My Kinda Player - eBook Page 3

  “Sawyer Randall, PE,” I state without removing my eyes from my neighbor.

  AJ blushes a pretty shade of pink that spreads from her neck down and disappears into the collar of her flowy purple tank top. My own flashbacks assault me, one right after the other. The connection. The invitation. The car ride.

  The kiss.

  My God, I relived that fucking kiss like some lovesick loser for weeks. Hell, I’m still enjoying the instant replays. Her lips were soft and urgent, her taste as sweet as sin. I was instantly hooked, craving more.

  But then she turned that weird shade of green. I had a split second to move her to the bushes before she puked all over the place, including my shoes. Thank God I’ve always had a strong stomach because as soon as she was done, the fight and every ounce of energy she possessed just seeped from her small body.

  Carrying her up to my room felt a little too good. Almost like I was carrying her over the threshold.

  Wait.

  What?

  No. No threshold. No romance or relationship.

  Sex. That’s what that was.

  Well, almost sex…

  And now here she is, sitting beside me and trying to pretend like I didn’t watch her vomit alcohol like a college co-ed after her first kegger. Well, too bad, AJ Summer, eighth grade math teacher. I don’t forget. I’m not going to forget. Not the way she felt in my arms and definitely not the way her lips tasted.

  The problem is…what do I do about it?

  * * *

  After an hour of sitting on a hard chair, listening to my new boss drone on and on about policies and procedures (which I’ve already reviewed in great lengths with my welcome packet), we’re finally dismissed. Teachers jump up eagerly, excited to start another school year. For me, I’m excited to start my first.

  “Hey, man, it’s an honor to meet the Sawyer Randall,” the other newbie teacher says, his eyes shining with eagerness as he comes over and shakes my hand. I glance over to AJ, hoping that she’ll hang around a few minutes, but find her quickly slipping from her seat and heading to the door.

  “I can’t believe I’m teaching with the Sawyer Randall.” My attention is pulled back to the man in front of me.

  “I’m excited to be here,” I tell him honestly.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard from what you’re used to, right?” he asks with a snicker. “I mean, aren’t major leaguers like wrangling adolescents sometimes?”

  I don’t find his joke humorous, but I smile the same. “Something like that.”

  I try to politely excuse myself, but the guy just isn’t having it. “How do you think the baseball team will be this year?”

  “Well, I’m not quite sure yet.” You know, considering school hasn’t even started yet.

  “I did a little research. Last year’s team went ten and six and we only lost three eighth graders. We seem to still have solid swingers and pitchers,” he states, lightly hitting my arms with his knuckles. “You know, I was interested in the head baseball coach’s position and applied. They told me they’d keep me in mind, but then I found out they hired you for PE, and of course, gave you the baseball coaching job. I mean, they’re not about to give it to me over a former pro like yourself. I wasn’t bad back in the day. I played college ball, man. So when you’re ready to pick your assistant, I’d be more than willing to help. I played centerfield. I have a lot to offer the team,” he says, eyes eager and hopeful.

  “Oh, well, I’ll keep that in mind. It was great meeting you,” I start, leaving it open to fill in his name.

  “Bryce. Bryce Lehman. Sixth and seventh grade math.” Again, he offers me his hand.

  “Bryce, right. Well, Bryce, I’m gonna head to my office and try to get a calendar set for the first few weeks of school. Gotta keep our youth active.”

  “True, true. Well, it was great meeting you, Sawyer. Mr. Randall,” he corrects in a rush. “Anyway, we’re both new here so we should stick together. Anytime you need a friend or want to grab a beer after work, let me know.”

  “Sure, Bryce. Talk to you soon,” I say, trying to pull myself away from the young, energetic teacher. He’s a different character, that’s for sure, but the one thing I pick up right away is that he’ll be working closely with AJ in the math department.

