BEHIND THE COUNT
Dating my brother’s best friend? Yeah, that’s forbidden…
Noah Geren.
Cessna University’s starting catcher.
Sensible.
My life-long crush.
And totally off-limits.
I only want a few things in life.
Graduate with a fashion degree.
To be taken seriously.
And Noah Geren.
After my first year of college, I let the idea of him go.
And it almost worked
Until that late summer night.
Shannon Smith.
My best friend’s sister.
The secret star of my late-night fantasies.
Hotter than sin.
Unattainable
There’s a code among best friends and teammates—no dating their sisters.
Too bad I didn’t listen.
One weak moment changed everything.
And nothing at all.
I’m not good for her.
They call me the sensible one,
But the more Shannon and I are forced to be together,
Staying away makes less sense,
And the reasons become hard to remember.
But I need to stay strong.
For reasons, she’ll never understand.
Behind the Count
Cessna U Wildcats Book Two
Kimberly Readnour
Rae-Allen Publishing
Copyright © 2019 by Kimberly Readnour
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for references.
ISBN: 9798632561075
Cover Design by Daqri Bernado of Covers by Combs
Editing by Kelly Hartigan (XterraWeb) editing.xterraweb.com
Proofreading by Angela Marie, Kaitie Reister
Printed by Createspace
Created with Vellum
Contents
On Deck: The Novella Offer
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Join Kimberly Readnour’s Newsletter
Swinging Strike Excerpt
Second Chance Hero Excerpt
Also by Kimberly Readnour
Acknowledgments
About the Author
On Deck: The Novella Offer
Pick up your FREE novella today for joining my newsletter, and be among the first to learn about my new releases and giveaways. Find out more after you read Behind the Count.
Prologue
Shannon
Eleven Years Ago
“Guys don’t wear bracelets,” Braxton says as we descend the stairs to the underground garage. I roll my eyes. Older brothers can be so annoying.
“It’s a good luck charm to make Noah happy.” I clutch the strand of beads tighter. My brother’s best friend has been sad ever since his dad died. Even though Mom says it’s a blessing—whatever that means—I feel sorry for him. I wouldn’t want my daddy gone.
“I think it’s sweet that you made him something, honey.” Mom follows her words with a genuine smile, but the popping sound from the trunk’s release cuts her reassurance short. I climb into the booster seat and strap myself in. I hate this seat. Seven years old is too big for a baby seat.
“But why do we have to pick Noah up? It’s a tournament. Mrs. Geren should want to be there.” Braxton tosses his baseball gear into the trunk of the black Mercedes and then hops onto the front seat.
“She’s…still upset. It’s been a long, tiring process.”
I don’t know why Braxton’s harping on this. Mrs. Geren never goes to the games. I toy with the soft leather straps housing the beads that took me hours to string. Noah’s going to like this. I know he will. Out of all of Braxton’s friends, he’s the only one who pays attention to me. He’s my friend, too.
“Yeah, I get that, but she should want to go. This tournament’s a big deal. We’re going to be the champions.”
Mom’s sigh resonates inside the cabin as she places the car in reverse. The low lighting flickers across her face highlighting her tired lines. “I know, but it’s too soon.”
“I’m glad he’s coming with us.” I shift my body as much as my booster seat allows. This seat is so limiting and embarrassing—especially when Noah rides with us. It makes me look like a baby. Mom says I have one more year before getting rid of it. I can’t wait.
“So am I. I just hate his parents won’t be there.”
“That’s why I made this bracelet. To keep him happy.” Duh. I can’t voice that last thought. Mom would get mad and yell at me for being rude. But Braxton’s being rude right now.
“It’s stupid. He won’t wear it.”
“Yes, he will.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at my older brother. He’s such a pain. Just because he’s ten years old, he thinks he knows everything.
“Okay, you two, stop arguing.” Mom looks in the rearview mirror at me and winks. “He’s going to love it.”
I stick my tongue out at Braxton as soon as Mom focuses on pulling out of the garage. Braxton remains quiet while Mom drives to the neighbor’s house. Noah stands at the corner of the brick-paved driveway. When he slips into the back seat, his minty scent fills the air, and my heart does this weird flippy thing. My insides always do that when he’s near.
