Chapter 2

TWO

CAL

I can't believe she's here. I've been trying to ignore Carrie since six months after her mother died. I'm ashamed how I've been thinking about her when she'd come to visit. Dressing in short shorts and tank tops during the summer. And bikinis. She'd take advantage of my swimming pool. Her generous flesh filled those two tiny pieces to overflowing, my eyes closing at the sight, wishing she was ten again.

I had to hurry back inside with a murmured excuse, not sure what I had even said at the time. I raced to my room, my dick getting harder and harder with every thought of her in that bikini, wishing the fabric wasn't there. The cold shower I took didn't help much and I had to work hard at rubbing one out because I couldn't get her out of my mind.

Now I have to see her again. Talk to her again.

Have her in my house again.

In the here and now the guys are slapping my back at getting us this win. Past my team, the reporters and cameramen wait for their interviews. I sigh my deepest and most sorry-for-myself sighs I have in me. I hate, hate, hate the interviews. I feel stupid talking about my projections on the next game. I mean how am I supposed to know what will happen in the next one?

I slip away from the reporters, wanting time to myself and a hot shower and maybe an ice pack around my throwing arm. Being a forty-year-old pitcher is hard on the joints and muscles.

After the shower I head over to Doc's office for that ice pack.

"Cal. What's up." Doc Garcia is a young specialist in sports injuries, she's amazingly intelligent and knowledgeable in anything orthopedic.

"Doc, you know. My shoulder. Thought you could start the rehab till the next game." I sit on the gurney, my shirt in my hands. I already know what she's going to do, we've been doing this dance for a few years now since she arrived. Her homeopathic remedies have worked amazingly, surgery isn't on my ticket if I can help it. Maria disagrees.

She lays a hand on my knee, "Cal, you have to reconsider. You have two choices here. Retire or have surgery. I've done all I can without it. I'm pretty sure it'll give you at least one more year. Of course, you know nothing is one hundred percent. Think about it. Please."

"Sure doc. You know I trust your opinion. You're the best orthopedic and kinesiologist in my opinion."

She blushes and laughs with a schoolgirl giggle, darting her gaze away for a second, returning it back with a more professional smile.

I've known for a few months she has a slight crush on me, I've made sure to be completely professional at all times, not wanting to give her an idea I might be interested.

She patted the back of my hand on the paper-covered gurney, "think about it hard, Cal. We could do it right after playoffs and you could be ready to go by the time you start again next year."

"Thanks, Maria. I really will think about it this time."

"Go on then. Get out of here and rest. Keep that arm in the sling." I hop off the gurney and she makes waving motions at me. I laugh, hope rising in my chest like a balloon filled with helium. I don't feel bad enough to retire yet. I'm only forty, I'm still young. Maybe the surgery will give me a few more years.

As I walk out her office, I slide my t-shirt over my head and walk to the family room, as we call it. It's where the family members who came, wait for us to finish. I walk through the open doorway, not wanting to do a meet and greet tonight but I have to do this. This wasn't a normal game; this was a game if we lost meant we were out. This was our last chance and we did it.

There are groups of people around the white, linen-covered buffet table holding drinks and food, yakking and greeting each other. Voices talking game stats, about their lives, enjoying good-hearted arguing. All I want to do is go home, have a drink or twenty and go to bed. In that order.

Everyone looks familiar except for one woman who's back is to me. Her gorgeous curves are a delight to my world-weary eyes.

The woman I've been…I don't know how to describe her. We're not dating, she's not my girlfriend, she's been going to banquets and events with me. She's always just there. Available.

Her name is Casey Mastersen, sister to some famous actor. Don't know him, I don't have time or interest to watch tv or movies. She's arm candy. That's all, nothing more.

The woman I'm watching who seems familiar but I don't recognize, turns. I do know her. My stepdaughter, Carrie. My God, in the year and a half since I've seen her, she's matured into a gorgeous woman. A woman any red-blooded man with a working dick will want around and under him. Thick dark hair, brown eyes and curves that I want to get my hands on. I can't. I won't be a dirty old man.

I move to the food table, my stomach growling like an unfed beast, the Mexican food on display and spicy scents make the hunger worse. I grab a plate and start filling it and grab a water.

"Hey, Cal." The soft voice I dream about late at night and jack off to in the shower is next to me. I briefly close my eyes, afraid to look at her. I have to stop acting like an idiot and be the man I usually am, not a teenager afraid to talk to the girl he likes.

"Carrie. Surprised you're here." I turn to her, my hand out like we're not family. Like I haven't known her since she was a kid. "When did you get here? Why?"

Her eyes meet mine for a moment, a darkness filling them, ignoring my hand. It could be sadness or dejection or disappointment. I have to ignore it; I can't let her know I have feelings. She's my fucking stepdaughter after all.

"So, why are you here?" I ask again, with one hand I carry my plate and water to a table and my other on her waist. I can't ignore her. "Sit."

She peeks her gaze up to mine then lowering it to the table. I don't know why she's acting so fearful, she knows I'd never hurt her.

"Are you sure your girlfriend is okay with this?" Her belligerent, jealous glare is sexy as fuck.

"Girlfriend?" I frown, my mind searching for who she can mean when the sledgehammer hits me over my head. Fucking Casey Mastersen. Well, maybe if I pretend she is, I can get away with leaving Carrie alone. Am I strong enough? How can I not be? I lift weights men younger than I can't lift, I run for miles every day. I'm in the best shape of my life except for my shoulder, but emotionally am I strong enough that's the question.

"Casey, yes. She should be here any time now." I don't know how I'm going to be able to keep pretending she's my girlfriend if Carrie is here for more than a day or so. Casey is the most annoying person I ever met. She's pretentious, not on anything she ever done because I don't think she has ever accomplished anything on her own. She hangs onto her brother's accolades with her fists.

"Well, I just wanted to visit. Haven't seen you in a while and wanted to cheer you on to win." She bites her bottom lip and I want to groan. I need to get away from her. Soon.

"Baby, I had such a hard time finding you." Casey's high-pitched irritating whine grates on my ears and along my nerve endings.

Every move, Carrie keeps awareness of her presence alive to me, a phantom caress, a ghost slinking behind everything she does. It's as if I can see her everywhere, feel her everywhere, taste her everywhere.

"Casey, have you met my stepdaughter, Carrie?" I try to emphasize the daughter part to Carrie, making sure our positions are clear. She can be nothing more than a daughter. Nothing. No matter what my body tells me, I'm fooling myself.

Lying to us.

Lying to myself.