Dustin shoveled in the fresh sushi, grateful for the protein boost. The clubhouse manager could bring in any type of food he wanted. In the minor leagues, that usually meant a roast beef sandwich with chips and a veggie tray. In the majors, the managers went all out. Tonight, Bobby had brought in a chef to make sushi and another to make on-order stir-fry. There were large platters of rice and steamed veggies and orange chicken and beef kept warm over low flames.

As good as the food tasted, the loss sat heavy in his mind. They needed to find a way to start winning games. His error at short hadn’t done them any good, and he wasn’t much help at the plate this game either. He did his best not to look at the man who would take his spot in a heartbeat, sitting two tables over with the pitchers. The guy was a constant reminder that Dustin’s time in the MLB could be over in one batting slump. Clover had said something about him being in the top five percent of players who are drafted and an even smaller percentage of those who are called up. Sure, beating those odds was great, but staying on top was just as much of a struggle.

He kept his phone in his back pocket, on vibrate, so he wouldn’t miss Clover’s text. The whole phone number thing on a ball was a stroke of pure genius, if he did say so himself. The simple reminder of the time they’d spent the night before on the golf course was definitely flirting. He’d crossed that line knowing full well he couldn’t retreat. Didn’t want to. Clover was different from the other women he’d dated semi-seriously—not that there were many. She had a way of looking at things with big, bright eyes as if she were taking them in for the first time, and it was attractive in a way that the sultry, sophisticated women he met at the clubs or parties couldn’t match even if they tried.

He touched his back pocket to make sure his phone was still there. Having the phone wasn’t a big deal after the game. Before the game, a guy would get chewed out for keeping his phone on him. Baseball was serious business.

“Hey.” He nodded as Brayden and Blake took seats. “How’s it going, Blake?” Blake was dating the new PT, a redhead with a deep knowledge of the game. Their romance had been quite the scandal considering the teams “no dating staff” policy. Coach Wolfe had suspended the rule after Blake hit a triple for Elise that won the game. He’d proven Elise wasn’t a distraction but a motivation for him.

Wolfe was probably waiting for Dustin to figure things out and prove Clover wasn’t a distraction to his game. He didn’t want her to be—had played better for a while when they first met. That was before things turned playful between them, and tonight his performance was dismal.

Blake broke apart the disposable chopsticks. “Fan-stinking-tastic.” He grinned before popping a sunshine roll in his mouth and chewing fast. “Elise got clearance to go on the road with us this weekend. I am stoked.”

Juan sat down, his plate piled high with orange chicken and rice. This meal was a favorite for the whole team, but Juan especially. Bobby was going to get some big tips tonight. “You going to take her out while we’re there?” asked Juan.

The team had more downtime when they were on the road because they weren’t trying to spend every spare minute with their families or girlfriends. They rarely did the tourist stuff, mostly sticking to the hotel and nearby restaurants and movie theaters.

“She’s never been to D.C. We’re going to hit all the sights,” replied Blake.

“You are so whipped.” Juan guffawed. Dustin and Brayden exchanged an amused glance. Juan was a big personality—even if he was one of the smallest guys on the team. He was literally always smiling and had bright white teeth that stood out against his darker skin. He’d been through some hard times when his wife broke his heart and left him with three little girls to take care of on his own. He kept pushing on, doting on his daughters and playing ball.

“You are so jealous,” countered Blake. When Elise had first started, Juan had flirted with her to spur Blake into a bit of jealousy—enough to light a fire under the guy and make him ask Elise out. The guys knew it was for show, but Blake had taken it personally.

“Hey, she had her chance at all this.” He motioned his hand down his body. “And she picked you—there’s no accounting for taste.”

Blake glared at Juan, who laughed. “I’m messing with you, man. Elise was yours from day one.”

“Don’t you forget it.” Blake speared a piece of orange chicken.

They continued to give each other a hard time. Brayden laughed, pushing a few buttons when he got the chance.

Dustin’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He whipped it out like a gunslinger had yelled, “Draw!”

Hi. It’s Clover.

