Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1) (9 page)

I nodded, focusing on the way she spoke, what she was saying, and her hand movements. Graceful and direct. Everything was free and easy with Genevieve. Ask a question, she answered it. No games. No bullshit. No trying to get in my pants. That last one rather sucked. The woman had no ulterior motives. She wasn’t looking to hitch herself to a wallet or ride on someone’s coattails, nor did she seem the type of girl who would ever be a trophy sitting on a man’s arm, although she was pretty enough. The woman defied everything I’d ever learned about women.

“So you said you were going to be a hairdresser. And that stopped because…”

A sadness swept across her features, and I wanted to take the question back immediately to save her from the obvious sorrow that appeared in her frown and the slump of her shoulders.

She looked out over the lake, which was really a man-made lagoon. “Mom and Dad had their accident when I was a few months shy of getting my license. By the time I could even consider focusing on schooling again, I’d lost time. I’d need to take an entire semester again, which would cost some serious cash.”

“Did your parents leave you an inheritance?”

She snorted. “Yeah, but the house I live in is old, beautiful, and worth tons of money. What money there was covered paying off the remaining mortgage but not the property taxes or what it takes to keep it up. I sold their cars to pay the taxes the last couple years and have been working as much as I could to pay the rest, utilities, provide food for the three of us, baseball equipment and gear for Row, and dance tutus and classes for Mary.” She hid her eyes, looking down and away. “There just wasn’t any left. Someone had to work and keep things afloat. So I teach yoga and cut hair in my garage to make extra money.”

Thinking of her working her ass off to take care of her siblings and her family home equally angered and stunned me. The woman was, by all accounts, incredible. She gave up her dream to take care of her family, worked too many hours, yet still seemed to be one of the happier people I knew. How she wasn’t cowering in a corner throwing a pity party, I didn’t know. Every single woman I’d known until now, aside from my mother, was the save-me-Trent and pay-my-way and buy-me-presents type of chick. Genevieve hadn’t asked for anything. She’d even tried to avoid going out with me.

“Do people with money make you uncomfortable?” I asked out of the blue. The question weighed heavily on me.

She scrunched her nose in that cute way I liked, a cross between disgusted and confused. “No. Why would you think that?”

I shrugged. “No reason. You’re just down to earth and not impressed by the things that other women are.”

She chuckled. “You mean like your fancy car or job title?”

I grinned and cocked my head. “Something like that.”

Genevieve shook her head. “Money is money. Before my parents died, you could say we were doing pretty well. My parents’ home is worth a lot of money. Not baseball contract money”—she winked—“but my dad was a pretty big-time lawyer. They were young when they died, only forty, so they hadn’t amassed what they’d intended for their lives.”

“Your parents were only forty?”

A sad smile crossed her ruby lips. “Yeah, they had me young. Very young. Nineteen, right after school. They were high school sweethearts. Then they waited until Dad had finished law school and got set up as a lawyer. Then they had Rowan, and Mary was a surprise. Mom called her a gift. Said they were not planning to have more but were thrilled when they found out they were pregnant again.”

Chuckling, I did the math. “Seems like they were on the eight-year plan. Every eight years they had a kid.”

Genevieve’s eyes lit up. “True. Guess they had a pattern. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

I shook my head. “Nope. My parents wanted a house full of them. They had me, and when they were trying for another, Ma had some kind of exam that showed she had the first stages of cervical cancer. They had the option to attempt to save the uterus, but my father was adamant they remove it. Together, they decided a full hysterectomy was better. Ma’s mom died of cervical cancer, and they chose not to risk it. They had me and were happy.”

Genevieve listened intently, leaned her elbow on the table, and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She seemed totally focused on me and the conversation. Definitely not the average groupie I met on the baseball circuit. Not even in the same stratosphere.

“Smart decision your folks made. It probably ensured she’d live a long time. Tell me about them.”

Not one woman had ever asked about my parents. Yep, Genevieve Harper was unique. Soft spoken, a fireball sexually, and quite possibly the most devastatingly gorgeous woman I’d ever known. Being around her was like sitting in front of a fire on a cold Bay Area day. Warm, inviting, with all the comforts of home. What the hell did that mean for the future? I had no clue.

W
e’d ordered
our food and the waiter delivered our plates. I ordered the steak, roasted red potatoes, and vegetables. Genevieve ordered the most inexpensive item on the menu—a simple angel hair pasta in a light red sauce with chicken. No salad, no soup, and she’d eaten none of the bread provided, whereas I’d already had to ask for another basket. The woman was curvy, and she definitely dug into her pasta when it arrived, but the two times I’d taken a groupie to dinner here, they both ordered the most expensive lobster or prawns dish, flashy wine, with a salad and soup and then pecked at it. Made me insane. When I took them to my apartment, I had no problem hitting the sheets and kicking them out after.

Groupies I understood. They used me. I used them. We both got what we wanted out of the deal. In all honestly, I didn’t know how the hell to act half the time around Genevieve. She threw me off my game to the point where I didn’t even know where the board was anymore or how I’d gotten my pieces up and down to score any points.

