I have the worst luck.

If the dictionary used a picture to show the term “bad luck,” you’d find my mug shot sitting right there next to it, because I’m about to wrap my fingers around the neck of the a-hole who knocked her up.

Maybe this is the same dude the old lady next door has her evil eyes on. I don’t know. She didn’t exactly say why she was so irritated, and I couldn’t keep her happy with the additional rounds of beer I kept offering. Though her agitation waned a little the instant I agreed to go up to the town square first thing in the morning and buy her some fancy noodles she kept raving about. I’ve got news for her. She can go get her own dang noodles. Who has time for carbs when you’re suddenly faced with the after effects of what feels like a beating with a bat to your heart? What was I thinking coming back here to this town? As beautiful as Addison is, of course she’s got someone in her life who loves her.

I kick a lump of dirt in the yard back at the lake house and decide on a different way to take out my frustration. The video camera sets up in three exasperated huffs and the portable backstop I’m going to let loose into settles in place on the fourth. With the radar gun set and ready, I strip to my skivvies, toss an entire pale ale down my gullet, and set the camera to record.

From sixty feet six inches I take a ball into my left hand, squeeze the red laces until blood pops from each of my knuckles, and let rip the most agonizing groan while throwing the ball. The red numbers on the radar gun hit 97.

But I’ve got so much more left inside me. Anger. I feel it consume my body like I’ve never felt anger before.

And it’s begging to come out. So I grab a second ball and fire away, trying to release heartache and pain I hoped would leave me the first time I threw the dang ball. For some reason, the 99 mph reading on the radar ticks me off even more. So much so I stomp back to my spot and release another angry throw. As the radar flashes 100, mocking me as I slouch in nothing but my briefs, I fight to hold back a string of well-thought-out obscenities. I don’t need the neighbors knowing I’ve completely gone mad.

Defeated in more ways than one, I take a moment to stare down at the ground, then lift my sight to the blue skies, which only serve to remind me of Addison’s eyes. Weak in the knees from the memory of everything about her, I plop down in the grass and let the midday sun warm my shoulders. While I sit there, my barely beating heart pauses several beats, just as my neighbor’s yell barrels its way across the lawn and hits my ears. Why can’t she just leave me alone?

“I see you haven’t completely lost it. Though the choice of clothing does make me wonder. Bender, what in blue blazes is wrong with you?”

I twist, meeting the sharp gaze of an old woman who appears as ticked off as I am, and sigh. “Are you this nosy with everyone who shows up at Mike’s house, or just with me?”

“Just you. And I’m about to crack one over your head for throwing without a proper warm-up. You know better than that, Bender.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter. You wanna get back on the mound, don’t you? ’Cause the way I see it, there ain’t nobody out there who’s better than you.”

“You know nothing, nosy neighbor.”

“Maybe so, but I can read. And there ain’t no other chatter out there about a breaking ball that behaves like yours. The proof’s in the numbers. They’re your numbers. You can’t tell me you don’t know exactly how many batters you’ve sat down.”

“The proof is history. And I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Your prerogative. But ya best be tellin’ me what you got goin’ on here. ’Round these parts, a grown man hangin’ in his backyard in a tight pair of see-through briefs ain’t right. You got neighbors who’ll call the cops, ya know.”

“Let them call.”

“You don’t mean that any more’n you can get me to believe you don’t wanna ring on your finger. Get up, dust yourself off for Christ’s sake, and show me how all these fancy gadgets work. I admit you’re pretty entertaining, Bender, but you need to get your head on straight, your feet back on the mound, and your golden arm putting splinters in your opponents’ backsides. Go on. You run through a proper warm-up so I don’t have to whack you a good one. I’ll go get us a few beers. I have a feeling I’m going to need ’em.”

As my unsolicited and unofficial off-season trainer tricks her knees up the steps off the back porch and into Mike’s house like she knows her way around, I move to check the video camera and try to cajole my brain into remembering the lady’s name. But for the life of me, nothing in my file cabinet matches the old woman’s face. I don’t give it much additional thought and follow her advice instead, starting with a deep cleansing breath before moving through a series of arm-care warm-ups I’ve been trained to do since I was a little kid.

From somewhere behind me, the most beautiful tone I’ve ever heard fills the air. Two words. One voice. And it immediately comforts my aching heart.

“Mrs. Tinley.”

My heart hammers into overdrive. My body heats up with need. I’d recognize her voice anywhere, any time, any day. The pleasant chime vibrates my being right down to my soul. Always lifts with the perfect pitch out of those kissable lips of hers.

