latest software venture.”
“And?”
Max had always been a workaholic, so that couldn’t be the reason for the tension in Theo’s voice. “And…Sebastian’s been gambling again. I know Lucian had to pull some pretty big strings to get him out of whatever he’d gotten himself into.”
Dread settled in the pit of Aerin’s stomach. “What kind of strings?”
“I don’t know, exactly. But I think the, uh…”
“The Goodfellas kind?” They’d always suspected their brother Lucian had ties to organized crime but had never had the guts to challenge him on it. He owned several clubs and restaurants in Manhattan and always seemed to have the ability to make problems disappear. Even if those problems were people.
“Yeah. Before Lucian bailed Bash out, some guys came to Mom looking for money.”
Aerin pressed a hand to her mouth. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, but it scared the shit out of her.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, I talked to Lucian. He assured me that everything was fine and to stay out of his business. He promised that no one would bother Mom again.” He sighed heavily before continuing. “I tried to convince Sebastian to go to rehab, but he blew me off. And Max…I don’t know. If he wants to work himself to death, I don’t know how I can stop him.”
“Theo, it’s not up to you to solve everyone’s problems. We’re all screwed up. As much as you want to, you can’t save the Prescotts. Don’t blame yourself. Blame Mom and Dad for the fact that we all cope in only the healthiest of ways.” Lucian’s coping mechanism was control, no matter the cost. Max buried himself in work. Sebastian chased away his demons with vices. Aerin had tried to give herself the fairy tale ending she’d so badly wanted to believe in as a kid, only to have it shattered. Only to learn that reality sucked just as bad as she’d grown up thinking it did. And Theo…Theo was the best of them, even if he was just as jaded about love and relationships as she was.
Theo sighed. “You were smart to run, AerBear.”
She toyed with the duvet’s soft fabric. “Was I? I always thought it was pretty selfish. Especially knowing that you’re the one trying to hold everyone together.”
“It wasn’t selfish. Do you know what true selfishness is? It isn’t putting yourself first. It’s forcing others to put you first, even if it hurts them. That’s selfishness. You did what you had to do. We all have some pretty gruesome scars from growing up with two narcissists who clearly didn’t give a crap about any of us and made sure we knew it.”
“No kidding.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead. “How can I help?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure why I called. Maybe just to vent.” Out of all of them Theo was the most balanced. The kindest. The most secure. Sometimes, when she was feeling generous, Aerin let herself believe that she’d played a tiny part in that.
“You can always talk to me. Always. I’m only ever a phone call and a flight away. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. I do.”
They talked for a while longer, Theo filling her in on the cases he was currently working on—marriage after marriage ending in scathing looks and bitter disappointment—and she told him about the Alvarez situation, minus the details about Javi. Once they’d hung up, she lay back on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Outside, the light was starting to fade into darkness, but she didn’t move to turn on any lights.
As the night crept in, so did the thoughts she usually didn’t allow. Insidious, lurking thoughts, like maybe she’d attracted a man who would cheat on her and leave her on purpose, just like her father had done to her mother. Because she thought it was what always, inevitably happened. She’d been a fool to think she could rewrite the stars and change what had been laid out for her. She’d given every part of herself away once, and she’d come away forever altered. She’d been so stupid to think things would be any different for her.
She knew better now.
The late afternoon air was soft and warm, filled with the sounds of crashing waves and the scents of salt air and coconut. Javi loved spring training because it was a fresh start and the chance to try again, to learn and grow and push toward something greater than what had come before. He also loved that it was in Florida. The Gulf, the laid back vibe, the sunshine—not a bad way to spend the last month of winter, as far as he was concerned. Every time he was here, he fantasized about renting a house and bringing the girls out, even if it was just for a long weekend. They could come to the games, play
with the other kids, run around on the beach. But Cara would never go for it, and their custody agreement, as it stood now, didn’t leave much wiggle room for visits requiring a plane trip or anything out of the very restricted ordinary.
The restaurant Javi had suggested for the meeting with Alvarez was one of his favorites in Englewood. A little bistro nestled by the water, it offered incredible sunset views from its cozy stone terrace that overhung the beach below. It felt like the end of the earth in the most peaceful way possible. He’d hoped that the relaxed atmosphere would put Alvarez at ease.