  It takes me another twenty minutes to get out of the teachers’ lounge. I’m used to being recognized most places I go, and I expected no different in Jupiter Bay. Though, I’ll admit an opportunity to be inconspicuous would be welcome right now. I wonder how it’s going to be on our first day of school? Has word gotten out yet that Sawyer Randall, former Major League Baseball All-Star, is coaching high school baseball and teaching PE?

  I’m sure it hasn’t since I’m not being hounded for interviews or being trailed by jackasses with cameras. Even after my injury and being cut from the team, sports broadcasters and tabloid hounds still love to snap a pic of me having coffee or leaving physical therapy. The sports reporters don’t bother me as much, though I’d prefer them to focus less on the end of my career and more about the stats I had while I played.

  The tabloids can take a hike, though. Throw my name on People’s Sexiest Man Alive list a few years in a row, a trending hashtag in the Twitter-verse calling me #SexySawyer, and one very high profile relationship, and suddenly I’m tabloid fodder right next to Miley Cyrus.

  Everyone seems to want a piece of me.

  Everyone except a certain brunette with the brightest green eyes and the lips of an angel.

  AJ Summer didn’t seem to care who I was. Either she doesn’t know or it’s an act. I’ve met my fair share of gold diggers, pretending to not care about my fame or fortune, yet only to discover that’s all they really cared about in the first place. Being someone’s arm candy and looking good for the press. My gut tells me that’s not AJ.

  I make my way back to my new office, nestled right in between the gym and the boys’ locker room. Barb Jordan is the girls’ PE teacher and is already in her office on the opposite side of the gym. I met her first thing this morning when I arrived at the school and dropped my bag off in my new office. She’s easily in her fifties and holds quite a few coaching records at the school for girls’ basketball and volleyball. I could learn a lot from her.

  Sitting down behind my desk, I can’t help but wonder what kinda teacher I’ll be. I have dick for experience when it comes to teaching, but have more than enough to contribute to the baseball team.

  My goal is to be firm, but fair, while having fun. Athletics can be enjoyable; you just have to find the things that spark and hold their interest.

  I get to work, but can’t help the way my mind occasionally wanders back to AJ.

  Miss Summer.

  After months of surgeries, recouping, rehab, and public scrutiny, I think my luck is finally changing. The thought of seeing her five days a week? Yeah, I’d say things are definitely starting to look up.

  Chapter Five

  AJ

  “My God, that man is smokin’ hot,” Brandy Kohl says, fanning her face as she dramatically falls back against the chalkboard in my classroom.

  “Oh, Brandy, not you too. That’s all I heard from Laney and Phyllis as I left the meeting earlier,” I reply, abandoning the label maker and giving my friend my full attention.

  “He’s freaking tall and sexy and gorgeous and sexy. I’m going to look for every excuse possible to get him down to the principal’s office on a regular basis,” she adds, a mischievous grin on her pretty face.

  Brandy and I met my first day on the job. She works in the office and directly under Principal Stewart. Not under him under him, though I don’t think it’s not from lack of want. If it weren’t in the employee handbook that relationships between the principal and staff is strictly forbidden, Brandy would have been all over him like he was catnip and her kitty was ready to play.

  “He’s all right,” I mumble, turning my attention back to the folders I was labeling for my new filing system so she can’t see the lie written all over my face.

  “All right?” she exclaims loudly, walking toward my desk. “Are you blind or just plain mad? Maybe the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in months has your hot guy radar off a bit?” she asks, reaching over and placing her hand on my forehead. “You don’t appear to have a fever.”

  “Knock it off,” I grumble, pushing her hand away.

  “He sat by you. Does he smell as good as he looks?” Her eyes twinkle with excitement as she awaits my answer.

  Yes, Brandy, he smells incredible. He smells so good I wanted to climb him like a tree in the middle of the teachers’ lounge, coworkers and boss be damned.

  Instead, I go with, “I didn’t notice.”

  “Didn’t notice?” Again, she reaches for my forehead.

  “Stop!”

  “I’m starting to get a little worried about you.”

