Mr. Write Page 9

  “That was a hard hit. Are you okay?” Tanner asks us both. He knows better than to help his dad. “Did they swap your blood pressure pills with crack? The ball wasn’t even in play.”

  Axle stands, and there’s no doubt I’ve knocked the wind from his sails. But he pulls back his shoulders stubbornly. “You call that hard? I barely felt it. You have to try harder, Jordan, if you want to take me down.”

  “I was just warming up, old chap,” I quip, which infuriates Axle further.

  For the next twenty minutes, the same pattern follows. The moment the ball is in play, both Axle and I run toward the other like two rabid dogs. And the outcome is the same—Axle falling to his arse while I edge closer and closer to the victory line.

  I’ll give the old man credit; he’s a stubborn son of a bitch. But with each hit, it’s getting easier to bring him down.

  “Let’s take a five-minute breather,” Tanner declares, helping Axle up, who surprisingly accepts the assistance this time.

  He’s unsteady on his feet but quickly regains his balance. His pride won’t allow him to show weakness. He wears the dirt and grass stains with pride as he limps off to no doubt lick his wounds.

  I slap my teammates on the back. We’re leading. I have no idea how, but I’m not questioning it. From where I stand, he’s bound to throw in the towel after a few more hits. Either that or he’ll be leaving this field on a stretcher.

  I’m quite parched—victory does that—so I decide to head inside and grab a beer. However, when Daisy comes stampeding over, I know I’ll need a whiskey instead. “What are you doing?” she hisses, latching onto my bicep with her icy cold fingers to stop me from walking away.

  “Playing football,” I reply without pause.

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I really don’t. Now, if you’d be so kind to release me, Jack Daniel’s is calling my name.”

  “This isn’t funny, Jayden,” she exclaims. “Daddy doesn’t like to lose.”

  “I never thought it was. I thought your father would appreciate a little friendly competition. Not to mention the fact if I lose”—I lean in close, causing her to suck in a tiny breath—“we can’t finish what we started.” Not that, that is going to happen anyway, but I’m trying to get her to let me go.

  It works.

  “If you think I’d abide by my father’s stupid rules, then you don’t know me at all.” She closes in on me, like a predator hunting its prey. She circles me, and I comply, turning with her. With her back facing the crowd, she makes her intentions clear in seconds. “Besides”—she cups my junk, and I inhale sharply—“sneaking around is half the fun.”

  She doesn’t care that her family and friends are feet away. All she cares about is leaving me with a severe case of blue balls. I should relish her touch because after I win, I plan on telling her that my time here is done.

  Using that as my driving force, I go limp, figuratively speaking, and allow her full rein. She pulls her red-stained lip between her teeth, my surrender turning her on. I shouldn’t be enjoying this for so many reasons, but the fact Axle’s daughter is giving me a discreet hand job only yards away from him does surprising things to a man’s libido.

  “I want to blow you,” she whispers, giggling when I groan low.

  “Right here?” I fake horror.

  She nods, increasing her strokes.

  “What if Daddy saw?” I mock, hissing when she unzips my fly.

  “I can be very sly when I want to be.”

  “You cheeky little fox.” I never break eye contact with her, hoping that to onlookers it appears like we’re merely talking.

  As she palms my swollen shaft, I’m certain I have everyone fooled; everyone, that is, except Axle. As I’m marching toward another victory, I feel an invisible punch to the solar plexus. Looking to my left, I see Axle glaring at me, his cheeks a bright red. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was on the brink of having a heart attack.

  “Love…” I subtly coax Daisy’s hand out from my pants. She frowns irritably. “You obviously aren’t sly enough.”

  She raises a brow, confused, so I gesture with my head toward Axle’s direction. When she turns over her shoulder, she gives a surprised squeak but doesn’t appear embarrassed. “Oops.”

  “Caught red-handed,” I state, unable to keep the humor from my tone.

