Scoring the One Read online

  SCORING THE ONE

  A BRIDES OF BANNEKER NOVEL

  S.E. ROSE

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2022 S. E. Rose

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.seroseauthor.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of adult relationships and derogatory language. If such things offend you, this book is not for you. The book is intended for mature readers. For more information about the content of this book, visit www.seroseauthor.com.

  CONTENTS

  Want to know about S.E. Rose’s Upcoming Releases?

  1. Bailey

  2. Bishop

  3. Bailey

  4. Bishop

  5. Bailey

  6. Bishop

  7. Bailey

  8. Bishop

  9. Bailey

  10. Bishop

  11. Bailey

  12. Bishop

  13. Bailey

  14. Bishop

  15. Bailey

  16. Bishop

  17. Bailey

  18. Bishop

  19. Bailey

  20. Bishop

  21. Bailey

  22. Bishop

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by S.E. Rose

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  To all my amazing fellow indie authors. Creating stories is the greatest, but it can also be hard. Take breaks when you need to, follow your heart, and never let go of your great imagination that made you into a storyteller.

  Chapter One

  BAILEY

  If all of Hollywood’s hottest leading actors were merged into one perfect human, that person wouldn’t even come close to being as sexy as Ward Snare. However, it’s not Ward that draws my focus as he enters the café. It’s the man next to him. Bishop Henson.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why not covet the world’s sexiest man? Well, for starters he’s married…to another man…who happens to be my friend. But Bishop Henson is very not married. He’s also sexy as hell. And I’ve been secretly crushing on him for the past year.

  I watch over the top of my computer screen as they make their way to the counter to order from the barista. Her cheeks turn pink as Ward says something. She nods quickly and then looks at Bishop. I watch him as he reads the menu posted on the wall behind her. He orders and tosses a twenty in the tip jar. She starts working on their order at double the speed she worked on mine.

  I roll my eyes as I try to pretend to read the lesson plan on my screen, but who am I kidding? Every third word, I glance back over to look at them. I could just say hello. I know Ward. I’ve had drinks with him. He sometimes is at my best friend’s family’s house or her brother’s house. But Bishop I’ve only seen a few times at crowded parties where no one bothered to introduce us.

  My phone pings and I look down. Speak of the devil. It’s one of my best friends, Diana Moore or Di, the one whose brother is both friends and teammates with these two ridiculously handsome men.

  Di: Double date this weekend?

  I groan. Di and her husband, Garrett, have been trying to set me up with his best friend for months now. As soon as it was socially acceptable after my last breakup. I just don’t feel anything when it comes to Adam. He’s a nice guy and we get along great, but no matter what I tell Di, she’s determined that we are a perfect match.

  There are three important things to know about my best friend. One, she’s obsessed with romance, like she watches rom-coms twenty-four seven, reads Jane Eyre monthly, and wanted to name her son Romeo. Thank God Garrett vetoed that. Two, she’s the sweetest, kindest person alive. She’d not only give you the shirt off her back but also her pants and shoes. And three, she’s annoyingly persistent when she wants something. So, ever since she got it in her head that Adam and I would make a great couple, she hasn’t stopped trying to get that to happen.

  I weigh my options carefully. I could say no for the fourth time and make up some lame excuse, but Di already knows that I have zero plans this weekend. Or I could pretend my mom needs me urgently and my plans have changed. That’s a viable option.

  I hate lying to my bestie, but I just can’t deal with this date situation right now. Normally, I’d just tell her that, but she’s been stressed out with life lately. Apparently, potty training a two-year-old while working full-time is quite the undertaking. So, like the good friend I am, I’ve been avoiding the subject.

  Me: Sorry, can’t. I promised my mom that I would help with the goats.

  Di: Goats? Seriously? Can’t she hire like a hot cowboy or something?

  Me: Right. ’Cause there are so many cowboys in the greater DC metro area.

  Di: I mean, there probably are.

  Me: (straight-faced emoji)

  Di: (shrugging emoji)

  Me: (angel emoji)

  Di: (smiling-devil emoji)

  I sigh and put my phone down. I look up to see Ward and Bishop walking outside with their coffees in hand. A kid runs over to them, but Bishop walks away toward a car, giving the child a half-wave. Ward takes a selfie and signs the kid’s t-shirt with a marker he pulls out of his backpack. I frown. Why wouldn’t Bishop do the same? Instead, he’s talking intently to a woman in the car. And just like that, my infatuation for this man goes from full throttle to zero. What a dick!

  Maybe I should agree to go on that date after all? I try to concentrate on my work, but my brain keeps distracting me with thoughts of Bishop Henson. I shouldn’t be wasting any more time thinking about him, but here I am, completely fixated on his rude behavior as if it matters to me. Why am I letting this get under my skin?

