The Dom vs. The Virgin Read online

  Most importantly, the moms would never die in my books and movies. I never understood why the mothers always died in Disney films. Was it because it made the daughter more pathetic?

  Maybe so. I felt pretty pathetic right then.

  “Hi, Mom. I’ve come to cry on your shoulder again. It’s been a while, but it looks like I’ll be stopping by more often.”

  Thunder rumbled, the sound growing louder as the wind whipped at my umbrella again.

  “I know. That’s how I feel about it too, but it’ll be okay. I think.”

  Lightning pierced the sky, making me jump.

  “You don’t think so?” I said with a soft laugh. “You’re probably right. But on the positive side, maybe I can help Dad with… you know. Get things cleaned up and organized while I figure out what to do next.”

  Another strike. Louder. Closer.

  “Stop being so pessimistic, Mom.”

  Another rumble of thunder reminded me of a deep belly laugh. At least, that was what I decided it was. I’d always deflected hard situations with humor, or tried to. Sometimes, I was actually funny. Others, I just ended up sounding like a corny nerdball who’d consumed too much sugar.

  Another strike made me jump, and electricity caused the hair to lift on the back of my neck. A rush of wind smacked me in the face with icy rain as I continued my losing battle with the cheap umbrella.

  “Nice chat, Mom. Gotta go. Give Ryan a big hug for me, okay? Love you both.”

  The rain began to fall in sheets as I slipped and slid my way back down the hill. The beauty of the weather was that it had caused everyone else to run for shelter too. By the time I opened the door to my Camry, everyone was gone, even the reporters I’d managed to escape.

  Turning the key, I blasted the heat and turned on the butt warmers to their highest setting. Maybe I would try California next. Of course, it cost as much to live there as New York, but at least when I was homeless, the weather would be nice.

  Still shaking with the damp and cold, my fingers trembled on the steering wheel as I pulled from the curb and took a left into town. I scoffed. Town was a relative word. It really wasn’t anything now. Once flourishing with coal mining wealth, all that was left now were boarded-up windows and potholes the size of miniature ponds. Like a lot of small towns, it got swallowed up by drugs and unwed mothers.

  When there was nothing to do on a Saturday night but get high and have sex, there was a high teenage pregnancy rate — of the teenagers who were still here, at least. My own big sister was one of the statistics — two babies by the time she was eighteen. Now on her third husband, she was pregnant with her fourth with a couple miscarriages in between.

  I vowed never to be like that.

  My sister was one of the reasons being with Ryan had made so much sense to me. I had the comfort of a best friend and the protection of a boyfriend without the pressure of having sex. In my experience, sex led to babies, and you either died in childbirth or ended up in a rusty trailer that smelled like dirty diapers all the time.

  No. Thank. You.

  Being with Ryan saved me from all that. Sure, we’d kissed and even messed around back in our teenage years, but it was more of an experiment to see if Ryan was really gay. He really was.

  I smiled at the memory.

  “Why are you so… wet down there?” he’d asked, his face a mask of disgust as he pulled his hand from my shorts.

  I honestly hadn’t known. With no mother to ask and a big sister who would have told the entire town that I’d asked the question, I’d been forced to rely on a smuggled Cosmo and cable TV as my birds and bees source. Sex education in high school consisted of… don’t do it, and I’d never ever, ever have asked my dad.

  I sighed as the one traffic light in the entire town turned red, and I slowed to a stop and waited a full two minutes before it turned green again, with not one other car coming from any direction. Knowing I needed to do it, but dreading it nonetheless, I pulled into the Dollar General and parked right by the door.

  Not bothering with the stupid umbrella, I just made a run for the short distance to the entrance. Grabbing a cart, I wheeled to the cleaning section.

  I closed my eyes when I heard the giggle, then a loud whisper. “Told ya it was her. Stink-y Em-er-y.”

  Why God didn’t give us the ability to close our ears too, I’ll never know, but I did my best to ignore the second giggle. “Cleaning supplies.” The whisper was louder than my normal speaking voice. “Better go get the reorder form. She’ll need to buy the entire shelf if she’s doing what I betcha ten dollars she’s doing.”

