Young, rich, and unaware of how seriously hot he is, Brooks Davison is tearing it up as the latest shortstop for the New York Kings, despite his tendency to blush whenever girls scream his name.
When a health scare forces his best friend, Kyle Roberts, off the team, no one can stomach the thought of replacing him, especially so close to the playoffs.
Until Kyle’s sister, Sasha, steps in, convincing management to let her take his place. The idea of signing the first female player in Major League history proves too tempting for the Kings to resist.
Nevertheless, Brooks doesn’t want any part of it. Sasha is Kyle’s little sister, not some sideshow.
Yet when Kyle takes a turn for the worse, Brooks promises to do everything in his power to help Sasha win a championship for him. Because there’s no way he’s letting either of them down. Not now, not ever.
I place my hand on top of hers and will myself to speak. “Let me show you how to pack.”
My response has the desired effect as she drops her arms from my body, giving me a playful shove. “I’m not a child. I know how to pack,” she huffs in agitation.
“Not like you should,” I banter back, finding the guts to turn around. “Is that your suitcase over there?” I point to the zebra-print wheelie in the corner.
“Yeah, so?” She crosses her arms defiantly.
“It’s got to go. There’s no way you’re boarding our charter plane tomorrow with a piece of girly luggage like that.” I step forward and kneel down, flipping it on its side and sliding the zipper around the base.
“Hey! What are you doing? Who gave you permission to rifle through my stuff?”
She attempts to swat me away, but I don’t budge. The first thing that assaults my eyes is a Chase Whitfield T-shirt. For a moment, I freeze, just looking at it, unsure if I should touch it or not.
“You’re certainly obsessed with him, aren’t you? I hate to break it to you, but he’s married with a kid.”
She grabs it, folding it up and shoving it under her arm. “I know that. It’s just something I wear when no one’s around, when I want to relax.”
My fingers tingle as they glide over the softness of her pajama bottoms. I never pegged her as the skimpy lingerie type. I like that she’s wholesome like that. So many of these groupies leave little to the imagination, and that’s in public. It’s hard to come across someone who’s pure and innocent. Sasha’s a little spitfire, but at heart, she’s still that down-home girl who doesn’t have to try so hard to get a guy’s attention. She is who she is, take it or leave it. She’s not going to get all sexy. She’d rather be comfortable.
“What’s this? A pink Kings cap? Oh, Sasha,” I groan as I flick it across the room. “Don’t you dare bring that within a mile of the guys or they’ll never take you seriously.”
“Don’t go throwing my grandma’s hat around, Sandy!” she rebukes me, scrambling to her feet to retrieve it.
I instantly regret my action as she places it on her head, cupping the brim. It looks cute on her, but I’m not sure if she wants to hear that. She seems furious at me for hurling it aside.
“My grandma was the first one I called when Heimlich said yes,” she confesses, scooting closer to me. “And you know what she said? ‘It’s about damn time.’”
I can’t help but laugh, and she joins in right along with me, easing the tension. I could listen to her laugh all day, every day, and never get tired of it. It doesn’t just sound good. It feels good, like she’s casting a warm glow on my heart.
About Collette West
Collette West grew up as somewhat of a jock-nerd hybrid. Entering the world three weeks premature, her dad nearly missed her birth because he had seats behind the dugout for a sold-out, highly-anticipated match-up between two of baseball’s biggest rivals. Not to be outdone, her book-loving mom taught her how to read by the time she was three. A love of the game coupled with an appreciation for the written word were instilled in Collette’s impressionable brain from a young age. No wonder her characters believe in the philosophy: sports + romance = a little slice of heaven.
Splitting her time between the Pocono Mountains and Manhattan, Collette indulges her inner fangirl by going to as many games as she can from hockey to baseball and downloading every sports romance novel in existence onto her iPad. When she’s not clicking away on her laptop, she enjoys walking her dog in Central Park, satisfying her caffeine craving at the Starbucks on Broadway and keeping an eye out for Mr. Right. But above all, she loves dishing with her readers. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
She is the author of NIGHT GAMES and GAME CHANGER.