Ballsy Read online

  “Joeeeeeeeey,” he shouts in this sing-songy way he’s done since we were kids. Sometimes, he even did it like a banshee. Thankfully, this is not one of those times. “Joeeeeeeey.”

  “Jesus Christ, you have got to stop doing that.” I pluck the earphones out and give him the stink eye.

  “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” Baylor asks. “You’re in a mood lately.”

  “No shit,” I snap.

  His expression turns serious. “Hey, there’s no need to be bitchy. Don’t bite my head off. I’m not trying to be a pain. Jeez.”

  I take a deep breath. He’s right. I’m taking out all of my Kieran-induced rage on him, which is probably one of the reasons he’s been so wary of any possible involvement between the two of us all of these years. I need to learn how to separate the two. Build a Chinese wall. Something.

  Anything would be better than this.

  “You’re right,” I tell him. I close my eyes and massage my temples to ward off the migraine I can feel coming on. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

  “Thank you.” I can hear the doubt in his voice. I don’t blame him. It usually takes a whole lot more than that to get an apology out of me. We have that in common, actually.

  “You’re welcome.” I open my eyes and fix my gaze on him. “So. What’s this favor you wanted to ask of me?”

  “Well… Look, first of all, I want you to know I am fully aware of how much of a pain I’ve been lately,” he starts. To his credit, I see nothing but earnest sincerity in his expression. “And I also want you to know that I want for… I don’t know, I don’t like who I am when I’m like this.”

  Well, I gotta say, I’m pretty damn impressed.

  “You know I love you no matter what, right?” I say.

  He smiles so wide that crinkles form around his sky-blue eyes. “I know.”

  I open my arms to give him a hug, which is my version of a white flag. Yes, he’s been a royal pain in my behind, but he’s also the best big brother a girl could ask for. Instead of returning my hug, he envelops me in his arms and tousles my hair.

  “Hey!” I protest. “I’m going to look like Medusa.”

  “‘Going to’?” he repeats. “Baby sis, I’ve got some bad news for you…”

  I jab him right in the ribs for that. It sends us both into a fit of laughter. I’m reminded of all the times when I was in a shitty mood as a kid and he would clown around until I cracked a smile. Baylor seriously is the best big brother a girl could hope for, and that’s doubly true when taking into account my teen years.

  “Thanks for saying all of that,” I tell him when we come up for air. “It means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome, Jo.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. I snuggle against his chest and fight back the tears that are burning hot in my eyes, threatening to rain down. It feels so safe and comfortable, being nestled up against him. I want to tell him everything that’s ailing me, all of the things that are prickly and hurtful.

  But Baylor is the last person I can talk to when the subject is Kieran.

  And besides, a bus back to town is the last place to do any bitching about guys. Especially when the guy in question is currently aboard said bus.

  I must have sniffled or made some noise that alerted Baylor to my impending tears. He pulls back and takes a look at me. That tender, protective expression on his face does very little in helping me keep the tears at bay.

  “What’s wrong, Jo?” he asks.

  “It’s nothing.” I blink rapidly and make like I’m trying to get something out of my eye. “So. You still haven’t told me what the favor is. Come on, spill. It’s not good to keep your sister hanging for so long.”

  I couldn’t have asked for a better segue into another subject. Baylor’s eyes light up and he beams when he realizes he still hasn’t gotten to The Point of the conversation he started.

  “Well, now I have my apologies out of the way,” he says, “I wanted to ask you what you thought about spending some more quality time with Rachel. I feel like the reason the two of you don’t get on so well is because I’ve been so bad at, you know, organizing stuff that’s just the three of us. If you spend more time with her when it’s just us, I’m certain you’ll get to know her like I know her.”

  Getting to know Rachel like Baylor knows Rachel. Putting aside the gross implication, I’m not sure he realizes what he’s proposing. If I got to know Rachel as well as Baylor knows her, I’m positive it wouldn’t make me like her any more than I do now. In fact, a case can be made that it would have the opposite effect.

