Perfectly Played: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love & Alliteration Book 1)

by Holly Kerr

  “What do I do now?”

  “That’s my line. But I think you need to go find Dean.”

  “He hates me.” I hear the whine in my voice. I hate the whine in my voice.

  “I’m going to hate you if you don’t,” M.K. says seriously. “This is my one chance to see Clay again. Go get me my man.”

  Dean

  At the stop sign, I lean my head on the steering wheel until the sharp blast of a horn from behind rouses me enough to realize I’ve made it back to the house.

  Evelyn’s house.

  It’s the last place I want to be so I keep driving and head to The Baseball Zone. Hitting something is always a good idea even if it’s only a couple hundred baseballs.

  I’m partway through my third round at the batting cage when Mackey, the owner, appears behind the mesh of the cage. “What’s up, Deano? Didn’t expect you in today.”

  “Needed to let off some…steam.” I grunt as I take a mighty swing, sending the ball flying to the far corner of the cage.

  “I see that.”

  I take another pitch, swing and miss. Another. The image of Evelyn and Thomas standing hand in hand, both with matching wedding bands is messing me up.

  Did she give Thomas the ring, the one she was supposed to give me?

  “I don’t know if this will help, but there’s a girl here looking for you,” Mackey says.

  “Fuck.” Clutching the bat tighter, I take a wild swing that has me losing my balance. “I don’t want to see her.” Evelyn is the last person I want to talk to.

  “Are you sure? She’s pretty cute. Seems to know her baseball, too—was asking me questions about the pictures on the wall—Jesus, Deano, don’t just stand there!”

  I dropped my stance and the speeding ball misses him by less than an inch. “Flora?”

  Mackey shrugs. “Dunno. Blonde, green eyes…cute. Want me to bring her in?”

  I swing at another pitch. “No. I guess.”

  “Maybe show a little more enthusiasm.”

  When I look behind me again, Mackey is gone. I take more pitches, connecting with only a few as I wonder what I’m supposed to say to Flora.

  How did she even know I was here?

  I see her come in out of the corner of my eye, see Mackey point to me.

  “You’re good.” When I glance over my shoulder to see Flora standing behind the screen, I miss another pitch. “Maybe not that good.”

  “What are you doing here?” Swing, another miss.

  I hear the rattle of the screen as she folds her fingers in the mesh netting that protects her from the sixty-five-mile-an-hour pitches. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. That couldn’t have been easy. I know it wasn’t for me.”

  Another miss, one jams for a pop-up, a sweet line to left. Under her breath, Flora comments on each. And then the perfect pitch has me swinging for the fences.

  “Wow.” The admiration is clear in her voice. “That one would have been out of the park.”

  “Maybe.” The pitching machine shuts off but I stand at the plate, thoughts coming as fast and furious as the pitches had.

  “I think it’s done,” Flora calls hesitantly. “The light’s off.”

  I give myself a mental shake, still refusing to look at her. “I’m fine.”

  “I really don’t think you are. I mean, you might be, because I don’t really know you, but I feel like I do. It’s weird, isn’t it? At least it is for me. The feeling that I know you, not that it’s weird. Even though it is. But maybe you don’t—”

  “Why do you care?” I tip the bat onto my shoulder, staring at her through the net. Her eyes are huge and green, and just looking at her, I know she’s as messed up as I am.

  It will never work.

  “You got out. You got what you wanted,” I say scornfully. “Why do you care about me?”

  To give her credit, Flora holds her ground. “Because it’s not fair.”

  “Well, flower lady, life isn’t fair. I’ve known that for a while now.” I stomp to the door and out of the cage, feeling her gaze still on me.

  “Can I do anything?”

  Go away. But as I open my mouth to shout the words, I remember Flora crying in my arms at the IHOP just before I kissed her.

  It was a bad night, a stupid thing to do. Look at the mess I’m in now.

  “I think you’ve done enough,” I say shortly, packing my bat into my bag.

  “I am not taking responsibility for this!” Flora shouts.

  My head jerks up.

  “I ended things with Thomas—maybe it was the wrong way to do it, but that was my decision. That’s the only thing that’s my fault. They met on the plane, and Thomas, he’s good when he wants to be.” She shakes her head and I stare at her with amazement. “I’m sure he chatted her up all the way down. I know him and he would have made a play for Evelyn regardless if I married him or not. So I’m glad I didn’t go through with it because that would have meant he would have been unfaithful. I’m sure he would have anyway, with Evelyn or someone else. And Evelyn breaking it off like that, for a stupid reason like Thomas…”she trails off.

  “She didn’t really want to marry me,” I finish. “It’s ironic since she was the one who asked me. She planned the whole thing.”

  “She’s an idiot.”

  I can only shrug.

  “Even though it’s not my fault, I want to say I’m sorry,” Flora says, sincerity shining through her eyes. She touches my arm and I pull away like she burned me, even though I want nothing more than to lean into the touch, like a dog being patted.

  I want to kiss her again. I want to kiss her more than I want to be mad at her but it won’t work. There’s no point trying.

  Both of us are too messed up.

