I walked down the long corridor, my heels echoing on the cement floors as I headed for the coach’s office to leave the reports I’d printed for the players’ stats. The repetitive thud thud thud of a baseball hitting workout pads took me back to a time when I was so much younger, so much more impressionable, so much more out of control than I was now.

I paused when I reached the semi-soundproof room, my eyes widening when I realized Cash was the one throwing balls on repeat. The meeting had ended an hour and a half ago—had he been here the whole time, practicing until he blew his arm out for tonight’s game? I frowned, leaning against the door as I watched him. He was determined, hell-bent on getting his arm stronger, and focused like I’d never seen in all my years of watching this sport. His arm wound up, and with the force of an oncoming truck, he launched the little white ball across the room. Thwack!

I sighed, my eyes taking in the lean lines of his chiseled body. He was hands-down the hottest guy on the team, and his ass in a pair of baseball pants was one of the biggest distractions I faced on this job. If I wasn’t gritting my teeth when he cast me that sexy, one-sided smile, I was squirming in my seat checking him out from behind.

It was like an uncontrollable primal impulse. If Cash was in the room, my body was on high alert.

Cash finally paused, working his arm back and forth and rubbing at it with a wince.

“Shit,” I murmured before opening the door and letting myself in. “Don’t wear your arm out, Cash.”

His eyes flashed up with surprise, his face softening for a minute when he saw me. He shook his head. “I don’t do second best, and your numbers from last night indicate that, so I’m going to work like hell until my pitch is what it was last year.”

I paused the thoughts rushing through my brain as, for once, I saw the thing that he really cared about, the thing that lit fire in his eyes and made him more determined than ever. I respected that in him.

“You’ll get there.”

He shook his head again, still rubbing at his shoulder as he looked down at his feet. “If I don’t have baseball, I don’t have anything. I have to get there or it’s the beginning of the end for me.”

“Cash…” My heart bled for him. I walked behind him and rubbed at the tight knot forming in his shoulder. “Don't be so hard on yourself.”

He didn’t say anything, but his muscles began to relax as I kneaded at the tight tissue. I licked my lips, sucking in a breath of air for the first time since I’d stepped into his presence. I caught a whiff of his woodsy scent, soap, and the pure mix of him, and it left me dizzy with arousal.

“You’re going to have to see the massage therapist for this arm before the game.” I used both my hands to work at his shoulder and down his bicep.

Good lord, his arms were so massive. The way the fabric pulled across the expanse of his strong shoulders was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. An unbidden fantasy slipped into my thoughts—me, wearing his jersey and not another stitch of clothing.

Oh my God, where had that come from? I didn’t do this, didn’t fraternize with players, didn’t mix business with pleasure. God, I didn’t date ball players! For that matter, I didn’t even date, as sad and pathetic as that was. My hands dropped instantly, all the old triggers bubbling up and making me want to run from the room, and from Cash, as quickly as humanly possible.

“Thanks for the pep talk.” Cash turned then, his eyes leveling with mine as silence stretched between us.

“Thank you for the coffee this morning.” I finally interrupted the silence. “It was nice of you.”

“I can be a pretty nice guy. I wish you’d give me a chance to show you.”

A small grin lifted my mouth before I shook my head. “Persistent must be your middle name.”

“Delilah,” His hands were at my shoulders, his body pushing both of us against the padded walls of the workout room. “I promise, whoever gave you the bad impression of ball players, I’m not them.” His nose snaked along my neck and sent shivers coursing in molten waves through my veins.

I slammed my eyes closed, sucking in vital breaths of oxygen even though he was too close, he was right here, his lips inches away from being pressed against mine.

“I want to taste those pretty lips.” Cash’s voice ate up the air between us. My mind raged, my stomach flipped, fire burned from my toes all the way to my head. “And that look on your face tells me you need kissing, and I know I’m the only man to do it.”

My hands slipped up his chest, the hard ridges of muscle sending tingles like fireworks through my fingers. I didn’t know what this was, but it felt like waves of energy coming off him, melding with mine, syncing together and bonding us inexplicably. I was drunk on Cash Greenwood, just like every other girl who sat in those bleachers or watched him play a game on TV.

I couldn’t deal with those other girls.

This life wasn’t for me. I was sure of that, at least.

“Cash, we’re not going to happen. Thank you for the coffee, I hope your shoulder starts feeling better, but please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“What’s hard about it, Delilah? You’re the first woman I’ve ever seen in my life who makes me feel things a man feels for a woman. Fuck your stereotypes and look at me, not the game. I’ve never fucked a baseball groupie. My head’s in the game and that’s it. I’ve never loved anything more than I love baseball, but damn, you make me want to love you. Delilah, you walk into a room and you’re all I see. In that stadium of 60,000 people, it’s you I see. When I close my eyes at night, it’s your face I dream of.” His thumb trailed across my lower lip, causing it to tremble and me to melt under his touch. “And I know you see me, too.”

I sucked in desperate breaths, willing my brain to work, willing my body to run, to scream, to kiss, to anything. Anything. Move, Delilah. Tell him to stop touching you, Delilah.

But I couldn’t. I was rooted in place.

“You’re not ready, but you’ll get there. We make sense, Delilah. You just need to stop denying it and see it for what it really is.”

