They call me the cleanup.

You know those moments in baseball when the bases are loaded and the whole game hangs in the balance as the next batter steps up to the plate?

Well, I’m the one they count on to make something happen.

And I always deliver.

Take tonight for instance. Top of the ninth, bases loaded, and we’re down by three. Second game in a four-game road series against the Colorado Smoke. The season has just barely begun, and this game has zero bearings on the playoffs.

But ask me if I care.

To me, each game is important. Each game is a chance to prove that we’re the team to watch out for. You don’t get that reputation by playing half-assed baseball until the playoffs come into view. You earn that shit by making sure each and every game counts.

So, tonight…tonight is just another chance to prove to the world that the Rampage are headed to the World Series.

And Brandon Jeffers is gonna take them there.

I step out of the showers after the game—the game we won by one, thanks to me. It’s always more climactic when we’re the home team, and I can step up to the plate and clear the bases with one swing to end the game. But, after my grand slam, the Smoke hadn’t been able to recover. Carter had taken the mound and struck out the next three batters, sealing the victory.

All because of me.

Okay, okay. And I guess the rest of these guys, too.

But, if it wasn’t for me, we never would’ve taken the lead.

That counts for something.

In my eyes, it counts for everything.

Ian—my best friend and the best shortstop in the league—snaps his towel against my wet ass, jarring me from my thoughts.

“Snap out of it, fuckwad. You had a hell of a hit. But don’t let it go to that big-ass head of yours. You’re still a piece of shit.”

I run my fingers through my wet hair, shaking my head as I look down at my feet. “Fuck, Tag. If you want to touch my ass so bad, all you have to do is ask. I might even give you a discount. On account of I feel sorry for your pitiful, pussy-whipped ass.”

He sits down on the bench in front of my locker as I get dressed, the towel in his hand tossed into a pile of others in the corner.

“Don’t hate. You’re just jealous that I found a woman who actually wants to sleep with me every night instead of taking one look at my tiny dick and feeling sorry for me.”

“Aw, Tag. Don’t feel so bad about your tiny dick. It’s…cute.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Too late. It’s what you said. Henceforth, you shall be known as Ian ‘Baby Dick’ Taggart. It’s a good thing Lexi prefers the motion of the ocean over the size of the boat.”

“Fuck off.” Tag pouts, pissed that he walked himself right into yet another one of my traps.

What can I say? I’m the master of shit-talking. You can’t beat the master. I don’t know why he even bothers anymore.

“How is my dear Lexi anyway? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

His eyes light up at my question, just like I knew they would. Don’t ever say I’m not a softie at heart.

“She’s good. She’s flying back to Seattle in a couple of days. Should be there by the time we get back.”

“Aw, so the two of you can play house again. Tell me, Tag, are you a good boy or a bad boy? Does Mommy have to give you spankings?”

His hand darts out and smacks me in the back of the head. “What the fuck, man? That’s wrong on so many levels.”

I give him a shit-eating grin. “Fine, that wasn’t my finest moment. Don’t worry; I’ll think of something.”

“How about you just stop thinking about anything that involves my girl and spankings? Don’t make me beat your ass.”

I laugh at the protective quality to his voice. And I won’t lie. Lexi is a fine piece of ass. If Ian wasn’t my best friend, I’d sure as shit be trying to hit that, taken or not. But he is, which makes her off-limits.

Her friend, on the other hand…

Liv Hunter is a saddle I sure wouldn’t mind jumping back onto.

That night she walked into the lake house I owned—the one I’d let Tag stay at after that bitch Angela dropped the assault charges against him—I couldn’t believe my fucking eyes. She was the tiniest little thing I’d ever laid eyes on with the hottest little body I could’ve ever imagined. Not even coming up to my shoulders, she fit so easily against my side as I threw my arm around her that it felt like she had been made just for that purpose. Her dark hair and dark eyes only added to her exotic beauty. And that fucking nose. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Reminded me of fucking Tinker Bell, and I half-expected her to twitch it at me as she stomped her foot and spewed pixie dust all over the place.

And that’s not saying anything of her tits. I could write sonnets about those fucking tits. If I did that sort of thing.

“Hey, how’s her friend?” I ask Tag, interrupting something he was saying about Lexi.

“Who? Liv?”

I nod a little too eagerly, a fact he easily picks up on.

