“HEY,” I DRAWL AS UNASSUMINGLY as I can. My hand adjusts around the plastic handles of the craft store bag. It was my first and last visit there. Besides the thirty-four million paints and brushes, there are nearly as many mommy types that apparently know who I am.

I mean, of course they do, and I’m not averse to some MILF action. But all of them at once with no security? It got a little hairy for a minute.

Danielle looks up from her planner and removes a pair of black glasses. My brain is racing, picturing her lying on my bed, her hair up just like it is now in a messy pile on the top of her head and dressed in nothing but those fucking glasses.

“Can I come in?” I ask, my throat a little parched. I sit the bag on the chair in front of me and just take her in. She’s this mixture of sophistication and sex appeal, something that’s hard to pull off but she does perfectly. She could’ve stepped out of a charity meeting with one of my sisters or off a swimsuit cover, one I’d buy the fuck out of. “I’m early.”

“You aren’t early,” she smiles, standing. “You aren’t on today’s schedule.”

“Maybe not yours.” I flash her a grin that always gets me what I want. “I have an appointment with Rocky.”

“I believe I told you there are no paint supplies here today.”

“You did. That’s why I brought some.” I dip a hand into the bag and pull out three finger paint kits. “See? One of my best traits is that I’m always prepared.”

“Maybe I was wrong about you.”

“Why is that?”

“You keep alluding to these best traits of yours, and they’re things like preparation. Maybe I overestimated you.”

It takes a full three seconds for me to find my voice. I’m not used to being on this side of the conversation. “Preparation is half the battle, Ms. Ashley.”

“And the other half is follow through.”

“Trust me, babe. I follow through. There’s nothing I like better than executing so well it knocks everyone else out of the game. Driving home the win. Being so fucking good that my name is the only one they remember.” I pause a second to watch her react. “If you would like to see my best attribute, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate.”

“I’m sure you would,” she says breathily. “But you know, I also have strengths.”

“I bet you do,” I breathe.

“One of them is the same as yours.”

“I have little doubt,” I nearly growl, the bag crunching under my fist as I squeeze it in anticipation.

“I’m prepared . . . to have you escorted out of here.” My face falls.

Hers lights up as she laughs at my reaction. “I’m just kidding,” she says, scooting her chair back and standing. “You can stay. But only because I said so.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” I laugh.

“Uh-huh. I call the shots. This is my domain.”

“Hey,” I say, holding my hands in the air, “I’m fine being dominated. I think it’s sexy. However you want it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughs, but the ripple in her breathing betrays her. The candy apple red silk shirt stretched over her breasts nearly pops the buttons on the uprise. It’s hot as hell. “I have to say, I’m impressed you came.”

My brows pull together as I try to make sense out of that comment. “Why is that?”

She smiles softly, her features relaxing. Gone is the little vixen that gives me shit. This is another side of her, one that will probably be harder to forget. Vixens are a dime a dozen. This side of her? It’s not.

“We have celebrities in here often, making promises to the kids,” she tells me. “Most don’t follow through. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Her words are full of a pain I can’t identify. But it’s there. That I’m sure of.

“I’m not sure what most people do,” I tell her, “but I honor my word. Thank you for letting me come by today.”

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

“True,” I grin. “But you could send me away, and you aren’t.”

She starts to speak but catches herself. After reassessing her words, she smiles. “You’re right. I’m not. But can you answer something for me?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you here, Lincoln? You just come by and tell a child you’ll be here the next day like you have nothing else to do. I know what your schedule must look like, and I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that you showed up.”

Shrugging, I laugh. “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do.”

“I doubt that.”

“Maybe I like kids.”

That makes her smile, which makes me smile. “Maybe I wanted to see you too,” I offer cautiously.

Instead of responding, she walks by me, indicating with the crook of her finger for me to follow. A few minutes later, I find myself sitting at a table across from the one and only Rocky. He starts jabbering away about the Muggies, and before I know it, I’m wearing a streak of white paint and Danielle is nowhere to be found.

We paint for almost an hour, joined off and on by other little people. The kids are a riot, but I keep looking for Danielle. She never appears. Finally, after painting every farm animal I can think of, I’m relieved to see Rocky’s eyes get heavy.

I hold up his last picture, a blob of red and yellow. If I had a few beers in me, the thing in the center might be a baseball. Maybe. But probably not. Looking at my new buddy out of the corner of my eye, I grin. “You think I could have this? It would look awesome in my house.”

“I don’t know,” he says, yawning. “My mom really likes my paintings. I don’t want to make her sad.”

“You know what?” I stand and place the paper in front of him. “Always take care of your girl. And your mama is always your girl.”

His big eyes peer up at me. “Do you have a mama?”

“You bet. And even though I’m a grownup myself now, technically, anyway, my mama still takes care of me.”

Rocky stands too, his face smoothing out in an attempt to stay composed. It’s a look I could identify anywhere, a guise I put on often to keep everyone from reading what I’m thinking. Once I was drafted into the league, I learned real quick you have to keep up your guard. Keep shit, like feelings, to yourself or be exploited.

“You’re a baseball player. Your mom still does stuff for you?”

“Man, you better learn this now,” I say, chuckling. “You will always need your mom. Even when you’re a grownup and have your own house, sometimes your mom is the only one you can count on when you don’t know how to make microwave macaroni and cheese. She’s the only girl you can count on, so make sure you take care of her.”

