No One Like You (3 page)

My town,
Rylan thought. He valued his family’s heritage.

The majority of the players were a week ahead of schedule. Shortstop Brody Jones was the only married man on the team. The single guys wanted to check out the beach, boardwalk, and pier; then locate the nighttime hot spots.

The Chamber of Commerce boasted that the sun shone three hundred and sixty days during the year—which was a slight exaggeration. They discounted the rainy season. But Barefoot William was a sunbather’s paradise despite the summer showers. No place on earth could compare to the coastal sugar sand and turquoise water.

Specialty shops with adjoining walls and multicolored doors lined the cement boardwalk, selling everything from Florida T-shirts and penny candy to designer jewelry, while kiosks on the long wooden pier offered sunglasses, sharks’ teeth, shells, and hula hoops. Food carts served hot dogs, funnel cakes, cotton candy, and chili-cheese nachos.

Amusement arcades and carnival rides enticed the tourists further. A century-old carousel whirled within a weatherproof enclosure. Its walls of windows overlooked the Gulf. The whirr of the Ferris wheel was soothing, while the swing ride that whipped out over the waves sent pulses racing. The roller coaster had children raising their arms and cheering their bravery. Just beyond, metallic black bumper cars raced and collided on a metal floor.

The bars on the boardwalk flashed a lot of neon. The Blue Coconut and Lusty Oyster opened at noon to serve parched and sunburned patrons. Dress codes were obsolete. String and thong bikinis and swim trunks were as common as sportswear. The scent of coconut suntan lotion mixed with the piña coladas.

The crowd remained polite during the day, but got rowdy once the sun set. Wherever the ballplayers gathered, they would be followed. Female fans would stroke their egos and other parts of their anatomy. The guys dated with the same dedication they played ball. Fast, intense, and scoring big.

Couples connected on the morning side of midnight. The men went through nightly hookups and morning breakups like clockwork. It was a sexual cycle that caused female tears, some cursing, and the occasional knee to a player’s groin.

Ry couldn’t keep track of what the guys did on their own time. His main concern was that they showed up at the stadium with a winning mind-set. Preseason was crucial. They played in the Grapefruit League and needed to start out strong. To make a statement. If confidence and swagger won games, the Rogues would take the pennant this year. They just couldn’t get too cocky.

The team was housed at Driftwood Inn, a hotel near the stadium. Each man had his own room. Ry had gotten permission from the general manager to alternate his own nights between the inn and his cottage. He liked his home. He needed to keep an eye on his dogs, even with Beth in attendance. Atlas could be a handful.

Taking a glycerin bar of eucalyptus soap from the plastic container on his shower rack, he scrubbed down his chest and arms. He washed his groin, then down his legs. The woodsy scent cleared his head. He continued mapping his day.

A stop at Barefoot William Retirement Village was a must. He wanted to see his grandfather Frank. His granddad had recently moved from his rural cedar stilt house built on one hundred acres to a condominium in a gated community. The change had been difficult for him. Ry hoped a game of gin would brighten the older man’s day.

He owed Shaye and her husband Trace a visit, too. They were a power couple. Shaye ran Barefoot William Enterprises while Trace was CEO of Saunders Shores. They worked together on many building projects and both towns thrived.

Trace had fought to bring major league baseball to the Gulf Coast. Once the county commissioners unanimously voted to build the park, Trace had courted the team as did the bigger cities of Tallahassee and Jacksonville.

After several months of intense negotiation, Trace won over club owner James Lawless and his executive board. It would be a huge economic boost for the adjoining cities to have a major-league team start its season in southwest Florida.

Rylan added two final stops to his list before stepping from the shower—the bank and the barber. Theodore’s was an old-fashioned barbershop on the boardwalk, specializing in classic, hot lather shaves, haircuts, and shoe shines. The shop had three vintage barber chairs and a striped-pole out front. Theodore Cates had been in business for forty years. His place was an institution. Appointments were required. Ry grinned. How many times had he squirmed in that barber chair as a kid? More times than he could count.

Standing on the vinyl floor, he toweled off. Finger-combed his hair. Once back in his bedroom, he crossed to his dresser and chose a pair of boxer-briefs. He dressed casual, selecting a light blue pullover and khaki slacks. Dark brown flip-flops were as close to going barefoot as he could get. He wasn’t a man for shoes . . . if he could avoid them.

