1512298433 (R) (3 page)

Willow sat down at the table and began to tick off reason. “One, he’s local. Two, he’s a nice guy. Three, he’s hot. Four, he’s gone for half the year.”

Two out of four were good. Okay, so maybe three, but there was no way in hell she’d ever admit Heath was hot. Out loud, anyway.

“Best of all, the two of you can’t stand each other, so there is absolutely no danger of love or anything messy. You can marry and divorce just like that.” Willow snapped her fingers. “He’s perfect.”

An odd pang hit Haven in the chest. When she was younger, she had thought Heath was perfect… until she realized that he only had eyes for her best friend, Isabella Edwards. But that was all in the past.

She was older and wiser now. She knew love didn’t last. If it had, then Heath and Bella would be together. For people like her parents and grandparents, love like theirs was rare. Special. A once-in-a-lifetime thing.

“It’s the end of baseball season. I doubt Heath would give up his off-season bag-every-woman-in-sight plans to help me.”

“Why don’t you ask him and find out?” Willow poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Haven.

“Same reason why you never asked Logan Ambrose out.” The wine was cool and tart as it hit her tongue. She finished it in one gulp.

Willow flushed. “It’s not the same. He’s older and doesn’t even know I exist.”

“I’ll make you a deal—
if
you promise to ask him out, then I’ll ask Heath to marry me.”

“But he’s with Corinne…”

“He won’t be for long.” Haven made a face. “According to her sister, Corrine’s been sleeping around on him and not even bothering to keep it a secret.”

“That’s horrible—he’s deployed, for goodness sake!”

“Even better for you.”

“How is that better?” Willow’s blue eyes turned stormy.

“Because your opportunity will soon present itself.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie fortune.”

“Thanks.”

Willow glared at her. “A
bad
fortune cookie fortune.”

Haven stuck her tongue out at Willow. “Swear you’ll do it.” She held out her pinky. “C’mon.”

Willow leaned across the table and shook Haven’s pinky with her own. “I can’t wait for you to ask him.”

“It’s no biggie. Either he’ll say no and I’ll move on, or he’ll say yes, and I’ll move on later. It’s a win-win.”

Willow’s gaze turned knowing. “That’s what you’d like for me to believe. But you forget that I know what you really think about Heath Ambrose.” She lowered her voice and gave Haven a smug look. “And it’s not bad at all.”

Gotham chose that moment to jump into Haven’s lap. She purred and then settled down once Haven began to stroke her. “You’re wrong. My thoughts about Heath are so bad, they would make you blush.”

Willow laughed. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Heat suffused Haven’s face. “That’s not what I meant.” But it was. She totally had very bad thoughts about Heath. Usually, they involved her, him, and lots of bare skin.

“Oh, please. I got your number, you double-talking woman.” Willow stood up, grabbing her purse. “I have to run. Weddings to plan and brides to calm down. Text me as soon as you talk to Heath.”

“Thanks for your non-help,” Haven grumbled, but her friend did have a point. She and Heath had a relationship—of sorts—that lived off sarcasm and one-upmanship. Okay, so that was mostly on her side. Heath seemed to tolerate her attacks. He’d also call her out on it, too.

In any case, their aversion to one another could work in her favor. She could marry him, and then they could each do their own thing until Chesson House was securely in her name. Afterwards, they could quietly divorce and go on with their lives.

Willow was wrong. Heath wasn’t perfect. The
plan
was perfect.

Gotham began to knead Haven’s thighs. “Good kitty.”

The cat opened one eye and glared with it, as if to say,
Human, you’re lucky I’m allowing you the honor of petting me.
Which was why she ended up getting a cat in the first place from the animal shelter. That, and she liked saying,
Gotham needs me
;
Gotham’s in trouble;
and her favorite;
What would Gotham do without me
?

Plus, she felt like Gotham got her personality—more than anyone else in this town, including Willow.

Growing up, she had discovered right away that she was different from everyone else. Due to her grandparents’ influence, she had a love for sixties music, comic books, and all things retro. In a small, southern town, when her love manifested into her everyday wardrobe and weekly changing hair color, it was met with perplexed stares and more than a little ribbing.