I’m not sure if she’s caught sight of me holding my pose on one foot, but before she called out, I was just about to let loose another pitch. Balanced and focused, I could stay like this all day. But knowing she’s there, I draw my arm back and let it rip, certain to locate my fastball where I want it, which is up and in. I only wish I could tell the other guy in her life to back off and step away. I need him out of this game so I can move Addison into my batter’s box and claim her as my own.

Since I can’t tell him to take a hike, I watch the red numbers flash 103. I’m not sure if I’ve impressed Addison, but at least now I know my nosy neighbor’s name.

One final crunch of the grass tells me Addison’s stopped somewhere in the yard. I can’t stop myself from turning around. Her pull on me is strong.

Meeting her soft gaze I notice the puffiness under her eyes. Either she’s putting on some strange baby weight or she’s been doing a lot of crying.

“Addison.”

“Ben,” she replies; the softness in her voice sets fire to my insides. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Mrs. Tinley wanted me to bring her…” She trails off, taking a moment to let her eyes roam up and down my body. She shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, then drapes an arm across her belly. “Well, anyway,” she says, finding my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t seem to be home. Would you mind giving her the keys to her Gator when she shows up? I parked it out front.”

Gator? Hmm. I know a thing or two about them. Namely, what I look like while being unconscious in the back before being transported to an ICU. But with Addison standing in front of me with a dress hugging her curves in all the right places, I don’t want to talk about utility vehicles and I’ve all but forgotten about my neighbor.

I’m in awe of her beauty. She definitely has a glow. I can’t stop drinking her in or stop wishing I could sift my fingers through the soft strands of brown hair that’s lightened up from the sun. Even more, I miss the way her full lips curl into a smile, the sound of her giggling, and the way she enjoys life when she’s goofing around. Truth is, I miss everything about her. Have since I got in my truck last spring and drove with my head in the clouds all the way back home.

Today she seems different. I suspect my behavior this morning might be the cause. There’s an overriding pain in her eyes that seemingly won’t let her enjoy the moment. I can’t stand to see her looking so sad. An apology seems in order.

“Addy, I’m sorry about this morning. I wasn’t expecting—” I stop mid thought, my mind at a complete loss for words.

Expecting. I wasn’t prepared to see the love of my life expecting a child, that’s what.

“Apology accepted.” She flashes me a wavering smile. It’s as if she’s trying to lighten the mood. “What ‘cha doing back here? I didn’t expect I’d ever see you again.”

She says the word “expect” in a lighthearted way. I love it, just as much as I suspect I love the woman in front of me. But I can’t have her. She’s clearly got a baby on the way. And by the looks of things, she could push out a perfect clone of herself just about any day.

Even with the evidence standing right there before me, for some reason, I don’t much care about the obvious. I want her in my arms. I want her arms around me. I want her in my bed where I can give her my offspring.

I lift my hat, smooth back the mess of hair at the top of my head, and return my cap in a fit of hidden anger I don’t want Addison seeing. The glint in her soft blue eyes works like a charm to calm my soul.

“I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer mine,” I say, watching as she waddles a little closer and then takes a seat on one of the steps.

“It might be a bit of a challenge for me to talk with you while you’re tossing a ball in your backyard barely dressed. But I’m game. Though I think I’ll sit here on the sideline if you don’t mind.”

She can do whatever she wants. I’m just happy she’s agreed to have a conversation with me. I sneak a peek at her belly, focusing on it while I splice my thoughts together.

“So.” I nod, looking down at her belly. “When’s the big day?”

At my question, she lifts her brows and spreads her fingers across her abdomen. It’s like she’s protecting the precious bundle growing inside her. “The big day.”

She repeats my words. The entire sight makes me want to remove her hand and spread mine over the rounded belly that looks so perfect on her. But I fight the urge to touch her in an attempt to respect what isn’t mine.

She rubs a tight circle with her hand. “Not for a while. If I actually deliver on my due date, the big day, as you say it, won’t be until the beginning of January. But that rarely happens. Babies come when they come.” She shrugs and tosses me a tiny smile. “Okay, your turn to answer my question.”

I’d answer, but I haven’t a clue what the heck it was she asked. At the moment, I’m mentally cataloging the significance of early January and staring at her beauty.

She must read my mind because she raises her brows, then goes about gesturing with her hand and pointing at things around the yard. “What’s going on back here? That was a pretty impressive number you hit. And don’t think you pulled one by me. I know you knew I was watching.”