“Thanks, Mrs. Smith.” Noah slides his sunglasses to the top of his head and forces a half-smile. I don’t respond as my concern for him deepens. I worry the beads back and forth while contemplating whether to give them to him or not. Maybe Braxton is right, and the bracelet is a stupid idea.
“You don’t have to thank me. You’re welcome to ride with us anytime. You know that.”
“We’re going to win today,” Braxton says as he fist-bumps Noah.
“All the way,” Noah speaks upbeat, bu
t his hazel eyes are dull. He turns to look at me, and my throat tightens when he smiles.
I clutch the beads tighter, wishing they could disappear. I can’t give this to him. Braxton’s right; Noah will think the idea is stupid. Why did I think some string with beads would help him feel better?
“Whatcha got?” Noah glances down at my tight grip before looking back at me.
“Nothing.” There’s no way I’m giving this to him.
“There’s something there. I see a leather strap sticking out from your fist.”
“Nope. It’s nothing.”
“She made you a bracelet,” my rat of a brother says.
My face flames. I can’t believe he called me out. I’m going to tell Mom he broke the vase in the living room.
Noah’s eyebrows raise. “That’s for me?”
For a moment, I thought about saying Braxton was wrong, but Mom knows. She doesn’t like us to lie. Why did I make this? It’s so stupid.
Embarrassed, I fling the bracelet over at him. His quick reflexes catch the strands before they fall between the seat cushions. He turns it over and inspects the white bead with the cardinal painted on the flat side. I chose that bead specifically for him. Mom says when you see a cardinal perched on a tree limb nearby it means a loved one is visiting. I don’t know if that’s true, but I like the story. I want him to have his daddy with him.
“Thanks.” His voice drops to a whisper. “This is really nice.”
“It’s for luck.” I point my shaky finger to the bead with the painted bird. “That’s supposed to be your dad always being with you.”
His lips form a tight smile, and I think I hurt his feelings. I open my mouth to apologize but stop when he takes a stuttering breath.
“I’ll always wear this.” He slips his mirrored glasses back on and turns to look out the window. I stick my tongue out at Braxton again. See, guys do wear bracelets.
And Noah did wear it. After hitting a home run and winning the championship that day, he never took it off until he went to college.
Chapter One
Shannon
Current Day
Bad things happen during thunderstorms. That’s why I hate them.
Rain pelts against the living room windows, sounding as if an army of pickaxes is prying its way inside. I shudder. It hasn’t stormed in seven years, and the one time I’m sitting at home alone, the sky decides to cut loose. I turn the volume up in a desperate attempt to drown the noise while an old episode of Glamour Project—LA’s version of Project Runway—airs. God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to compete at that level. But the distraction doesn’t help mask the horrid pinging sound.
A large thunderclap breaks across the sky, and I grab my chest while crunching the fried cheese curls faster. I absolutely hate storms. A major benefit of living in San Francisco is their rarity. They’re even rarer in August, which is why tonight’s thunderstorm caught me by surprise. Just like last time, I didn’t see the storm coming, but I sure do remember it vividly.
I close my eyes to force myself to stay in the present, but red and white flashing lights filter into my thoughts and pull me into a past I would rather forget. The familiar heaviness that occurs whenever I think of that dreadful night descends upon my chest and snuffs my breaths. The screams. The yells. And the pain. God, the pain that came until it all went black. The memories race back as if I’m transported to a time where that scared, confused little girl fought for her life.
I snap my eyes open and gasp a much-needed breath as my living room comes into focus. I grab another handful of comfort food. This fear is nothing more than a reminder of the weakness buried deep inside me. I hate it.
Fucking storms.
Frustrated, I toss the bag of snack food aside and shake my head. This stewing is getting me nowhere. Maybe I should go to the lower level and walk on the treadmill. Do something productive to ease my mind. I need to start building my endurance if I’m going to participate in the 5K color run the Pi Beta Phi’s sponsor each year. All of their proceeds help the Children’s Heart Foundation. A cause I certainly stand behind. But it will take a lot of training to get me in shape. Participating in anything last year was a bust. One minor heart issue before leaving for college equals one overprotective brother. Braxton would have never allowed me to exert myself in any physical activities. It doesn’t matter that my spell I had right before the start of my freshman year was a false alarm caused by the stress of a bad breakup. But this is Braxton’s senior year. I’m hoping his girlfriend, Cara, will keep him distracted enough to not pay attention to what I’m doing.
