Chapter 2

If you keep a baseball bat in your car, also be sure to keep a glove. Your lawyer will thank you.

-Word to the wise

Sway

Rainie (7:02 PM): This baseball game sucks. There’s absolutely no cock sucking or pussy licking going on at all on third base.

I nearly choked when I read that message from my best friend.

Sway (7:02 PM): Why are you here again? And the game hasn’t started, how do you know it sucks?

I looked up when I felt eyes on me, and nearly dropped my phone when I saw the bearded man who’d practically barked at me earlier staring me down. He’d just finished hitting, and I wasn’t even aware he was back.

For such a big guy, he moved like a freakin’ ninja.

His intense gray eyes, rimmed with beautifully long, dark eyelashes had me nearly choking on my tongue.

Why was he looking at me?

And oh, God. His beard was amazing.

Pairing that beard with those eyes, and the green hat pulled down low over his head—breathtaking.

That was before you even took in the rest of his body.

The man was covered in tattoos.

Not that you would be able to tell.

He didn’t allow them to show for the first couple of games. As of right now, they were covered up with a long sleeved Under Armour compression shirt that fit him like a second skin.

Covering his tats was one of his superstitions—and it made me want to cry.

I loved his tattoos.

I wanted to lick every single one of them.

I had a Fathead sticker of him on my wall at home.

He was literally my favorite player on the Longview Lumberjacks, and would be in the entire league had my brother not played in the MLB as well. Though, it was a near toss-up.

I’d have a tough call today seeing as the Lumberjacks were playing his team

My brother was the short stop for the other team, and I loved him like crazy. But the Longview Lumberjacks–they were my team. Had been my team since I was old enough to sit in front of the TV with my dad and watch them play.

I think it’d broken my dad’s heart a little bit when my brother had signed with the Sparks, but he was proud, nonetheless.

Parts took his hat off, readjusted it, and then put it back on. Five times.

Just like he always did.

I bit my lip and turned my head away, unable to look at that thick, dark hair and not orgasm.

It was beautiful, too.

I’d always had a thing for the tall, dark and dangerous look.

Bearded, tall, dark and dangerous…well…that was just my personal kryptonite.

My phone buzzed in my hands again, and I jumped.

Ember (7:22 PM): OMG! I can see you! Wave!

I looked up, startled, and glanced around. Then, for the second time, I dropped my goddamned book on the ground, exposing the stupid Baseball for Dummies to the world.

Again.

Sway (7:23 PM): Please tell me I didn’t look as stupid as I felt.

Ember (7:23 PM): You look beautiful, stop whining.

I rolled my eyes.

Ember and I met at college where we were both studying to become athletic trainers. We met on the first day, and we instantly became friends.

We sort of grew apart for a while because we were going in different directions career wise—and, until recently, it had been a long time since we last spoke.

We picked right back up, as if we hadn’t spent the last eight years apart. I was enjoying having her back in my life again.

Between her and Rainie, I was seriously loving life for the first time in years.

“Hey, anyone seen my fucking bubble gum?” a player yelled. “It was right here, and now it’s gone. Oh, dammit, I’m missing two pieces. I only have five!”

I looked around for the lost candy, and idly wondered what the big deal was. If he had five, then that surely was enough to get him through the game, right?

Wrong.

Oh, how wrong I was.

“Hey,” the player that I was having a very hard time ignoring interrupted my inner musings.

I turned, this time surprised that I couldn’t see his eyes anymore.

He had on wraparound sunglasses that were tinted an intense shade of blue, and I liked them. A lot.

“Y-yes?” I stuttered.

“Can you go to the concession stand and get Manny a couple of Double Bubbles?” he asked.

I blinked, surprised that he would ask me.

“No,” I immediately disagreed. “I’m the trainer. I can’t just leave. What if someone gets hurt?”

His eyes stared at me steadily. “Because if he doesn’t have all of his gum, he might be hurt. You don’t want to be the cause of that, do you?”

I stared at him as if he’d grown seven heads that were all leaking snot.

“You’re serious.”

“Deadly.”

I gave him a disbelieving look.

“I’m not leaving, but I’ll ask my friend to get it for me. She’s in the seats above the dugout,” I explained when he gave me a dubious look. “You might be in luck.”

He looked at me approvingly.

“I like your ingenuity,” he grinned. “Is Bobby not coming back as head AT?”

I shook my head. “Bob had a heart attack about a month ago,” I frowned. “He’s okay, but he’s had to slow down quite a bit. He might be back in an advisory capacity once he’s fully healed; but, until then, I’m your man.”

He chuckled, and I felt that dark, deep rumble in my soul.