He stood near the front entrance to the mostly outdoor space, checking his watch and then smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt. He’d almost thrown on a suit, but in the end had decided it would give off a stuffy vibe, and had gone with a pair of black jeans and a blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up around his elbows. His phone buzzed from his back pocket and he fished it out. A text from Tom, the GM, who was supposed to be joining them.
Tom: Under the weather, not going to make it tonight. You’ve got this.
Javi closed his eyes for a second, apprehension coiling in his stomach. Great. He’d be alone with Aerin and Alvarez, trying to impress him and not fight with her, and he’d never had much luck when it came to not fighting with Aerin. He needed to play nice tonight. Not that he hadn’t been planning on playing nice, but he had been counting on having Tom as a buffer. With a sigh, he headed toward the hostess podium and informed the young woman that their reservation would only be for three, not four.
And then, before he had the chance to really brace himself, she was right there, only a couple of feet away, wearing a silvery dress that clung to her skin, emphasizing her slim waist and toned stomach. The straps were thin, revealing a tantalizing swath of collarbone and cleavage. His mouth twitched, heat surging through him as he remembered the taste of her, the texture of that skin under his lips. The feeling of her breasts against his mouth, the taut skin of her stomach under his fingertips. Before he could say anything, Alvarez appeared at her elbow, and Javi held out his hand, greeting him. Fuck, it would be so easy to let himself get distracted by Aerin, and he couldn’t afford to let that happen. For so, so many reasons.
“Tom couldn’t make it tonight,” he said apologetically. “So it’ll just be the three of us.”
“No problem,” said Aerin. She leaned a bit closer, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “I’ve never been much of a Tom fan, anyway.”
Javi’s lips twitched in an involuntary smile. “So what are you a fan of? Or should I ask who?” Goddammit, he was flirting, wasn’t he? He was doing exactly what he knew he shouldn’t be doing, which seemed to be a recurring theme when it came to him and Aerin Stone.
At that, she grinned, her lips curling and revealing her perfect white teeth. “Money, Mr. Flores. I’m a fan of money.”
Javi crossed his arms over his chest and laughed. “Ah. I should’ve known.”
“I thought you already did.”
“You’re an enigma, Ms. Stone.”
From behind Aerin, Alvarez cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Great. He’d gotten caught up in flirting with Aerin and had temporarily forgotten the real reason for the meeting—impressing Alvarez. What was it about her that made him so stupid? This was a career-making deal, here, and it was taking everything in his power to stop undressing her with his eyes. Not to mention the fact that she was probably playing him—she’d made it clear that what had happened between them had meant absolutely nothing to her.
Nothing. He let the word reverberate around his skull for a few seconds. He shot Alvarez a smile. “Let me see if our table is ready,” he said, retreating to the hostess podium.
Once they were seated in a corner of the terrace overlooking the Gulf, the sun sinking lower and lower on the horizon, they ordered a round of drinks—a Coke for Javi, because he’d learned his lesson when it came to drinking with Aerin—and then settled back into their seats.
“So, what did you think of the game this afternoon?” he asked Alvarez. He’d invited him to come watch the Longhorns play before tonight’s dinner. Javi took the fact that he’d showed up and stayed for the entire nine innings as a good sign.
Alvarez tipped his head and took a sip of his beer. “I think you need a catcher.”
Javi laughed and then glanced at Aerin. “Subtle.”
She shrugged and toyed with the stem of her wine glass. “Who said I was aiming for subtle?”
Javi let out another chuckle, hating how good this felt, sitting here with her by the water, the sun setting, cold drinks sweating onto the table. Why couldn’t it feel this good with someone who wasn’t Aerin?
He turned his attention back to Alvarez. “You’re right, we do need a catcher.” He leaned forward, holding the other man’s gaze. “We need you, Santiago. Everything I said the other day—it still stands. You could sign with the Yankees or the Red Sox for more money. But you’d be missing out on the opportunity to work with someone who gets where you come from and who’ll have your back. You come to the Longhorns, and I’m your guy.”
Aerin drummed her fingers on the table. “Fifteen mil over three seasons is peanuts compared to what the Red Sox offered. Not even peanuts. Peanut shells.”