As with anything else I knew very little about, I’d decided to let the cards fall where they would and wing it.

“My parents are great, amazing really. Dad owns Fox Mechanics, which my grandfather owned and still works at to this day. He doesn’t do much since he’s in his seventies, but he tinkers on the older cars, hangs out with my dad, and greets the customers. My father bought him out years ago, but Gramps still gets paid. Both of my dad’s parents are still living. My mom’s have passed.”

“Tell me more about your mom.”

Thinking about Ma always put a smile on my face. “Ma’s the shit.”

Genevieve laughed, and it sounded like a song. One I’d like to hear a whole lot more of.

“Crazy in her own way. Cooks like Betty Crocker, runs the household. She worked in the school district in Oakland for thirty years. Now she enjoys riling up my dad, painting, cooking, and tending to her garden. Basically enjoying retirement.”

“That’s awesome. You’re lucky.”

Even though it should make her sad, after having lost both of hers, Genevieve was upbeat. Happy to be talking about my family.

I nodded. “I am. And of course, they boast every chance they get about their son. Being an only child, I wanted them to be proud. Dad and Mom worked their buns off to put me into every baseball clinic, travel ball, fall, summer, and spring ball all my life. I wanted it, showed commitment, and they rewarded that.”

“See, that’s what I want for Row. He’s good, Trent. Really good. I don’t want him to miss out.” She frowned.

“Did you talk to him about college ball?” I asked, nervous that it would make the mood turn a bit sour but interested nonetheless.

Genevieve’s coal-colored eyes seemed to light from within. “Yes! Finally got him to agree to let me meet with his coach.” She shoveled a bite of pasta into her mouth and chewed. “He said he’d consider the scouts for UC Davis and Berkeley, but he’s adamant about staying in the home, being where he can keep an eye on me and Mary.”

Something about a sixteen-year-old kid planning to forgo his own future to protect my woman ruffled my feathers. “You’re not
his
responsibility,” I said the words, and damned if I didn’t mean them. I’d wanted to add “you’re
my
responsibility,” but didn’t. Thank God. For a moment, I’d almost lost my mind.

She nodded and sipped her drink. “Right. I’ve told him that time and time again, but he feels like he’s the man in the house, and our dad would want him to look out for his sisters.”

No truer words… A good man, any good man who cared about the women in his life should protect them. Unfortunately, the kid felt the need to step up and was risking his own future to do so. I had to give it to him, even though it irked me. “It’s a trait to be respected. But keep driving it home that he needs to think about himself, too. Maybe I could help, talk to him for you. You know, man to man?”

She lifted her gaze from her plate and almost choked on her meal. Once she took a sip of her water, she brought her napkin to her mouth and coughed into it. Fear swept down my spine, and I stood.

Genevieve stopped me from coming to her by holding out her hand flat in front of me. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Sorry. Your offer just took me by surprise.” She took long slugs of her water and then cast her dark gaze to mine. “You’d really do that? Talk to him, that is?”

Man, she was sweet. Not only did she smell like sugar and spice, she damn well
was
sugar and spice and all things nice. Fuck. My gut twisted tight. “Yeah. For you, and for him. I like the kid. He seems like he has a good head on his shoulders, wants to take care of his family. Ain’t nothing wrong with a man who has values. Especially when he’s devoted to the women in his clan. If my dad goes, you’d better believe I’d be Johnny-on-the-spot to take care of Ma. Hands down.”

Genevieve bit down on her lip, and her eyes went soft, more dark chocolate than espresso. The woman looked at me as if I were the sun, the moon, and the stars. Even though the warning sirens were blaring loud, I pushed them aside and enjoyed every second of a good woman looking at me as if I alone could make each day brighter. Hell, it felt damn good, too. Better than any home run, and that, more than anything else, was far too telling. I had to put the brakes on whatever the hell was happening to me. Start focusing on the prize. And that was Genevieve under me, in my bed, screaming my name at the top of her lungs. Yeah, that was where this was headed. Anything else didn’t matter.

T
rent was full of surprises
. He’d shared things with me that I wouldn’t normally have thought went along with a casual type of date that we both knew was heading straight to the bedroom. Did I want to get to know him better? Yes. Was I scared of that? Absolutely. I knew that, once Trent was back in fighting shape, he’d be onto the next game and likely the next good-looking female within a ten-foot radius of him. We had not set any parameters for this thing between us, but I knew the score. Fun now, heartbreak later if I didn’t rein it in. It was time to stop thinking of him as boyfriend material and focus on the physical benefits of a casual fling with Trent.

Sex.

Really hot, satisfying, mind-bending, body-melting sex was the only thing on the table. And it sounded delicious.

Trent paid the check and led me from the table to the elevator. Instead of hitting the lobby level, he silently pressed button number eighteen. I raised my eyebrows as he looped an arm around my shoulders. “My apartment is on twenty,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

He tightened his hand around the ball of my shoulder. “Okay.”

