The Cleanup_a Washington Rampage Sports Romance Page 2

I didn’t, my mind too wrapped up in memories of Brandon. But I’m sure as hell not going to tell her that.

  “Erm, I…” I turn back to the shelf before me, my eyes scanning for something I can use to save me from having to admit to my friend that I tuned her out to daydream about my biggest mistake.

  I must move too quickly because, the next thing I know, I’m clinging desperately to the ladder, my head swimming as the room spins around me.

  “Liv, are you okay?” Lexi’s voice sounds far away as I struggle to catch my breath.

  Resting my head on the top rung of the ladder, I slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm the whirling in my head and the sudden rush of nausea flooding my stomach. I feel Lexi’s hands come to rest on my hips, and I’m grateful for the reassurance that she won’t let me fall.

  When I finally feel like I can lift my head without spewing the contents of my stomach onto the books before me, I gingerly climb back down the ladder with Lexi’s help. She helps me over to the chair in the corner of the room, rushing off to the restroom as soon as I’m seated.

  She’s back before I can even get my bearings, a damp cloth in her hands. She presses it against the nape of my neck, perching her ass on the arm of the chair as she pats me on the shoulder.

  The cool cloth makes me feel better almost immediately. The room is still spinning slightly, and the worry that my lunch might make a reappearance if I get up too quickly is still there, but the worst of it has passed. And, as such, I can’t help but give my best friend some shit.

  “Thanks, Mom. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here to grab a towel and coo in my ear.”

  She gently shoves me, careful not to jostle me too much. “Shut it. You went white as a fucking sheet. Don’t scare me like that, and I won’t have to play mother hen.”

  “I just wanted to give you some practice for all those little Ians you’re going to have.”

  She giggles. “Seriously though, what was that?”

  I shrug. “Not sure. It’s happened a few times in the past week or so. I brushed it off as lack of food the first couple of times, but that can’t be it this time. Not after I just inhaled that sandwich at lunch.”

  “Maybe you should get in to see the doctor. Just to be safe.”

  I brush away her comment. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just need more vitamins. I’ll pick some up at the store on my way home tonight. I’ll admit, I haven’t exactly been the healthiest lately. Been too damn busy with this place to worry about trivial things like my health,” I say jokingly.

  She playfully swats at me. “You need to take care of yourself.”

  “Yes, Mom. I promise I’ll take my Flintstones vitamins every day from now on.”

  She rolls her eyes at me again. “God help your child if you ever decide to reproduce.”

  I scoff. “Ain’t nobody got time for that. Besides, you have to find someone who actually wants to have sex with you in order for that to happen. And, Lord knows, that ship has sailed.”

  Except…

  Oh, shit.

  I shove past Lexi, my momentary spout of dizziness and nausea forgotten as I frantically rush to my purse. Pulling out the planner that holds each and every detail of my life, I search for the red frowny face I use to mark the start of my monthly nuisance.

  Nothing this month.

  Or last…

  I desperately flip back another page, but I already know what I’m going to find.

  Son of a bitch.

  I’m pregnant.

  Chapter 2

  Brandon

  They call me the cleanup.

  You know those moments in baseball when the bases are loaded and the whole game hangs in the balance as the next batter steps up to the plate?

  Well, I’m the one they count on to make something happen.

  And I always deliver.

  Take tonight for instance. Top of the ninth, bases loaded, and we’re down by three. Second game in a four-game road series against the Colorado Smoke. The season has just barely begun, and this game has zero bearings on the playoffs.

  But ask me if I care.

  To me, each game is important. Each game is a chance to prove that we’re the team to watch out for. You don’t get that reputation by playing half-assed baseball until the playoffs come into view. You earn that shit by making sure each and every game counts.

  So, tonight…tonight is just another chance to prove to the world that the Rampage are headed to the World Series.

  And Brandon Jeffers is gonna take them there.

  I step out of the showers after the game—the game we won by one, thanks to me. It’s always more climactic when we’re the home team, and I can step up to the plate and clear the bases with one swing to end the game. But, after my grand slam, the Smoke hadn’t been able to recover. Carter had taken the mound and struck out the next three batters, sealing the victory.

  All because of me.

  Okay, okay. And I guess the rest of these guys, too.

  But, if it wasn’t for me, we never would’ve taken the lead.

  That counts for something.

  In my eyes, it counts for everything.

  Ian—my best friend and the best shortstop in the league—snaps his towel against my wet ass, jarring me from my thoughts.

  “Snap out of it, fuckwad. You had a hell of a hit. But don’t let it go to that big-ass head of yours. You’re still a piece of shit.”

  I run my fingers through my wet hair, shaking my head as I look down at my feet. “Fuck, Tag. If you want to touch my ass so bad, all you have to do is ask. I might even give you a discount. On account of I feel sorry for your pitiful, pussy-whipped ass.”

  He sits down on the bench in front of my locker as I get dressed, the towel in his hand tossed into a pile of others in the corner.

  “Don’t hate. You’re just jealous that I found a woman who actually wants to sleep with me every night instead of taking one look at my tiny dick and feeling sorry for me.”

