Out of Left Field

Chapter 1

Rhys

I heard her before I saw her.

The harsh clack of her stilettos on the polished concrete floor sent a wave of relief through my system that was instantly washed away by a mixture of nerves and guilt.

There were only a few things in life that I hated, and disappointing Sloane Taylor was at the top of that list. Though I was sure she would find that hard to believe right now.

I could already picture the resigned look on her face, how she would cross her arms and sigh, and how she would chew on the inside of her cheek to mask her frustration.

Honestly, I would let the nerves and the guilt eat me alive any other day. But the pounding headache, combined with the alcohol swirling through my blood, made it a little hard to focus on anything other than the fact that I was sweating through my clothes and the room was spinning.

I tried to ground myself by focusing on a scuff that marked the concrete wall across the room instead of the way everything seemed to speed around me in a blur of dull colors.

It wasn’t working.

“He’s in here.”

The metal ‘bed’ creaked under my weight as I sat up to swing my legs over the side. I fought another wave of nausea and rested my elbows on my knees, letting out a slow, deep breath.

“Thanks, Stu.” The softness of her voice floated through the air, bringing a welcome warmth and familiarity to the chill of this cell.

Dread gnawed at the pit of my stomach as the sound of her heels got closer and closer, scraping to a stop just a few feet away.

I had no clue how to face her. In a perfect world, I could keep my palms pressed to my face and pretend that I hadn’t called my oldest and best friend to beg for help after months of screening her calls.

But knowing Sloane as well as I did, her patience was running thin, and now was not the time to test it.

She would leave me here. In a heartbeat. Especially after the past couple of months.

As gently as I could, I tilted my head in her direction, squinting against the bright fluorescents to find her scowl through the bars of the jail cell. “Hey, Pip.” My voice was hoarse, my throat scratchy and dry.

Apparently, even the starting pitcher for the Boston Bandits doesn’t get special treatment around here… especially when strippers and cocaine are involved.

Not that I was involved with the cocaine part of that. I knew better than to fuck up my career with drugs. But the lovely woman arched across my lap with a line of white powder on her ass put me in a particularly sticky situation.

Nothing a drug test couldn’t prove wrong… Right?

Fuck, I would kill for a bottle of water.

Sloane cleared her throat and, just like I knew she would, twisted her lips to the side to gnaw on the inside of her cheek. A habit I’d been trying to break for the entirety of our friendship. But after twenty-nine years, it seemed to be a lost cause at this point.

It was well after two in the morning, but she stood here in the Suffolk County Jail, impeccably dressed like she was heading to a board meeting.

Her long brown hair was pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her head, a few tendrils falling loose to frame her face.

She wore a white button-down shirt with long sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

It was tucked into a black pencil skirt with tiny white pinstripes; her black Louboutins tapped impatiently against the concrete.

She was pissed, that much was obvious. But even pissed off, she was stunning. A beautiful contrast to the dull, washed-out jail cell I was sitting in.

Describing my best friend as stunning felt like a gross understatement.

Despite the way her heart-shaped face was twisted with anger, her features were still soft, and my fingers still ached to touch her. To trace the cheekbones accentuated by the loose hair framing her face, and the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, fading into her cheeks.

Sloane studied me with anger and what looked like confusion, her arms falling from their place across her chest and slapping against her thighs. The movement sent a wave of summertime wafting through the air. She always smelled like summertime. Citrus. Sunshine. Home.

I swallowed against the dryness of my throat while my eyes trailed the length of her legs.

They’d always been my weakness.

Something I would take to the grave.

Pining over my best friend, imagining her legs hitched over my shoulders or how incredibly soft her thighs would feel under my hands… To. The. Grave.

I couldn’t go there. Ever. I knew that.

There were far too many missteps on my part for her to even look at me as more than a friend. To her, I was just the childhood fuck up of a best friend that she couldn’t shake.

Even now, at twenty-nine, both of us had successful, established careers, and she was still coming to my rescue and quite literally bailing me out when I needed it.

We sat in uncomfortable silence while I waited for her to say something. Anything, really. But her cherry red lips were now pressed into a tight line, her jaw set in frustration.

