“Think we’ve got time for a quickie?” Cash’s arms snaked down my waist, hands crawling up my thighs and pushing up the hem of my dress. His cold fingers dusted under the elastic of my panties, sending a flurry of excitement skidding through my veins.

“We definitely don’t have time,” I murmured, eyes glancing down the long, dark hallway we’d ducked into. “The guys are already warming up.”

“They can wait while I make you cum.” His fingertips glanced across the hot seam of my pussy.

“Cash…” I mumbled before his lips crashed against mine, our tongues burrowing together. “You should go.”

He pulled away, his intense eyes burning with desire. “You should cum.”

I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth as his fingers swirled over my clit, one long finger sinking deep inside me. The cold wall at my back sent lightning bolts of frenzied lust through my nerves, my thighs shaking when Cash sucked the flesh of my neck between his lips. Razors sliced through my muscles with every overwhelming pulse of my release. Fingernails clutching into the stark white baseball jersey that hung at his shoulders, I shuddered. “Oh my God, Cashhhh.”

His fingertips slowed, and he removed his hand from beneath my dress and licked off each of his fingers. “Getting you off in public just became my new favorite hobby.”

“I don’t know if I should be worried or thankful.”

“Mm, very thankful.” His thumb dragged down my lips, the taste of me on his skin spurring new shockwaves of arousal through me. “Let’s say we skip the game…”

“The World Series?” I giggled, curling a hand around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “Not on my watch. Go get ’em, Greenwood.”

Cash gave me a cocky half-grin and stole one more kiss. Then, our hands locked, pulled us down the hallway and out into the vibrant stadium lights. The rumble of the crowd, like a living breathing thing, pulsed in the rows of seats above us. As we reached the edge of the field, Cash pulled me out into the dirt with him, giving a big wave to the crowd.

My heart pounded wildly as the crowd cheered, the opening lines of Greenlight pouring out of the speakers for their favorite golden boy.

Cash had come a long way to get to here. From getting wheeled out of the hospital a month ago, through hours of rehab and days of intense practices, he was sprinting and pitching better than he ever had, and I didn’t even think that was possible. Cash was ready for this. He was born for this moment.

He turned to me, eyes sparkling with amusement as he brought my hand to his lips and placed a kiss across my knuckles. I beamed back, happiness pouring through my veins with every look he gave me.

“I love you, Delilah Grey,” Cash murmured against my neck then dropped to one knee in the dirt. My mouth dropped open as my hands trembled.

“I can’t believe you,” I breathed, shock settling in when he reached into the pocket of his pants and revealed a dainty leather box. “Cash…”

“I know something good when it smacks me in the face, and nothing has affected me quite like you have, Delilah. I want to be the man who puts a smile on your face every day.” He pulled the sparkling canary diamond from its pillow and slid it onto my finger. “Will you be my wife?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, the crowd screaming and clapping around us, the smell of the dirt and the turf curling my insides, and him, Cash Greenwood asking me to marry him at the final game of the World Series.

It all felt so fast, and it all felt so perfect.

“Yes.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks when he shot from his knee and wrapped me in his arms, lifting me in his embrace and swinging me in a slow circle. “You’re my entire world.”

Cash pulled away, placing another sweet kiss across my knuckles, the stadium lights refracting the large cushion diamond that occupied my ring finger. “Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

I grinned, wrapping my arms around his neck and whispering, “You’re infuriating, Cash Greenwood. But it just so happens I like being yours.”

With our hands locked, Cash escorted me to my seat behind the dugout, the people around my seat beaming with love-drunk eyes at Cash’s little display. He was their golden boy, and now they loved him even more, I’m sure.

Cash had a way with people, the charm oozing out of him and drawing everyone into his energy.

I settled into my seat, pushing up my laptop as the game unfolded. Cash went up to bat in the third inning, and the stadium played Crazy in Love by Beyoncé for his walk-up song. I laughed out loud, watching Cash grin and send me a wave, then crouch down into his batting position. The first pitch landed outside the box, but the second Cash swung, following through with more power than I’d ever seen him use, and launching the ball to far right field, the ball clearing the fence and disappearing into the crowd.

