Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,8

buzz.

Buzz. Get it?

Ha!

“No girlfriends?” Mom always has to ask, always hoping one day our relationship status will change from bachelor to engaged to married. Our mother wants grandkids like a nun loves to pray.

I hate when she starts up about our lack of relationships because I hate letting her down. The truth is the kind of girl she wants me to bring home? They want nothing to do with me.

Like the girl today—the GM’s daughter, whatever her name is.

“I met someone today, as a matter of fact,” I boldly lie. No harm in bending the truth when she can’t verify it. Give the old girl something to get excited about.

Mom perks up like I knew she would—but instead of feeling gratified, I immediately regret lying. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I bumped into her at work. She seems like a really nice girl.”

“What’s her name?” Tripp wants to know.

“Um.”

“Her name is Um?” My brother stabs potato salad onto his fork and shoots me a smirk.

I kick him again. Dickhead.

“Her name is…it’s…” I look at my mom, drawing a blank. “Genevieve.”

“Genevieve!” If it was possible for my mother, Genevieve, to perk up more, she does it. “Imagine if we had two named Genevieve in the family!” She gets up and flutters to the counter, opening the cabinet and grabbing a tea bag. Sets about brewing herself a cup, though it’s gorgeous outside and not even a bit chilly. “Genevieve and Genevieve Wallace!” she croons, smiling to herself with delight.

Genevieve? Tripp mouths. You’re an idiot.

Shut the fuck up, I mouth back.

“What are the odds?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, dipshit, what are the odds,” comes from my brother. “And don’t fucking kick me under the goddamn table.”

My mother gasps. “Boys! Watch your mouths!”

“He started it,” Tripp pouts, lips curled into a sardonic smile. “And his girlfriends name isn’t Genevieve. He made that up.”

Mom looks toward me, bewildered. “Why would you make that up?”

“He’s a dope, that’s why.”

I earn another concerned look from my mother while she prepares her tea at the counter. “Is there actually a girl, dear?”

My nod is slow. “Yes.”

“Well. Are you going to tell us her name—her actual one?”

“Her name is Hollis,” I finally supply, glaring at my brother.

Tripp sucks and he’s dumb.

“Hollis. That’s a beautiful name, tell us more about her.” Mom sits back down with her mug of tea, steam rising as she blows on the surface.

“Yeah, tell us more.” This from the jackass to my right.

“She’s younger than I am, but not by much…” I think. At least, she looked younger, but with women it’s hard to tell. “Feminine. Um…to be honest, I don’t know a ton about her.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“Uh…work.” At least that part is true.

Dad’s brows go up and he lowers his paper to stare at me. “Work?”

“I mean, she obviously doesn’t work there—she’s not like a ballplayer or anything. She was there doing something.”

My brother laughs, cocking his head to the side. “Really, Trace? She’s not a baseball player?”

Shut your face, my glare tells him.

You shut your face, his says back.

I hate you, mine says.

But I don’t. I just hate being put on the spot and don’t want to disappoint our mother, which seems to be a common theme with me. Well, Tripp too—between the pair of us, the chances of my parents having grandbabies is looking slimmer and slimmer by the day.

Tripp is a moody asshole who scares women off with his bad attitude and me? Well. Smart women don’t take me seriously, because I’m not serious enough.

So, I get stuck “dating” women I would never bring home to Mom, and Tripp doesn’t date at all. I wonder when was the last time the fucker got laid. Maybe that’s his problem—sperm retention.

The truth is, I’m trying.

I’m just not sure how to change—I’ve been at this single game so long. Never had a long-term girlfriend; never had time. I busted my ass to get myself into the major leagues. I may have gotten a scholarship to play baseball in college, but I never got any offers during the MLB draft. Instead, I got an offer afterward, as a free agent, and spent a few years in the farm leagues, busting my ass in the heat some more to prove myself.

Then, I was called up, by the grace of God, and I haven’t looked back—nor have I invested a single minute into my personal life. My team keeps me plenty occupied; my friends keep me sane. If I want sex, that’s easy enough—all I have to do is chat