Stealing Reese (Wildcat Graduates Book 5) Read online

  A Wildcat Graduates Novel

  By Xana Jordan

  2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Xana Jordan All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author and or publisher, and where permitted by law. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Ebooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away, as it is an infringement on the copyright of this book. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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

  Cover design: JM Walker at Just.Write Creations

  Editing: Lainey

  Proofing: CC & Ann

  Formatted by: Brenda Wright at Formatting Done Wright

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Xana

  Keep up with Xana

  Excerpt from Nixon

  Excerpt from Love, Inevitable

  Playing college baseball, and possibly even professional ball, has been a dream, one I’m not quite ready to give up on. Joining my parents at their law firm has always been in their goals for my future for as long as I can remember. At one point, I thought I wanted that, too. Then one summer, I joined little league and became fascinated with the sport. Making the school teams only fueled my desire to make it more than just a passing hobby or childhood sport. Even if I only played minor league ball I’d be happy because I love it. It’s part of who I am.

  It’s late, and I am too wired to sleep. The conversation I had with Coach a few days ago remains on my mind as I hit ball after ball in the batting cages.

  “You were a great player when I saw you in high school a few years back, but you’ve come a long way since then, son,” Coach tells me as we sit in his office after practice.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I hadn’t realized that.”

  “Like I said, you’ve really come into your own since you’ve been here. Keep up the good work and dedication I’ve seen so far.”

  “Thanks, Coach. I won’t let you down.”

  He rises from his leather desk chair, lifting his hand to shake mine. “You keep doing your best, and we’ll talk again.” He escorts me to the door, slapping me on the back of my shoulder when I reach the doorway.

  “Have a good break, Coach.”

  “You too, Dillon. Get some rest before you come back and I make ya wish ya’d stayed at home,” he chuckles, sending me on my way.

  “Never,” I call out, giving one last glance at him and earning another good laugh in response.

  I was unsure what he’d called me to his office for. He’s never one to make a habit of it, unless it was something serious. Hearing him talk about my playing catching the attention of important people only increases my determination to do whatever it takes to see my dreams through.

  Graduating El Dorado High School in May was one of the greatest days of my life. Being handed my diploma after years of hard work felt better than I dreamed it would. Celebrating with my friends at different parties and spending time with them during the summer was great to begin with. Then I realized they would all be going off to college, leaving me in El Dorado not attending school at all.

  Working so hard to get top grades while participating in several school activities took its toll on me. I hadn’t really thought about narrowing down my career choices, so starting college right away felt like a waste of my parents’ money, even though I had earned scholarships to a few different universities. Fortunately for me, they didn’t protest when I asked to take a semester off from school in order to give my brain a break from stressing over it. I love them for that!

  I’ll be starting college at Southern Arkansas University next month. Several of my friends who graduated high school before me are already there, making my mid-year entrance a little less jolting. Having that extra semester to myself has made me ready to start working for my future.

  Who knows, I may meet the man of my dreams while I’m there.

  Deciding to attend college at Southern Arkansas University in Magnolia, Arkansas, was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made. Playing baseball pretty well in high school gave me several schools to choose from. There were several recruiters that wanted me to play for their universities, but the prestige that they might have had didn’t matter that much to me. All I wanted was to play ball as far away from my parents as physically possible. Southern Arkansas University fit that bill extremely well.

  “Baylor is a much more prestigious school than SAU. Why would you willingly - no, eagerly - go to such a small university is beyond our comprehension,” my mother told me many times. I heard just how much she disapproved every single time someone mentioned my college plans around them. When we were alone, their disappointment with my decision was reiterated, my mother being the most vocal about her preferences. Dad didn’t seem to care where I went, but would have preferred I went somewhere larger.

  SAU isn’t an extreme distance from my hometown of Highland Park, Texas, however, it’s just far enough to keep them from popping in unexpectedly if they were to ever feel the urge. That is, assuming their schedules permit such a thing. Having them not show up at all would be my preference. They’re always so busy with work, they don’t notice much when I’m home these days. I have a feeling this break will be no different, Christmas time or not.

  “I’m home,” I announce, receiving silence in return. Of course, the house is empty when I arrive, I think to myself as I walk through the house hoping to find someone. From the looks of the fridge’s sparse contents, neither of them have been home much lately. I guess some things never really change around here. Go figure.

  Unloading my bag and dirty laundry from my car, I place it in the utility room on the way to my
room upstairs. The maid must have tidied up in here, because I can see my dresser and desk are free of dust. Maybe they did remember I was coming home this weekend, after all.