Cash ran the bases, sending two more of his teammates to home plate in the process. The crowd jumped to their feet in a standing ovation. Two-five, Timberwolves were ahead.

I waited on the edge of my seat as the next few innings passed. Cash hadn’t pitched yet, I knew Coach was saving his arm for the last few innings, if needed. At the bottom of the seventh, Rodriguez went out to bat, smashing another home run into the stands and running the bases with a cocky grin on his face.

I’d gotten to know Rod a lot over the past few weeks. He’d made a point of stopping over at Cash’s almost every day, bringing dinner, talking baseball, spotting him while he lifted weights. When I’d first met Rod, he was all arrogant machismo, but getting to know him better had shown me a more tender side. And I was shocked to learn that he was still seeing Gina fairly often. It made me think he had a soft spot for her, despite the fact that he still talked about other women like a cut of meat. But something told me Gina was different for him, and that only made me even more curious to finally meet her.

In the eighth inning, the other team had closed the gap. With a score of 6-7, we were too close for comfort to losing the game, so just as expected, Coach sent Cash onto the field. Greenlight pumped through the speakers as Cash jogged to the pitcher’s mound, his arms swinging when he got there. I watched silently, and as if the entire stadium had frozen, Cash threw his first pitch. A curveball that went wide before sliding back in, and it did its job. The batter swung and missed. Cash threw two more, and the batter swung and missed every time. I cheered and jumped on my feet when Cash struck out every batter they threw at him, until it was time for the Timberwolves to bat again.

I watched as Cage sat on the bench, the live feed on the jumbotron zeroing in on his angular face, hat pulled low over his eyes as he watched the field intensely. I wished his dad could be here to see him, but I had no doubt he was watching it on TV from his place in the inpatient facility. Cash and his father were working at mending their relationship, and even when Cash was busy in rehab getting his body where it needed to be, his dad called most days of the week just to chat.

I knew Cash was the happiest he’d ever been, his life finally feeling more balanced. The situation with his dad was something that had weighed on him even when he’d insisted it hadn’t. The love was on his face, and right now he was intensely focused on the game because he loved it. He loved everything about it. He lived and breathed this sport, and when he wasn’t playing it, he lived and breathed me.

I glanced down at the sparkling diamond, thinking how nice it would be to run down to the beach and have a small wedding once his dad was finished with his first ninety days. He was already like night and day from the first time I’d met him. I’d even talked to Cash’s dad on the phone a few times, and I knew he’d really turned a corner, and hurting Cash, threatening the very thing Cash loved the most, had shaken him from the drunken stupor he’d been living in.

He was confident he’d stay clean this time, and just the way he said it, just the way he was so open and repentant, made me believe it was true. Cash and his dad taught me that miracles can happen, people do change, and love is all that matters at the end of the day—love for family, love for one another, love for the game.

Cheers from the crowd interrupted my thoughts as Rodriguez trotted to home plate. His walk-up song, Black Betty, made me roll my eyes, but I was cheering wildly a moment later when he drove a ball to center, sending a teammate to home plate and landing on first himself. Cash followed him up to bat, and as the crowd went wild, the pitcher threw him a slider that any player could have missed, but Cash connected with. Sending a long ball into the outfield, Rod scored and Cash landed on third.

I twisted my hands together, realizing this was the last chance we had to pull ahead. With zero outs, another teammate went to bat and sent a drive to left field, whirring past Cash’s head before dropping to the ground. Cash ran for home, sliding in just a moment before the catcher landed the ball in his glove. The ump called safe and the crowd cheered.

Just as the catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher, Rod stole third, causing the crowd to roar. With one more inning to pitch, I started packing up the stuff in my bag and preparing to run down to the dugout and launch myself into Cash’s arms as soon as he was done.

