Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“I’ll see you back at the office.”
Savvy weaves her way to the exit and out of sight. My attention returns to the field as the players swap out. “Griffin Greene, huh?” I can tell he’s a big guy, even from where I sit in the stands. Broad shoulders and muscular arms that tend to be exactly what I’m drawn to when I’m drinking, which isn’t too often these days. But there was a time when life was less complicated, and from what I see, I’d certainly find him attractive if I were partying out on the town.
Let’s just hope he’s not as cute as Savvy says. Being a thirty-something single woman in Dover Creek is already a crime in some people’s eyes. Falling for the enemy would not only be unforgivable in my family but it would also have me serving two life sentences.
“Oh Jesus.” He covers third base, too? I don’t stand a chance. I pray to the baseball diamond itself that he is hideous to look at up close and married. I’m doomed to make a big mistake with a ballplayer otherwise.
The sky rumbles through the few clouds above, but a storm is brewing not too far off, and dark clouds are moving in quickly. I stand and start down the steps, not wanting to get caught in a downpour.
The players jog to the dugout as I duck into the open-air stairwell. With the sky darkening, I make it to the main gate at the same time as some of the players heading for their cars.
“Did you catch that home run, Cricket?”
I stop to look back at the sound of a familiar voice. Seeing Coach Barth, I smile. “Impressive. It’s all for a good cause, but I can’t say I wouldn’t mind kicking some ass out on the diamond. I’m glad you made the call.”
“There’s no calling Griff. The man’s been out of pocket for so long that I was surprised to even find an active email for him.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “He’s our secret weapon, though we do have a few players coming in from the Round Rock Express. Grew up here. It’s a solid team.”
Lightning cracks almost as loud as that home run. I duck in reaction and turn toward the parking lot. “I should get going before the rain kicks in.” I start walking backward, and add, “Maybe we can sign a few of these guys for the season.”
“We can’t afford ’em.”
“You never know until we try, Coach.” I turn around and slam into a hard chest. My body is sent backward, but hands the size of baseball mitts catch me by the back of the arms. My eyes meet his, and my breath stops hard in my chest. My heart clenches from the sight of him.
“You should be more careful,” he says. The warning in his dulcet tone shoots through my body and straight to my toes. “Or you might get hurt.” He looks away too quickly, releasing me when I’m steady on my feet again. “See you tomorrow, Coach,” he calls over my head like I’m not even standing here, then turns to walk toward the lot.
The clip of Coach’s steps echoes in the opposite direction as he returns down the hall toward the locker rooms.
“Hey,” I say, not sure what the hell I’m doing or what should follow “hey” since he stopped. I just want to get a good look at him since the last one was too quick. I’m only granted his profile, which holds its own—killer cliff of a jawline dusted in scruff, eyes that have seen too much life to be concerned with what’s behind him, and a nose that’s near perfection. But it’s a flaw I’m most drawn to, a bump on the bridge of his nose that makes me think it’s been broken a time or two, and has me curious about whether it was earned in a baseball play, a bar fight, or an accident on his ranch. My mind goes wild with potential causes.
Not losing my initial train of thought, I ask, “Have we met before?”
Barely angled in my direction, he laughs under his breath without giving me more than an ounce of his attention. “You a fan?”
“I . . . um . . .” I’m so taken back by the question that I stumble further into this mess. “Uh . . .”
“It’s okay. I’ll give ya an autograph.” He glances back at me but it’s too quick to form an impression. His grumpy personality is doing a stellar job of making sure I want nothing to do with this guy. “If you have something for me to sign.”
Mortified, I can feel my cheeks heating and hope to God he doesn’t see. With an ego like his, feeding it is the last thing I want to do. “I don’t want an autograph,” I snap.