Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

“You’re very brave,” True continues. “You’re the only man in here tonight who’s come over to buy me a drink.”

“Well in my defense, it is an open bar.” The drinks are free and flowing, and on the house.

“Touché.” The sparkling cut glass is at her lips, but her eyes are staring directly at me, dark and smiling, filled with humor. “What position do you play?”

“Second base.”

One of her brows rises, and I wonder if there’s a sexual innuendo floating around in her head, or if her look is a figment of my imagination.

“Second base. I haven’t been there in years.”

Now I’m the one raising my brows, shocked, although why should I be surprised? Her brothers are both witty, wry assholes with on-the-spot comebacks that leave me speechless half the time.

“Are we still talking about baseball?” I venture slowly, not wanting to be a pervert.

Instead of answering, True gazes toward the dance floor, lips upturned, scanning and stopping, fixated on a woman in the corner.

“Have the journalists gotten to you yet?”

“Yeah—Summer Bellefonte already got my sound bite for the networks.”

There are sports affiliates at the wedding reception, magazines, newspapers, and sports channels who bid for the rights to Buzz and Hollis Wallace’s wedding photos.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together—that will just fuel gossip, and that’s the last thing you need.”

Me? “What about you?”

“What about me?”

The way she says it—like she’s a nobody—has me speculating if she feels lost in her brothers’ shadow. It wouldn’t have occurred to me that a young woman would feel that way about her two famous brothers, but now I’m not so sure.

There’s no doubt that Buzz and Tripp Wallace are gods among the living. Even grown men feel paltry in comparison—I would know, because I see it on a regular basis. Rookies trying to impress Buzz. News reporters posturing while doing interviews, trying to make him look stupid. Unintelligent.

Good-looking. Rich. College educated.

It’s a recipe that reads like an aphrodisiac to some, and I imagine being their sister might make a young woman feel…

Lacking.

But staring down at True—she’s shorter by at least nine inches—I see nothing but a gorgeous woman with as much to offer as anyone else in her family.

I change the subject so it doesn’t get uncomfortable. “So those buffoons play sports,” I say, referencing her brothers. “What about you? What is it you do?”

“I work for a recruiting agency. College.” She doesn’t go into further detail, so I don’t pry.

“Really? That’s cool.”

“If you weren’t playing baseball, what would you be doing?”

That’s actually a question I get asked a lot, so I have an answer ready to go, grateful for the chance to show a more intellectual side of myself.

“If I wasn’t playing baseball, I’d be an architect.”

“Really?” Her response is common and expected—I think most people are expecting me to say something like “I’d be a detective.” or “I’d own a small business.”

“I do a lot of CAD drawings in my free time. I’m designing my own house.”

Her eyes get wide at that. “For real?”

I nod. “Si. De verdad.” For real.

“Did you know Buzz is into real estate? Not design, but remodeling and flipping? He loves it—does it all in the off-season.”

I did know that. “Maybe he and I should do a project together.”

One of her brows goes up again. “Maybe you should.”

“Do you like real estate, too, or is that just your brother?”

“I mean—I like having a place to live.” She laughs, not committing to the question or the conversation. “But no, houses aren’t really my thing. I like…” True pauses, gathering her thoughts, taking a sip of her drink to buy herself time. “I like antiques.” Pause. “And hiking.”

Hiking.

That I can do.

Not that she’s inviting me to go.

“What else do you like?”

True doesn’t hesitate to say, “The holidays.”

“Which one?”

“All of them!” She laughs. “Especially Galentine’s Day.”

Galentine’s Day? “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day but when you’re single and not dating anyone so you go out with your girlfriends.”

That makes sense. “You’d really get along great with my sisters.” I laugh.

“How many sisters?”

I take a chug of my Buzz. “Six.”

Her eyes get wide again. “Six!” Common response. “Where do you factor into that equation?”

“Second youngest. It’s been rough since the day I was born.” I search my brain for an embarrassing fact to share. “Mi madre was in a lot of weddings and she kept most of the bridesmaid dresses, so my sisters would put them on and put me in one. I didn’t realize I was a boy until I was like five.” Tonka truck? What’s a Tonka truck? “I have one sister who’s younger—Glory—and it sucks to be her because I’m the one who got all the attention as the only boy.” I puff out my chest. “Favorite child and all that.”

“Blah blah blah, says you,” True says with a sniff. She takes the pineapple slice from her cocktail and pops it into her mouth, chewing.