He jogged out into the field, a smile bright on his face before he seemed to land on something unexpectedly, his ankle twisting and a grimace of pain lacing his face. He recovered swiftly, and thankfully most of the crowd hadn’t noticed, but I had. Something had happened. And I knew him. He wouldn’t say anything and get through these last few pitches. He wanted to give the crowd what they wanted, and what they wanted was their star pitcher throwing the last inning.

I chewed on my bottom lip, frozen as Cash reached the pitcher's mound, his feet shifting back and forth as he was trying to work out the pain that seemed to be there. The catcher shot symbols between his legs and Cash made a few movements with his hat to indicate what kind of ball he was throwing. Cash was going with a breaking ball, something that would drop as it grew closer to the batter, causing them to swing lower than necessary and miss.

The catcher shot a few more symbols to Cash, telling him to go with a floater, but Cash and I had studied this batter, knew what he swung at, knew what faked him out. The breaking ball was the way to go. Launch it fast and watch it drop as it reached home plate.

I shifted in my seat, waiting impatiently as Cash finally looked away, his arm swinging back, the deft twitch of his wrist told me exactly what he was going to do.

The batter watched the fastball coming at him, seemingly aimed for his head, before he stepped back and dropped to the ground, thinking he was narrowly avoiding a ball meant for his head, when at the last minute it dropped and slid through the safety zone.

First ball.

I cheered, thinking Cash knew exactly what he was doing and what we’d spent the time studying. Cash knew his analytics about as well as I did at this point. All those late nights spent watching ESPN and talking about the players were paying off right now.

I grinned when Cash threw another ball, this time curving it far left. Then he threw the third ball, and the batter connected with it, sending it bouncing out to shortstop where it was caught and thrown to first to give them their first out.

Cash threw to four more players, only one of them scoring, when another batter trotted to home plate. Cash walked a circle around the pitching mound, loosening his shoulders, favoring his left ankle a little more every step.

Shit, he was hurt. Maybe I should tell Coach to pull him, but if I knew Cash, he wouldn’t do it. He’d been prepping all season for this game and there was no way he would let a bruised ankle stop him from pitching.

I swallowed the lump in my throat when Cash threw another fastball, his gaze intense and his jaw clenched tight. He was in pain, I could see it on his face. He was pitching the best game of his life and he was suffering through it. Another curveball, and with only one more strike out, the crowd held their breath as Cash wound up for what we were all hoping was the final throw of the game. He twisted back, launching the ball as his leg twisted, the grimace on his face upon release all I needed to see. Without watching what came next, I launched out of my seat and made my way down the bleachers to run into the dugout.

The crowd was cheering, but I only had eyes for Cash.

He’d struck the batter out. The Timberwolves had won the World Series.

Players swarmed the field and were celebrating, Cash was enveloped in the fold of white-uniformed bodies as confetti and balloons released into the air. Camera crews flooded the field, microphones thrust in players’ faces. I still couldn’t see him through the swarm of people.

I had to see him.

Weaving through the sea of players and reporters, I came to the pitching mound, finally catching sight of his tall form in the sea of white.

“Cash!” I called, sprinting the distance between us, until his arm snaked around me and pulling me into a hug.

“We did it.”

“You did good, baby.” I kissed him on the lips. “How’s your ankle?”

Cash’s gaze darkened, though the smile was still imprinted on his face. “Little tender.” He shook his head. “But we won the fucking World Series!”

He laughed, pulling the ball cap from his head and throwing it up into the air. I’d never seen Cash Greenwood more alive. I don’t know what I’d been thinking avoiding him just because he was a ball player, because we lived for this game. I lived and breathed the ball field, knew my way around the sport as well as any of these guys, and it made me feel alive, too. I was wrong to deny it, wrong to judge the sport based on the bad experiences I’d had with my father.

Instead of denying my love for this sport, and one very special ball player in it, I should have embraced it.

Now I was.

I’d found myself again when I’d found Cash.