  I was doing exactly what Carol Marie Henagar thought I was doing. I’d recognize that snide voice anywhere. Doubling my speed, I tossed Clorox and six other bottles of cleaning fluid and sprays in the buggy, then two pairs of rubber gloves, a mop, broom, and all the Febreze they had.

  Hell with my dignity. It wasn’t like the state of my dad’s house was any secret.

  Turning down the next aisle, I found the jumbo-sized trash bags and tossed in six boxes. Then several packs of paper towels. It wouldn’t be enough, I knew, but it would get me started. I hoped. I hadn’t visited in a year, so I actually didn’t know how much worse it had gotten.

  Pulling my shoulders back, I headed to the check-out counter to find both women trying to hide their pleased expressions.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Emery Rose,” Carol Marie said, her blue eyes wide in mock surprise.

  Why did country people insist on calling everyone by two names?

  “It sure is,” Macy Jean agreed, her eyes flicking up and down my rain-soaked dress. “Looks like you got caught up in that storm.”

  “It sure does,” Carol Marie added, as if this whole bit was part of a well-orchestrated play. Mean girls had that ability it seemed, to pick up on each other’s hateful thoughts and gang up on their target in a verbal tit for tat.

  “Ohhhh… that’s right.” Macy Jean tapped her garishly red lips as if in deep thought. “Today was the memorial service for Ryan Bradley, wasn’t it? Such a shame.”

  Carol Marie pulled a fake sad face, her lower lip jutting out an inch. She’d gained a good forty pounds since high school, and I couldn’t help but inwardly tap dance as the pudge of her cheeks pudged even more with the movement. “It was an awful shame. Why do all the good ones have to be gay?”

  Ignoring them, I began piling my items on the counter, then grabbed some drinks and gum.

  They tittered, and Carol Marie hefted a bottle of bleach and scanned it across the reader. “You sure you don’t need a couple more bottles of this? Drove past a couple days ago and the place looked like the dump had thrown up on it.”

  Swear to God, my heart shed a tear.

  Still not saying anything, I pasted a small words-can’t-hurt-me smile on my face and dug in my purse for my wallet.

  “You sure do look good,” Carol Marie said. “Skinny as a beanpole as usual.”

  She even managed to turn a compliment into an insult.

  I placed a hand on my flat stomach. “Thanks. When’s your baby due?”

  The bitch’s face went bright red, a stark contrast to her brittle bleached perm, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Okay, it was mean, and I shouldn’t have stooped to their level, but… it felt good.

  “She is not pregnant, Emery Board,” Macy Jean defended her friend. “She has a hormonal issue, if you must know.”

  I’d made them revert to yet another old nickname. Emery Board came compliments of my straight stick shape that did somewhat resemble a nail file.

  Just for fun, I started tossing Twinkies and candy bars on the counter. A can of Pringles went up there too. I looked around. There was a plethora of junk food to choose from, and both girls eyed me and my “beanpole” figure as I opened a PayDay and took a huge bite.

  With excruciating slowness, each item was scanned. The girls seemed to have lost their will to torment me the moment I shot an insult back, so the remain
der of my shopping experience was made in relative peace.

  Once I paid for my purchases, I was tempted to ask one of the women to help me load them into my car. Having their matching perms assaulted with rain water would have brightened my crappy day.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I tossed a Twinkie to Carol Marie and gave her a “hormones, my ass” wink, then took a deep breath and pushed the cart out into the deluge, throwing bags in the trunk as fast as I could. It didn’t even matter. I was soaking wet, freezing cold, but my day was barely half done.

  I needed to see Dad.

  And clean.

  And talk to him about moving home.

  And clean.

  I also needed to clean away the guilt now stirring around inside me for sinking to Carol Marie’s level. I shouldn’t have mocked her weight. But damn… it’d felt good to finally, after all these years, give a tiny sucker punch back.