  She stands on tippy toes and kisses my cheek, taking another ten years off her father’s life. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was enjoying every minute of this. Once I think I can turn around without poking someone’s eye out, I make a beeline for Axle. Nora’s standing beside him, sipping her wine. When she sees me mosey over, a smirk tugs at her lips. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Your daughter is a real handful.”

  Nora drowns her laughter in her glass as she throws back the contents, and the corded veins in Axle’s neck pulsate in rage.

  “Let’s play ball.” I ignore the fact I just confirmed what they both know to be true and meet my fellow teammates in the middle of the yard.

  “You have a death wish,” Ron says with a smile. He does appear happy that someone is upstaging Axle, though. I bet he hasn’t seen that before.

  “I’m still standing,” I reply with an arrogant shrug. “Keep up the good work, lads.” I slap them on the back before we take our positions.

  Axle is looking a little worse for wear, and I can’t help but chuckle at the sight. He brought this on himself. If he wasn’t such a bloody jerk, we could have been civil and broken bread. But he chose to judge me before even getting to know me.

  My conscience reminds me that I came here with a not so innocent pretense myself. I may have been open to getting to know Axle, but that was for my personal gain. But I tell my guilty conscience to take a hike because I have a game to win.

  Squatting low and getting into position, I never take my eyes off Axle. He knows it’s do or die. As I’m waiting for Tanner to retrieve the ball from his wife who is holding it hostage, I notice movement from the corner of my eye. I ignore it, however, as I don’t have time for distractions.

  Tanner finally pries the ball from her, but not before she steals a kiss. He kisses her back with as much passion, and there is no doubting their love for one another. It leaves me slightly nostalgic as I can barely remember what that feels like. Hence, why I’m here.

  But that’s sure to end. Now that I have the assurance that my next three books have found a home, I can stop beating myself up and just write. It takes the pressure off. But that niggling feeling returns because that was never the issue. I want to write, but I can’t…that is, until today when I met someone who got my creative juices flowing.

  “Carrie!”

  Whoa, what?

  Before I can question my sanity, Tanner runs over and places the ball between us. But suddenly, playing is the last thing on my mind because I’m kicked in the guts and left with a heavy, disconcerting feeling. I get an awful sense of déjà vu. I scan the grounds and see a woman walk toward Nora, her face obscured behind dark sunglasses. She bypasses Daisy, who jumps from her lounge, stomping after her while moving her mouth a hundred miles a minute.

  The girl ignores her, a smirk tugging at her lips. My dick instantly stirs, and it’s a feeling I experienced hours ago. Not with the air hostess, but with the girl who has barely left my mind since she left me standing alone like a complete chump.

  “Hut, hut, hike!”

  I’ve heard the call, but I’m frozen to the spot. “No,” I mutter under my breath when she removes her sunglasses and gives Nora a familiar hug. “No fucking way.”

  But when she slips off her beanie and shakes out her hair, I know I’m not seeing things. My mind has not conjured her up because here stands a woman who I knew would lead to trouble all along, but I never knew just how much fuCking trouble she would bring.

  When she meets my eyes, her pretty mouth falls open, but it’s quickly covered with a whip of her hand when she covers it, and screams, “
Watch out!”

  That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting, especially since she left me without an explanation of why she ran off like I was the Antichrist.

  I have no idea what she’s warning me about and am certain this lass has lost her mind, that is, until I’m hit with a ton of bricks and face plant into the ground.

  I wake with the world’s worst hangover.

  Groaning, I attempt to piece together what I remember. With my head pounding the way it is, it must have been some night. However, as I pry open one eye, I see that it is daytime, and that I’m in a room which looks familiar, but I can’t remember why.

  “Oh, thank god. I thought you were dead.”

  Those words partnered with that voice leave me wheezing, and memories of why I’m here and how I got here collide into me. I know this nasty throbbing in my head has nothing to do with whiskey, but everything to do with Carrie.

