Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(11)

I search my brain, trying to remember if I ever met his wife. But I come up blank. I thought he was single.

“Do you need to heat that up?” Becca offers.

“Nope. The little miss likes it cool or warm or any temperature at all.” He pops the protective top off. “Here she comes now.”

I glance toward the half flight of stairs to the house, and my heart fails. Because it’s Bess who’s carrying a chubby little baby girl out into the yard. The baby is propped snugly on her hip and clutches a lock of Bess’s striking red hair in her tiny hand.

Bess is too distracted by the baby to look at me, which is a good thing because I know there’s shock written all over my face.

“Wow, Rookie,” she says to Eric. “That’s a very manly diaper bag you have there.”

“You shut up,” he says with a smile. “Thanks for the free babysitting.”

“Who says it was free?” Bess asks, handing the baby over.

That’s when I remember to breathe. Because Bess isn’t Eric’s wife, and that’s not her baby. Not that I should care. It doesn’t have a thing to do with me.

What the heck is wrong with me? Back in the day, Bess and I weren’t even serious. We had a wonderful, physical fling.

Before she broke it off, without telling me why.

Eric pries his daughter’s fingers off Bess’s hair and casually tips the baby back into his embrace, the bottle sliding into her mouth like he’s done this a thousand times before. All the women in a twenty-foot radius are watching him with hearts in their eyes.

Even Bess. “Need anything else?” she asks, taking the baby’s chubby little bare foot in her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“No boss, I got this.”

Her brother Dave calls over to them. “Don’t call her boss, it will go right to her head.”

“That’s the idea,” Eric insists. “It helps to gloss over my general incompetence.” Then he turns his head and spots me listening in on this friendly drama. “Hey, man. It’s been a while since I faced off against you.”

“It has, right?” I say stiffly. “Last fall, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Bayer agrees. “I only got six weeks of the regular season. Welcome to Brooklyn. I’m sure you’re questioning all your life choices right now, but this is a good group.”

“I can tell,” I lie.

“Uh-huh.” He gives me a grin, like he can see right through me.

“What are you up to these days?” I ask.

“Working for this tough lady here.” He jerks his chin toward Bess, who rolls her eyes at him. “Trying my hand as an agent.”

“Oh, cool.” I’d heard that Bess was doing well with her business in Detroit. She’s rumored to be a tough negotiator. And it makes sense that she’d want someone on the East Coast to help her grow the business.

“I’m still learning the ropes,” Eric says. “You’re Henry Kassman’s client, right?”

“True story.”

“Well done, Rookie!” Bess says to Eric. She’s still avoiding my eyes. “Look at the memory on you.”

“Hey, I pay attention. You two must have met Kassman at about the same time?” he asks her. “You must have overlapped by a year or so.”

“Overlapped,” I say slowly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Briefly,” Bess stammers, lifting her chin to show me a pair of startled, guilty eyes. She takes a deep breath. “Kassman runs a great shop” she says coolly. “I loved working with Henry.”

I hold her gaze. Now we’re having a staring contest. I win it. Bess’s eyes drop first.

The victory doesn’t sit right with me, though. To this day I don’t know why she cut me loose. We had a really good thing going there for a little while.

But then she cut me off with no explanation. She only said she was too busy to spend time with me. But it was probably the other way around. Her next boyfriend was probably a guy who didn’t spend sixty nights a year on the road.

“Bessie, I’m heading out,” her brother says, interrupting our second awkward moment of the evening. “You sure you won’t come out drinking?”

Bess shakes her head. “You go ahead. I don’t feel like getting as drunk as you’re about to get.”

“How do you know?” he asks.

“Oh, please. One last night in the city with the team?” She waves a hand, like the math is too easy. “Just don’t get arrested. No two a.m. calls from the city jail, please.”

“Like that’s ever happening,” he scoffs. “Bayer, you in?”

Eric looks toward the house. “Probably. But first I’ll make sure Alex and Rosie get home. Text me when you land at a bar.”

“Will do.” Dave crosses a few feet of lawn to kiss his sister on the top of her head. “Don’t wait up. And I promise not to be too hung over to hang out on your birthday.”

Your birthday. Whoa! I’d forgotten the date. But I haven’t forgotten any of the details.

Neither has Bess. Her blue eyes cut right to mine. She quickly looks away again, and I see it—the telltale blush leaking across her cheeks and up her forehead. Nobody blushes like Bess.