  Driving again, I said a little prayer as I pulled onto the gravel road.

  Please don’t be too bad. Please don’t be too bad.

  As I rounded the bend, I nearly jabbed my foot onto the brake, turned around, and went racing in the other direction.

  My shitty day just got shittier.

  Literally.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rhett

  “You may kiss your lovely bride.”

  The entire Beasts baseball team leaped to their feet as the “beast of first base” leaned down and kissed his new wife. The clapping turned into hoots and catcalls as the kiss lingered long moments past what many would’ve considered appropriate. But hell, I didn’t blame Kane Steele for prolonging the moment. Eliana was a sweet little piece. Besides, he looked happy. She did too. Of course, everyone looked happy on their wedding day.

  A year later? Three? Not so much. By six, most couples were clawing each other’s eyeballs out. At seven, the fat lady was singing her lungs out, and the lawyers were disassembling the once beloved union.

  Even with all the doubts, I stood and clapped too. Maybe those two would make it to the finish line of old age, with grands and great-grands visiting each weekend for Sunday dinner.

  Hell… was that even how families did things these days? I wouldn’t know.

  “Your Beasts are dropping like flies, Rhett dear.” The comment was joined by a small hand snaking its way around my elbow. I looked down and grinned into the smiling face of Kane’s grandmother. “When will it be your turn?”

  I laughed, a genuine throw-your-head-back chuckle. “Well, Nana…” the woman insisted I call her that, giving me the evil eye when I forgot, “I think I’ll continue to be a spectator at that particular game.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll have to introduce you to my granddaughters at the reception.”

  My smile disappeared. “You might want to reconsider that. From what I’ve heard, your granddaughters are nice people.”

  Nana slapped my arm. “And you’re a nice young man. You don’t think I’d toss my lovely grandchildren to a wolf, now, do you?”

  If only she knew.

  I was saved from having to answer by the wedding party’s procession down the aisle. I was escorting Nana, so when it was her turn, we snail-paced it down the rose petal strewn carpet and to the reception hall.

  Roses, peonies, and candlelight created a fairy tale glow about the place. It was nice, even though I wasn’t a flowers and candlelight kind of guy.

  “You’ll save a dance for me later, won’t you?” Nana asked me, adding a saucy wink to the invitation.

  “Of course. You want me to wait until ‘The Thong Song’ plays or would you prefer music to twerk by?”

  She laughed, and it was such a delighted sound that I couldn’t stop from laughing too. Nana was a mess. Silver hair perfectly coifed, diamonds dripping from her ears and wrists. A dress that probably cost more than most people made in a year. But underneath the Chanel, I could see a mischievous young woman peeking out. She served as the matriarch of the Steele fortune with an iron fist, but she never used it. Instead, she charmed — or guilted — what she wanted out of just about everyone.

  Including me, it seemed.

  And I wasn’t easily charmed. Or easily guilted either.

  I’d lost the ability to be easily manipulated by others many years ago, and the loss of that soft heart had served me well. Softness got you hurt. Created pain. Almost got you killed if you let down your guard long enough.

  I didn’t let down my guard anymore.

  Instead, I took what I wanted. When I wanted. And gently discarded it when I was finished.

  Until three years ago, that hadn’t been a problem. Before then, I’d sat in an office or my workshop, fidgeting with designs then tossing them to patent attorneys and marketing teams to do the rest. I’d cash the check and move on to the next. I was isolated, which was how I liked it.

  Few people on planet Earth would have even recognized the name Rhett Hamilton until the day I decided to make a childhood dream into a reality.

  Well, sort of.

  The actual dream had been to be a major-league baseball player. The man on the mound throwing one hundred miles an hour fastballs, striking out one player after the next. The other players would hold me on their shoulders as the World Series trophy was passed up to me.

  The dream had been so vivid. And so unreachable.

  Unreachable for a poor boy too afraid to leave his room, let alone try out for the high school baseball team.

