My Kinda Player - eBook Read online

  Instead, I was hearing, “Shhhh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” while he rubbed circles on my heaving back.

  When I was finally done retching, he picked up my boneless body and carried me off as if I weighed nothing. I remember hearing the elevator ding. I remember feeling him juggle my body as he unlocked his room. I remember the feel of soft sheets against my clammy skin.

  But I couldn’t open my eyes.

  The last thing I remember before I slipped into unconsciousness was a cool rag placed on my forehead and the feel of his fingers against my cheek as he moved my hair. In the morning, I woke up alone. He was gone, and if it weren’t for the fancy hotel room, I’d think he was a figment of my imagination.

  But he wasn’t.

  I know it.

  Now, here I am, surrounded by my family, having a great time as we celebrate our last sisters’ night before school starts up again in a few weeks, and I’m lost in the memories of blue eyes and fantastic kisses. They haunt me in my sleep almost nightly, ensuring that I wake horny and yearning for more.

  But more will never happen.

  He was gone when I woke up and left no further way to make contact. I mean, would you leave your name and number for the woman who puked all over the sidewalk outside your hotel?

  So now I’m left with those pesky memories that won’t go away and an overactive imagination of what could have been if not for the pukepocalypse. I guess that just proves that I’m destined to be alone. I’m always going to kiss frogs who don’t turn into princes. I’m never going to find my person the way Payton, Jaime, Abby, and Lexi have.

  And that’s okay.

  I don’t need a man.

  I don’t need a relationship.

  Relationships are nothing but hurt and pain.

  I’m fine on my own.

  I got this.

  Chapter Two

  Sawyer

  I glance around the house trying to figure out where in the hell to start. Boxes are stacked everywhere, my furniture still wrapped in plastic. The movers did a hell of a job, considering I was relocating from practically one side of the country to the other. Okay, maybe not quite that far, but Texas to Virginia is quite the distance.

  And that suits me just fine.

  A little distance never hurt anyone. In fact, I reached the point in my life where I craved it, along with the familiarity of home. Sure, people might occasionally recognize me, but nothing like in Arlington. This should be a walk in the park compared to where I called home for the past ten years, which I’ll gladly take.

  The house is a new beachfront home with big windows and private access to the Bay. The realtor said it was prime real estate, which, of course, came with a prime price tag. It was still affordable, at least compared to the mortgage I left in Texas, and the view is killer. I can’t wait to find my old running shoes and start pounding the sand.

  But that’ll have to wait. Right now, I need to find the box that was shipped here from the bedding store. The realtor said it was delivered a few days ago, as well as a few other items that I needed, right before we pulled out of Arlington.

  The sun is starting to set, bright orange light filtering in through the bare windows at the front of the house. It reminds me that I’ll have to buy curtains, probably sooner rather than later. I take off into the living room, searching for the box and am pleased to find it, along with a few others, by the fireplace. I rip off the packing tape and retrieve the goodies inside. The sheets go straight into the washing machine, which along with the other appliances, were all delivered and hooked up before I arrived.

  My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since we arrived early this morning. The movers took a quick lunch, but for the most part, we worked hard unloading the truck and getting everything moved inside my new place. They were off, headed back to Texas, by four, which has left me staring at mountains of boxes and wondering where to start.

  Instead of doing what needs to be done, I grab another bottle of water from the fridge and slip out the sliding back door. This is actually what sold me on the house. The large deck, hand-laid brick walkway, and the built-in grill and fire pit. It’s a perfect place for entertaining, if I had friends here or knew anyone. There’s a decent sized grassy yard before you hit sand. The Chesapeake Bay is maybe fifty yards out, just a stone’s throw away from my back door. Hell, it wasn’t that long ago that I’d be able to toss a stone pretty fucking far into that big body of water. Now, even after surgery and months of therapy, my shoulder isn’t what it used to be and I’d be lucky to hit water after it bounced in the sand.

  But enough of the pity party, I have shit to do and very little time to do it.

  School starts in less than a week, and I’m anxious to get into a routine that doesn’t involve physical therapy and appointments with various doctors. This is a whole new norm for me, complete with new job, new house, new town, hell, a new state.

  As I dive into one of the boxes labeled kitchen, I can’t help but wonder how much of the new is a front. Am I running from the past, from the memories that trail me everywhere I go? Probably a little. But I need this clean slate. I need it like I need air. Some place where I’m not followed and hounded. Some place that doesn’t hold painful memories.

  I’m counting on this fresh start to help get my life back on track.

  I needed Jupiter Bay.

  * * *

  I drive through downtown, shaking my head when I discover pretty much everything is closed. This place is nothing like Arlington, which had nightlife on every corner. It’s well after nine and my stomach just couldn’t take being empty any longer. Plus, I needed out of the house pretty desperately. Even after two full days on the road, I was feeling the familiarity of restlessness sweep in. When I finally spy neon lights, I pull my car into a familiar parking lot. A smile tugs on my lips as I slip from my car and head inside.