“Rhys…” Sloane’s eyes wandered over my body, and I wanted to fold inside myself. Eventually, she met my gaze again. A soft, subtle shake of her head was all I needed to feel the disappointment emanating from her. “Come on.”

I stood, bracing myself against the cool frame of the bunk bed as the room righted itself, then made my way over to the metal bars while the police chief, Stuart Moore, unlocked the cell and pulled it open.

“You’re lucky to have a friend like Sloane,” he said under his breath, “Get your shit together, Armstrong, or next time you won’t be here just to sober up.”

Sloane turned on her heels and started the walk back to the lobby, and my eyes followed the gentle sway of her hips, my hand scrubbing down my face.

Almost instantly, my stomach dropped, a stark reminder of why I’d spent the last two months keeping my distance and screening her calls. I couldn’t handle being around her anymore.

And it fucking sucked. For a lot of reasons. Mainly because the women and the alcohol couldn’t distract me anymore.

I missed her. I thought maybe throwing myself at every woman who batted her eyelashes at me would somehow ease the pain of never being able to have the one person I so desperately wanted, but it didn’t.

So, I did what every idiot would do, and I pulled away.

I quit calling, quit coming over, quit going to dinner with our families if I thought she would be there.

I stopped answering her calls when she started dating Stu.

I couldn’t fucking stand it. The way his hands would linger on her hips, the way it seemed as if he wanted me to see the way he touched her.

But she seemed happy, and I had to let her have that. That meant getting out of the way.

I stepped out of the cell, my blood boiling when Stu’s eyes fixed on her ass. They were dating after all, so it shouldn’t bother me… but it did. Anger and jealousy boiled through my veins, my molars grinding together at the slight smirk on his lips.

It shouldn’t bother me.

But the animosity brewed in my chest like an ugly storm.

I cleared my throat, cocking an eyebrow in his direction like I wasn’t guilty of doing the same thing just a moment ago. But that was beside the point.

“Pull your head out of your ass, Rhys. Before you throw your whole career away.”

Instead of responding and telling him just where he could shove his life advice, I followed after Sloane, jogging to catch up with her despite the pounding headache and the wave of nausea sweeping through my gut. “Sloane, wait.”

She shook her head as the hand gripping her purse tightened, her knuckles blooming white. “It’s almost three in the morning. I want to go home. We can talk later,” she responded with a clipped voice, stopping at the front desk. “Rhys Armstrong’s personal belongings, please.”

The officer behind the desk nodded, his eyes shifting between the two of us before stepping away and leaving us alone.

“I’m sorry, Pip.” My voice was all gravel, scraping against my dry throat.

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that in public?” She snapped in a hushed tone, whipping her head to pin me with a murderous look.

The ivory skin on her neck was painted a light shade of pink as her frustrations grew.

“Honestly, don’t you think we're a little too old for that anyway?”

Everything inside of me begged to repress the smile I felt forming on my lips, but I couldn’t help it.

The corners of my mouth tipped up despite the annoyance in her eyes.

“I told you I’d stop calling you Pipsqueak when you caught up to me.

” I held my hand up to the top of her head, which, even in heels, stopped just short of my shoulders.

She rolled those beautiful blue eyes and turned away, staring at the screen of her phone while typing furiously.

“You can’t possibly be working right now.”

I watched her thumbs burn a path across the screen, her focus clearly redirected.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried desperately to ignore the way my stomach churned in protest to being upright.

“Coke? Seriously?” Her voice lowered, and the shiver that ran down my spine was one of terror instead of infatuation. “I just—I cannot believe you. I don’t even know you anymore, Rhys. You’re lucky I know Stu.”

Sloane shook her head as she turned to face the counter again, resting her hands on top and tapping her red nails in irritation.

“I think you more than just ‘know Stu’”, I responded under my breath, my voice dripping with sarcasm. The second it spewed from my lips, I regretted it.

This was why I couldn’t be around her anymore.

The jealousy spilled out of my mouth unprovoked almost every time I was near her, and while she saw it as a protective, older brother kind of thing, I knew that wasn’t the case.

I’d had a lot of time to think about my feelings for her, and while it terrified me to admit it, I’d been in love with Sloane for a lot longer than I initially thought.