“She still hasn’t texted you back?” he asks with a smug grin.

I wince.

I had a moment of weakness a few weeks after my night with Liv and wasn’t able to resist the urge to text her and see how she was. Lucky for me, Lexi had given me her number shortly after she and Ian got back together. I’d told her I just wanted to see how Liv was doing. She didn’t need to know I was ready for round two.

I don’t do round twos. Not with anyone but Jayne. But Jayne and I have an understanding. She is a fucking good lay. And I give her exactly what she needs. End of story.

All my other conquests are a one-and-done type of deal. They know it before it starts, and most of the time, they are cool with it. I’ve been kneed in the balls a few times over the years, but it’s not enough to keep me from my second favorite sport.

Women.

Unfortunately for me, Tag came into the room right as I fired off a text to Liv. And he’s never let me live it down since.

“How does it feel to finally get rejected?” he jabs.

“Fuck off. Brandon Jeffers doesn’t get rejected.”

“Except by Liv Hunter,” he retorts. “I knew I liked her for a reason.”

I make an obscene gesture at him, which causes him to laugh.

“What? It’s about time you met a woman who didn’t fall down at your feet. It’s the challenging ones that are the most fun,” he says with a wink.

I shake my head. “Dude, you know I’m happy for you. I give you shit, but I’m glad you’ve found Lexi. But that shit ain’t for me. I’m not looking to settle down. I don’t need a fucking challenge. I need to get laid.”

Tag clucks his tongue. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yeah, a nagging wife and a houseful of snot-nosed kids. I think I’ll pass.”

He gives me a sorrowful look. “Are you ever gonna grow up, B?”

“Why would I want to do a stupid thing like that? Just call me Peter fucking Pan.”

Now, if only I could get Tinker Bell to talk to me.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the buzz from the win calming down as exhaustion settles into everybody’s bones. Tag is dozing in the seat next to me, and I’m half-tempted to find a marker and doodle on the fucker’s face. He deserves to wake up with a dick on his cheek after trying to lecture me on the benefits of a relationship and all that shit.

I’m a lone wolf. Always have been; always will be. And I like my life exactly the way it is. Why fix it if it ain’t broken, am I right?

But I still can’t squelch the pang in my gut when I think about being blown off by Liv. That little pixie completely rocked my world in a matter of hours. I had known she was hot, but I sure as shit hadn’t expected the escapades that took place that night.

I need more.

One more night will be enough.

It has to be.

Pulling out my phone, I find her name and hit the message button.

After only a few seconds, the text bubble pops up, indicating she’s typing out a response.

Holy fuck. This is a first.

I sit up straight in my seat, my eyes glued to the screen as the dots disappear and reappear over and over again. A full five minutes pass as she types. The longer it takes, the more I steel myself for her response. Nothing that takes this long to type can be good.

But then the dots disappear, and they don’t come back.

What the fuck? All that, and now, I get nothing?

She must’ve learned her lesson because, this time, there’s not even an attempt at a response.

Struck out again.

It’s not a feeling I’m familiar with.

It kind of fucking sucks.

Tossing my phone into my bag under the seat in front of me, I sit back in my chair, my arms folded across my chest, as I think about what just happened.

What was she going to say?

Aside from the time Tag caught me texting her, there were two or three other occasions when I found myself unable to stop thinking about her and sent her a message. Each time, I watched and waited. And, each time, I was left with nothing but disappointment.

But, this time, she started to respond. And, if the dancing dots were any indication, she had quite a bit to say to me but maybe didn’t know how to say it.

She was probably going to tell me to fuck off.

But then I think back to that night. How expressive she was once we were alone. How she told me exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it. In front of her friends and neighbors, she’d been reserved and polite. But, in private…

She was a fucking sex kitten.

Maybe she is standing in her own way. Maybe she is trying to find a way to tell me she wants me again, too, but she doesn’t quite know how to say it.

Yeah, that’s probably it.

Whatever helps you sleep at night, I hear Tag’s voice mock in my head.

Shut up, fucker. Nobody asked you, I shoot back.

Great. Now, this damn girl is making me lose my mind.

My phone buzzes against my toe just as I’m about to drift to sleep. I reach forward, surprised by the name I see there.

Two fucking letters. Two letters after all the texts I’ve sent to her over the last few months.

But they feel like a victory.