Especially once she hit high school.

She knew the only reason she’d made it through those four painful years without becoming a recluse was because of her unlikely friendship with two of the most popular and nicest girls in their age group. To this day, she had no idea why Bella and Daisy had looked past her sharp words and befriended her.

Now that they were married and living a world away, she’d become closer friends with Willow—a woman who got paid to blend in for a living. From what she remembered of Willow in high school, it wasn’t out of character.

Still, it was odd that the girl who purposefully stuck out like a sore thumb considered the girl who’d blended in with the wall her closest friend.

And now… she had to ask her childhood enemy to become her husband.

Life was funny like that.

*

Clarkson Field was hot, humid, and designed so poorly that even the crowd couldn’t get a decent breeze, but it was home to the annual Carolina Charity Games, and every bit of the money that was made today benefitted the charity of whichever team won, so none of that mattered today.

Sweat trickled down the back of Heath’s neck as he squatted behind home plate. He was covered in dust and grime and his knees were sore, but he wouldn’t have given up his position for anything.

Resting his right hand on the edge of his inner thigh, he signaled to Rodriguez, who’d just begun the windup. Rodriguez, a rookie pitcher from Alabama who was already making his mark, usually listened to him since he’d been playing longer.

But not today.

With seconds to spare, Heath tipped his mitt back as the hitter looped the bat.

“Strike!”

“Shit,” he muttered. For the second time this inning he’d had to adjust because the kid went rogue. At least it was the last inning and an off-season game. He rose slightly and threw the ball back, narrowing his gaze.

Rodriguez winked, gave him a shit-eating grin, and shrugged. It worked on most people, but not on him.

Heath liked Rodriguez, thought he was a hell of a pitcher, but all the kid wanted to do was take selfies to post on Instagram during practice, spend money on women, and party six days a week. If he didn’t watch it, Rodriguez would be like the rest of the new guys who went hog wild their first couple of years—broke, divorced, and miserable because they ended up getting cut.

Thing was, Heath knew exactly how Rodriguez felt about being in the spotlight, although catchers weren’t exactly fronting the pages of Men’s Health and cereal boxes. Despite that, he had caught the eye of a few Hollywood types—though he suspected that his actor/producer brother-in-law might have helped with that a little—and he had actually been featured on the covers of well-known magazines. He’d enjoyed it. Actually, he’d enjoyed it a lot. The attention, the money…
everything
.

It was a source of ribbing from the team.
The Face
, they liked to call him. Yeah, it was stupid and juvenile, but what could he do but take it?

Hell, if his teammates
didn’t
joke with him like that, then he’d worry. Earning a nickname was like a rite of passage that never ended, since it stuck for the rest of a player’s career.

Rodriguez got in stretch position. Heath quickly signaled for him to throw a forkball. It was hard on the arm, but the kid could handle it.

A smile kicked up the corners of Rodriguez’s mouth a split second before the ball left his hand. The bat connected with the baseball with a resounding crack, but instead of going out into the field, it went up.

And up.

Shoving up his facemask, he began running backwards while keeping an eye on that small, white circle in the Carolina blue sky as it descended.

“Come to Daddy,” he muttered, sliding to the right. The ball fell straight into his mitt with a plop.

“Out,” the ump cried.

Heath fisted his hand, jerking his arm back in victory. “Hell, yeah.”

Game over.

The crowd roared their approval. The Buccaneers had won and the cancer ward at County Med would receive all the monies collected from tickets sales, as well as player donations.

All in all, it was a good day.

“Hey, Ambrose,” Rodriguez said, jogging to him. “You’re coming out tonight, right?”

The rest of the team joined them, pounding on each other’s backs and shouting as they celebrated.

He grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

*

That night, Heath met his teammates at their usual watering hole in Greenville. The dance floor was crowded with out-of-town players, sorority girls, hangers-on, and WAGS.

Plenty of opportunities to hook up if he wanted—only he wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted to do tonight. It hadn’t been what he wanted to do in a long time.

