Her Best Catch Read online

  Table of Contents

  Her Best Catch

  Copyrights

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “You said it yourself, Ashton. You came to Sunday school looking for answers, and all you found was a girl who can’t think past your last kiss.”

  He smiles his gorgeous smile at me. “You can’t?”

  Allison Doll’s mother is rebelliously turning fifty, her two best friends have started dating and a gorgeous injured relief pitcher named Ashton Boyd has joined her Sunday school class, rocking her world into confusion, heartache and temptation, places she hasn’t visited in a long time, much less all at once.

  But with the help of family, old friends she really hasn’t lost, a new friend she really can count on, and God, she’s going to find out whether she’ll always be a girl waiting for life to happen or a woman who’s ready to commit to her best catch.

  Her Best Catch

  by

  Lindi Peterson

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyrights

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead,) events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-015-2

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 2011 by Belinda Peterson

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

  Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  Cover design: Debra Dixon

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo credits:

  Girl - © Suprijono Suharjoto | Dreamstime.com

  Man (manipulated) © Kornilovdream | Dreamstime.com

  :Mbhc:01:

  Dedication

  Ally B-God created both Allisons at the same time.

  I love you, Gigi.

  Dad-Here’s your Allison-thanks for the inspiration.

  I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I put my hope.

  —Psalm 130:5 NIV

  CHAPTER 1

  They say fifty is the new thirty.

  Which means in a couple of months when my mother turns fifty we’ll be almost the same age. I really don’t want to think about it. Especially since my mother’s acting sixteen and I’m feeling more like forty. This year I’d like to avoid the whole birthday deal entirely.

  But I can’t. I’m throwing her a surprise party instead. Which is why I’m standing in Bubba Bob’s Barbecue placing a really big food order even though I’m supposed to be meeting my best friend Velvet for lunch in less than ten minutes.

  Oh, well, Velvet is always late.

  “Thanks for all your help, Bob,” I say, shoving the receipt and my checkbook into my bulging purse. Bob stands there smiling as I dig in the aforementioned purse for my keys. I would like to say that I’m not normally this unorganized, but that would be a lie. And good Christian girls don’t lie.

  At least not intentionally.

  Finally, I find my keys at the bottom (well, where else would they be?), and tell Bob thanks again before I make my way to my car which is the one luxury I allow myself since I have moved back home. Of course, I’m the only one who would consider an old Toyota Celica convertible a luxury. The car runs like a dream, and it’s all mine. Only mine.

  The fresh cut smell of onion grass flows through the open top, a sure sign of summer in Atlanta. Spring azaleas have dropped their pink, red or white blooms while the dogwoods languish in their glory.

  I pull into the parking lot five minutes late and make my way into the restaurant. I get a table and settle in. Too bad my stomach can’t settle down.

  Velvet had a date last night with Trent. Our very best guy friend. The three of us have been inseparable since high school. And if things went the way Velvet thought they were going to go, I might just have to separate myself away.

  Bummer.

  I tighten my ponytail, probably out of nervousness. I pay more money than any sane human being should to have highlights, lowlights, shimmer and shine. My mother hates the fact that I pull my goldilocks into a ponytail almost every day. She threatens to toss my elastic bands into the trash. But she doesn’t and I just listen to her talk about if she had my hair, blah, blah, blah. I like the ponytail. It’s less fuss and trouble. And it stays out of my way.

  Velvet does not wear her hair in a ponytail. She keeps her rich, dark brown hair which no bottle could supply cut in a chin length bob, and she always looks like she just stepped out of the salon. Which is where she is now, which is probably why I’m waiting. Her guy is always behind. Even when she’s his first customer. I wouldn’t put up with it, but she swears there’s no one like Trey Haslow, the up and coming stylist in Atlanta.

  A soccer game is being televised while the Mariachi band roams around playing music and looking for tips. My tip? Don’t date your best friend.

  I’m really wondering how things went last night. For Velvet to want to eat here, I’m thinking it wasn’t so hot. Why else would she want to gorge on Mexican food? All these chips and rice and beans are a carbohydrate disaster. And Velvet always watches her carbs.

  Well, I can’t say I’m really surprised. (And feeling a bit guilty because of the relief that thought brings.)

  The it-might-be-a-date prospect didn’t pan out, so I’ll be here for Velvet. After all, isn’t that what best friends are for?

  I glance at my watch. It’s only twenty after twelve, which means I probably have another twenty minutes to wait.

  Have I mentioned that Velvet is always late?

  But it’s okay because I know this about her. I don’t mind sitting here alone, eating a few chips and sipping my club soda with lime. It gives me time to mentally prepare for whatever news Velvet has.