  “Aw, Tag. Don’t feel so bad about your tiny dick. It’s…cute.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “Too late. It’s what you said. Henceforth, you shall be known as Ian ‘Baby Dick’ Taggart. It’s a good thing Lexi prefers the motion of the ocean over the size of the boat.”

  “Fuck off.” Tag pouts, pissed that he walked himself right into yet another one of my traps.

  What can I say? I’m the master of shit-talking. You can’t beat the master. I don’t know why he even bothers anymore.

  “How is my dear Lexi anyway? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

  His eyes light up at my question, just like I knew they would. Don’t ever say I’m not a softie at heart.

  “She’s good. She’s flying back to Seattle in a couple of days. Should be there by the time we get back.”

  “Aw, so the two of you can play house again. Tell me, Tag, are you a good boy or a bad boy? Does Mommy have to give you spankings?”

  His hand darts out and smacks me in the back of the head. “What the fuck, man? That’s wrong on so many levels.”

  I give him a shit-eating grin. “Fine, that wasn’t my finest moment. Don’t worry; I’ll think of something.”

  “How about you just stop thinking about anything that involves my girl and spankings? Don’t make me beat your ass.”

  I laugh at the protective quality to his voice. And I won’t lie. Lexi is a fine piece of ass. If Ian wasn’t my best friend, I’d sure as shit be trying to hit that, taken or not. But he is, which makes her off-limits.

  Her friend, on the other hand…

  Liv Hunter is a saddle I sure wouldn’t mind jumping back onto.

  That night she walked into the lake house I owned—the one I’d let Tag stay at after that bitch Angela dropped the assault charges against him—I couldn’t believe my fucking eyes. She was the tiniest little thing I’d ever laid eyes on with the hottest little body I could’ve ever imagined. Not even coming up to my sho
ulders, she fit so easily against my side as I threw my arm around her that it felt like she had been made just for that purpose. Her dark hair and dark eyes only added to her exotic beauty. And that fucking nose. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Reminded me of fucking Tinker Bell, and I half-expected her to twitch it at me as she stomped her foot and spewed pixie dust all over the place.

  And that’s not saying anything of her tits. I could write sonnets about those fucking tits. If I did that sort of thing.

  “Hey, how’s her friend?” I ask Tag, interrupting something he was saying about Lexi.

  “Who? Liv?”

  I nod a little too eagerly, a fact he easily picks up on.

  “She still hasn’t texted you back?” he asks with a smug grin.

  I wince.

  I had a moment of weakness a few weeks after my night with Liv and wasn’t able to resist the urge to text her and see how she was. Lucky for me, Lexi had given me her number shortly after she and Ian got back together. I’d told her I just wanted to see how Liv was doing. She didn’t need to know I was ready for round two.

  I don’t do round twos. Not with anyone but Jayne. But Jayne and I have an understanding. She is a fucking good lay. And I give her exactly what she needs. End of story.

  All my other conquests are a one-and-done type of deal. They know it before it starts, and most of the time, they are cool with it. I’ve been kneed in the balls a few times over the years, but it’s not enough to keep me from my second favorite sport.

  Women.

  Unfortunately for me, Tag came into the room right as I fired off a text to Liv. And he’s never let me live it down since.

  “How does it feel to finally get rejected?” he jabs.

  “Fuck off. Brandon Jeffers doesn’t get rejected.”

  “Except by Liv Hunter,” he retorts. “I knew I liked her for a reason.”

  I make an obscene gesture at him, which causes him to laugh.

  “What? It’s about time you met a woman who didn’t fall down at your feet. It’s the challenging ones that are the most fun,” he says with a wink.

  I shake my head. “Dude, you know I’m happy for you. I give you shit, but I’m glad you’ve found Lexi. But that shit ain’t for me. I’m not looking to settle down. I don’t need a fucking challenge. I need to get laid.”

  Tag clucks his tongue. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Yeah, a nagging wife and a houseful of snot-nosed kids. I think I’ll pass.”

  He gives me a sorrowful look. “Are you ever gonna grow up, B?”

  “Why would I want to do a stupid thing like that? Just call me Peter fucking Pan.”

  Now, if only I could get Tinker Bell to talk to me.

  The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the buzz from the win calming down as exhaustion settles into everybody’s bones. Tag is dozing in the seat next to me, and I’m half-tempted to find a marker and doodle on the fucker’s face. He deserves to wake up with a dick on his cheek after trying to lecture me on the benefits of a relationship and all that shit.

  I’m a lone wolf. Always have been; always will be. And I like my life exactly the way it is. Why fix it if it ain’t broken, am I right?

  But I still can’t squelch the pang in my gut when I think about being blown off by Liv. That little pixie completely rocked my world in a matter of hours. I had known she was hot, but I sure as shit hadn’t expected the escapades that took place that night.

  I need more.

  One more night will be enough.

  It has to be.

  Pulling out my phone, I find her name and hit the message button.

  ME: You ever gonna talk to me again, Tink?

  After only a few seconds, the text bubble pops up, indicating she’s typing out a response.

  Holy fuck. This is a first.