  Finally, I give up and slam the lid down on my laptop. I finish my coffee and head down the street. It’s a mile walk to my apartment complex, which gives me plenty of time to think.

  A car horn honks, and I jump as a black car sails past me. I roll my eyes. It’s a teenager that I previously taught. Because at thirty-three, I might as well be an old maid. My first class of kindergarteners is driving now. As if that wasn’t a serious insult to injury, my mom reminds me that I’m a childless spinster daily.

  I look across the street and find Gem’s Garments staring back at me. Glancing both ways to make sure no other former students might plow me over, I run across the street and open the door. The little bell above it rings and my good friend Finley glances up from a book. She’s leaning on a glass display case that is the checkout desk with a half-eaten apple in one hand and a book that’s a romance, based on the cover, in her other hand.

  “Hey, Bai,” she says with a mouthful of apple before returning to her book.

  “I’m officially over him,” I announce as I walk toward her and lean on the counter opposite her.

  She peers over the book at me, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Am I supposed to be following this conversation?”

  I let out a long sigh and pluc
k up a ring from a bowl of handmade jewelry on the counter. Examining it, I toss it back in as my gaze meets Fin’s once more. “Bishop Henson is a dick.”

  Fin nearly chokes on her apple. She sets her book down and slaps her chest as she coughs. After taking a moment to compose herself, she stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “So, you finally talked to him?”

  I consider her question. Could I have? Yes. Did I? No.

  I shake my head. “Nope. But what kind of asshole walks away from a kid asking for selfies just so he can talk to some lady in a car. He’s a total creeper.”

  “Wait. What?” Fin cocks her head to one side. “I don’t get it.”

  “I was working at the coffee bar and Ward and Bishop came in and got coffee. I guess I could have waved Ward over, but I was mentally planning my future wedding. And then Di texted me and I got distracted. When I looked back up, they were walking outside, and some kid ran up to get selfies. Ward took one but Bishop ran over to a car that had pulled up and he started talking to the woman inside. Who does that? Honestly?”

  “Is this because the kid is one of yours?” she asks, referring to my class of kindergarteners.

  “No,” I say, pretending to be offended.

  She rolls her eyes. “Maybe the woman needed his help? Maybe it was his mom?”

  I give her a pointed look. “Right. His mom is a hot twentysomething with luscious dark hair that holds a perfect beach curl.”

  “Oh, so you’re into that now?”

  My face morphs into a glare.

  Fin rolls her eyes again. “Fine. Maybe he is a dick. He wouldn’t be the first pro baseball player to be a total narcissistic asshole.” She turns and reaches beneath the cupboard along the wall, pulling out a bag of candy. She opens it and drops a handful of chocolates in front of me. She knows that’s my weakness.

  I unwrap one and pop it in my mouth. It only makes me feel about ten percent better, so naturally, I eat three more.

  “I didn’t know this crush was so intense,” Fin states as she takes one chocolate and unwraps it from its metallic covering and bites it in half.

  Shrugging, I chew and consider her statement. I guess it was just a crush. Why had I built it up in my head as so much more?

  “It’s unlike you not to just talk to a guy. And heck, you could have just had Di introduce you,” she points out as she grabs another chocolate because frankly, these candies are addictive as fuck.

  “I know, right? I think…maybe I just knew he’d never live up to the expectation I had concocted in my brain. I suppose it’s better this way. I can go find another decent lay by swiping right,” I say as I mull over the situation.

  Fin laughs. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

  I grin. “Let the games begin.” And with that, I grab my phone, and Fin and I start looking for my next date. Screw Bishop Henson. There are plenty of fish in the sea.

  Chapter Two

  BISHOP

  “Please! Just for like two hours. I promise!” my sister, Stephanie, pleads. I let my head fall onto the back of the sofa as I stare up at the ceiling. She knows I’m going to say yes. I turn my head, and she’s leaning on the arm of the sofa giving me her puppy dog eyes.

  “Fine. But I have to be at practice this afternoon, so do not take longer than two hours!”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she nearly screams as she throws her arms around me and kisses my cheek. My little sister pretty much had herself wrapped around my finger from birth. There are four years between us, but it might as well be one hundred. Stephanie is a wild child, always has been, always will be. She got herself knocked up in college by a one-night stand and she’s been flying solo ever since. Well, as solo as one can get with a mini-me.

  “Unca B!” Hattie’s little voice calls out from her bedroom.

  I bought my sister this house a few months ago. She’d been crashing at my parents’ place, but after coming to a party at Kent’s house, she decided Hattie needed to grow up here. I can’t blame her. She’s made some questionable choices in life, but where Hattie is concerned, she’s always done the best she could.

