Page 1 of The Cannon
Chapter 1
Sawyer
Her smile’s a slow stretch.
It begins with a languid lift of a corner. Then it leisurely widens to reveal the dazzle. Tonight it’s for another man. But this Texan can live with that. I learned patience long ago.
I’ve always been blessed and cursed with knowing what I want. Making decisions quickly. It eliminates all second bests but puts me in the position of having to be by myself sometimes. Although that’s changed in recent years. I haven’t heard many no’s since I became a professional ball player. Not in any category.
How strange life is. The boy within me is shocked by it all. He still sits alone. It’s a world away from my current reality. I’m one of ten tonight at table three. It gives me the perfect chance to take a long unauthorized gander at the looker with the smile.
She tucks a dark curl behind her ear, sensual like. Long delicate fingers with short painted red nails move gracefully. The guy she’s with says something that makes her laugh. Think that may have warmed the room. Even four tables away I hear the lyrical sound. It’s feminine and genuine.
Her curves aren’t disguised by the tuxedo she wears. Nothing masculine there. No ma’am. Jacket tailored to show a tiny waist, trousers with satin stripes down the sides of long legs. A look as sexy as I’ve seen. Womanly.
Then she leans over to pick up a napkin and the vest peeks open. Swear I saw nipple. My balls and dick weigh in making it unanimous.
Letting go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I take a sip of Jack. My earlier-in-the-day mindset seems funny now. Wasn’t looking forward to the night. Not that I’m ungrateful, but a team dinner/dance sounded boring as shit. Especially since I don’t know most of the members yet. I’d planned on leaving an hour ago. That was before I set eyes on the sexiest girl here.
I’m down for a good meal. And dancing is my thing. But there was a fly in the ointment. When all I’m interested in is meeting Memphis belles, this was the wrong place to be. There are never many single women at these events.
Truth is, up until now the city hasn’t seemed as good of a party as Fort Worth. I’ll hold my final opinion because I haven’t been here long. Maybe when the preseason starts things will improve. The Memphis Mavericks family has been welcoming. Especially the Swifts.
Sitting with some of them at this table is a dream I didn’t know to imagine until the last few years. Hell, I hadn’t even heard of them.
Both Brick and Atticus have been great. As my agent, Brick kinda has to make sure I’m happy. He’s the one directing me to every opportunity he can before I even get in a game. Without Brick I’d be a lost soul in a sophisticated business way over my head.
His brother Atticus is a man the other players look up to. Even in my short time here I can see that. Hope our connection as pitcher/catcher turns out to have legs. With his reputation as a catcher and mine as a pitcher, I see us developing into something great. But it all rests on my ability to hold on to the brass ring. Management seems to think I’ve got a long career ahead.
The patriarch of the family is a guy I could be friends with. Boone. A former ball player himself, he understands the complex world of Major League ball. And there’s more to respect. Just the way he looks at his family impresses me. I’ve seen too much of the opposite. There’s love there. Plus, he’s a Jim Beam man.
The mother is interesting. Lucinda is such a Southern name. Holding your gaze when she speaks, it makes you feel like you’re the most interesting person in the room. Brick says she’s an artist.
But for now I miss all the good things about my old life. Hot days on Lake Ray Hubbard and cool nights with country girls under the moon. I miss my truck.
“Who’s the pretty brunette with the body?” I say leaning over to Brick.
I know there’s no chance of confusing her with the other hundred brunettes here. He’ll know who I’m talking about. She stands out.
He gives me a pointed look and a dip of his chin.
“My sister.”
I can’t stop the laughter that rises. “Sorry. But hey, you can’t blame a man.”
A shake of his head is all I get in response.
“What’s her name?”
“Bristol. Listen, no insult intended, but you’re not her type. Trust me.”
“Women like me. I think I should at least introduce myself.”
He gets this weird look. Like whatever he knows, and I don’t, ends my chances. He’s getting a kick out of this.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask. “She doesn’t like steady, church-going, nice looking guys?”
“Only the first one would impress her. She doesn’t like baseball or baseball players. She knows too much about the subject.”