  “I’m fine, Brandy. Just trying to get my room ready to go for Tuesday. It’s difficult, though, having an interruption bothering me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know I’m keeping you from your color coding files and your fancy schmancy label maker, but aren’t you at least a little bit interested in the hot new teacher?”

  Oh, I’m interested, all right.

  “Whatever, Brandy. He’s decent looking, sure, but he’s no Channing Tatum.”

  No, Channing Tatum has nothing on Sawyer.

  “You’re nuts.”

  “What’s the big deal, anyway? Why does everyone have their panties in a tizzy?” I ask.

  “You mean, besides the fact that he’s hotter than Mount St. Helens after its eruption in nineteen eighty?”

  I can’t help but crack a smile. “Yeah, besides that.”

  “I hear he played baseball or something. Not sure. No ring on his finger, though, I definitely noticed that.” Me too. “And besides, my panties aren’t in a tizzy, they’re soaked.” Brandy gives me a wide wolfish grin, her blonde hair framing her heart-shaped face.

  “I don’t need to know anything about the state of your panties.”

  “Anyway, at least we’ll have a little more eye candy to help get us through the school year, right?”

  Understatement of the year.

  “He’s definitely an improvement over Mr. Burton and his coffee-stained ties,” I smirk.

  “God! How does one man miss his mouth so much?” she laughs, shaking her head. “All right, I’m going to head back down to the office and stare at Mr. Stewart’s ass.”

  “Enjoy,” I holler as she throws me a wave over her shoulder and exits my classroom.

  The girl is crazy, but I love the hell out of her. We’ve become good friends over the last six years, and she definitely makes my time at school a little more entertaining.

  Chuckling, I shake my head and get back to my color coded labels, but it doesn’t hold my attention. Instead, I find myself booting up my computer and bringing up the Google search engine.

  Sawyer Randall.

  Enter.

  It takes only a second to start bringing up stories and articles and pictures. I stare, awestruck, at the headline of the first article. With shaky fingers, I click on the link and start to read. My eyes devour the feature, my mind spinning as I try to process this shocking new data.

  This can’t be right.

  Can it?

  “Holy shit.”

  * * *

  “Do you follow baseball?” I ask as I approach the counter at my sister’s floral shop.

  “Grandpa stole third base earlier this afternoon, if you know what I mean,” my grandma says, a dirty smirk crossing her face.

  “I think I just threw up in my mouth,” I grumble, turning to find a mirrored disgusted look on my oldest sister Payton’s face.

  “Oh, there was nothing gross about it,” Grandma adds. “He does this thing with his tongue and it–”

  “Stop talking!” I proclaim before sticking my fingers in my ears.

  I stopped in after school to see how Payton was doing at the shop, needing maybe a little advice from my oldest sister. Just my luck that she has a shop full of people. Linkin’s mom, Karen, is here, making up a small bouquet of yellow and white daisies for the display case. She started working here full time earlier in the summer and seems to be enjoying it.

  And of course, Grandma is here. It’s like the woman can sniff out the potential for gossip and latches on to even the smallest thread like a pit bull to a bone.

  My grandparents, Orval and Emma, are, well, different. Okay, fine. They’re batshit crazy, but I mean that lovingly. At almost eighty-two, they bring new meaning to the phrase public displays of affection. They’re constantly groping each other, are caught in compromising positions, and are the givers of the world’s most inappropriate gifts.

  But even with their own brand of sexually charged crazy, I love them to death.

  They were there for us when our mother died.

  I was just about to turn thirteen when our mom lost her fight with ovarian cancer. She left behind her husband and their six daughters, ranging from ten to eighteen. Dad is a pilot and used to fly commercial jets back then. When Mom passed, he took a step back from the large airlines that took him to all corners of the world, and started flying small charter planes for the rich and fancy out of a smaller airstrip not too far away.

  His trips were shorter and he was home most nights, but it was still hard.

  Enter Grandma and Grandpa.

  They moved in with the seven of us and quickly became a strong tie that kept the family together. It wasn’t easy, especially with six hormonal girls, but we managed because we had each other. I honestly believe we’re a closer family because of that bond we formed, which started with our Mom. Trish Summer was an amazing woman.