I shift to stand with every attempt to go work out, but my eyes flicker to the rain-pelted windows. Bad idea. No way should I start to train during a storm. I startle as another boom rattles the windows at the same time my phone buzzes. Jeez, I need to calm down.
Noah: You doing okay?
The corners of my mouth lift to a small smile. Even on the anniversary of his dad’s death, my brother’s best friend still takes time to worry about me. Noah has known me since I was five years old and understands where my hatred for thunderstorms originates.
But Noah isn’t supposed to do things like text to make sure I’m all right. These types of actions cause my chest to tighten and make me think he cares deeper than what a brother’s best friend should.
Or what I hope he would.
I push that crazy line of thinking away. We’ve known each other for years. Aside from the slight touches that light my skin on fire but leave him unaffected, he hasn’t made a move. I just don’t know if it’s because my brother would flip his shit if Noah—or any teammate, for that matter—came on to me or because he thinks of me as the little sister Braxton labeled me as. Personally, I don’t care what Braxton thinks, but Noah does care. They’ve been friends since third grade.
Another loud crack rattles the glass and shakes my core. My fingers fly across the cell phone.
Me: Scared shitless.
This is what I get for staying in a house with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the southwest side. Braxton hasn’t arrived home from visiting Cara, and I couldn’t fathom going with the parents to Las Vegas. Dad’s business trips are so boring. But right now, a boring, but calm, evening on the strip sounds better than here.
Noah: Be there in ten.
My eyes widen. Instinctively, I run my cheese-free fingers over my hair. Shit, I’m a mess. I dash up the stairs to my bathroom and brush my teeth. I cannot meet Noah with Cheetos breath. One hand dabs on lip gloss while the other quickly runs a brush through my long, blonde strands. I don’t think this is what Heidi Klum meant when she preached about multitasking, but it’s the Shannon Smith crash-course version. It will have to do. I glance down at my black yoga pants and plain pale-yellow T-shirt and cringe. Holy crap, I wish I had more time to get ready. Or at least grab a bra. And is that a cheese stain? Gah.
I read an article once about an eighty-year-old lady’s overview of life. She said her secret was to always look presentable. I should’ve heeded her advice and been better prepared. To my defense, the last thing I expected was a visit from Noah—especially today. This date is hard on him.
The front doorbell rings, ending any further primping. I trample down the stairs, surprised Noah walked instead of driving. The distance isn’t far, considering he lives next door, but this rain is relentless. I open the door with every intent to ask, but the question dies on my tongue the moment he comes in to view.
His cropped hair is soaked, making the normally light brown hue a shade darker. His arm rests against the door frame while the wet fabric clings to his broad chest, defining every delicious cut muscle. The low-slung jeans reveal just enough skin as water droplets skate down his happy trail. I can barely breathe. I’m so busy checking him out I don’t notice the door frame acting as his support until he stumbles.
“Are you okay?” I attempt to break his fall, but he straightens himself before I reach him.
“I’m fine.” He plays it
off by keeping his tone light, but the slight slur to his speech is unmistakable. Noah’s drunk, which is surprising, considering he never drinks. “I’m more concerned about you. The storm’s nasty.”
Those deep-green eyes trap me in place, the small scar above his left eye a constant reminder of how many years I’ve wanted to tell him how much I want him. How I longed for the day he’d see me for more than his friend’s little sister. I thought this crush would fizzle over time, but each moment we spend together only serves to fuel my want. The only thing keeping my secret safe is the fear of being humiliated and rejected. There’s one thing I know for sure; Noah Geren is clueless when it comes to my feelings about him.
He runs his fingertips down the side of my face. “You don’t need to be scared.”
My heart hammers in my chest but from a different reason other than the storm. Are my thoughts so easily readable? No, don’t be stupid. He’s only concerned because of the storm.
Behind the Count: Cessna U Wildcats Book Two Page 1