  Life hadn’t been kind to that dream-filled boy, so I’d followed the dream another way. From scratch, I created my dream team and built my dream stadium. And nearly two weeks ago, I held that World Series trophy in my hands, and may or may not have humped it in my sleep. I hadn’t been the man who’d pitched, or batted, or caught the winning catch, but I’d made it possible for those boys to fulfill their dreams while checking that box off my own bucket list.

  While Nana scurried off to get additional pictures taken, I searched for and easily found the Beasts crew. They were pretty hard to miss. Already hitting the bar, they were the loudest group in the room.

  “A Patrón for my man here,” Ace Newman shouted, lifting what was probably a ginger ale to his own lips. His wife, Holly, was tucked at his side, wearing the kind of glow only a pregnant woman could achieve. She was carrying their second child, and I still couldn’t believe it. The Ace Newman, wild ass man-whore of legends, was now a teetotaler family man and couldn’t look happier. He was still crazy, his antics on the field a crowd favorite. But he was no longer a tabloid favorite. He’d stopped making those headlines a couple seasons ago.

  I took the drink with a nod of thanks. “Where’s Rip?”

  Ace laughed, his eyes glowing with pride. “That little shit would have this entire room torn down by now. Left his little ass with the sitter.” He nuzzled Holly’s neck. “Mommy and I have the entire night to ourselves.”

  I grinned. Their son was a mini me of Ace inside and out. They were going to have their hands full later on if he continued to take after his father. I nodded to Holly’s barely noticeable baby bump. “How’s the incubating hell-raiser doing?”

  Holly beamed and rubbed her tummy in that loving, protective way all mothers seemed to do. “She’s doing great. Rip was devastated to learn he was having a sister at first, but just yesterday, he patted my stomach and said, “I take care you, wittle giwl.”

  Calvin Malone, my star pitcher, cleared his throat and tapped a spoon he’d gotten from somewhere against his glass. “May I have your attention, please?”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “Since the topic seems to be babies at the moment…”

  Everyone’s attention shifted to Whitney, whose eyes were shining up at her husband. That’s when I noticed the fruit juice in her hands. Well, damn.

  “Whitney and I are incubating too. But not just one… twins. I’m going to be the father of twins.”

  I wasn’t sure if he looked excited or sick at the thought.

  Anot
her round of toasts and cheers went up, and I stuck out a hand to Calvin then kissed Whitney’s cheek. “Congratulations. You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

  And she would. For me, Whitney was one of those women I might have been able to settle down with. Maybe. She was beautiful, but there was something inside her that made her outer beauty shine. She was warm and funny, and an equal measure of strong and submissive, which I liked.

  Nothing ever happened between us, not that I wouldn’t have taken her to my bed had the stars aligned just right. But she had been Calvin’s girl from the start, and I’d known they would find their way back to each other. First, they’d just had to deal with the spotlight and money a big MLB contract provided. It had gotten messy, but they’d washed the dirt off their relationship and now were becoming parents.

  “Thanks, Rhett,” Whitney said. “After the babies are born, I’m still planning on working, but on a very limited basis.”

  I nodded. “You focus on you and those kids, everything else will work itself out.”

  Whitney was a very talented designer and had been working for me for a while now. But that was life. People were like waves in the ocean. They came into your life, then washed out, some leaving behind more damage than others.

  It was just the way it was.

  A couple hours later, the reception was nearly over. I was stuffed with prime rib and lobster, and had consumed more liquor than normal. But hell, there had been so many damn toasts, I would’ve looked like an ass if I hadn’t participated. Besides… there was much to celebrate.

  A wedding.

  The World Series win.

  My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket. A text from my patent attorney: Cloud patent approved. Offer on table for arterial syringe. $350 million. Yes or no?

  I grinned. It had taken me about three months to improve the design of the syringe, decreasing the backflow problem hospitals were having. Three hundred and fifty million dollars for three months of work? My thumbs flew across the device. Tell them $425. Will negotiate to $390 tops.

  Rex responded immediately. That’s why I love you. Will get back soon.