Current Day

“As the baseball’s winter meetings get underway next week, one of the hot topics will be the fate of AJ Gonzalez. The question still remains whether the Phillies will let their World Series catcher go.”

“They have the hot bat of Drake Gunner to fill his place. Although there’s plenty of pop left in AJ’s bat, the fact remains, you can’t bench Drake’s talents…”

“Fucking garbage.” I click the television off and toss the remote beside me. Slumping farther into the couch cushion, I close my eyes and rub my hands down my face. My self-inflicted pity-party only lasts a second when my cell buzzes, my agent’s name flashing like a bold trigger warning. Big surprise.

“It looks like a deal will be made with L.A.,” Bob says bluntly. A matter-of-fact businessman, he never softens the blow. Not that I need it. My ego certainly isn’t fragile. No special snowflakes around here. No way. These rushes of quivers racing through my insides mean nothing more than excitement. It’s definitely not, because I don’t want to leave the Phillies. I’m indifferent.

The Dodgers. In truth, Los Angeles isn’t a bad option. I love the area. Miss it even, but my family is here—along with a little spitfire I had the privilege of being holed up with a couple of days ago.

Shit, I don’t want to go.

For the past two years, I caught just under three hundred games, plus I led us to the World Series. Why am I on the chopping block?

“I can try to—”

“No.” I must’ve taken too long to answer because my agent’s backpedaling. That can only mean he thinks I’m unhappy. Shocking surprise. It turns out I am. “It’s my own fault for not putting in the no-trade clause at the beginning of my contract.”

“Nothing’s finalized yet.” A beat of awkward silence passes between us because we both know my inevitable fate. “I’ll call when I know the details.”

Fuck! I slam the phone next to the remote. An urge to hit something surges through me, and it’s all I can do to not destroy my television. Fucking sports newscasters and their fucking speculation. What the fuck do they know? Everything, my subconscious screams back. Fuck, even I knew this trade deal was coming. The airwaves buzzed with speculation as soon as the last out was made during the World Series. Coach McFay had all but warned me, but it still pisses me off.

I glance around the apartment, my gaze landing on the Christmas tree. My mind recaptures Mia trying to lift her pathetic excuse of a tree to the top of her car, and I can’t stop the chuckle. God, that girl is so fucking cute. I flinch. How many times have I mentioned the word fuck since sitting here? Damn, she’s right. I do curse a lot.

And that makes me chuckle even more. She’s so determined. A trait I find rather sexy. Or maybe I just find her sexy since I saw her naked in fifty various positions less than seventy-two hours.

Damn, I need to see her again. Or at least talk.

I feel like an ass. It’s been two days since dropping Mia home, and I haven’t once picked the phone up to call her. Day one is excusable; I focused on my sister. I wanted to punch the shit out of Drake, but Mia talked me down from that rage. She had a valid point. Cara willingly left with him and lied to not only Mom but to me as well. She should have her ass kicked too—my words, not Mia’s. No way would that ever happen, but Cara received one long ass-chewing which ended in her apology. I’m sure it’s sincere—not. No matter what I said pales in comparison to Mom’s lecture. I guarantee she won’t be pulling a stunt like that in a long time.

It peeves me that Drake took advantage of her. She’s barely of age, a fact I let him know real quick. I may not have beat him down, but I left him nearly pissing his pants. If he hadn’t been Mia’s brother… God, Mia.

My stomach churns. Not calling on day two is just inexcusable, plain and simple. Despite the fact she’s still too sweet and good for me, I should’ve called. I can list all sorts of reasons—like the big question mark about my future—but it comes down to my cowardliness. The fear of her turning me away has me reaching for the broken pot-turned-crown and walking down the corridor in search of some courage. She deserves better, and starting something now wouldn’t be fair to her, but damn, we’re good together. Would it be a crime to enjoy what little time we have left? I run my hands through my hair and grunt in frustration.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jax asks.

I drop my hands on my knees and look over at my stealth roommate. He’s holding two lunch sacks, and by the hint of cinnamon, my guess would be cinnamon-raisin bagels.

“Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”

“I have extra bagels if you’re hungry.” He waltzes into the kitchen not commenting on my erratic behavior. I’m going to miss his ass when I leave.

“I got a call from my agent.” I grab a napkin and pull up a chair. “Looks like we need to discuss what to do with the apartment.”

“Shit.” He hands me the cinnamon butter. “Is it a done deal then?”

“No, but I think it will be after the winter meetings.”

“L.A.?”

I nod and take a bite of the bagel—a cinnamon explosion for my senses. The only good thing about today. “Looks like it.”

“I’ll take over the rent payments. I still need a place to stay during the season.”

“Yeah. That’ll work.” I chew slowly, not feeling like eating anymore.

Jax places his bagel down and stares at me. “What’s really going on? You haven’t been yourself since… Well, since the photo shoot. You were stuck together with Mia for two days. Surely, you two hashed out whatever the fuck is going on between you.”

Mia’s creamy white skin underneath the palm of my hand comes to mind. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’ll be leaving.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ll be leaving her.”

He purses his lips and stares at me for a moment. “That’s rough, but I think you deserve to see where this goes. This girl obviously means something to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never been this broody over anyone. Zach and the girls are collecting information on how to stage an intervention.”

“Zach, really?”

“Okay, mainly the girls. They want their carefree and fun AJ back.”

I spit out a humorless laugh. Carefree and fun. Shit, Mia has me twisted in knots without even trying. “Tell your women to stop their planning; I’m not that bad, yet.”

“Take it from me. That special girl only comes around once in your life. You can always keep it casual and see where it leads.” He knocks on the table and stands. “The crash and burn outweighs the what-ifs any fucking day of the week.”

He removes himself from the room, and I mull over his words. Keep it casual. Yeah, I can do casual. The timing’s off, and I risk leaving with another battered heart. But damn it, we’re so good together.

Fuck the consequences. I need to see her.

I stalk into the living room and swipe the phone off the couch. If I’m going to do this dating thing, then I’ll do it right. It’ll be nothing short of special. And platonic. I’ll prove there’s more between us than our sizzling chemistry. I can be casual. Zach mentioned this place he took his wife to, and it would be perfect for Mia. If I could pull it off, that is.

A few phone calls and a couple favors later, everything is set. All that’s left to do now is convince my woman to go out with me.

My woman? When had she become my woman? That’s not casual. Saying those words is like catching a wild pitch in a tied ballgame with the winning run on third—dangerous and potentially devastating. But at the same time, this date should be an evening for the stats.