  I sit up straight in my seat, my eyes glued to the screen as the dots disappear and reappear over and over again. A full five minutes pass as she types. The longer it takes, the more I steel myself for her response. Nothing that takes this long to type can be good.

  But then the dots disappear, and they don’t come back.

  What the fuck? All that, and now, I get nothing?

  ME: I know you saw that text, Tink. I saw you typing. What gives?

  She must’ve learned her lesson because, this time, there’s not even an attempt at a response.

  Struck out again.

  It’s not a feeling I’m familiar with.

  It kind of fucking sucks.

  Tossing my phone into my bag under the seat in front of me, I sit back in my chair, my arms folded across my chest, as I think about what just happened.

  What was she going to say?

  Aside from the time Tag caught me texting her, there were two or three other occasions when I found myself unable to stop thinking about her and sent her a message. Each time, I watched and waited. And, each time, I was left with nothing but disappointment.

  But, this time, she started to respond. And, if the dancing dots were any indication, she had quite a bit to say to me but maybe didn’t know how to say it.

  She was probably going to tell me to fuck off.

  But then I think back to that night. How expressive she was once we were alone. How she told me exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it. In front of her friends and neighbors, she’d been reserved and polite. But, in private…

  She was a fucking sex kitten.

  Maybe she is standing in her own way. Maybe she is trying to find a way to tell me she wants me again, too, but she doesn’t quite know how to say it.

  Yeah, that’s probably it.

  Whatever helps you sleep at night, I hear Tag’s voice mock in my head.

  Shut up, fucker. Nobody asked you, I shoot back.

  Great. Now, this damn girl is making me lose my mind.

  My phone buzzes against my toe just as I’m about to drift to sleep. I reach forward, surprised by the name I see there.

  LIV: Hi.

  Two fucking letters. Two letters after all the texts I’ve sent to her over the last few months.

  But they feel like a victory.

  Chapter 3

  Liv

  I’ve never been what anyone would describe as a girlie girl. I didn’t play with baby dolls growing up. I didn’t like to play house and be the mommy. I’ve never been one for spending hours and hours on my hair and makeup, just for a few hours out with some friends. And you’d be more likely to find me streaking buck naked across a football field than in the color pink. I hate it. No, no, I loathe it—all its bright cheeriness and false assurances. Girls who wear pink are happy. Girls who wear pink have mothers who love them. Not mothers who dress them up in frilly outfits, forcing them to sit and smile, while they parade an endless stream of men before them, hoping this one will finally be the one who sticks.

  Too bad none of them ever did.

  But I digress.

  The point is, despite my years and years of animosity toward this dreadful color, I’ve never been quite so helpless to its power as I am in this moment.

  I pick up the white stick from the bathroom counter, giving it another violent shake, as if that will somehow make all of this disappear.

  But my eyes are met by the same two little pink lines that developed almost as soon as I was done peeing on the damn thing. It’s like it couldn’t wait to tell me that what I had thought was the biggest mistake of the year was actually the most colossal indiscretion of my entire existence.

  What the fuck am I going to do?

  My mind immediately goes to the man who’s responsible for putting me in this predicament.

  Well, he’s not completely at fault. I mean, I was there, too.

  But it feels good to be pissed at him. Makes me feel like a little less of a failure. So, for now, I’m blaming him.

  A therapist would have a field day with me, eh?

  After my dizzy spell at the bookstore yesterday, I immediately went to the local drugstore and s
cooped their entire supply of pregnancy tests into my basket. It wasn’t until I turned to head to the cash register and saw Patti sitting there that I knew I couldn’t do this. Even though I was ninety-nine percent sure what the result of the test would be, there was no way I could face the people in this town if they knew.

  Maple Lake is a small town. No, strike that. Maple Lake is a tiny town. There’s not a single person here I don’t know.

  And the same goes for Patti.

  If I walked up to her with a pregnancy test in my hand, there was no doubt in my mind that every single person in town would know about it within minutes of me walking out the door.

  I dropped the basket of tests, jogged out to my car as fast as I could, and drove the twenty minutes to the next town over. Even then, I pulled my hood up over my head and wore my sunglasses inside, walking around the store with my head down until I was sure nobody in my immediate vicinity could see the section of the store I was in.

  You’d think I was a fugitive or something, desperate to escape the clutches of the authorities. Not just trying to avoid the judgmental stares of the old biddies who were my neighbors.

  I rushed home, anxious to take the first test and find out my fate. But, after reading the directions and seeing that the tests were more accurate first thing in the morning, I decided to hold off. I didn’t want to leave any room for error.

  Now, as I stare at the test on the counter—and the four others in the trash beside the toilet—there’s no escaping the truth.

  I’m pregnant.

  I’m going to have a baby.

  I’m going to have Brandon Jeffers’s baby.

  A sudden panic rushes over me, and I can’t hold back the tears that spring to my eyes. Pressing the back of my hand against my mouth to stifle my cries, I slide down to the bathroom floor, my other hand pushing into my hair as I fall apart.

  You’re just like her. Despite all your efforts, you’re just. Like. Her.

  The tears fall harder as I realize everything I’ve worked for is lost. Everything I thought my life would be is gone. It’s all over. Everything is ruined.