Returning downstairs, he found Beth and his dogs in the kitchen. It was the only room in the house that he’d renovated. His brother Aidan had done the work. He was a contractor. They’d bumped up the room’s roof to double height for a soaring ceiling. The tongue-and-groove boards resembled nineteenth century planks. New oak beams acted as structural cross ties.

The large, all-white room was clad in bead board cabinets with nickel hardware. The modern range had a white enamel finish and vent hood. The apron-front sink had been a steal at an antique show. The center island was topped with old chestnut boards salvaged from the floor in the upstairs closet. Vintage red soda fountain stools surrounded the island where Rylan enjoyed his morning coffee. Old subway tiles completed the countertops. Clerestory windows flooded the kitchen with light.

Beth stood in a pool of sunshine. A red bandana held her wild hair. Her movements caused her crop top to creep up her back, flashing smooth skin and a narrow waist. She’d kicked off her sneakers and wore a pair of short pink and yellow floral socks trimmed in turquoise.

He squinted to read the writing at her ankle.
I Think I Can.

She caught him staring. “My positive message socks. They’re similar to a mental mantra, but on my feet. Not as good as yoga, but they keep me balanced.”

He believed in staying positive. Life could shift and shake at unexpected moments. Stability was important to him.

Beth had located the organic cookbook and gathered the ingredients: ground turkey, carrots, apples, and broccoli. Atlas barked at her to move faster then nudged her thigh with his nose, making her laugh. Her laughter was light, feminine. Contagious.

Ry couldn’t help but smile.

Beth handed Atlas a carrot, which he scarfed down. The Dane liked his vegetables. All but peas. He had the ability to find a single pea in his meal and spit it out. That had always amazed Rylan.

“How’s lunch coming along?” he asked, crossing to her. Standing close, he felt the heat of her body. Despite having walked his dogs, her scent was fresh and very female. “Need any help?”

“I’m feeling confident,” she said, stuffing the food processor with the fruit and veggies. She secured the top and then flipped the switch. The blades whirred and chopped. She went on to combine the ground turkey with the mixture. Then blended in two raw eggs. She scooped the ingredients into a rectangular baking pan and popped it in the preheated oven. Atlas stood before the stove, not moving except for his tail wagging back and forth.

Beth set the timer for twenty minutes before turning back to Rylan. “You received five calls while you were in the shower.” She tapped her finger on a white sheet of paper near the microwave. “I printed out your messages, and also sent them to your iPhone.”

“Read them to me, please.” He was running late and could listen far easier than if he took the time to read each one.

Beth relayed the messages. She spoke quickly, precisely.

He paid attention. The first two calls were from his family. His older brother Dune invited him to stop by his volleyball clinic. Dune’s wife Sophie offered to drop off groceries. No emergencies. He’d get back to them later in the day. If not tomorrow. The third and fourth calls were from his teammates.

“Halo Todd needs the name of a good tattoo artist. He, uh”—Beth’s cheeks warmed—“wants to ink his groin.”

Ry rolled his eyes, but wasn’t surprised. Halo was keeping to Rogue tradition. Players of previous years had such tats. The right fielder would set the bar. His teammates would be inked before opening day. All but Rylan. He didn’t always conform, either on or off the field. He believed in live and let live as long as the players got the job done.

“Esme at Inkcredible Tattoos on Breakaway Wave Drive does nice work.” Or so he’d heard from his brother Zane. Zane had
Hurricane Hunter
on his left bicep. He’d felt no pain. However a tat to the groin could prove tender.

“Landon Kane wants to know where he can get the best deal on tires,” Beth said, checking her list. “His Porsche has a flat.”

When had he become Google? Ry wondered. The third baseman had an iPhone. Barefoot William had only one tire dealership. It was easy to find. “Send him to Rubber and Rims.”

Beth looked at him to see if he was serious, then chuckled. “You made that up.”

Lady was quick. “It will take Land a few hours to figure that out.”

“What if he calls back?” Her concern was genuine. He liked that—having an assistant who looked out for his teammates was crucial to him. Even if the men drove him nuts sometimes.

“Tell him Gray’s Garage on the southeast corner of Sunshine Drive carries tires at a good price.”