  She slides into the booth moments later surprising me.

  “Hey, girl. You’re early,” I say.

  She looks at her watch. “Funny.”

  The waiter immediately shows up and takes our order. Velvet orders a Taco Salad which makes me very nervous. I have never known Velvet to watch her carbs at a Mexican restaurant.

  “Well,” Velvet starts. “Do you want to hear about last night?”

  Here it is. The million-dollar question.

  I now absorb several things. The huge smile Velvet has had since she arrived. The sparkle in her eyes. The I’m-the-happiest-girl-ever aura that surrounds her.
/>   But the most significant thing is that she hasn’t eaten a chip. Not even one.

  And there is only one good reason why a girl would strictly watch her carbs. A guy. In this case, Trent.

  So what does a best friend do when she’s ready to receive news that has made her friend the happiest in a long time, but will not make the recipient of the news as happy?

  Eat. Have the mouth full when the big announcement is given, that way she can half-smile, nod and hold up her hand after pointing to her mouth indicating she would love to rejoice with you, but it will have to wait until all food is chewed and mouth is empty.

  Praise God there is a basket full of chips right in front of me.

  “So, tell me all about it,” I say as I grab a handful of carbs and start putting them into my mouth, mechanically, one after another. (So much for mentally preparing.)

  Before Velvet begins speaking, this dreamy look glazes her eyes and she does a shoulder shrug while holding her arms, like she’s savoring the most precious memory ever.

  I grab more chips.

  “Well, I walk in and immediately smell something great cooking. It’s some kind of Thai chicken dish which was fabulous. But before we eat, I scope the place out, jot down some decorating ideas, because of course, that’s what I’m there for.”

  Personally, I think she had her own agenda which had nothing to do with decorating.

  She sips her water then continues. “So I lay out these plans and he’s okay with them. He doesn’t even ask how much it’s going to cost. Of course, I told him I’ll get him the best prices available since I have connections, so that’s probably why he didn’t ask.”

  Probably, I think.

  “Then we eat that fabulous chicken. Oh, I think I already told you it was fabulous, but it was the best chicken I’ve ever eaten. No lie.”

  I need to mention that Velvet still hasn’t touched one chip, while I’ve eaten half the basket. And she still hasn’t gotten to the “good” part yet.

  “So,” she says, sipping more water. “After we cleaned up from dinner, we sat on his back porch, on the swing, right next to each other. And Allison.” She takes this deep breath and I shove chips. “It was there.”

  My mouth is really full trying to chew all these chips. It’s taking way too much concentration so I can’t figure out what she means by “It was there.” What was there? Lightning bugs? No, then she would have said, “They were there.”

  Good grief, I can’t even ask her because my mouth’s too full.

  Truthfully, I don’t even think she notices my dilemma. She had seemed so intense seconds ago when she made the big “It was there” statement, but now’s she back to her glazed look.

  The waiter slides our plates in front of us.

  “Hot, plate, hot plate,” he repeats. Like those big gloves he’s wearing aren’t a clue. “Don’t touch,” he says as I attempt to turn my plate. Doesn’t he know the tacos have to be on the far side of the plate?

  I leave my plate alone. The food is way too hot to eat anyway. Besides, I am so full of chips that I can’t imagine eating my meal.

  Since Velvet hasn’t said anything since her revelation, I guess it’s my turn.

  “What was there?”

  She picks up her fork and mixes her lettuce and tomatoes in with her sour cream and guac. She doesn’t eat.

  “The best feeling ever. The one where you feel so drawn to someone. Like you’re not close enough. Like there’s some sort of electricity between you.” She stops, then smiles and stares straight at me. “I wanted to kiss him so bad.”

  I am so full at this point I don’t have one crumb in my mouth. And I’m expected to make some sort of comment. I know I am.

  “Did you?” I ask, trying to rid my brain of the visual of Trent and Velvet kissing.

  “No. I’m waiting for him to make that move.”

  “So, you think he feels the same way?” I ask, because as much as I don’t want to know, I have to know. We females are warped that way.

  “I know he does. We’re going out again tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. How many hours is it until seven o’clock?”

  I look at my watch. “About seven hours.”

  She’s got it bad if she’s counting the hours.

  “It’s going to be the slowest seven hours ever.”

  “Do you think?” I ask, mimicking Velvet by pushing my food around on my plate.

  “Oh, Allison. This is it, I know it. Trent is my Mr. Right.”

  I smile, my throat feeling like a constricted mess as I blink back tears. I can’t define the tears. I’m happy for my best friends, yet sad for my loss because the three of us will never have the same type of friendship that we’ve had in the past.

