"That one. He's going to change the game."

I lifted my binoculars to my face, staring out into the field. The new player was tall, well built, almost too well built actually. His upper body was thick for a baseball player, so I doubted he'd have good speed. His face looked like it was carved of marble, all harsh lines, like a cowboy in an old-fashioned movie. He squinted in the sun, masking the color of his eyes. I made a sound, lowering my binoculars again.

"This is the one you paid through the nose for? He's untried. And he looks like a gorilla."

"Just watch. He moves around the diamond like a Goddamn ballet dancer."

I sipped my sparkling water and leaned back in my seat. Despite my intentions, my eyes kept returning to the player, almost against my will. He was fourth in the batting line up, which meant he was a power hitter.

When it was his turn, I found myself leaning forward in my chair. He held back on the first two pitches, as they were way inside. Then on the third pitch he swang. The crack sounded throughout the field, shaking the seat underneath me. My eyes were wide as the ball sailed neatly out of the stadium. I heard a crash and then a car alarm went off.

Well, that was a first.

"He can hit."

I had to concede that. My father's voice was full of awe. I could sense a full-on man crush in effect. I never understood that. Then again, my father had always wanted a boy.

"He's the best I've ever seen."

My father chuckled gleefully, rubbing his hands together. I couldn't help the trickle of resentment at the glowing look on his face. He'd never looked that way at me. No matter how high my marks were. Or how well I'd done with a fundraiser for the team's charity.

Or how much money I'd made him with my savvy investments.

"I still say you overspent on a rookie."

"Wait. He's not just a power hitter."

I went back to my phone, barely watching as the teams changed positions. I noted that the new guy was playing short stop, another vote of confidence from the coaches and my dad. I kept one eye on the new player, and one on my email. But the player was winning.

I inhaled sharply as the ball went his way for the first time. He lifted up into the air, twisting his body with extraordinary grace. He caught the ball and jogged back to the dugout. He knew he'd just ended the inning without waiting for the official call from the ump. He didn't even spare the other players a glance.

I felt a sudden shock.

He was ignoring the ump for a reason. He was too busy looking at me. I glanced over my shoulder to see if there was something behind me and then back at him. Nothing was back there. The man was definitely looking at me. I felt like I was caught in some sort of laser beam when I looked into his extraordinarily blue eyes.

His eyes were a startlingly bright hue. His soft looking lips were twisted in a wry smile. His handsome face was smug and knowing. I disliked him immediately.

He disappeared into the dugout and I turned away, ignoring the strange, hot feeling that was pooling in my belly.

My father was right. The man was gifted. He'd be good for the team, even if he was shockingly forward. I lifted my binoculars again. Time would tell if he was consistent. If he was, we were in for one hell of a season.

Lucky number 7…

I checked my phone, rapidly replying to emails and texts. No one sent me jokes, emoji's or GIF's. It was mostly bills, budgets, scheduling fundraisers. If there was money involved, people came to me.

I just had a way with it.

It irked my father, knowing that I was even better with money than he was. He may have brought himself up by his bootstraps, but I understood the ebb and flow of business in a way he never could. Plus, I read everything I could get my hands on. I was far more ambitious and desperate to prove myself.

At least in one thing, he couldn't criticize me. It's not that he was cruel. He was a warm man.

He'd just always wanted a son.

When I looked up a half an hour later, lucky number 7 was staring at me again. Not just staring. He was smirking.

I felt a hot sizzle of alarm go through me. I pulled my sunglasses out of my bag and slid them into place. There. I felt protected by the dark lenses. Now he couldn't see me.

I glanced back at the field and saw that he was grinning even wider.

Almost as if he knew why I'd put my glasses on. That it was because of him. That he knew how he'd affected me…

Suddenly I felt even more exposed than before.

I narrowed my eyes, wondering what his game was. It's not that I wasn't used to men looking at me. It's just that none of my father's players had ever dared.

I watched in awe as number 7 continued to hit homers and break two more bats as the day went on. He even put a visible dent in the left field wall with a rocket line drive. That was another first.

"They call him 'The Wrecker'."

I nodded absent-mindedly to my father, only half paying attention to him. My eyes were glued to the field and the new player.

I could see why.