  Just as I set my duffel down on top of the bed, my phone rings. “Hello, Mother,” I answer with as much feigned enthusiasm as possible, getting more difficult the older I get.

  “Dillon Andrew. When will you be home this evening?” That’s typical Mother language for ‘I need you to do something for me.’ Looks like she was counting on my visit this weekend.

  “I just got to the house,” I inform her, continuing before she can jump to inaccurate conclusions as to why I’m early. “I finished my last exam earlier than I expected, and since I was already packed, I went ahead and left.” I plop down on the bed beside my bag in preparation for the lecture I know is coming.

  “Well, you’d better not make a habit out of leaving an exam early, young man. It may not be Baylor, but your father and I pay good money for your tuition and expenses, so you’d do well to remember that when you think of cutting classes again.” Of course she acts like putting me through college is a financial hardship - anything to bring focus on how grateful I should be. Never mind the fact that I have academic and sports scholarships that pay for most of my education, leaving them only about twenty-five percent to finance. She never remembers that fact at times like these.

  “Yes, Mother.” Reminding her that I have straight A’s is useless. She only hears what she wants, regardless of the facts.

  “Now, tonight I’m going to need you to stay home. Your father and I are having dinner with some associates from the firm, and the Macoms are bringing their daughter, Delilah. You remember her from this summer,” she tells, not asks me. “She interned at the firm under your father and me.” Would it even matter if I know her or not? No, not a bit. Does she not remember we’ve already met?

  “Okay.” My expected response pleases her.

  “You’ll need to be ready by seven. We will be home long enough to change before meeting them at seven thirty at La Croix.” The restaurant is only ten minutes from here. Heaven forbid we arrive anything other than super early.

  “Yes, Mother.” Laying back on the bed, I close my eyes in surrender.

  “I bought you a new suit and tie. It’s hanging up in your closet. We’ll see you in a few hours, give or take.” That’s all she has to say before hanging up on me.

  Throwing the phone on my pillows, I rub my temples in an attempt to thwart the headache that is beginning to form. It never fails to happen when I come home. Just another reason I stay away, another reason I chose to go to school, at a college she didn’t approve of, as far away as I did.

  Hoping that maybe if I just take a short nap it’ll go away, I grab a few ibuprofen from my bathroom to take before crashing on the bed, alarm set for five o’clock.

  I straighten my tie in the mirror, checking my overall appearance before leaving the bathroom. “Here we go again,” I mutter to no one, grabbing my wallet from the dresser, leaving my keys where they are. My parents are in control of the evening’s activities, so I have no use for them. I’m at their mercy for the remainder of the day. Why in the hell did I even come home this weekend?

  “There you are,” my mother states as I reach the bottom of the stairs. “I was just about to come check on you.” Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I embrace her, closing my eyes as I recall memories of her warm hugs when I was a child. The bone crushing hugs she would so freely give when I was little. Hugs I would seek out at every opportunity, just because of the way they made me feel so safe and truly happy. That kind of loving embrace doesn’t occur very often these days, having been reduced to mere greeting status. Dad still gives me his patented bro-hug-with-a-shoulder-squeeze-twist. That solid endearment chases away some of the emptiness I feel being at home.

  “Dillon,” Dad interrupts, “You’re ready for dinner, I take it?” He looks me over, not in scrutiny, but approval, and I feel a little more welcome when he lays that hug of his on me. “I’ve missed you, son,” he speaks low into my ear, only the two of us able to hear. He always tells me that when I’m home, and I love him for it. It’s the little things.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell them, joking out loud, but inwardly resigned to my fate.

  “Nonsense, you two. It’s not that bad, and you know it,” she chastises, hands on her burgundy-covered hips and blonde haired head shaking in her usual way. “It’s not like you’re going up against a firing squad or anything, you know.” Dad and I chuckle at her frustration. She can be pretty amusing when she gets her feathers ruffled.

  “Let me guess,” he intonates. “You didn’t tell Dillon about this dinner until today, did you, Ann?” His hands rest in his pants pockets, posture relaxed with a knowing look on his face. Dark brown hair - with a few stray grey hairs - styled nearly to perfection, makes him look older than he actually is. He’s the polar opposite of my mother, with long blonde hair that makes her look too young to be a seasoned lawyer.