  And right at this moment, I’m terrified of the changes this new relationship will bring.

  Today I lift my spirits by curling my ponytail. It’s what I call my dressy look. After all, I am going to church.

  But before church is Sunday school with Trelvet. That’s Trent and Velvet together. I have decided it’s good for my psyche to lend my own small sense of humor to the situation while it lasts. It can’t hurt.

  As I walk down the hall to the classroom of young adult singles, wondering if things are really going to be any different, I’m surprised to see almost all of our female population in the hallway, huddled together like they’re trying to decide the next big play.

  After scanning the group quickly, I notice Velvet is not among the throng.

  But I am not spared. As soon as I’m within arm’s reach, someone grabs me and pulls me into the circle.

  “Have you heard?” Emma Johnson asks, whispering.

  Whatever news that has this group assembled is good news. There are smiles and giggles and clutching of arms.

  “I mean, who’d of ever thought. In our Sunday school class,” Joanie Gables screams quietly. You know that voice people use that always ends up sounding like a squeaky mouse? Well, Joanie’s voice always sounds that way.

  I know they can’t be talking about Trelvet. Can they?

  “Allison, guess who is in our Sunday school room.”

  As Braedyn Roth, with her mass of long brunette curls and white straight teeth, stops addressing me, there is a hush and all eyes are on me.

  Can I buy a vowel? I am so lost here. I guess I’ve been so focused on Trelvet I’ve missed something or someone very important.

  “Guess, Allison,” Braedyn repeats.

  “All the guys?” I answer.

  Giggles galore erupt and I’m feeling like an extra on one of those oldie beach movies.

  “He is a guy, that’s for sure,” Braedyn says. Then she stares me down with extremely serious brown eyes. “Ashton Boyd.”

  Ashton Boyd. I run the name quickly through my brain. It sounds familiar. Maybe Braedyn’s cute cousin from Albuquerque? But then why all the fuss?

  “Okay. Great. And this is special because?” I ask.

  A collective groan escapes the crowd. Now I really hope I haven’t just insulted someone’s relative. They start shaking their heads which only serves to enhance their colored pursed lips. Way too many perfumes are mixing it up, and I’m getting claustrophobic. Truthfully, I don’t think I care who Ashton Boyd is. I’m much too overwhelmed by the Trelvet situation.

  Braedyn looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I have, so she’s right.

  “Ashton Boyd, Allison. The drop-dead gorgeous, relief pitcher for the Atlanta Braves.”

  The cliché ‘you could have heard a pin drop’ certainly applies right now. I don’t know what they expect me to do. There is one of him and who knows how many of us. I wonder if they are planning an attack.

  The poor guy.

  Hanging with Trent, Mr. Baseball trivia king, has given me an insight into sports. Especially baseball. And if I’m remembering correctly, now that Braedyn has clued me in, I think Ashton was, was being the operative word, a relief pitcher for the Braves. Right now he’s
unemployed, i.e., not a pitcher, i.e., not working, i.e., on any other male that would lend a bad stigma, but because Ashton is Ashton I guess it’s okay.

  Praise God I am saved from giving any response. Our fearless leader, Jax Rainwater whose dark good looks have caused quite a stir more than once, comes out to tell the roving pack it’s time to start class.

  I know he wonders if we are really going on thirty, because sometimes we still act like teenagers. Now being one of those times.

  I hang back, taking my time, afraid of being trampled.

  Jax stays behind and shuts the door after I enter. I spot Velvet across the room and she pats the chair next to her. At least she saved me my chair. I always sit to her right, and Trent rarely sits with us in Sunday school.

  Today though Trent sits to her left.

  “Morning,” I say as I try not to look at them. I can look at Velvet or Trent, but not Trelvet.

  “Good morning,” Trelvet says. I’m serious. They spoke at the exact same time.

  All the guys (except Trent and Jax) are crowded together. I’m assuming they are crowded around Ashton Boyd.

  “It’s time for our opening prayer. Take a seat.”

  Jax has to speak really loud to be heard over the buzz in the room. I hope having a celebrity in class doesn’t disrupt things permanently.

  Our chairs are set up in a semi-circle, and I’m wondering if there are going to be enough. Maybe having a celebrity in class will increase attendance.

  As the group of guys disperse to find a chair, Ashton appears. Oh, my. He does have good face.

  His brownish hair is a little long, like it could use a cut, but it looks great anyway. Not-too-long sideburns lend a rugged look to his very handsome features. I can’t see the color of his eyes from where I’m sitting, but they’re darkish, maybe hazel.