  “I know you blame me and—” There’s a half-moon of dirt caught under the nail of one of her fingers. She pulls back her hand when she catches me staring. “I was doing some repotting,” she explains. “I didn’t have time to wash up.”

  “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have said it was.”

  “If I hadn’t—”

  “But you did. And I know you didn’t make Evelyn decide not to marry me. You don’t know her; no one can make her do something she doesn’t want to do. I can’t even blame Thomas.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “So that was Thomas.”

  “And that was Evelyn.” Her eyes are wary, hesitant.

  “Yeah,” I say heavily. “That was Evelyn.”

  Flora wrinkles her nose. “She seems…I was going to say nice, but really, I can’t. I don’t know if I can come up with anything good to say about her, actually. I’m sorry.”

  The word draws a smile out of me, hesitant and tired, like pulling myself out of bed after a late night, but still a smile. “There you go with the unnecessary apologies. You can say whatever you want about her.”

  Flora’s smile blooms across her face, causing something to tighten in my chest. “She has pretty hair,” she offers.

  I laugh and feel my shoulders relax. “Mrs. Gretchen says she’s ‘picklish’. Pickle up the butt,” I add when Flora looks confused.

  “That can’t be comfortable.”

  “No. Thomas seemed…” I can’t think of anything to describe Thomas that doesn’t involve cursing.

  “Like an asshole?” Flora suggests.

  “You said it. What did he want?”

  Flora laughs, but the sound lacks humour. “He said he wanted me to do the gardens for the house. Can you believe the nerve?”

  “He brought his new wife into your place of business, so yeah, actually, I can.”

  “That was to rub my nose in the fact that he found himself a suitable wife, no doubt. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”

  “I’m glad I was there. I have no idea when she was planning on telling me she wasn’t coming back.”

  “Were you expecting her to?” Flora asks in a small voice.

  “No.” As tentative as Flora sounds, I’m firm in my answer. Then I fr
own. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Flora nods. “Well, I think she’s an idiot.”

  “The same thing can be said for me.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “I tried to blame you and look what happened.”

  I want to kiss her so badly, right there with the smell of sweat and leather—kiss her and take her out of here.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Flora

  Dean shuffles his feet. “Thanks for coming to find me.”

  “You found me first.” I should go, head back to the shop and deal with my quick exodus, but I can’t leave. Not yet.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t.” I caught my tongue between my teeth as I grin at him. “M.K. Googled where to play baseball during the day.”

  “That was…smart. Scary.”

  “I’m scary?”

  “Are you?”

  “I can be. And so can M.K. I’m actually afraid to go back to her without Clay’s number, so you should just give it to me now.”

  “I can do that.”

  “What’s Clay like?” I ask for want of something to fill the awkward silence.

  “He’s a good guy.” I motion for him to continue. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Serial killer? Chronic cereal eater?”

  “I think he’s got a thing for Honeycomb but nothing he can’t handle.”

  “Good to know. Past relationships?”

  Dean raises an eyebrow. “Clay has no arrests, illegitimate children and has never been married. Anything else, you’ll have to ask him.”

  “I will. I’ll give him the full-court press because M.K. is my girl and I’ve got her back.”

  Dean’s smile encourages me and I step forward, my hand sliding up his chest to touch the soft red of his beard.

  He catches my hand. “Flora. It’s not a good idea.”

  “Okay.” I draw my hand away. “Sorry, workplace. Right. I guess I have a thing for—”

  “It’s not going to work. You and me.” I think I hear the regret in his voice, but then, why would he be saying something like that if he regretted it?

  “Oh. Oh.” Disappointment crashes over my head like a wave. “Why?”

  “Why?” Dean snorts. “Did you miss what just happened? Your ex and my ex are now no longer exes together. They’re married. To each other. Instead of us.”

  My brow furrows. “I guess I’m missing something, but what does that have to do with us?”

  “I saw you with Thomas, Flora. You’re not ready for anything new, and neither am I.”

  “I’m not?”

  Dean tucks a curl behind my ear and I want nothing more than to lean into his hand. “You cut your hair.”

  “I did.”

  “I like it.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for noticing.”

  Dean heaves a sigh. “I like you, Flora. I really do. I think we’d be good together.”

  “We were good together,” I say slyly, and he smiles.

  “But I don’t want to be your rebound.”

  “Who says you would be?”

  “I won’t.” He steps away.

  “You think because both of just got out of relationships that this might not be the best idea…if you’re thinking—I don’t know what you’re thinking…”

  “I’m thinking you sound nervous. You’re starting to babble.”

  “I’m not nervous, I’m…” I clench my fist. “I’m frustrated. You come back, somehow run into me in a city of two million people, and then you kiss me like that.” I swallow, pulling my fist into my chest so I don’t touch him, because I really want to touch him. “You kiss me like that and now you say no?”

  “I didn’t say it was a good idea.”

  “I like bad ideas!”

  “Flora…”

  “I know,” I relent. Dean is smart and cute and so tall that I want to climb him like a tree, but with Thomas only weeks out of my bed, how can I even imagine being ready for anything with Dean.

  But I hate the thought of him walking away from me again.