Besides the endless conversation, he’d touched me constantly. We hadn’t sat across from one another but on the sides of the square table. He touched my hand, pressed his knee into mine, swept a lock of hair away from my face. We even had a brief generous kiss after we shared a slice of Kahlúa mousse cake. I’d wanted to say no to the additional purchase. Even though the restaurant had customers in jeans and nice shirts, the price tag on every item was way over the top. My pasta was twenty-six dollars, and that was the cheapest thing on the menu. Trent had ordered a fifty-dollar steak. What I could do with fifty dollars…

I shook my head to clear the thoughts and let him lead me down the hall to his apartment. I couldn’t believe I was about to see where the famous Trent Fox lived.

He opened the door and ushered me into the foyer. It was a step up from a sunken living room. The room had plain white walls with nothing but a TV hanging from them. Across from the TV were a single leather couch, a glass coffee table, and an end table with a lamp on it. No knickknacks or even magazines lying around. Trent walked to the left and turned on the lights in a sprawling kitchen.

It was beautiful. White cabinets with shiny steel handles. Black granite countertops that gleamed under the lights, and high-quality stainless steel appliances. A toaster and coffeepot were the only things visible on the counters. No canisters, spice rack, homemade trinkets, or anything that remotely gave a hint as to what type of things interested Trent. I could see through the kitchen to a dining room that had a glass table and six chairs. Nothing else. No pictures hung, no sideboard with special china dishes, or anything remotely comforting.

“Come, I’ll give you the rest of the tour.” He leered. Not in a gross creeper way but in a cheesy, ‘I’m going to show you my room, and we’re going to spend time in there’ silly way.

“Lead on.” I chuckled but continued to be baffled by the lack of pictures lining the hallways. “How long have you lived here?” I asked, thinking he must have just moved in.

“Five years.”

I stopped right in the center of the hallway.

“What’s the matter?” He lifted his hands to my biceps. “You know, babe, you don’t have to do anything with me tonight. I mean, yeah, obviously I’ve been thinking about nothing else since we’d had some of the best oral sex in my life.” He grinned and licked his lips. “But we don’t have to take that last step right now.”

Of course he’d think I was having reservations. I wasn’t, but what I was having was a mental stutter over the lack of personality. He only had the items he needed to survive. Couch, table, lamp, television, kitchen table, toaster, coffeepot. “I’m fine, just surprised you’ve lived here so long.”

He ran his hands up and down my biceps. “Yeah, why’s that?”

I grabbed hold of his hand to remove the tension that had seeped into his form. I liked that he’d worried about my comfort and was concerned with how I felt about this step. He didn’t seem like he was trying to play me, though I knew what we were about to do would mean far more to me than him. I’d only been intimate with one man, and at the time, I thought he’d end up as my husband. With Trent, I was planning to have sex with him, share my body with him, and I also knew beyond a shadow of doubt that was all it would be to him—a physical release.

He continued to walk down the hall until he reached a set of double doors. He opened them and walked in. The biggest sleigh bed I’d ever seen sat in the center of the room. Two end tables hugged each side. The wood was a fine cherry finish and chunky, not quite manly but elegant and sturdy. A midnight-blue comforter with the slightest sheen to the fabric covered the beautiful bed. In the corner was a long dresser with a mirror above it. Catty-corner to the bed was another tall dresser and above that, another wide flat-screen television hung on the wall.

This room had a bit more life. Above the bed was a beautiful picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. “That picture is beautiful.” I pointed to the giant framed photograph. The red tones of the bridge seemed to escape out of the confines of the misty fog surrounding it.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, did you buy that from a local photographer?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I took it.”

I let out a shocked breath. “Really?”

He exhaled, looked up at the painting, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, a little dabble into photography. I didn’t frame it and hang it though. That was my ma. The bedroom set and comforter, too. They bought me the set when I got signed by the Ports. It was their gift. I get new bedding every year for Christmas, but yeah, Ma’s got good taste.”

I scanned the furniture, appreciating its beauty once more. A five-by-seven framed picture sat alone on the dresser. I walked over and picked it up. A tall gray-haired man stood, holding on to a very small blond woman. They both looked to be in their fifties.

“Your parents.”

Trent pulled me into his embrace from behind. His chin resting on my shoulder as we both looked at the happy couple, so very obviously still in love. My parents would have been like them, too.

His chin warmed the side of my neck. “Yeah, that’s Richard and Joan Fox.”

“They seem happy.”

Trent’s breath tickled along my ear. “I think they are. They found the one they were meant to be with very young.”

I nodded. “My parents, too.”

Trent reached around me, took the photo, and set it back down on his dresser. “Enough about my family and the mood killer. I’ve got something I think you’ll be very interested to meet.” He thrust his hardened shaft against my bum.

Automatically, my hands went to the sides of his thick thighs where I held on. Trent swept my hair away from my neck, reached around me, and pulled back the lapels of my jacket until he got it completely open and removed. He tossed it haphazardly on the dresser.

“I’ve been dying to get my hands on you all night. Hell, for two weeks. Do you know what your body does to me?”