So, Luke’s pissed.

I refuse to glance in his direction as I walk to the back of home plate.

The coach is trying me out at a friendly match so he can see how I play. It’s a test to see if he’ll risk taking me off the bench this season, so Mr. Frost can get the hell over it.

It’s not like the game counts for anything.

But it’s my time to shine.

I want to show Coach Keenan that I’m just as good as any guy on this team and that I deserve to be here. After the game, I want to message Dorothy Peters with It’s official! We made it onto an all boys team!

The girls back home have been rooting for us ever since we told them we were trying out for the Pitbulls. We’re doing this for all baseball-playing girls across the country. I can’t let them down.

And I won’t.

I’ve been playing ball since I was five years old. I know what I’m doing, and I’m not going to let some cocky pricks make me look bad.

Crouching down behind home plate, I glance up at the batter, who looks down at me and snickers like a girl trying to play with the big boys is just pathetic.

I’ll show him.

Staring at Holden, I catch his eye and hope his pitches are as good as the ones he’s been throwing all day. The guy’s got skills, and I hate to admit how much I love watching him.

Every time he steps onto that mound, my resolve to think he’s a douche melts away. His stance is so strong, his muscles, the way his body moves so fluidly.

It’s a freaking turn-on.

Which is disturbing.

Because he’s Holden Carter—a total…okay, I still haven’t come up with a good insult for him yet.

I’m working on it.

His blue eyes narrow as he looks at me over the lip of his mitt.

I give him the signal for a splitter. I’ve been watching this batter all morning and he doesn’t do great with anything other than a fastball. Holden’s been working on his splitter over the last couple of weeks and it’s getting pretty good.

He can do it.

Holden nods and I prepare myself for the catch, only to find the ball veering to the side as Holden pitches a slider. The batter misses the hit, and so do I.

I shoot Holden a confused frown and throw the ball back to him.

Had I not given the right signal or something?

Crouching down, I prep for the second pitch, indicating this time to go for a curveball. It’s not his best pitch, but I definitely know the hand signal for that. Again, Holden nods…then pitches a cutter.

I only just grab it, but then the ball fumbles out of my mitt.

The batter snickers while my cheeks flare. Snatching the ball, I hurl it back at Holden.

He catches it, shooting me a cocky smirk before getting ready to pitch again.

Because I can’t help myself, I indicate that he go for another cutter. He fires a fastball towards home plate and the batter connects instantly.

Shit.

Whipping off my helmet, I watch the ball arc and head for the backfield where Zane misses a difficult catch.

The batter whoops and keeps running, jumping onto third base with both feet before pointing at me like he’s the king of the world.

I huff and work my jaw to the side, throwing Holden a pissed-off glare before pulling my mask back down.

We repeat the same infuriating process with batter number two, which brings batter number one swanning past home plate and puts batter number two comfortably on second base.

If Holden screws up this next one, we are so having words.

In an attempt not to let him goad me, I crouch down and instead of sending a pointless signal, I flip him off.

He smiles behind his mitt—I can tell by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners—but then he stands there waiting for me to signal again.

I shake my head. No way. It’s a waste of freaking time if he’s just going to throw me something I’m not prepared for.

He gives me a pointed look and tips his head like I’m the one making things difficult.

What a jerk!

With an irate huff, I signal a fastball and he sends me a slider.

I manage to snatch it, but not without a frustrated little scream.

“I need to talk to the pitcher,” I snap at the umpire.

He gives me a stern scowl for yelling at him but lets me march up to the mound.

Holden calmly waits for me, fighting a grin as I thunder towards him.

“What the hell is your problem? Don’t make me signal if you’re not going to throw me what I’m expecting!”

He shrugs and looks away from me. “Maybe you’re not cut out to play with a bunch of guys.”

Gritting my teeth, I step right into his space so our noses are nearly touching. “You listen to me, you arrogant asshole. I’ve been playing this game since I was five years old, and I don’t give a shit if you’re too insecure to handle a few girls on your team. Get over yourself and play the damn game.”

By the time I’m finished, his nostrils are flaring and I can feel his breath on my cheek as he fires back, “I want to play with Luke. We’ve been a tight unit long before you came along to screw everything up. We understand each other, so get your butt back on that bench where it belongs.”