  But it doesn’t seem like voicing any of my concerns has made an iota of difference to Baylor, so maybe he’s right in that it’s time for me to find a way to bury the hatchet. To figure out how to be in the same place as his fiancée without wanting to tear her head off. Because one thing’s for certain: my bad attitude hasn’t been helpful either. Even though I feel one-hundred-percent justified in despising Rachel, I’m sure that on some level she’s well aware of my disdain. Knowing you’re disliked doesn’t inspire anyone to be more pleasant. Or to put in any effort with the person who already hates their guts anyway.

  All of this to say I’m inclined to be better around Rachel. I tell Baylor as much.

  His overjoyed reaction is enough to counteract the potential cluster-fuck that spending more time with Rachel will likely result in.

  “So that’s the favor?” I ask.

  “Well, I was getting to that. But all of what you just said is in line with what I wanted to ask.” He beams. “I wanted to know if you’re free for dinner this weekend? I want you there when I ask Rachel to—well, when I propose for the second time. To ask her to elope.”

  I say this a lot, but it really does take all of my will power not to groan. I thought he had given up on that idea.

  Well, if you can’t beat it… Might as well join it.

  “Sure.” I plaster on a smile. “That would be lovely. Thank you for asking.”

  “And I thought that, you know, to let Rachel know you’re going to be making an effort to improve your relationship with her, maybe you could host us?” He looks like a little boy who knows he’s making a huge ask on his Christmas list. It’s almost endearing.

  Almost.

  “I mean, do you think that coming over to my place is the best idea for a proposal?” It’s a valid point. And a way to get out of having to play hostess to this entire ordeal in a place I can’t politely get up and leave if it goes south. “Doesn’t the occasion call for romance and, I don’t know, ambiance?”

  I think I succeed at making it about the mood and not betraying my unwillingness at taking on such an active role. Baylor stops to consider what I say. I wait with bated breath while he weighs his options.

  At last, he shakes his head.

  Damn it.

  “I really think this is the perfect opportunity for you two to turn over a new leaf,” he insists. “Plus, your cooking is my lucky charm. I’m nervous as hell about asking her to elope and I figure if it’s over one of your world famous—”

  I have to interrupt. “Wait, you expect me to cook?”

  Baylor’s brow knits together. “What did you think I meant when I asked you to host it?”

  “You buried the lede. You ask if I’m free for dinner but really what you mean is if I’m free to make you dinner?” I can’t hide the irritation that surges in me. All of the negative feelings associated with the utter failure that was my short-lived romance or whatever with Kieran snowballs into an avalanche when it sinks in that Baylor honestly expected that the first gesture of goodwill I extended to Rachel was a freaking engagement dinner. That I cooked. At my house.

  “What’s the big deal, Jo? It’s not like you never—”

  “You made this whole thing sound like it was going to be a big family thing, like you wanted me to share in your special moment,” I spit back. “What you really want is for me to do all the legwork. We just acknowledged that your fian
cée and I aren’t exactly chummy and that we should start putting some effort into rectifying that. And your big idea for how to go about it is to ask me to cater the single biggest day of her life?”

  “It’s not catering. I’m family! You make it sound like I’m asking you to provide me with a service—”

  “But isn’t that exactly what you’re asking?” It’s a real struggle keeping my voice low, the way my anger is flaring. “You make like it’s a favor, but you are asking me to service you on your special day. And it’s really disingenuous to come on like I’m going to be sharing your big moment with you when I might as well be the help.”

  Baylor’s face turns beet red. “You are seriously equating the favor I’m asking with being ‘the help’? What has gotten into you, Joey? Fucking wow, is all I have to say.”

  “I already have enough on my plate cooking for the team,” I tell him. “I’m sorry, but I’m not available to cater for you too.”

  “Are you actually serious about all of this? You’re not pulling my leg?”