He grinned down at his phone until he noticed the good-natured ribbing had gone silent. He reluctantly brought his chin up and looked around the table. All three guys stared at him, their faces full of expectation.

“Is that the ball girl?” asked Juan. “She was tight, man.”

Blake shoved Juan. “Will you find your own woman?”

“Hey, I got three beautiful ladies to take care of. I don’t need the drama of another one.” Juan was talking about his daughters. He was a family man through and through. “But that doesn’t mean my satellite turned off, ya know?” He tossed sushi in the air, tipped his head back, and caught it in his mouth. “Ta-da,” he said around the seaweed, rice, and crab.

Dustin scratched his head. He tuned out the guys and went back to his text, trying to figure out the best way to play this. Who? he teased.

The three dots waved, indicating Clover was typing back. She sent him a picture of the ball. I caught the ball!

Just call me Coach.

What’s next, Coach? Batting cages?

Dustin would love to take her to the cages. What a great opportunity to wrap his arms around a beautiful woman as he showed her how to hold a bat. He couldn’t take her to the cages where he and the guys practiced. She’d come out broken. But St. George was a baseball town—there had to be soft-toss machines somewhere.

As soon as I get back in town.

When do you leave?

Tomorrow morning.

Blake’s phone alarm sounded and he jumped up. “It’s my turn with Elise.” He grinned, dumping his half-empty plate in the trash on the way to the physical therapy room. Elise gave excellent massages, but she saved her best work for Blake.

“He didn’t even pitch tonight,” complained Brayden.

Juan made the sound of a whip cracking, and they all chuckled.

Dustin looked down to find a frowny-face emoji staring back at him. A thrill skated through his body knowing Clover would be sad he was gone.

How long? she asked.

Six days. Three in DC and three in Texas.

Then it’s the All-Star break?

Someone has been reading up on baseball.

Slow night at work.

“Hey. Hey.” Juan snapped his fingers between Dustin and his phone.

“What?” Dustin scowled.

“Bring her to the home run derby party. I want to meet this chica.” Juan’s dimples deepened.

Dustin chewed the inside of his lip. Bringing a woman to a team function was a big deal. “Are you going?” he asked Brayden.

He nodded, noodles hanging out of his mouth for a second before he slurped them up. “Me and Tilly.”

No one from the Redrocks team was invited to play in the All-Star game this year, but they had their favorites, guys they’d played with in the minors or played against.

Clover would eat it up. She was a baseball innocent. Who knew which team she would follow if she’d grown up on a steady diet of little league? He felt lucky to have been the one to find her before she was corrupted by a Yankees fan.

“‘Kay. But you’d better be on your best behavior.” He pointed at Juan before sending the text and getting up to dump his plate.

The late hour and the lost game were getting to him. Clover wasn’t the only one who’d stayed up playing catch the night before. After she left, it took some time for him to settle down. He kept picturing her in his kitchen, and he almost ran out to buy cereal so he’d have something to offer her next time she ran into his garage at midnight.

Maybe she’d fallen asleep. Clover hadn’t responded to his invitation and it had been a full fifteen minutes. He grabbed his bag from his locker and headed through the halls to the players’ parking lot. They’d had a late night, and then she’d been up for work at The Pantry before coming to the game and then going to the hotel. He liked that she was a hard worker, making her way in the world. His family would like that, too.

Before his thoughts moseyed any further down that road, a text came in.

Okay, I figured out what a home run derby is, and I’m in.

He laughed out loud in the parking lot, not caring if anyone thought he was nuts. Great. It’s a date.

The three little dots were still, and he wondered if he’d pushed too far by labeling their time together as an official date. She didn’t back out, but she didn’t respond. No “great” or “I can’t wait” or even a smiley-faced emoji. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d shifted things between them. After a half hour of debate, he decided it was a good thing. They were either going to move forward or fizzle out. He’d like to do the former, and just like when he stepped up to bat, he expected to hit a home run. Unfortunately, dating was like stepping up to the plate: no matter how bad you wanted the home run, sometimes you were caught looking.