I shook my head, fighting angry tears that had climbed up the back of my throat. I knew he was right. I knew I’d built a wall around my heart. It was all out of protection. I didn’t want to be scared and alone again.

“You’re wrong, Cash. You couldn't be more wrong.” I dropped my palms from his chest and turned for the door, the lie tainting my lips like poison.

I curled up on the couch, wearing snowflake PJs and a tank top, with a blanket wrapped around my legs as I watched the game that night. I usually liked to be present. I’d found that chatting with the coach during the game often helped him make decisions about who to put in next, especially when I had the ability to run stats on the other team, but I could work from home almost as easily. I was determined and dedicated, but Cash had thrown me a curveball this afternoon.

His hands on my skin…his breath whispering across my neck were like a ghost haunting my memories. I pressed a hand to my chest, the memory so powerful a wild shiver raced through me. In all the teams I’d done consulting with, never had I had this issue, but I’d also never worked with a baseball team before, either. Maybe that was my problem. Maybe I should have steered clear knowing it was a trigger of mine.

Or maybe it was just Cash Greenwood.

I sighed, watching the seventh inning. Pitbull’s Greenlight blasted through the stadium and pumped up the crowd as Cash walked to home plate. Conflicting emotions steamrolled through my mind as I watched him. He was thoughtful, smart, so incredibly sexy it was dangerous, and quite possibly the most talented human being I’d ever known. And that said a lot given I’d met a lot of talented players over the years.

Cash bent his knees, his eyes intent on the pitcher before the ball flew to home plate and Cash swung, a crack splitting the cool night air as the ball went high. I watched riveted as he launched for first base, his eyes on the ball as it sliced through the outfield, finally landing just out of reach of the outfielder on the other team.

He’d gotten to second.

Good, okay. He didn’t look too bad, his shoulder didn’t seem to bother him at all. I didn’t know it’d light a fire under him when I’d told him his numbers were down, but he’d surprised the hell out of me with his focus, to the point that it concerned me. Practice was a fine balance between honing your skills and overdoing it. Fatigued muscles didn’t play good baseball, but Cash seemed okay.

I watched as another batter took the plate, a shortstop whom I hadn’t had much interaction with yet, but he hit a grounder to right field, and Cash launched off the bag again, headed for third. His eyes were focused as his legs powered him across the field, carrying him to third while the batter landed on first.

One more hit and Cash was home. Another point to break ahead in this game. They’d been tied since the third inning, and it was beginning to feel like this game would go into overtime, until Cash had batted anyway.

Rodriguez stepped up to the plate before the other team waved their pitcher in and replaced him with another. Their star pitcher. Shit.

I tapped out a quick text to the manager of the team, knowing he’d be the only one to see my text since Coach was always so focused on what was happening on the field.

Jones throws a killer curveball. Tell Rodriguez to move about two inches away from the plate and he’ll shatter it.

I was relieved when the manager’s text shot back a second later. Thanks.

I was doubly relieved when I caught a signal from one of the guys on the bench, catching Rodriguez’s eyes and flashing him the sign for curveball. Rodriguez nodded, took half a step back from the plate, then assumed the position. All eyes were on him. With two outs he had to nail this one if we were going to pull ahead.

I watched Cash, his body fluid and strong like the well-honed machine he was. Never in my life had I been so turned on, and I couldn't even bring myself to care anymore. Sitting in front of this TV watching the game, I felt safer, more protected, more willing to indulge my teen-girl fantasies of shagging the hottest player on the team. I couldn’t bring myself to flirt with him in the flesh, but right here on my couch, fantasies were running wild.

The pitcher wound up his arm, eyes flashing as he released the ball, and just like I’d predicted, that ball curved deeply to the left before approaching home plate. Rodriguez’s body tensed, his fists white as he clutched the bat. He powered through his swing and sent the ball flying far out into left field, way beyond Cash, far beyond their outfielder, until it ricocheted right off the wall of the outfield, bouncing onto the turf as Cash and Miller launched from their bases. Like a well-oiled machine, each player rounded the field while the outfielder finally grabbed the ball and launched it to the pitcher, hoping to get it home before Cash could score.

I shrieked, jumping up in my small living room and clapping just as Cash’s foot landed on home. Safe.

Suddenly I was sad that I wasn’t there in person to celebrate with the team. The energy of the crowd pulsed through you, energizing you and raising the stakes of the game. I loved being at the field more than I’d even realized.

I sat back down on the couch when the team high-fived Cash in the dugout, a broad smile lighting his face. He was devastatingly handsome. He laughed with the guys and nodded his head as he cheered the other players on when it was their turn. I was completely enamored with him, and I hated every minute.

I hated that he was, in fact, sweet. He’d pulled at my heartstrings earlier today when he’d touched me, because that sent my body into a danger zone. It terrified me, all the painful memories of my past coming to the surface as my heart and my head fought for dominance.

Cash made me crazy, but I was beginning to find myself addicted to that feeling down low in my stomach.

The truth was, I’d never felt this way about anyone, either. I’d always been a pro at turning off my feelings and ruling with my head, statistics and numbers filling the empty spaces most people packed with love and sex and money.

Watching Cash play was equal parts maddening and thrilling, and part of me thought if I had to watch anyone play baseball for the rest of my life, I’d choose him.