His yellow sock clad feet shuffle against the linoleum. “The doctor said I might not get to be a grownup. The stuff inside me is fighting the medicines.”

The wind knocks right out of me, the same way it does when my brother, Ford, is being an ass and tackles me when we’re playing touch football at family barbecues. Only this time, there’s no hand to pull me up. Just a little boy looking at me, wanting me to say something. To be the adult.

“Rockster, I . . .” I crouch to his level, certain he can spy the lump in my throat. He reminds me of Huxley, my brother Barrett’s soon-to-be stepson, with the way he looks at me like I can fix the universe. If only I could. “Doctors don’t know everything.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I had fun painting with you today.”

“And I had fun painting with you too.” The words leave my mouth automatically, but as they ring through the room, I realize how true they are.

“Hey, guys.” Danielle’s voice fills the small room off the main corridor, and Rocky looks at her over my shoulder.

“Hi, Danielle,” he says.

I turn sideways, still crouched, and look up at her. Even from this vantage point, she’s something to look at. An understated beauty, fine features, with a magnetism I can’t quite put my finger on, she has my full attention. As I stand, a full blown smile drifts across her face.

“Looks like the two of you had a good afternoon,” Danielle says, one heel crossed in front of the other. “What did you think, Lincoln?”

Grabbing Rocky’s boney shoulders in front of me with one hand, I muss up his hair with the other. “I think this kid is the next Van Gogh.”

Her laugh dances into my ears. “Good to know. You ready to go get some lunch, Rocky?”

“Yes! It’s pizza!” He tosses me a wave and races through the door, nearly knocking a laughing Danielle over.

“He’s a cool kid,” I say when she finally looks at me. Her cheeks match the color of her shirt as she smooths her skirt like my sister, Sienna, does when she’s nervous before a fashion show.

“He is.”

“I think he thinks I’m pretty cool.” I try not to laugh while she decides if I’m serious or not.

“That’s subjective,” she says finally, backing out of the doorway. “I need you to sign a release, if you don’t mind. Even though you’re here for the day only, I should’ve had you do it before you started.”

I let the “day only” thing slide and follow her down the hallway. As we approach the elevator, it dings and a man in hospital scrubs exits.

“Danielle,” he says happily, too happily, extending a hand.

An easy grin touches her lips as she places her palm in his. “How are you, Dr. Manning?” she asks, clearly comfortable with this guy I’m absolutely sure I don’t like. I might even hate him.

“Great. Just dropping by your boss’s office. Gretchen is down this hallway, right?”

“Yes,” Dani confirms. “I’m not sure that she’s in though. Our department is in the middle of budget hearings.”

“I was thinking of grabbing a coffee in a little while. Can I get you something?” he asks, taking a step towards her. So do I.

“No, thank you,” she responds politely. “The place across the street has great espresso if you need something quick and hard.”

I gulp. The asshole nods, a sparkle in his eye that makes me want to stake a claim to Danielle. As my brain races to come up with something, he turns to me, his brow cocked. “You look familiar,” he says.

“It’s the face,” I say, starting after Dani down the hall. “Are you Lincoln Landry, by any chance?”

Danielle pauses midstep, her head turning to me. Her teeth tug at her bottom lip. I search her eyes, a swirling blue that could sink me if I let it. And I would really fucking like to let it, but I’m sure it’s going to be as hard as hitting a fastball from our starting pitcher.

“Me?” I laugh. “Hell, no. I hear he’s way bigger and better looking than me.”

I feel Danielle release a breath right before her heels start down the hall again. With a little salute to the doctor, I follow her.

“You lied to him,” she says under her breath as she enters her office ahead of me.

“Would you rather me tell him I’m me and have him coming back to shoot the shit?”

“No,” she says quickly.

I ignore the idea that maybe she might be inclined to chat with the good doctor and press on. “Me either.” She laughs. “Why is that, Landry?”

“I think he’s an asshole.”

“He is not!” she exclaims. “He’s here for training from Phoenix. He leaves next week.”

It’s obvious I just relaxed, but whatever. “Good.”

“Lincoln Landry, are you a little jealous?”

“Of that? Please,” I scoff.

Her head shakes, a chuckle escaping much to her chagrin. Instead of answering me, she fishes through a drawer and pulls out a file. A piece of paper is slipped across the desk with a bright red circle scrawled in the middle and an X denoted on the bottom.

She holds my gaze and doesn’t say a word for a long time. The air between us crackles, and at the same time, I remove my hat and she tugs at the collar of her shirt. We both notice, but don’t bring it up, and instead, exchange a knowing grin.

“Can you just fill this out?” she asks breathlessly.

“Sure.” I give it a quick review before reaching across her desk and picking up a pen right by her arm. My forearm skims the inside of her wrist. Her gasp at the contact ripples through the room and heads straight for my cock.

I don’t look at her. I don’t want to embarrass her. I also don’t want to let her know how badly I want her, and if I look at her right now, she’ll know. It’s written all over my damn face.

And the crotch of my shorts. In an attempt to adjust the package, I reach inside the pocket and try to discreetly get comfortable. As I pull my hand out, I grab my wallet and sit it on her desk like it was the intent of my movement. With a still raging hard on, I fill out the circled information, sign the document and scoot it back to her again.

“Landry” she breathes, just as her desk phone rings. Her lips are pressed together, obviously torn about what to say next.

“Take it,” I say, smirking. “I was just leaving anyway.”

“I . . .” she says as I turn my back and head out, leaving her hanging.

Let’s see what you do at the plate, Dani.