Sweet Spot for Victoria (Men of Baseball Book 4)

Sweet Spot for Victoria

Copyright ©2015 Hayley Faiman

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Editor: RC Martin,
Another Pair

Cover: Cassy Roop,
Pink Ink Designs

Formatting by
Champagne Formats

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Other Books by Hayley Faiman

Dedication

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Epilogue

Also by Hayley Faiman

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Other Books by Hayley Faiman

Men of Baseball Series

Book 1: Pitching for Amalie

Book 2: Catching Maggie

Book 3: Forced Play for Libby

Russian Bratva Series

Owned by the Badman

Seducing the Badman (April 2016)

Notorious Devils MC Series

Rough & Rowdy (March 2016)

For Celia
–

My pretty, Spicy, Latina friend.

This may not have happened without you.

Thank you for all my Spanish vocabulary help.

Thank you for being my friend for the past two decades
.

I
LOOK DOWN AT THE
little stick. It proves what I have been in denial about for the past six weeks. I am indeed pregnant — again.
Holy shit.

I am exhausted from the two children we already have; how can I possibly add another?

I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

Rocio is four years old, almost five; by the time this baby is born, she will be in kindergarten. Carlos Jr. will still be at home with me. He’s only two years old and he’ll be three by the time this new little one arrives.

“
I can do this
,” I whisper to myself.

“
I will do this
,” I say softly, screwing my eyes closed tighter.

“
I
must
do this
,” I say a bit louder.

I feel as though everything I do is by myself as it is.
I’m so tired
. So completely
exhausted
. I don’t blame Carlos, not exactly, but his schedule is grueling. Although he’s tried to talk me into hiring help, I can’t do it.

I don’t
want
to do it.

My mother raised five of us while working full time and she never hired help. My parents couldn’t
afford
to hire help, even if they had desperately needed it. I would feel selfish if I hired nannies and housekeepers. I don’t work, why on earth do I need the help?

So instead, I exhaust myself trying to be everything I think a good mother and good wife should be. I bake, I cook, I clean, I decorate for every holiday, and I craft with the kids.

What’s one more to add to the mix?
Right?

I can do it.
Right?

“
Mama
.” A voice calls out from the other side of the bathroom door before a little hand bangs deceptively loud.

Five minutes, that’s all I wanted, five minutes to freak the fuck out. Five minutes to look at this test and know that my life is forever changed, again. I should have made Carlos get a vasectomy.

That damn proud Mexican asshole.

How dare I even
suggest
getting his nuts snipped?
Ridiculous of me.

I should have held out sex until he went and got the vasectomy.

I laugh.

I’m just as horny as that bastard, no way could I have held out.

“
Mama
,” Rocio screeches.

I take a deep breath, standing from the bathtub before hiding the positive test in a box of tampons.

“Looks like I won’t be needing those for another year,” I mumble to myself.

I close the cabinet before opening the door to my
princesa.
She is standing in the doorway, her hand propped up on her little, popped out hip, showing me some serious attitude. I will never admit it to anybody, but this girl is exactly like me.
Attitude for freaking days.

“Yes, Rocio, what is it that my
princesa
needs?” I ask, arching a brow at her.

“That son of yours is putting all of my Barbie’s in his
mouth
,” she cries the last word like it is the end of her world.

Isn’t it though? Barbie is serious business when you’re almost five years old and a
princesa
like my Rocio.

“All right, baby, let’s go save Barbie,” I say with a grin as I take her little hand in mine.

Once we walk into the living room, I see exactly what she’s talking about. Carlos Jr. is sitting in the middle of Barbie’s discarded clothes and shoving her dark brown haired head into his mouth. Slobber drips down his chin as he chews on her synthetic hair.
Calmly
, I walk over to him and sit down as I gently take the doll out of his mouth and hand him one of his favorite Lighting McQueen cars instead. He doesn’t protest as he shoves the brightly painted car into his mouth.

I close my eyes and sigh. He’s teething his molars —
he must be
. There is a pool of drool gathered on his dark blue Lightening McQueen t-shirt and he’s going to town on the car.

I play with the kids, on the floor, for another hour before its naptime,
my favorite part of the day
. Once they are safely tucked into bed, I go into the kitchen and get a bottle of water out of the fridge.

My eyes scan over the Keurig machine and I whimper at the sight. No more coffee for, possibly, the next two years. I look down at my bottle of water with disgust.

I want to scream and cry, but how pathetic is that? Some people try for years to have children and are never blessed. I should feel
grateful
not irritated that I can’t have coffee and booze.

I snatch my phone up off of the counter and call the first person I can think of, the person who will understand my struggles and knock some sense into me at the same time.

Libby
.

“What’s up, bitch?” she asks immediately. I smile. I love this girl.

“Apparently, Carlos’ dick — and too often. He’s knocked me up again,” I confess before my ear is filled with her laughter.

“Have you told him yet?” she asks between her giggles.

I want to glare at her, but the bitch moved to Boston so I’m stuck glaring at the evil bottle of water that sits patiently waiting for me to drink it.

“No,” I grind out with irritation.

I won’t be able to tell him anytime soon, either. He’ll be home late every night for the next few weeks. Since the holidays are over, it’s time to gear up for spring training. They’ve started conditioning and practicing longer hours, preparing for March, when they will go down to Florida and start their spring training games.

When Carlos is in serious practice mode, he comes home, spends time with the kids, fucks me until he passes out, wakes up at five in the morning, and starts all over again. There is little time for conversation.

“How are you going to tell him? Are you freaking?” she asks distractedly. I know she must be doing something with her own baby.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him on Valentine’s day,” I suggest and she hums in my ear.

“You could have his mom watch the kids and do a romantic weekend getaway?”

I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating on where we could take a romantic weekend getaway. There aren’t many places he would actually care to go without the kids. Carlos is a family man, one hundred percent. While I love that about him, I want time with him as well. Though, maybe we don’t need any unsupervised adult alone time; he can’t seem to keep from knocking me up as it is.

“If I plan something, will you guys join us?” I ask, suddenly nervous about Carlos’ reaction to another addition to our already perfectly sized family of four.

“I don’t think you want us there for something romantic,” Libby chuckles.

I don’t really hear her because all I can think about is this cute Inn Carlos and I visited when we first moved to the city. It was in Aurora, New York, and it was quiet—nice and secluded.

“No, I want to rent out the
E.B. Morgan House
in Aurora for all of us,” I say.

Libby stays silent so I continue.

“Remember, I told you about it years ago? It’s an awesome mansion turned into an Inn. It’s perfect and you can rent the whole place. It only has seven rooms so we can get one for you and Pete, Maggie and Jackson, and Amalie and Jarrod. It’ll just be the four of us couples and I can tell Carlos there, with all his friends present.”

“Are you afraid of something, Victoria?” she asks, knowing me too damn well for her own good.

“No,
shit
. Fine, then don’t come,” I bark, harsher than I truly mean it.

“No, babe, we’ll be there. We’ll make it happen.”

I hang up the phone, a new mission set before me, and I call the
E.B. Morgan House
, praying they aren’t fully booked for Valentine’s Day weekend. I think that I could be wishing on a prayer. Why would a romantic Inn not be booked at least a year in advance?

The woman at the Inn informs me that they are indeed booked for Valentine’s Day, but the weekend before is completely open and they are willing to rent the entire Inn out to me. The price is astronomical but I don’t care. I immediately give her my credit card number and then send texts out to Libby, Maggie and Amalie. Within minutes, I have confirmations from all of them. With one less thing on my mind, all I can think about is this new life growing inside of me.