  I miss her so much.

  “Why do you ask about baseball, Alison Jane?” Grandma asks, not even bothering to hide the fact that she’s nosing around at the papers on the counter.

  I contemplate on how much to tell them, but it’s not like it’s not going to get out sooner or later. I mean it’s not every day a former professional baseball player starts teaching physical education in Jupiter Bay. Once school is back in session, everyone and their brother will know, even those who don’t follow baseball.

  “The new teacher is a former ball player,” I decide to tell, casually.

  “I once dated a professional baseball player, you know,” Grandma says, a far-off look on her face.

  After several seconds, Payton finally speaks. “You did?”

  “Yes, yes. Joe. What a young stud that man was.”

  “What happened?” Karen asks, stopping what she’s doing and listening to the conversation.

  “It ran its course. He ended up marrying Marilyn.” She goes back to straightening up the rosebuds that don’t need straightening.

  “Marilyn? As in Marilyn Monroe?” I ask, completely dumbfounded.

  “You dated Joe DiMaggio?” Payton whispers, her shock as plain as the look on her face.

  “Anyway,” Grandma says, waving her hand as if it’s no big deal. “You’re working with one? What’s his name?”

  “Sawyer Randall.” Just saying the name makes my heart start to beat a wee bit faster.

  Grandma pulls out her phone and starts to type. I glance over at Payton, curious as to what she’s doing. Did we bore her enough that she decided to check her email?

  “There,” she says with a victorious smile.

  “What did you do?” Payton asks, stepping up beside Grandma and glancing down at her phone.

  “I went to that Twitterbook. He has a stellar ass, AJ. I made sure to tell him,” she says, clicking around on her phone.

  “You told him?”

  “She did,” Payton confirms, reading the screen. “What a magnificent ass on that @sawyerrandall. I’ve seen plenty in my day and can’t wait to get my hands on it. #SexySawyer #BestAssEver,” Payton glances my way, fighting laughter.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  Grandma continues to click through her phone. “Have you seen the Sports Illustrated spread he did wearing only his cleats and a backward ball cap? His glove is in the way of the goods, but I can tell he’s packing. I have a nose for these things,” she says, turning the phone to show me the picture she found.

  And there it is.

  Sawyer Randall standing at third base, his legs spread wide, as he crouches down to catch a ball. And yes, that glove is positioned just right. I can’t imagine how many takes it took to capture this shot.

  Lucky photographer.

  “That’s hot,” Payton chimes in, a wide smile on her face.

  “Knock that off. You’re married now.”

  “Married, yes. Dead, no. There are no rules against looking, AJ.”

  “Truth,” Grandma adds with a decisive head nod.

  “Wait a minute,” Payton says, grabbing the phone from Grandma’s hand. My stomach starts to tighten as she studies the photo. It’s only a matter of time now, and fortunately, I don’t have to wait long before my torture begins. “That’s him!” she proclaims.

  I turn my attention to Karen beside me, helping her clean up small scraps of greenery and baby’s breath from the large stainless steel workstation.

  “Holy shit! You slept with Sawyer Randall?” She just couldn’t keep this shit to herself, could she? Now she opens her big mouth in front of Grandma, who won’t let this thing slide on a cold day in Hell.

  “AJ! You were feeding the kitty with this gorgeous ball player? How? When? Why didn’t you share the deets?”

  “Thanks a lot,” I grumble at my traitorous sister. She gives me an apologetic look as she shrugs her shoulders. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Liar,” Payton smirks. “I saw the way you were eye-fucking him at Lucky’s that night.” She turns and glances at Grandma. “It was so hot, even I needed a cigarette.”

  Rolling my eyes, I keep my attention on the little clippings of waste. “It wasn’t what you think.” I can feel their eyes on me as I pretend to dust off the remains of nonexistent leaves. “We didn’t actually sleep together, though we might have slept together.”