  It’s too much. It’s all too much. My hands start to shake. That, combined with the strange sensation—a ghost-like throb in my head, a definite ache but not really—make it obvious that I need to abstain from the shitshow that is my life of late.

  “Joey, answer me.”

  “Leave me alone, Baylor.” I lock eyes with him. “Please.”

  To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. I take a peek over the headrest of the seat in front of me and catch a glimpse of Kieran. How long was he paying attention to the almost-meltdown?

  Baylor leaves to go sit next to Kieran. I take the opportunity to fish something else out of my bag: the magic little pills that keep the panic attacks I’m prone to having at arm’s length.

  Probably not the best idea to read when I’m feeling this rotten.

  I toss the book back in my purse and wait for us to get home.

  It’s not exactly a short wait, but the woozy haze of the medication makes it tolerable. Just barely, but that’s something.

  The minute the bus comes to a stop, I grab my stuff and hurry out. I breathe the fresh afternoon air and already feel better.

  It’s not exactly the best practice to drive less than four hours after taking the meds, but if I call for a car from a ride-sharing app that’ll give my brother and Kieran too much opportunity to wiggle their way into my afternoon plans. I really want to be by myself. I also don’t want to get into an argument over it.

  So I get in my car, throw all of my stuff in the backseat, and hightail it out of there.

  The moment I’m sure there’s no chance any of the guys can see me anymore, I finally let my guard down. The tears come fast and hot, spilling down my face like torrential rain.

  I’m so damn sick of these highs and lows with my love life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KIERAN

  I’ve had a week to reflect on what the hell happened to make Joey do a complete 180 on me, and I’ve only come up empty. Tip-toeing out that early in the morning was bad, but it’s not salt-the-earth-and-poison-the-wells bad. Or maybe I’m just that clueless when it comes to her.

  But she can’t say I haven’t tried. Every single day before practice I go up to her. I’ve tried literally an entire Internet’s worth of conversation starters. None managed to hook her. She either ignored me, pulled her monosyllabic routine, or outright told me to get lost.

  Now we’re on the bus to Vegas and there’s too much time to kill and too little to do.

  And the cherry on top of the shit sundae of it all is that Rachel’s along for the ride.

  That’s right: the elopement is on. Apparently, Rachel gave the green light after sleeping on it for a couple of days.

  “You’re absolutely sure the cake is safe back there?” Baylor asks for the millionth time.

  Also for the millionth time, Leroy repeats in a tired monotone, “Yes, Bay, the cake is safe in the freezer that’s all but bolted in place in the storage compartment of the bus. I told you, Coach Allen told you, now all we need is the second coming of Jesus flipping Christ himself to happen so he can tell you, too.”

  “You don’t have to take that tone with me, you know,” Baylor whines, but it’s all for show. Dude’s been beaming ever since he paraded Rachel into the bus. For all the shit I give her (in my mind, at least), there’s no getting around the fact he at the very least thinks he’s happy when he’s with her. I don’t think I will ever be able to wrap my mind around their relationship but…

  At least they have a relationship.

  “You can’t blame a guy for wanting to make sure the cake his sister made for his big day is in perfect condition.” Yeah, he’s definitely trying too hard with Joey. From what I can tell—and this is merely speculation because he hasn’t talked to me about it—she’s been pretty icy with him, too. I reckon the offer to make him a cake to celebrate the occasion was a peace offering of sorts after she ran out on us when we got home last week, but then again, no one’s clued me in so at best mine is an educated guess.

  I steal a glance at Joey. She’s resting her head against the glass, wearing an empty expression. I’d do and give anything to know what’s on your mind, Jo.

  Maybe if we weren’t on a bus full of people…

  Maybe if all those people weren’t technically coworkers…

  Maybe if by coworkers I didn’t mean a rowdy bunch of juvenile jocks…

  Maybe if her brother wasn’t one of them…

  Maybe if she hadn’t made it clear as fucking day that she doesn’t want to talk to me…

  Then maybe I’d stroll on over and take a seat next to her to try to get her talking. You know, because I haven’t already done something akin to that about thirty trillion times this week.