“You are such a prick.” I don’t know what comes over me, but I give his shoulder a little shove. He barely moves, his rock-solid body acting like a freaking oak tree. His mocking snigger makes my fingers curl into a fist. “You need to give me a chance.”

“I don’t want to give you a chance,” he bites back.

My eyes narrow and I glare into those rich blues of his. We’re puffing like two rabid dogs, both unwilling to yield. Damn, his mouth is close. The heat and anger radiating off him is potent. It’s taking everything in me not to grab his collar and pull him in for a kiss, which is seriously messed up considering he’s an arrogant, cocky asshat!

“Hey!” Coach Keenan yells from the fence.

Our heads both snap his direction and he gives us an urgent “get the hell on with it” look.

I huff and step down from the mound, pointing back at Holden. “Stop being such a dick and play the game!”

He doesn’t say anything as I crouch behind the batter.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” the batter mocks.

“Shut up,” I grumble, hoping like hell that Holden will strike this guy out.

No such luck.

Cocky Asshat tries for a curveball that fails, sending the second batter past home plate.

This freaking inning can’t be over fast enough.

* * *

After our disastrous fourth inning, Coach changes things up again.

Luke gets put back in as catcher. He and Holden get two strikeouts in a row. The Knights get one more player home before Kingston manages to run a guy out. It was a good play, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re now behind by one. According to what I’ve heard, we’ve never lost this friendly match. If we do, all eyes will point straight to me and my sisters.

Shit, if our batters don’t get a handle on this new pitcher, we could lose this game.

I want to tell Max to step the hell up and show everyone what she’s made of, but she’s been kind of off form since getting to Armitage. I don’t really understand why. When I asked her about it, she mumbled something about missing our old team. I get that. I really do. We were an awesome team, and trying to fit in with a bunch of guys who don’t even want us here is basically impossible.

But that shouldn’t change Max’s ability on the field!

She’s a damn good player, but she hasn’t proven it to any of these guys yet.

Damn, I wish she’d step up. I hate losing!

I let out a sharp huff and slap my knee. Max flinches beside me and catches my eye. We stare at each other for a second and she reads me like she always does. After a long beat, she gives me a resigned smile. Then, with a quiet sigh, she stands and walks across to the lineup of batters.

I don’t know what she’s saying to them, but two frown and one looks at the pitcher’s mound before he nods.

His name’s Zane and he’s probably one of the nicest guys on the team so far. He’s kind of flirty, but in a cute, non-creepy way.

Fitting his helmet on, he grabs his bat and then looks at Max again, like he’s trying to weigh up what she just said.

I frown, tempted to go over and find out what my sister’s doing. She won’t catch my eye though and I have to suffice with sitting here, bobbing my knee and watching Zane.

He sets up on home plate, gripping the bat and looking to the mound. His stance is strong…and he manages to connect with the ball, racing down to first base.

Max smiles and claps before turning back and giving Kingston a pointed look.

He’s dubious but bobs his head and steps up to home plate with narrowed eyes.

Thanks to a decent hit, he gets Zane to third base and manages to get comfortable on first.

“Can I have a turn, Coach?” Max reaches for a bat.

Coach Keenan kind of gawks in surprise. “The way you’ve been batting? We’ve got two runners on. I need to send in someone who can get them home.”

“That someone’s me.” She looks him in the eye.

I grin. Max’s self-confidence is always delivered with such calm humility. She’s not being arrogant; she’s just speaking the truth.

Coach gives her a skeptical frown.

Grabbing a helmet, Max nestles it on her head with a grin. “Look, I know I’ve been off form the past couple of weeks, but I’m telling you, I can get these guys home. We can get a comfortable lead on the Knights and win this thing.” Slapping his arm, she rests the bat on her shoulder and murmurs, “Trust me.”

He doesn’t have time to argue before she walks out.

Dad starts whooping from his spot next to Mom. I roll my eyes and try not to let it grate on me.

“You got this, Maximus!” he booms.

The crowd around him laughs at his nickname for her, and then some guy several rows back hollers, “Yeah, Maximus!” He raises both his arms before being tugged to sit back down.

I recognize the guy but don’t know his name. It’s not until he plunks into his seat and I see him sitting in a row with his friends that I finally place him. He’s part of Velocity. Not the sexy one with the dark skin and long hair that all the girls seem to swoon over, but the shortest one. He looks Latino. His hair is dark and shaggy. I think Rahn said he was the drummer.