  Lucky’s looks exactly the same as it did a month ago, except now there are only a handful of customers. The tables are empty compared to the way it was last time I was here. An older man works the bar and a handful of stools are taken, eyes moving from watching the baseball game on the television to scoping out the new guy who just walked in.

  As I approach the bar, I can’t help but glance over to the large table in the back. It sits empty now, not like it was that night when I was completely entranced by a brunette with stunning green eyes. I watched her for several minutes before her eyes finally collided with my own, and in that moment I knew.

  I had to have her.

  Adjusting the sudden discomfort in my pants, I take a seat, coincidentally in the same seat I sat in the last time I was here. A few of the guys throw nods my way, but for the most part, they leave me alone, which I’m grateful for. The last thing I need is to be recognized and forced to relive the moment that changed my life forever.

  “What can I get ya?” the old man asks, a warm smile on his face and a bar towel thrown over his shoulder.

  “Is the grill still open?” I ask, my stomach choosing this moment to remind me that it needs food.

  The guy chuckles. “Could be. Won’t take me but a minute to fire it up. Though, the pickin’s will be pretty slim. I think I can cook you up a burger and fries,” he offers.

  “That sounds perfect, actually. Thanks.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Miller Lite,” I answer, grabbing a few peanuts from the bowl set in front of me.

  “Be right back.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, watching him head back into the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, he returns and gets my beer. The Rangers are playing the Cubs tonight, but I already knew that. I know that schedule like the back of my hand. Swartz swings on a high pitch and hops it up into center. That familiar mix of anxiety and anger starts to creep in as I watch the fielder catch the ball and fire it to second base. The second baseman misses the tag, but keeps Carter on base.

  I have to glance awa
y.

  My gut churns and I play it off as lack of food, but deep down I know better. It’s regret. Anger. Longing.

  My sport. The one I had to give up after one bad play. One split-second decision took it all away.

  Just like that.

  “Here ya go,” the old man says, setting the hot plate in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I say, snapping myself out of the memory. Wiping my clammy hands on my pants, I grab a fry and pop it into my mouth. A bottle of ketchup and some mustard are pulled from the cooler behind the bar and set in front of me. I load up my burger with condiments, squirt a big glob on my plate, and dive in.

  As I eat, my eyes return to the television. I can’t help it.

  The old man hangs around, resting his elbow on the bar and relaxes, watching the game. By the time I’m halfway through my burger, he asks the question I’ve always dreaded. “You miss it?”

  Glancing his way, I see his eyes still focused on the TV. But I know he’s talking to me. Besides the fact that I’m the only one on this end of the bar, I’m probably the one former pro ball player in the joint. “Yeah,” I answer honestly.

  The man nods and turns his hazel eyes on me. “Name’s Lucky,” he says as he extends his hand.

  “Sawyer,” I reply as I shake his hand. “But you probably already figured that out.”

  He shrugs before standing up and turning his attention back to the bar. “Holler if you need anything.”

  I nod before returning my attention to my burger, which he lets me finish in silence. My mind drifts back to the game, but not the one on TV. I relive the hit over and over again, like some horrible instant replay. The crack of the bat. The line drive that sails straight down the third baseline. The dive. The landing. The catch.

  The pain.

  It was like nothing I had experienced before, shooting straight through my body, hitting every nerve ending. I wanted to puke, but was afraid to move. The replays showed the dive on every sports show for the next two weeks, following the story through every surgery and every hospital visit. They stayed with me until that moment I was cut from the team.

  Now, here I sit, in an old bar, watching my team play without me.

  My food settles like concrete in my belly and the beer isn’t helping much either. Pulling a twenty from my wallet, I toss it on the bar, throw a wave at Lucky, and head back out into the warm August night.

  My past trailing closely behind me.

  Chapter Three

  AJ

  “Aren’t you glad to be back? How was your summer? I’m so excited for this year! Did you hear about Coach Becker?” Laney Porter smiles widely, her bleach-blonde hair teased high and her lips painted bright pink.

  “Hey, Laney. How was your summer?” I ask, knowing that she’ll ask me the same questions again shortly. That’s just how she is. She talks a mile a minute, nonstop, and sometimes it’s a bit hard to keep up. Can you imagine being in her English class?

  “It was awesome, of course. I went to visit my dad who lives down the street from the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, so of course, we got tickets and went.” Breath. “Have you heard if they’ve replaced Coach yet? I mean, Ruby called me over the summer and told me he took early retirement because of that issue he had with Mrs. Dorsch. You know the one I’m talking about right? Of course you do. Everyone knows. It’s not every day the PE teacher gets caught with his pants around his ankles with one of the student’s moms. Oh, and she’s twenty years younger than him! Can you believe it?”

  This is the point in the conversation when I usually tune her out. She means well, I know, and she really is a nice lady, but having a conversation with her is like trying to train a beagle to tap dance. It’s just not happening.

  “Anyway, so our first staff meeting of the year. There are two new teachers, from what I’ve gathered. They replaced Connie Jameson, the sixth and seventh grade math teacher, which you probably know that since it’s your department. I hear he’s a younger guy, probably close to your age, which I guess is really close to my age too! And then there’s Coach Becker. I haven’t heard who they replaced him with. Have you?” She blinks repeatedly, waiting on my response.