  “You need time to get over her. I need time, although I really think I’m good with never seeing Thomas again. But this can’t be over with us.” The idea hits me like a smack. “We can be friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes, friends. You have friends, don’t you?”

  Dean chuckles. “Yes, I have friends.”

  “We can be friends. We’re going to have to be, you know, because M.K. and Clay are going to fall in love and get married and we’re going to be the godparents of their babies, so we have to be friends.”

  “You want to be friends with me?”

  “You’re being a bit dense, Dean! I want to be with you, but for once I’m being the adult, even though Thomas continually reminds me I’m only a child. I want to be with you, but if I can’t, I want to be your friend.”

  Friends. We could be friends. The words become a mantra in my head as I try not to stare at his T-shirt damp from sweat and sticking to his chest in all the right places.

  He’s so big and broad and there. He’s right there.

  Friends. Just friends.

  Dean is staring at my mouth. “I could be friends,” he says slowly, dragging his gaze up to meet my eyes. Really? He’s giving in already? That’s all he wants?

  “Then we’ll be friends,” I say firmly.

  I’m going to make him fall in love with me.

  Dean

  Having Flora come and find me takes the edge off from seeing Evelyn. I’m still smiling as I pull up to the house.

  Evelyn’s house.

  It was true I’d never really liked the house, but it’s going to suck being homeless. I’ll have to figure something out. I don’t have much of a choice.

  Mrs. Gretchen waves from her front window. “I don’t know what it was you gave us to drink yesterday, but never again,” I call to her through the screen window.

  Mrs. Gretchen cackles with delight. “You boys think you’re so strong and tough, but you can’t hold your own with me.”

  “My headache says you’re right.”

  The older woman frowns. “Well, then, you won’t want to hear what I have to say. You just missed seeing the picklish one.”

  I’m not surprised. “Evelyn was here?”

  “Took her key and walked right in. She had a man with her.”

  “That’d be her new husband.”

  “She didn’t waste much time, did she?”

  “Nope. I’d better go see what she did in there. Thanks, Mrs. Gretchen.” I pause before I head across the lawn. “I meant to buy you flowers for your birthday but got a little distracted. I owe you a bouquet.”

  “I like roses,” she calls after me.

  As soon as I walk in, I can smell that Evelyn had been there. She’d always been heavy-handed with scent. I like perfume, but not that much.

  I like the way Flora smells.

  Telling her I want to keep things as friends was not what I wanted to do, but I think it’s the right move. She just got out of a relationship with the Thomas guy and the last thing she needs is a rebound. It’s better for her to keep things light and friendly, even though the kiss at the store had been anything but light.

  There’d been nothing friendly about it either.

  Still with my shoes on, I pad into the kitchen, laughing to myself how Evelyn would frown if she saw me. She once read an article that shoes contained seventeen different kinds of bacteria and since then had always sworn off anyone’s shoes being allowed on her floors.

  “I don’t want that in my house,” she had announced in the no-nonsense tone that never boded well for arguments.

  “Well, I don’t want you in my house,” I grumble as I purposefully stomp my feet on the kitchen floor. The counter is still cluttered with crumbs, my cereal bowl with the dregs of milk at the bottom, and empty beer bottles. A crust of pizza had missed the compost and lies half-hidden behind t
he faucet.

  I smile, thinking about how Evelyn must have freaked when she saw it like this.

  My smile fades as I remember Evelyn’s going to be able to do whatever she wants with the house now. I may not really like the house, but I don’t want to leave.

  I don’t want to do a lot of things I have to.

  ~

  “So you really saw her?” Clay asks, excitement making him fidget in his seat.

  “No, but Flora—”

  “And M.K. is definitely coming?” Clay interrupts. “This isn’t me playing babysitter for the two of you?”

  “When have you known me to need a babysitter?”

  “Look, bro, I’ve never known you to set up a double date, so this is all new to me,” Clay sips at his beer, which is already half empty. I’ve never seen him like this. Nervous. Excited. Super cheerful.

  I hadn’t been home for more than an hour before Clay texted, telling me to meet him at Originals that night.

  Meet them. Flora had passed on Clay’s number, and M.K. clearly wasted no time in getting in touch with him, setting up a “date” for the four of us that night.

  Part of me wants to see Flora again and part of me is dreading it. Only because now that I’ve kissed her again, it’s all I want to do.

  But I’m a good boy and said we were to be friends, so I have to stick with it.

  It’ll be fine. I was fine earlier, I can sit and have a drink with a woman without wanting to rip her clothes off and drag her into the next room.

  Only if she wanted to be dragged, of course.

  “It’s not a double date,” I say. “Flora and I are just friends.”

  “Right. Again, why? When have you ever been just friends with a woman? Without sex getting in the way.”

  It took some digging into my memory to come up with a name. “When I was in sixth grade, my best friend was Amy Hopper.”

  “And how long did that last?”

  “For most of the summer.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “She started going out with Kevin Donaldson and it got weird.”

  “My point exactly. Look, Deano, it’s impossible for a guy to keep things strictly friend-zone with a hot woman. Sex and stuff always gets in the way. This Flora—does she have nice tits?”