Javi nodded. “We don’t have deep pockets like some of the big market teams. I can’t deny that. But what we lack in payroll we make up for in other ways.” He looked at Alvarez and flipped into Spanish. “You’d have a home in Dallas. I’d make sure of that. Did you like what you saw out on the field today?”
When Alvarez replied in Spanish, Javi saw him visibly relax, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “I liked what I saw. You have a strong team. Solid bats, intuitive defense. Good camaraderie.”
“We do have a strong team. You would make it even stronger. We need a catcher, but not just any catcher, Santiago. We need you. We need your expertise, your athleticism, your sharp eye behind the plate.”
Alvarez nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything more. The waitress came to take their orders, and then conversation shifted to the MLB in general. He’d given Alvarez enough to mull over. He’d both told him and shown him what he’d be getting if he put on a Longhorns jersey. Now all he had to do was decide. They couldn’t compete financially with the other teams. But maybe what Javi had offered him would be enough.
Aerin stayed almost entirely out of the conversation, letting Javi and Alvarez shoot the shit, only interjecting occasionally. By the time they were finished their meals, he had the feeling he’d swayed Alvarez his way, but he couldn’t be completely sure. He didn’t trust Aerin not to undermine everything he’d said and done by putting dollar signs in Alvarez’s eyes. After all, she’d straight up told him she was all about the money.
After passing on the dessert menu, Alvarez stood. “I’m sorry, but I’m very tired. Thank you for dinner, Mr. Flores.” He glanced over at Aerin, took a deep breath, and then said, “I’d like to take you up on your offer. Fifteen mil for three seasons, and you’re my guy. I say yes, to you, to Dallas.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aerin wince, but he was too caught up in his own victory to care. He reached out and shook Alvarez’s hand. “I promise you won’t regret this. I’ll let Tom know and we’ll send contracts your way first thing tomorrow morning. Come by the field around eleven. I’ll introduce you, and you can take BP if you want. Sound good?”
Alvarez smiled, looking as though he no longer had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Sounds perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded at Aerin before heading toward the exit. Javi sank back down in his chair, feeling warm, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He done it, against all odds—he’d gotten Alvarez to choose the Longhorns over any other team. He’d fucking wooed him.
The waitress came by to clear their plates, and Javi caught her eye. “You know what? I think I’ll have a whiskey. Whatever you have. On the rocks.” She nodded, taking their dishes with her.
&n
bsp; “Let the celebration commence,” said Aerin dryly, an unreadable expression on her face.
“I’m sorry you won’t be getting the major payday you were aiming for.”
“Are you?” She looked at him, her head cocked. Behind her, the sun started to disappear into the Gulf, painting the sky with vivid hues of pink and purple.
The waitress set his drink down in front of him. “No,” he finally said, smiling down at the table. “Not even a little.”
“Well, that’s honest, at least.”
He took a sip of his drink, the warmth fueling the vindication cascading through him. He gestured at Aerin’s empty wine glass. “You should order another drink. On me. It’s the least I can do.”
“Right, and then we’ll play a harmless game of truth or dare.” She shook her head, sending her blond hair swirling around her jawline. “Hard pass.”
He met her gaze. “Your loss.”
She held his eyes for a beat longer than was normal. “I know.” She huffed out a breath and leaned back in her chair. “Just try not to be so smug when we sign the papers.”
Javi smiled, kicking his legs out under the table and crossing his ankles. “I can’t promise I’ll try, but I’ll try to try.”
Aerin’s eyes flashed and her mouth fell open. “Did you just quote The Simpsons at me?”
“What can I say? I’m in a good mood. Frankly, I’m impressed you caught the reference.”
“Javi, I’m forty-one years old. Of course I caught your Simpsons reference. We’re Gen-Xers. It’s practically in our blood.”
He scoffed while something inside him warmed at the realization that she’d called him Javi. “Oh, you think I’m the same age as you?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Javier Alejandro Miguel Flores, age forty-two. Born in San Antonio, Texas to Jose Luis and Maria Elena Flores. One brother, Antonio, two years younger. Drafted in 2002 by the Pittsburg Pirates. Played shortstop for ten seasons, for the Pirates, Marlins, and Mariners. Hired as the Padres bench coach in 2013. Then you joined the Longhorns three seasons ago as manager. Married in 2006, divorced in 2015. Two daughters.”