  As I piece together the fragments of what I can recall, I suddenly wish I couldn’t remember anything at all. I also wish I didn’t remember the reason Axle knocked me out cold. Peering to my left, I see the reason sitting by my bedside, wringing out a white washcloth into a ceramic bowl.

  When I think I can move without throwing up, I rise slowly, propping myself up against the headboard. The silence speaks volumes as we’re waiting for the other to talk. I can barely look at her, so the odds of actually having a conversation with her are slim.

  Why is she here? Did she follow me? As flattering as that concept is, I know that the tender hug she shared with Nora reveals she knows the Bells well. Clearing my throat, I decide to find out what the hell is going on.

  “So…” Manning up, I turn to look at her. But when I do, I wish I was still passed out. If possible, she’s far prettier than I remember. My mind has done a poor job cataloging the depth of her hazel eyes, the fullness of her pink lips, and the sweetness of her strawberries and cream scent. But pushing that aside, I attempt to get to the bottom of why she’s here.

  “So…you’re here to apologize for running off like a deranged lunatic?” I decide to put forth every reason she’s sitting in my room until I get some answers.

  She scoffs and rolls her eyes. I guess I can cross that reason off my list then.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she says with bite. I wait for her to fill in the blanks, but she simply places the cool cloth to my forehead.

  Why is she tending to me? This situation gets far more complicated by the second.

  “Carrie…” I pause, arching a suspicious brow. “If that even is your name. What are you doing here?”

  She appears to weigh up what to say next, which makes me a touch nervous. “You got me.” She raises her hands in mock surrender, waving the cloth as her peace flag. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She sheds light a second later. “My name is Svetlana, and I’m here to harvest your organs. Although, after the airhead blonde you screwed on the plane, I may have to rethink my decision. I’m pretty sure you’re a poster child for chlamydia now.” She shivers in repulsion.

  Unable to contain my laughter, I chuckle even though she just insulted me. “I’ll have you know I didn’t screw her.” She appears relieved until I reveal, “I merely went down on her.”

  She screams and throws the washcloth into my lap. “Yuck! You’re disgusting.”

  “You owe me an apology for insulting my character,” I say, tongue in cheek.

  “I owe you nothing,” she replies playfully. “I nursed you back to health. We’re even. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a bath…in bleach.”

  My hand shoots out when she goes to stand. She looks down at where my fingers have latched onto her wrist. “I don’t have cooties,” I state very seriously while she bursts into laughter. I let her go, thankful she sits back down.

  Now that the ice is broken, I decide to ask her once again. “Carrie, what are you doing here?” I love the way her name rolls off my tongue. I could think of at least five other things I wish for my tongue to be doing to her right now when she leans in, gesturing I’m to come closer so she can share her secrets with me.

  When I’m close enough, she cups her hand to my ear. “I’m pretty sure you’re my sister’s Mr. Dreamy.” She doesn’t hold back on the sarcasm while I choke on air.

  “What?” I manage to get out as I thump my chest to kick-start my heart. “Daisy is your…sister?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  When she confirms my nightmare as being true, I pull back, horrified. “You’re joking.”

  “Nope, I wish I was. I’ve been tested, twice.”

  “This is…how can this be?” I’m finding it hard to breathe. I tug at the collar on my T-shirt, hoping I don’t pass out from lack of O2.

  She bites back a smile. “Well…when a man and a woman like one another, or in some cases, they don’t even have to like each other, they…”

  “All right, stop right there.” I wave both hands out in front of me, not interested in having an anatomy lesson of Axle and Nora bumping uglies. “I just…Daisy never mentioned you.”

  Carrie shrugs and leans back in her chair. “No surprise there. There is no love lost between my sister and me, and if I died a suspicious death, let’s just say I’m pretty sure she’d be hiding the cyanide.”

  How is this possible? What are the odds? Slim to none. But it appears I’m up shit creek without a paddle.

  “So…now it’s my turn.” She appears thoroughly entertained by the clusterfuck that is my life. “What happens if Jasmine finds out you’re here? If what you tell me is true, her stalking skills are probably buying a red-eye to Connecticut as we speak.” She cocks a brow, waiting for me to reply.