Taking a pull of his beer, he attempted to listen to a guy from the other team talk, but the thumping bass made it damn near impossible. A cute blonde from across the way with all the right assets caught his eye.

She smiled.

He winked.

Wait. I thought you wanted to be alone tonight?

Was I supposed to ignore her?

It’s your body, you can do whatever.

Good talk.

The woman’s smile turned positively seductive as she sashayed over to him, leaning in close. “Hi. I’m Lindsay.”

“Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Heath.”

Squeezing his hand, she said, “I know. I follow all your games. I’m a huge fan. Been trying to get Walden to introduce us, but he’s such a forgetful thing.”

Walden was a manwhore who took advantage of every woman over eighteen that offered to shine his balls.

“The two of you seeing each other?” Personally, he didn’t go out with women other players dated. Not even if it was a casual thing. It wasn’t because he thought there was something wrong with those women. Based on his experience, that sort of thing usually caused bad blood and affected the game.

Lindsay placed a hand on his arm. “Not anymore. We’ve moved on. His goals have changed, so we’re not exactly what I call
compatible
anymore.”

Did your baseball bunny hop on over to a guy with a bigger basket?

Heath internally winced as Haven’s words infiltrated his head. Was he the one with the bigger basket? He knew Walden’s sign-on bonus was less than two years ago, but he wasn’t aware that it was public knowledge yet.

“That’s a shame. I’m sure
he
would have enjoyed spending time with you tonight,” Heath said, trying to convey he wasn’t interested. He wanted to be blunt with her, but as a public figure, his bluntness could be misconstrued as being an unfeeling asshole.

He never had to worry about Haven misconstruing anything he said. He could be blunt as a sledgehammer, and she’d find a way to twist his words to her advantage.

Wait.
Why was
she
popping up in his thoughts again? Usually, Haven was the furthest thing from his mind. Then again, he’d just seen her two weeks earlier. But now that it was officially off-season, he planned to board a plane for a tropical island so he could work on his surfing skills. His brain wouldn’t have time to think of Haven’s sharp tongue and skewering words.

Or the way she’d been so sweet to his mother.

He internally groaned. His one weakness—family. If he didn’t know for a fact that Haven—for reasons known only to God—didn’t like him, that simple act would have made him pursue her like crazy.

Even if she reminded him of the one woman who got away. Well, not in looks—just by association. The woman he loved was one of Haven’s closest friends, but she’d gotten married to a Scottish duke and moved. Actually, Bella had moved on from him a long time ago. He’d been the one who had stayed stuck, hoping for the chance to try again, to make things up to her.

He had to stop thinking about that. Years had passed.

Move on, Ambrose.

Lindsay’s throaty laugh caught his attention. “I don’t think so.” She pointed to the left, where Walden was having his tonsils inspected by a redhead. “Looks like he’s enjoying himself without me.”

Instead of commenting, Heath took another drink and tried to think of the best way to extricate himself from the situation.

“It’s really okay,” Lindsay said, leaning in even closer. Her breasts were practically smashed against his chest and his body liked it, but his brain just wasn’t into it. “I’m not mad or on the rebound. I’m just looking for a good time.”

It was a damn shame he had no interest in her. Or anyone else in this bar. A good time should be all he was looking for, too, but it simply wasn’t anymore.

Heath spotted Rodriguez at the bar, completely alone for once, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. “I know a guy who’s looking for a good time, too.”

Her expression turned hopeful. “Oh yeah, I’m ready to leave when you are.”

“Let’s go say hello to my friend.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the bar.

“Two of you,” she purred. “I’m down with that.”

“Rodriguez,” he all but shouted. The guy turned, his gaze immediately going to Lindsay. His eyes widened in appreciation. “This is Lindsay. Lindsay, this is Hector Rodriguez. He’s blowing up right now. You two have a lot in common.”

“S’up, girl?”

“Very nice to meet you,” Lindsay said. She turned to Heath, a questioning smile on her face. “Are we talking all night or…?”

Heath set his beer on the bar. “You and Rodriguez can do whatever you’d like, but I have to go.”