“I like you, Half-Pint,” he grinned. “I…”

I stiffened at the use of Half-Pint.

I was not a half pint.

I was a full pint. Maybe even a quart.

And I liked it.

Well, I didn’t like it as much as I owned it.

I was curvy, and I knew it. I worked my ass off, ate the right shit, and I was still heavy.

It wasn’t ever going to be different, and I accepted that, but the man didn’t have to point it out to me or make fun of me by using demeaning nicknames.

But before I could snap at him, a coach yelled from the front of the dugout.

“Parts! You’re up!”

Parts got up, leaving me with nothing else to do but text Rainie and ask her for two pieces of Double fucking Bubble.

Sway (7:30): Will you go buy me two pieces of Double Bubble? One of the players needs it.

“Did anyone find my gum yet?” Manny, number 11, called out. “Seriously, guys. One of you motherfuckers better not have eaten it.”

Nobody answered, and I chose to ignore him as well.

My eyes staying on Hancock “Parts” Peters. Number 49.

He did his whole ritual.

Once he was there, he dropped the bat onto the plate, put his gloves on, and started his routine as he pulled his pants up above his calves, continuing on to adjust his hat and tap the plate with his bat.

Did he pull them down each time he was done hitting?

The thought made me smile as I watched the pitches start flying.

The first two were balls. The second two Hancock fouled.

The next one went straight at Hancock’s head, and he dropped to the ground to avoid being hit.

Hancock got up, dusted himself off, and glared at the little fucker who’d nearly hit him.

And I do mean glare.

If there was a definition of glare in the dictionary, the look Hancock just sent the pitcher would be directly under it for emphasis.

He bent down and picked up his glasses that were laying in the dirt next to home plate, blew them off, then resituated them on his face.

Then he did his whole routine again with his bat, gloves, and pants. Followed by the hat adjustment, bat tapping and swinging it up to his shoulder.

Once when he was ready, he took his bat and aimed it high over the fence, indicating he was about to hit it over the fence.

My mouth dropped open at his audacity.

“Damn showoff,” the coach muttered.

I hid my smile as I continued to watch.

The pitcher, Ramirez, sneered, and I knew what he was about to do.

He was going to hit him.

Knew it without a shadow of a doubt.

Ramirez reared back, lifted his leg and let the ball fly.

Hancock turned into the pitch, letting the ball smack into his right shoulder, and I groaned along with the entire stadium.

Ramirez had the fastest arm in the league right now, and being hit with a ball at ninety-eight miles an hour was enough to hurt anyone, even a big man like Hancock.

I stood up and was on the top steps of the dugout before Hancock even turned, and what I saw on his face was enough to send me back to my seat.

He wasn’t hurt.

Or, at least, he wasn’t going to show it.

He was, however, pissed.

Ramirez made it two more pitches, hitting one more player, before he was removed and replaced in only the first inning, and I found myself smiling.

Hancock, however, wasn’t smiling when he was stranded on second and had to come in.

He started jogging to the dugout just as my phone chimed.

Rainie (7:51): Heads up!

I stood up and hurried to the steps, smiling happily when my friend tossed me a whole handful of Double Bubble.

“Thank you!” I called to her.

My gorgeous blonde best friend grinned at me and waved. I waved back and froze when her eyes widened and focused at something over my shoulder.

I turned slowly to find Hancock directly behind me, staring at me like I was an alien who’d invaded earth.

“What?” I snapped at him.

What was his deal?

“Throw those other ten pieces back at her, and only give Manny two.” He looked at my hand. “He’ll wig out even worse if you show up with that many.”

I rolled my eyes and pocketed all but two pieces, then turned and headed back down the steps of the dugout.

Maybe, next game, I’d take the other trainers up on their offer to stay in the mouth of the tunnel entrance that headed out onto the field. Being in the dugout was turning out to be not such a good idea.

Especially when Hancock’s next words hit me.

“I like the way your hips sway, Mizz AT.”

I turned and narrowed my eyes at him.

“I don’t like it when you mention my fat ass all the time,” I growled. “And the name is Sway.”

His eyebrows snapped together.

“I never once called you a fat ass,” he sounded offended. “Not fucking once.”

My lip curled. “Then why the nickname of ‘Half-Pint’ and saying you like the way my hips sway?”

“Because they do. And I fucking like it. There’s nothing else to it but that,” he said, taking a step back.

Then without another word he strapped on his catcher’s gear, grabbed his glove and headed for the plate.

I watched him go, something uneasy settling in my chest.

“See you in three, Half-Pint.”

Then he was gone, and I was left feeling unsure of what, exactly, had just transpired.