 by Lauren Blakely.jpg)
Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Don’t play dirty.
That’s the code I live by on and off the field.
The other?
Don’t get distracted.
Not by the media, not by hookups, and definitely not by our rival team’s ridiculously charming star player, who loves to whisper dirty nothings to me every time we play ball.
And sure, his offers are tempting, but he’s the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, and I want the real thing.
So I resist.
But the night he steals second on me in the biggest game of the year, the guy’s a whole lot harder to ignore. Especially after a filthy postgame kiss leaves me wanting all the things I can’t have.
What's the risk in playing dirty just one time?
**
A Note from Lauren to Readers,
When I finished reading KD Casey's debut novel Unwritten Rules I was so impressed that I asked her to co-write a fun little scene with me between two baseball players. We'd both written baseball romances so this made perfect sense. We had such a great time with these characters that a short scene turned into a sexy, flirty, dirty standalone novella that we love. I hope you enjoy reading Dirty Slide as much as we enjoyed writing it!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Chris Garnett
September
* * *
I really should stop flirting with Josh Spencer.
Truly, I should.
But, c’mon, he flirts right back just as hard.
Like at the golf tournament earlier this year. The dude stole glances at me seven times on the course. Three more at the luncheon after.
Yes, I counted.
And that was a whole lot of eye-fucking.
Which is fine by me. I don’t mind being ogled by sexy, driven men I’d like to take out on a date. Bonus that we play the same sport and get the demands of the job.
But I haven’t asked him to grab a drink yet. Asking a guy out is like waiting for your pitch. You’ve got to have patience and find just the right moment.
Maybe I’ll have the chance tonight when I step into the batter’s box in the fifth inning of a September game against our rivals.
The Union pitcher throws a fastball that paints the corner of the strike zone. A good pitch, except I put an even better swing on it and send it deep into the outfield.
And pull up on second base.
It’s a warm night. A sheen of sweat streaks his temples. His jersey sits close against his chest. Hello, hottie.
I catch my breath from hustling out a double, stripping my batting gloves off and stuffing them in my back pocket. “Busy night out here for ya, Spencer?”
“Hi, Garnett,” he sighs, comically loud.
“Nice to see you too.”
“We really need to stop meeting like this.” He pretends to be all business, but I can see the twinkle in his deep brown eyes.
“I’d agree, but I do like hitting doubles against your team,” I say since it’s my second of the night.
“Wish I could say the same,” Josh says.
“Hit a triple when you’re up next, and you can come visit me.”
“Count on that.” Josh’s lips curve into a grin, one he quickly schools.
“Aww, you’re looking forward to seeing me,” I tease.
That earns me a well-deserved eye roll. “Obviously.” Josh stares off at the mound for a beat, then gives me a quick glance as he says drily, “It’d mean I’m on third base.”
Ah, hell. I can’t resist. “Is third base your favorite?” I ask, laying it on thick in the innuendo department since that’s what I do.
In slo-mo, he turns his gaze to me once more, giving me the full effect of those gorgeous brown eyes. “No. I prefer all the way,” he says.
Well, then.
Our next hitter is up. I take a few steps off second base, readying myself, refocusing on the game in front of me and not the man.
And when my teammate sends me home on a line drive single, I figure I’ll just hunt for another chance with my cross-town rival.
It comes the next night when Josh hustles into third base, where I’m fielding.
He takes his time looking down at the bag, then up at me. “Yeah, I guess I do like third base after all,” he says, and yup, this feels like my pitch.
But seconds later, the guy’s flying toward home plate. And when the ninth inning ends, his team wins.
Despite being our rivals, I’m friendly with a couple of guys on the Union and plan to head out with them tonight. But the one I’m most interested in seeing right now is the guy who makes my pulse pound. The good luck gods shine on me as I wait at their clubhouse entrance.
The sexy second baseman for my rival team exits first, looking damn good in jeans and a charcoal gray Henley. And all that late-night stubble.
“Good game,” I say.