  “Nope, I haven’t heard yet, but I’m sure we’ll find out in a few minutes.” I glance down at my watch, cursing myself for not waiting a few extra minutes to come down to the teachers’ lounge. “Excuse me a second, Laney,” I say, getting up from one of the worn couches and heading to the back of the room. The coffee pot is calling my name.

  “Good morning,” Ellen Morris (she teaches Science) says as she hands me the pot.

  I pour myself a cup of coffee, doctoring it up as best I can to camouflage the actual coffee taste, but even then my options are limited. There’s some powder creamer, which is basically like adding chalk, and a handful of sugar packets. I hoard all of it, tossing it in my paper cup, and stirring it with a little plastic stick.

  The room gets louder as more bodies cram inside. When I turn around, I’m thankful that my seat beside Laney is occupied. That leaves just a few open seats at the back of the room. Taking one in the corner, I grab my phone from my bag and make sure it’s set to silent. The last thing I want is to be the person in the staff meeting whose phone goes off during the principal’s speech about keeping our phones in our desks during the school day.

  I’m checking my email when Mr. Stewart enters the room. He greets the room warmly, his voice welcoming and friendly. It’s always like this before school starts. Near the end of the school year, he’ll sound a bit more like Darth Vader. Working with teens and preteens takes a toll on all of us come mid-April.

  “If you’ll all take a seat, we’ll get this meeting started,” he instructs.

  I slip my phone into my bag and reach for my coffee cup on the floor. As I’m bent over, a shadow falls over me and someone sits in the chair next to me. I hope it’s Brandy. I’m just starting to sit back up when his leg moves, barely hitting my hand. But it’s enough to send the contents in my cup splashing over the rim and spilling on me.

  “Ah!” I say, moving the cup from one hand to the other.

  “Shit,” my neighbor mumbles, reaching for my cup and taking it from my hand. I have enough additives to my coffee to help cool it down a bit, so it’s not scalding hot, but it’s still pretty warm. I reach over to my right and grab a napkin off the counter, blotting at the residual beverage. When my hand is wiped clean, I dab at the droplets on the floor, making sure no one will slip.

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching blindly for my cup.

  The man places it in my hand. “I’m so sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention,” he says. His voice is warm and apologetic, and oddly familiar.

  When I glance up, I’m struck by hypnotizing blue eyes and dark brown hair. He has a bit of facial hair that resembles more of a five o’clock shadow than a beard. His lips are full and soft and remind me of amazing kisses that promised an equally amazing night.

  My heart hammers in my chest and my mind blanks.

  This can’t be happening.

  “Fuck.”

  Chapter Four

  Sawyer

  She’s here.

  The woman from the bar. She’s sitting next to me in the teachers’ lounge on the first day of my new career. That can only mean one thing. I almost slept with a coworker.

  Of course, at the time, she wasn’t a coworker. I was here merely for the interview–for a job I thankfully received.

  Leaving her in my bed that morning was the hardest thing I had ever done. She looked like a goddess, brown hair fanned out on the pillow, and pert little mouth slightly agape. Okay, so maybe it was more like wide open, with a soft snore slipping from her throat, but whatever. She was cute as hell, and it did a number on me.

  Unfortunately, when I returned from my interview, she was gone. The damn thing took longer than anticipated as the principal took me on an extended tour of the school and wanted to talk baseball. When I finally go
t free and could get back to my hotel room, I was disappointed to find the bedding slightly rumpled and the room empty.

  She was gone without so much as a trace left behind.

  And now here she is. Sitting right next to me, cute little reading glasses perched on her nose. She looks just as gorgeous as I remember. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, free and begging for my fingers. Her green eyes are the color of emeralds, sparkling and bright. Her mouth gapes open, plump and ripe for my own lips. She’s a wet dream, and for the past month, she’s been mine.

  “AJ.” Just saying her name, even after a month, is already causing all of my blood to rush south.

  “Sawyer.” My name on her lips comes out a croak. It also makes my dick twitch in my pants.

  “Welcome back, everyone. We have a lot to cover today, including the introduction of a couple new teachers. Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. Name and what subject you teach,” Mr. Stewart directs, filling up his own coffee cup.

  I listen as we go around the room, each new coworker sharing a name that I won’t remember today. Finally, we get to the woman sitting next to me. It should be embarrassing how quickly my heart rate escalates in anticipation. I also hold my breath.

  “AJ Summer, eighth grade math.”

  That’s all she says, but the words go straight to my cock. I glance her way, unprepared for the reaction my body has to hearing her voice. She stares straight ahead so I take the opportunity to study her features, refreshing my memory of how delicate each curve and feature of her face is while she sleeps. She has no idea that I stayed up for hours that night watching her sleep.

  Creepy? Probably.

  But I don’t give a shit. I felt something the moment my eyes connected with hers back in July. The moment she feels my eyes on her now, she turns my way. Electricity sparks between us, alive and powerful. Her hypnotic green eyes search mine, for what, I’m not sure. But I can tell the moment she seems to recall our previous meeting.