Whatever. I don’t have time for idiots who are only here to mock us.

My eyes snap back to Max as she walks up to home plate.

Please prove these jerks wrong, sis. Please.

She’s swinging the bat in her usual warm-up tradition, taking a few slow breaths before setting her stance and staring down the pitcher.

He laughs like it’s a joke, glancing at Coach Keenan as if to say, “You serious?”

The coach groans in his throat while I stand up and grip the fence.

“Come on, Maxy,” I whisper.

The pitcher winds up and lets fly…and I hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

Thwack!

Max’s bat connects perfectly, sending the ball flying to the outfield…and beyond.

“Home run!” I scream, lifting my arms and cheering as Max lopes around the bases, giving Zane and Kingston high fives after stepping over home plate.

The Armitage crowd has erupted in the stands. They’re on their feet shouting and applauding.

Velocity has jumped up and they’re all gaping in surprise. The drummer sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles before ruffling Cairo’s hair and laughing.

By the way the Pitbulls are staring at the stands, they obviously don’t get this kind of support very often.

I stretch my arms wide and pull Max into a hug the second she reaches us. Chloe jumps on my back and we laugh together before being pulled apart by some of the guys, who jostle Max and start talking like she’s one of the team.

“How’d you know to do that?” Zane asks.

Max mumbles, “I told you. Pitchers always have tells. You just need to look for them.”

Luke throws her a confused frown before shoving on his helmet and grabbing a bat.

He strikes out. Chloe hits a pop fly to the left fielder, and Holden grounds out straight to first base.

Coach then puts me and my sisters in to finish out the game. Because Chloe and I are used to working together, we pitch and catch in sync. Thankfully, it redeems my dismal start.

The Pitbulls maintain the lead and we come away with a win. By the way half the guys are talking, we’ve earned our stripes…especially Max.

“All right, all right!” Coach quiets us down after the game. We’re squeezed into the boys’ locker room for his postgame speech. “Welcome to the Pitbulls, Barlows. Good job today.” He’s looking at Max when he’s talking but I still can’t help a spike of pride. “We’re set for a good season. Starting lineup will remain the same for game one, but I’ll be putting the girls into the rotation within the first couple of innings. They’ve earned their place, in spite of the rocky start.”

He shoots me a quick look, which makes me turn to find Holden.

We quietly glare at one another, unable to break the connection.

It’s so tempting to call him out on the bullshit he tried to pull. I can tell by the look in his eye that he’s expecting me to. Biting my lips together, I look to the floor.

“Okay?” Coach claps his hands and the rest of the team shouts, “Yes, Coach!” There’s a touch of pride in his smile as he gazes around the boys. He then glances at us and points to the door. “Right, girls, head to your locker room. Everyone else, shower up! Enjoy your weekend.”

The team splits in different directions, already talking about hanging out later to celebrate. Zane points at us, inviting us along. Max gives some vague, noncommittal answer which leaves our options wide open, but then goes ahead and dishes out her cell phone number. I sidestep the exchange and head for the one person I probably shouldn’t.

He’s standing alone by his locker, pulling off his shirt and damn…he has such a great body.

Hot. Hot. Hot!

I don’t want my insides to be dancing with desire when they should be simmering with rage.

The guy is a jerk.

I want him to be ugly. His arrogance should make him vile, yet my traitorous body is zinging while my eyes betray me and skim his cut torso. He works out—that’s obvious. I can make out a six-pack. And those pecs…

Shit! Stop drooling and just say what you have to say!

I remind myself that I’m still steaming over the way he treated me. I may not have called him out in front of Coach and the Pitbulls, but I’m not leaving today without a few sharp words in his ear. It’s the least he deserves.

Stepping up to Holden, I throw all my energy into the best laser glare I can. “We could have creamed them today. You’re a really good pitcher—a game winner—and you nearly screwed it up for the entire team.”

He pulls back from my telling-off, throwing me a confused frown.

“I don’t know what the hell you were trying to pull by making me look bad, but I’m not going anywhere, so get used to it. And don’t let it happen again,” I snap before stalking out of the boys’ locker room and heading for the girls’ down the hall.

The thought that I probably just came across sounding like a stern mother makes me cringe, but I shrug off the feeling. He needed to hear it. Holden screwed me over today to try and make a point, but I’m not going to let him embarrass me like that again.