Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Yup.
Leave it all on the field.
When it’s my turn at the plate at the top of the seventh, I foul off fastball after curveball. Tire out the reliever. I work the count full, and still I keep fighting. I give this at-bat everything until I launch a hard double that caroms in the left-field corner.
Yes!
I pull up on second, where I’m a friendly fucker. Tanner’s wandered over from short, so I slap him on the arm. “Nice game, isn’t it?”
He rolls his eyes. “Would be nicer if I saw you less,” he says drolly.
“Aww, you’d miss me if I didn’t get on base so often.”
The Comets infielder snorts. “I wouldn’t exactly call it missing,” he says as the next batter comes to the box, and he returns to short.
When I slide home a few pitches later, we’re ahead by three runs. All we have to do is hold on to that lead, and it shouldn’t be too hard. We have one of the best closers in the league in Shane Walker.
One, two, three, and Shane closes down the New York Comets, sealing a sweet victory for us.
“Shakespeare,” I shout to the badass blond British relief pitcher as I run off the field. I clap him on the back in congratulations. “You are the be-all and end-all.”
He tosses his head back, laughing. “Are you quoting MacBeth to me?”
“Brains and firepower. You’ve got it all,” I say with a grin.
“And you, sir, have a very nice bat. That was pure Shane Walker, by the way. No Bard there.”
“I bet the Bard would have liked my bat.” I waggle my eyebrows as Zane jogs over and joins us.
“You showboating again, Gun?”
“Of course,” I say.
“And I am impressed,” Shane says.
The three of us shoot the shit as we head to the dugout. It feels like proof that Rafe won’t distract me from doing my job.
Well, not any more than he did last night.
That was some top-notch distraction, what he did to me on the phone. But still, I haven’t said yes to his thirty-day proposal. I held my own when that man worked his dark and sexy magic on me, demanding I pleasure myself in front of the window. I gave New York quite a show.
And it thrilled me. Rafe was right when he said I was an exhibitionist. Maybe Owen was right, too, when he warned me to be careful.
I am. I’m being cautious. I’m taking my time. And no one could tell it was me last night unless all of New York can identify the shape of my ass.
If they can, I hope they enjoyed themselves too.
But today, baseball is the only stage for me.
A little later, I zip back into Manhattan in a Lyft with Zane, and we stop at our favorite late-night diner, where I order a chicken sandwich and a kale salad, and he opts for egg whites, no butter, no oil, and spinach. Dude is a health nut of the highest order.
As we wait for the food, Zane smirks. “So?”
I frown. “So what?”
“What’s the deal with you and Rafe?”
Shit. Am I going to tell him? “Dude, you fucking love gossip,” I taunt.
Zane shakes his head. “Nah, I just want to know what’s going on with my bud. So . . . Mister Tall, Sexy, and Hot—tell me everything.”
What is the deal with me and Rafe?
I’m torn. The more time I spend with him, the more I want to see him, talk to him, touch him. Maybe the distance of this away series will get him out of my system.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, as casually as possible.
Zane rolls his eyes.
“I mean it. Nothing is going on,” I insist.
“Come on. You were in Marlow’s suite with him the other night. I’m not stupid. There’s not nothing going on.”
I heave a sigh. I love Zane. He’s a good bud. But we have a bet going, and the more I talk about Rafe, the more likely it is I’ll admit I don’t have my act together with Mister Tall, Sexy, and Hot. “He’s not interested in relationships, and I’m not either.”
“Because of what I told you?” Zane asks.
Sure, the story of Rafe’s past wasn’t pretty, but he basically just said the guy’s been hurt, which explains why Rafe doesn’t want anything more than a casual arrangement.
“Because my focus is on the game, not a man,” I say with exaggerated patience.
Zane studies me a moment longer and then says, “Fair enough.”
But when I pick up my phone while we’re waiting for our food, Zane points at me and laughs. “Caught you looking.”
I groan. Am I that obvious? “You just love busting my chops, don’t you?”
“I really fucking do,” Zane says gleefully.
“And you’re really fucking good at it,” I grumble.
He nudges my foot under the table. “Why don’t you just admit you want him?”