  When I saw the tiny apartments she was looking at, I couldn’t let her rent one. This house came on the market, and I couldn’t pass it up. Hattie can walk to school. There’s a park down the street. And it’s only four blocks to get ice cream. It’s the perfect place to grow up. Plus, it had an extra bedroom, so I’ve been crashing here a lot lately. My apartment near the stadium is nice, but over the last two years, I’ve wanted to spend more time out of the city. Most of my good friends on the team have moved out of the city as well. I never thought I’d think about it. I loved city life. I liked to hit the clubs till two in the morning and then find a café and get coffee. I loved partying and finding a beautiful woman to bring home. Some people might even have called me a player, and hell, I was. I worked hard growing up. I spent my summers playing ball on travel teams. I worked my ass off in high school to get noticed by college scouts. And in college, I worked even harder. I finished college in three years and became a pro within two months of graduating.

  But last year, a college teammate died in a freak accident. He was out partying with friends and dove into a pool. He didn’t know how shallow it was and he broke his neck and died. He was in his prime, playing pro ball, just like me. He’d said something before we disconnected. “I think it’s time to grow the fuck up. I’m tired of this, Bish. I want more. Don’t you want more?” His words echoed in my head after we hung up. Partly because we seldom spoke, having not kept in touch much over the years. That video chat was an anomaly in a sea of text messages. It’s almost like it was a sign, a message to me to rethink my life. And I’ve been rethinking it ever since.

  “Unca B!” Hattie’s impatient little voice rings out again. I pull myself out of the one chair that doesn’t sink to the ground when I sit in it and head toward her bedroom. I mentally remind myself to buy my sister some new furniture for her birthday.

  Hattie’s on the ground putting my sister’s makeup all over her dolls. I grimace. I need to get her some new toys.

  “Hey, Hattie-Pattie,” I say as I sit down next to her.

  “Your turn, Unca B,” she says with a smile as she pats the floor next to her and holds out a brush with some type of makeup on it. She gives me her puppy eyes, silently pleading with me to indulge her need to play makeup artist. Fuck. I can’t say no to this child. Especially when she calls me Unca B. When she started talking, she couldn’t say Uncle Bishop or even Uncle Bish. So, Unca B stuck, and now she uses it like a weapon. Damn, the art of manipulation is learned early.

  “Fine,” I mutter as I take a seat.

  She claps her little hands together and whatever powder is on that brush goes sailing into the air around her. I can already tell that I’m going to regret this. She grabs a handful of something in a bag and puts it in her mouth, chewing contently as she waves the brush in the air again.

  “Close your eyes,” she demands.

  I give her a look, and she motions for me to close my eyes. I shake my head but comply with her command. I feel the brush on my face. She hums to herself as she paints my face with makeup. I hope this stuff isn’t permanent. I should check it.

  “Hats, is this Mommy’s makeup?” I ask.

  “No. I mean, yes. But it’s old. She says I can only play with the old ones.”

  “No markers, OK?” I say as I open one eyelid. She’s sticking out her tongue as she concentrates on putting what I assume is eye shadow on my other eyelid. “And nothing on my eyelashes.”

  She sits back on her heels and looks at her work before getting a pouty face and putting her hands on her hips. “Unca B! Close your eyes!”

  Glancing down, I grab anything that looks like permanent marker and close my eyelid. “How was school this week?”

  Hattie goes to a daycare that has a nursery school program. “Good.”

  “Did you learn anything new?”

  “Nope.”

 
“Hattie,” I growl.

  “Miss Jasmine said I was smart,” she whispers.

  I open my eyes again and stare at my niece. “Hattie, baby, you are smart.”

  She leans in close, so our noses are nearly touching. “She told Mommy that I’m ready for school next year.”

  Hattie is a brilliant kid. She has been reading for over a year now and knows her numbers and can add numbers together like two plus two.

  “Well, of course you are! And you’ll have a great time.”

  “Will Vera be at school?” she asks.

  “If she gets into the prekindergarten program,” I say. When I started playing ball here a few years ago, another player took me under his wing. Kent Moore is a solid person. He and his family live here in Banneker and they started inviting me over all the time. Even though my parents live nearby, I hadn’t been here before then. I fell in love with this little town and its residents. There are people from all walks of life. There are nice restaurants and little shops and parks. Even though it’s not far from the nearby cities, it still possesses this air of a small-town community. After my third or fourth visit, Kent had me sold on the idea to move here. Except, Stephanie needed a place and that had to come first. Now that I have Stephanie and Hattie set up here, it’s time for me to figure out where I’ll live, which reminds me that I need to text Kent’s mom about helping me house hunt next weekend.