Beth wrapped up with, “Your last call was from Ava Vonn.”

Ry’s grin came easy. He didn’t try to hide his pleasure at hearing her name. She’d been one of the applicants for the PA position; a hot blonde with full breasts who spoke her mind. She’d flirted with him. Shamelessly. He’d been flattered but in the end, feared mixing business and pleasure.

“Ava would like to meet for drinks and dinner,” Beth told him, keeping her voice professional, though he noted a hint of curiosity creeping into her rain cast eyes, “to compensate for her not getting the job.”

Compensation worked for him. “Call Ava back and see if she’s free tonight. Apologize for the short notice. If she’s available, make a reservation for seven at The Pier House in Saunders Shores. The restaurant is popular and often booked a month in advance. Tell the manager I’d appreciate a table. He should be able to accommodate us. A view of the Gulf would be nice.”

“Got it,” Beth said.

“Then schedule an appointment at Theodore’s Barber Shop for four, if possible. Shave and a haircut.”

“Will do.” She scrunched her nose. “Don’t get your hair cut too short. You look good now.”

Her compliment surprised him. He took it to heart. He eyed her, then suggested, “Shouldn’t you be writing this down? iPhone, or there’s a pencil and notepad in the drawer by the dishwasher.”

She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “I have an excellent memory.”

He could only hope she did. He didn’t take her for the cerebral type, but he’d been wrong about women before. He wondered if there was more to Beth than met the eye.

He didn’t have time to contemplate her secrets. The timer on the stove went off, and Atlas did his dinner dance. He turned in a circle. Once, then twice, and then stood there with his tongue hanging out. There was no denying the dog his lunch. Now.

Beth grabbed a pot holder from the counter, then removed the pan from the oven. Her mouth twisted as if she didn’t know what to do next, and she glanced at Ry for guidance.

He reached beneath the sink and produced four dog bowls in assorted sizes. “Dish up the food, but let it cool for a few minutes. Atlas gets half the batch. Rue gets the next largest portion and the dachshunds receive the smallest.”

He pointed to two elevated metal food stands by the wall. Neat, perfect, and ready. “Atlas and Rue eat there; Oscar and Nathan by the back door. You can set their bowls on the floor. Keep an eye on Atlas. Don’t let him steal anyone’s meal. Rue nips him to back off. He overpowers the dachs.”

Beth nodded and then proceeded to follow his directions. She’d held her own during the meal prep. Rylan was pleased.

He stayed in the kitchen while the dogs ate. There was one more thing left to do. He removed a white dish towel from a drawer and tossed it to Beth to prepare her. “Atlas wears his lunch.”

The Dane went directly to her after he’d eaten. He tried to wipe his mouth on her shorts once again. She intercepted him with the drool towel—which he took as a toy. He grabbed it and started tugging. Tugging hard.

“Is he always so playful after he eats?” she asked, her voice breathy.

“Wait until you give him a bath,” he warned.

She pulled a face but didn’t let go of the towel.

“Don’t hurt your back,” Rylan said as she fought to keep her footing. Her socks slid on the hardwood floor. She leaned over so far he was afraid she’d fall. The back of her shirt fluttered, and he glimpsed her lavender bra. Her shorts rode up her butt cheeks. She had a tight little ass.

He averted his gaze. “Give it up, Beth. Once you release the towel, he’ll lose interest.”

The moment she let go, so did the Dane. “Good boy, Atlas,” she praised, visibly relieved.

Ry pretended not to notice how exhausted she looked after the tug of war. Her bandana had loosened and her hair sprang free. Wildly so. Her face was flushed. The Dane outweighed her by at least forty pounds. Words instead of force were her only way to control him. He hoped Atlas would listen.

“Stand firm with him,” Ry said to Beth.

She looked at him dubiously.

“He’s smarter than he looks.”

“He has more expressions than a cartoon character.”

That he did. Ry glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. He didn’t have time to fix himself lunch, so he grabbed a Marathon protein bar from the cupboard. His meal on-the-go. “I’m leaving,” he told her, ripping off the wrapper. He quickly went over his plans for the day, finishing with, “Text if you need me. I’ll stop by the house later this afternoon to change clothes for my date tonight. I’ll see you then.”