  “That’s not the point,” she argues, shooing us to the front door. “Now, let’s go before we’re late.” Humoring her need to leave so early, Dad and I let her usher us out the front door and to the car. Once inside and buckled in, she turns in the front seat to add, “Make sure you invite Delilah over tomorrow. You two can hang out at the pool for the afternoon before the dinner party.” What the hell?

  “What are you talking about? What dinner party? I have plans with some friends tomorrow.” She can’t just spring things on me like this. I’m twenty-one and too old for this shit.

  “Ann, you’re doing it again. Let the boy be for awhile. He didn’t come home just to be seen at parties and dinners. He came home for a visit. He’s not a circus pony.” Dad shoots a scolding look her way, clearly not approving of the unconscious way she has of taking control of things, as well as people - more precisely, me.

  “That’s not what,” she argues before being shut down.

  “Ann.” His firm tone stops her from protesting further. Dad to the rescue, as always. He may not always be around when I’d like him to be, but when he is, he keeps Mom from going overboard on me. “Stop.” He shoots her one final sideways glance to reinforce his demand, thankfully keeping her silent. “If he doesn’t want to hang around a bunch of older adults at a dinner party that’s out of his interest zone, then he doesn’t have to attend. If he wants to keep Delilah company tomorrow, then that’s his choice. We have to respect that he’s an adult now, not a child,” he reprimands her. Wow. He’s never been that forcefully blunt with her. Is he ill?

  “I’m sorry, Dillon. I don’t forget you’re not a child anymore, but I just get so excited you’re home, I forget myself.” The apologetic face she gives me is full of real sincerity, and I can’t stay irritated with her for long.

  “It’s okay.” What else can I say? She’s my mother, and even though she loses her mind sometimes, I love her.

  “No, it’s not, but I’ll try to reign myself in better.” Her sheepish smile wipes away what little frustration I had left. “I love you, ya know?”

  “I know. Love you, too.”

  Our rather short drive is filled with idle talk about the dinner we’re about to arrive for, and everything Delilah. God bless my mother, but she’s not subtle at all about her hopes of playing matchmaker to get Delilah and me together. Fat dreams, Mom. Not happening, especially anywhere in the remotely near future.

  Throughout a good portion of the dinner, Delilah and I are left on our own to talk and ‘get to know one another better’, as my dear mother so eloquently put it. She made Delilah feel just as awkward and embarrassed as me. That alone should have terrified her into not speaking, but she took it all in stride, making meaningful conversation with me instead. The ease with which we slip back into our friendship makes all of this bearable. It reminds me of when we met this summer, at yet another function for my parents’ firm.

  “So, you play baseball for your school. What made you decide to purs
ue college ball?” Well, look at that. Not many people really care enough to know me better and ask that question.

  “Actually, several things helped me decide,” I begin, looking at the way she folds her napkin into a square after using it. Noticing my staring she blushes and shakes her head slightly. “You always fold your napkin up like that?” Nodding to the item in question, I wink.

  “Sorry,” she says, “it’s just something I’ve been trained to do since I could feed myself without making a mess.” We’re more alike than I anticipated.

  “Don’t apologize,” I reassure, tilting my head down to my own napkin folded in half lengthwise across my knee. The smile that overtakes her face encourages me to smile along with her, and before I know it, the two of us are laughing heartily at our eerily similar upbringing.

  “Ugh, I’m sorry to say I’m relieved at not being the only one with deeply ingrained, extremely proper etiquette.” She laughs more, and it lights up her face, while relaxing both of us more than I thought possible at one of these dreadful dinners.

  “Nope. Just as guilty here. Fortunately, I don’t have a problem forgetting it at school. I’d never live it down, otherwise.”

  “Oh, I bet! The big, bad baller with perfect manners. I just might pay to see that!” Her giggles continue, shoulders shaking in amusement.

  “Shut up, woman,” I warn her with little force. “That’s not the least bit funny.” It’s difficult to remain straight-faced, finally giving in to join her.

  Our laughter catches the attention of our parents, ending our pleasant and easy conversation, as we’re brought into their discussion of our lives.

  “What’s with the far away look?” she asks, tilting her head as she tries to decipher where my thoughts are.

  “Just remembering the night we met at that dinner party earlier this summer.” She looks confused by my explanation, so I continue. “Mother’s earlier statement about us getting to know each other better brought it up.”

  “Oh, okay. You’d think she’s forgotten how we practically spent the summer together,” she laughs, but she’s probably not far off. Mom does tend to forget things unless it’s important to her somehow.