I almost laugh, and would if I were in a better mood. Instead of telling her what I’m doing, I grab the camera to show her instead. After rewinding, I sit next to her on the step, selfishly let my leg brush against hers, and grow intoxicated by the simplicity of her clean vanilla scent. I know I shouldn’t do it. But I’m a man. A man who dreamed a thousand times I’d take her into my arms and kiss her breathless until the end of time.

That’s how our reunion was supposed to go. At least that’s how it played out all summer long in my head. Now I’m ticked off. I wanted so badly to make those images real.

I blink through a burst of sadness and turn the screen of the camcorder. After I ask if she can see it, Addison nods and moves in closer. Taking her time, she appears to analyze the scene and seems way more interested than I would have thought any woman would be.

When the clip’s over she straightens her spine and leans away, then cocks her head and turns those beautiful blues toward me. “You video yourself throwing?”

She’s asked a question, but the slight distance she’s put between us with her movement makes me want to pull her back in. I need her close, where I can secretly take in everything about her I possibly can.

She scratches her head, peering back at me as if she’s aware of what I’m thinking. “Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to do it completely naked? I think you’re missing some of the most important muscle complexes doing it this way.”

She up and winks; the sexy sight makes me dizzy as all the blood I got pumping through my body seemingly chooses this moment to pool deep in my groin. I’m as hard as a baseball bat and feel the need to move my hands to hide my reaction. But there’s no way my underpants are going to contain this one.

Captivated by everything about her, I delve deeper into her gaze, my eyes draw in on her as if she’s the sea I want to swim in. She’s so dang smart. Brighter than any girl I’ve known.

Before I completely lose myself, I offer up an explanation to her question. “That’s how I usually video my training sessions, at least when I’m searching for any minute correction I can make to make me better than the next guy stepping up on the mound. But since at least a dozen homes are within eyesight, I’m guessing they can also see me. I don’t want to get arrested for being some kind of perv. It’s not like Willow Run’s busting at the seams with Major League baseball pitchers.”

“So you’re a professional pitcher.” She says it as more of a statement, then, as if suddenly confused, scrunches her brows real tight.

Taking a moment, she scans the logo on my hat. I can see the cogs turning away in her mind. She also seems to be doing her own bit of memorizing.

“I guess I should have asked you last spring. I noticed the hat. Sorry if I didn’t catch something you might have said.”

“We were busy having too much fun to talk baseball. Besides, last spring was filled with all sorts of fun activities I’d never tried before.” Not to mention passion like I never knew was possible. But I don’t mention the last truth to Addison.

“Well, we should have at least exchanged last names. But I get it now.” She rocks her body to stand. “Anyway, if you need a more secluded spot to video yourself just let me know. I’m sure I can point you in the direction of a few places.”

She seems ready to leave, but I’m not through with her just yet. Heck, what am I saying? I won’t ever get my fill of this woman.

“You got some place to be?” I ask, then slap a virtual palm to my forehead. Of course she does. There’s a lucky sucker someplace out there just ready and waiting.

“I should probably let you get back to throwing. I really didn’t mean to interrupt. If you could get Mrs. Tinley’s keys back to her, I’d appreciate it.”

She bows her head and turns to walk away. Aching to spend more time with her, I clasp a tight hold around her wrist and silently beg her to stay. My hand slips between her fingers like it has a mind of its own and just as easily as it did when I had trouble letting go last spring. But something feels off, and I’m not certain what it is. Then it hits me like I’ve just learned I’m holding all the correct numbers to the winning lottery ticket.

With her left hand in mine, I caress her skin, rubbing my thumb back and forth across the bare spot where a ring would circle her finger. I lock in on her blue eyes, seeing a storminess I need to calm, and will myself the courage needed to ask her my next question.

“Addy, are you married?”

Her shoulders deflate quicker than a needle popping a balloon. She turns away and gently shakes her head.

“No.” Her one-word reply is laced with sadness as her chin hits her chest. “No, I’m not married.”

A mixture of emotions blasts through me in a flash, taking control of my thoughts until confusion settles in. Before I know it, Addison’s soft hand slips from my grip. She’s taking several steps forward while I can’t seem to move. Frozen in my spot, I watch in shock as her tall curvy form turns the corner between the two properties, and then promptly scurries onward and out of my sight.

This must be how Mrs. Tinley feels when her knees don’t obey her commands. But somehow I need to get to Addison. I can’t let her walk away.

Not now.

Not ever.

Suddenly, there’s so much more I need to know.