Page 16 of Third Strike Smitten

Even Killian drops his head for a second, shoulders shaking with a quiet laugh before he looks back up at me. “Do you just sit around thinking of ways to insult people professionally?”

“No, professionally I smile and hand out pretzels. This is recreational.”

“I think that’s somehow worse.”

“It’s actually one of my greatest strengths.”

“According to who?”

“Me, of course.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s warmth behind his gaze. Interest. Curiosity. Like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me.

And Honestly?

Same.

Because I’ve watched him pitch for years. I know the cocky interviews, the smug smirks, the headlines calling him baseball’s favorite bad boy. I know the version of him that everyone else sees.

And this guy right here?

He doesn’t seem like that guy at all.

“You’re doing it again,” I say before I can stop myself.

His brows pull together. “Doing what?”

“Thinking too hard.”

A quietness settles over the table for half a second. Not awkward. Just surprised.

Killian leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as his fingers trace the neck of his beer, his eyes fixed on mine. “You always analyze strangers this much?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Brock slaps the table so hard the drinks rattle.

Padrick gasps dramatically beside me. “ISLA!”

“What?” I laugh, holding my hands up innocently. “He is objectively attractive. I’m not blind.”

Killian stares at me for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering across his face before he huffs out another laugh and shakes his head.

“You are genuinely insane.”

“And yet,” I say sweetly, lifting my beer toward him, “your ERA improves the second I start talking.”

His mouth twitches.

“Careful.” He grins. “You’re getting cocky now.”

I grin over the rim of my bottle as I shrug my shoulders. “I guess I learned from the best.”

5

KILLIAN

The hotel room door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, letting out a long breath. The silence after hours of noise feels almost deafening.