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Being the only woman working for a
professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic
trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off
players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about
how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much
as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.
But number eleven is doing more than
fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his
game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a
motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming
to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.
He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience,
they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no
matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she
discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from
the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.
And maybe he is.
Allie will have to confront the stories
attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her
faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?
“Hey.” Archer slid
next to me on the bench after jogging into the dugout.
“Hey,” I replied,
trying to ignore that same mix of sweat and man closing in around me when he
slid closer. Along with it came the hint of grass and leather. It should have
been offensive, but it was the opposite. I loved this sport and everything that
came with it—the scents included.
“So how do you like
playing football?” I asked, keeping a straight face.
“Please, football
players have it easy with all that padding and protection. I’m going to look
like I got tuned up by a tire iron tomorrow.” He turned his forearms over, and
I could already make out a few bruises breaking to the surface.
“You want something
for the pain?” I reached down for my duffel bag.
“Do I ever want
something for the pain?”
“Fine.” I tucked the
bag back under the bench. The bruises weren’t bad—he’d survive.
“But I wouldn’t mind
a nice deep-tissue massage later. Let’s say ten o’clock. My room. Clothing
optional.” He kept his voice quiet, smirking at the field as the Rays threw a
few warm-up balls.
“No pressure,” I said
under my breath.
His smirk grew. “No
pressure.”
When Coach paced down
the dugout past us, Archer casually shifted farther down the bench from me, his
smirk fading.
“I want to steal
home.” Archer scooted back closer to me once Coach’s and the other players’
attention was on Hernandez stepping up to the plate.
“No one steals home
anymore.”
“Doesn’t mean it
can’t be done.”
His arm was brushing
against mine, messing with my head. “Doesn’t mean it should be done either.”
“We need a run. We
need a big play.” He sucked in a breath when Hernandez swung at the pitch . . .
and missed. Strike one. “If Hernandez and Garfield can get on base and I hit a
double or a triple, we’ll be in good shape.”
“Or you could just
hit one of those homerun things you’re setting records for. That could work.” I
glanced at him from the corners of my eyes.
He shook his head at
me.
“Stealing home
plate?” I repeated, realizing he was serious. “It’s like a one-in-a-thousand
shot you’ll pull it off.”
“Never tell me the
odds. It only makes me want to do it more.” His jaw ground when Hernandez
chalked up another swing and a miss.
“Play it safe. I know
you’re favoring your right leg.” My gaze dropped to his leg running down the
length of mine. “I don’t know what you did to it, but I know it’s hurting.
Don’t risk injuring it any more.” When his jaw set a little, I sighed. “Am I
going to have to tell Coach?”
“I just twisted it
weird. It’s fine. A little ice and rest and I’ll be good.”
“Is this when you
tell me you’re going to walk it off?”
It wasn’t affecting
his performance much, but he’d need speed and luck to steal home. With the way
he was favoring his leg, speed was not in his corner tonight.
“No. This is when I show you
I’m going to walk it off. Right after I add another point to our side of the
scoreboard when I steal home.”
When Shepherd glanced
down the bench, I reached into my duffel so it looked like I had a reason to be
having a conversation with the star player. Instead of the real reason we were
having a conversation.
“Don’t steal home,” I
said once Shepherd’s attention went back to the game. When Archer sighed, I
added, “Not as in not ever. Just wait until the time’s right. When you know
you’ll be successful.”
He looked ready to
argue when pitch number three sailed at Hernandez and he connected with the
ball, sending a whizzing line-drive into left field. Hernandez turned on the
jets and hauled to first base, making it right before the ball smacked into the
first baseman’s glove.
The dugout let loose
with a round of whistles and cheers.
“I’m on deck.”
“Good luck.” I nudged
his leg with mine as he stood.
“Hey, I’ve got my
lucky shirt on. I’m all set.” He slid off his ball cap and sailed it into my
lap.
“Yeah, but it’s been
washed a few times since I was in it. Not sure how much luck’s left in it.”
“I’m feeling pretty
damn lucky.” He pinched at the shirt before slipping a batting helmet onto his
head. “But don’t worry. I fully plan on having my jersey draped around your
body again soon.”
My eyes wandered down
the dugout. No one was watching—they were too busy holding their breaths as
Garfield sauntered up to the plate.
“Don’t steal home.”
“Make me a better
offer, and I’ll consider it.” He paused for a heartbeat, challenging me with
his eyes. When my lips stayed sealed, he climbed the steps out of the dugout.
“Home plate it is.”
Nicole Williams is
the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young
adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have
been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign
markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working
on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She
loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about
characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by
books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her
own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic
like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing,
she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left
over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
Nicole is represented
by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.
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