  Choo choo. I can hear it. The karma train is stopping at all stations.

  “I…um…er.” I know she doesn’t give a rat’s arse about Daisy, but I’m suddenly embarrassed to tell her the truth.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I think on my feet, needing more time. “Why did you run off on me?”

  “Why are you being so evasive?”

  “Why are you?”

  “Why are you answering a question with a question?”

  “Why are you asking so many questions?” This conversational ping pong flows so naturally, I can’t help but laugh. “By the way, you never mentioned your dad was a complete and utter twat.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did.” She taps her chin, meditatively. “Now stop avoiding the question.”

  I owe her the truth. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. On the count of three, we both answer one another’s question. Deal?”

  She ponders my suggestion, making me squirm as she moves those plump lips from side to side. “Deal,” she finally says, putting me out of my misery.

  “One…” The pause is excruciatingly long, but I’m trying my hardest to prolong the truth. “Two…”

  Carrie taps her fingers against her cheek, huffing impatiently while I grin at her adorability. “And three,” she finishes for me, her impatience getting the better of her.

  This is it. With nothing left to lose, I confess, “Daisy is Jasmine,” while she purges at the same time.

  “Because all authors are obnoxious, arrogant asshats with a god complex.”

  “Wow,” we proclaim in union as both our expressions mirror the other.

  I fold my arms across my chest. “You judged me based on my occupation? I’m highly offended.”

  She shrugs with a devious grin. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

  Touché.

  We’re at an impasse. She’s right for the most part, but I thought we shared something. She’s the first woman I’ve actually wanted to be around in a long time, but it appears she wants nothing to do with me based on a stigma associated with my profession.

  “So Daisy is your stalker. No surprise there.” She shakes her head in sympathy. “I feel sorry for you. The last guy she was this hung up on…it didn’t end pretty.”

  I gulp.

  “Why did you agree to come?” she asks,
piecing it all together. “It’s fairly obviously you don’t particularly like her. So why did you agree to spend the holidays with her?”

  Nothing slips past her.

  Her large eyes sparkle in inquiry, waiting for me to shed some light on this extremely fucked-up situation.

  My head is now throbbing for a different reason. Unable to sit still for a moment longer, I kick my legs and stand, thankful I’m not arse over tit. Stretching overhead, I feel an ache in my ribs. I’ll be sore tomorrow.

  When a strangled hum fills the air, I pause and listen closer because I have no idea where the noise is coming from. At first, I think Daisy is spying on us through a crack in the door, but when the sound is clearly coming from inside the room, I look at the only person who’s in here with me.

  I blink twice to ensure I’m not seeing things, but it’s clear as day—Carrie is tugging at her bottom lip while her gaze rakes up and down my frame. The hungered noises are coming from her. Her confidence has simmered, and in its place is an innocence that has my inner alpha beating his chest in pride. There is no mistaking that sound—Carrie likes what she sees, and what she sees is me.

  Although my profession repulses her, my body obviously doesn’t.

  I clear my throat melodramatically, wanting her to know that I’m aware of her watching me as closely as I’m watching her. The sound snaps her into the now. Her cheeks blister, but the sweet pink has everything below the belt piquing in interest. “Thank you for tending to my wounds.”

  “I-it’s fine,” she says with a tiny falter.

  “Not that I’m ungrateful, but why did you? I would think Daisy would be first in line to tend to my unconscious form. I can’t say no, you see.”

  Carrie remains seated, toying with the edges of the washcloth. “I offered to help. She’s downstairs talking to our father. That hit was intentional. What did you do to piss him off?”

  Blowing out an exasperated breath, I know she won’t let up until I tell her the truth. Walking over to the window, I look outside and see that the battlefield has calmed. The still waters are untouched by any holidaymakers. A few water birds are all that are game enough to invade Axle’s private oasis.