  Despite it all, I want her. I’ve had to basically coax my cock into submission every day this week. More importantly, I miss talking to her. I miss the feeling that our interactions aren’t relics of a time gone by.

  “Dude, quit moping around,” Baylor chastises me from across the aisle. He has his arm around Rachel. It’s sweet, really, the way he’s proud of her. Not like a rich asshole is proud of driving a nice Italian sports car. Really, truly, genuinely proud of her. Ecstatic to be with her.

  Seeing the two of them like that, looking—hell, I’m gonna say domestic, kind of, makes me question all the assumptions I’ve made about Rachel.

  The most blatant example to crush any and all doubt that she isn’t good for him is the incident in the locker room.

  But maybe I misunderstood. Maybe she didn’t mean anything like what I imagined by it.

  Yeah.

  And it’s not a crime she’s not the friendliest person in the world. For all I know, she’s intimidated at being around so many guys all at once. Maybe she’s trying to be sociable, but it comes across detached because she isn’t in her element. And maybe what I read as her coming on to me was just another attempt of hers to make friends in her fiancé’s crowd.

  If I distance myself from all I know of Rachel, squint really hard, and look at it from juuuust the right angle, I can almost convince myself that’s the case.

  But then I’m back to where I started, which is that there is the possibility I misread her. That’s always a possibility. If I were infallible when it comes to interpreting people and their intentions, I wouldn’t be in the pickle that I am in with Joey. That’s a fact.

  “Babe, would you grab me a sports drink?” Baylor asks.

  Sometimes I think at least twenty-percent of the reason he’s so keen to settle down is because he craves a traditional nuclear home. He’s had to play both partner and parent in his own home with his mom and Joey I think now that he’s an adult and their needs have changed, he’s finally allowing himself to crave some of what he sees as normal. Something he never had.

  I half-expect Rachel to scowl at him or to be put off by the request, but surprisingly, she’s eager to get him what he wants.

  It’s like watching some natur
e channel. A segment on the mating rituals of some exotic species. She plants a chaste kiss on his cheek, smiles sweetly at him, and bats her eyelashes.

  “I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she says.

  “Am I lucky or what?” Baylor says to no one in particular.

  “Fuck yes you are,” Leroy replies.

  Leroy has a thing for Jessica Alba. Once again, if you put Rachel at a distance, squint, and look at her at juuuust the right angle, there’s some resemblance. So, of course he thinks that Baylor is the fucking man.

  Rachel rolls her eyes playfully but doesn’t give an inch.

  I’m starting to lend more credence to the idea I might have gotten it all wrong.

  She sashays away. There’s an unspoken rule between us guys on the team that we don’t gawk at or ogle any significant others no matter how hot they are, but this doesn’t seem to apply right now. Half of the occupied seats turn to stare as Rachel swings her hips from side to side.

  I don’t turn to look. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that’s what she’s doing, given that she treats the world as her runway. Besides, while everyone else is watching Rachel, I’m too busy pretending not to stare at Joey.

  “You guys have no idea how much work goes into planning a wedding. Even if you’re eloping.” There Baylor goes again, talking about his upcoming nuptials. I don’t want to be a shit stirrer, so I don’t ask why Rachel hasn’t pitched in or why there’s no one but him involved in this.

  Keep the peace. That’s all you have to do. Keep the goddamn, motherfucking peace.

  Joey rolls her eyes at Baylor and catches me looking at her in the process.

  She rolls her eyes at me, too.

  I don’t know how to keep from staring at her, to resist going over to her, or to keep my mouth shut while Baylor goes on and on about the Elvis impersonator he booked to do whatever it is that Elvis impersonators do at Vegas chapels. So I invent a reason to get up and wander to the back of the bus. Maybe there’ll be something in the snack bar—we have one of those, stocked by Joey with healthy food.

  And then I see Rachel with Desmond.