Page 99 of Third Strike Smitten

“Killian? Can you help me with this back? I can’t quite reach⁠—”

Her voice dies in her throat when she sees me. I know the feeling because I’m experiencing the exact same thing.

Fuck me.

She’s a knockout.

She stands in the doorway of my bedroom, the teal fabric catching the light like liquid silk, and I swear my heart stops beating for a solid three seconds. The color is perfect—identical to the Lagers team colors—and it makes her hair look like fire against the cool blue-green. The dress hugs every curve, the slit revealing just enough leg to make my mouth go dry.

“Holy shit, Kill. You clean up…” She swallows hard. “Nice. You look hot.”

I don’t answer her. Not because I don’t want to, but because I physically can’t.

Because I can’t stop looking at her.

“Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring,” Isla says, a blush creeping up her neck.

“I’m memorizing,” I correct her, crossing the room in three strides. I take her hands in mine, pulling her toward me. “You look absolutely fucking stunning, Coach.”

Her face sparkles with a nervous energy. “The dress isn’t too much?”

“Are you kidding? No, it’s not too much. It’s fucking perfect.” I brush my thumb across her knuckles, feeling the slight tremor in her hands. “You’re perfect.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrays her. “You’re biased.”

When she turns and I catch a glimpse of the low-cut back with the corset ties I have to stop and take a breath again.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mumble. “Damn right I’m biased.” I lean down, pressing my lips to the sensitive spot just below her ear. “And I’m the goddamn luckiest bastard in this city tonight because I get to tie you into this dress…” I tug at the ties and then create an elegant bow at the bottom of the corset and then slide my hands around the front of her, kissing her shoulder and teasing, “and then I’ll get to enjoy every fucking minute of helping you out of it.”

A shiver runs through her body, and I feel it against my chest. The sound that escapes her lips is barely audible, but it sends heat straight to my groin.

“Killian,” she whimpers, her voice breathy. “We’re going to be late.”

“We’ve got time,” I hum against her neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume mixed with something uniquely Isla. My fingers trace the line of her hip bone through the thin fabric. “Besides, I haven’t even given you your gift yet.”

She turns in my arms, and I catch the surprise on her face. “What? You got me a gift?”

I reach into my pocket, pulling out the velvet box. For as small as it is, it feels like it’s carrying the weight of my entire future. “It’s not much,” I say, suddenly feeling nervous in a way I never have before. Not even on the mound with bases loaded. “But I saw it and thought it…thought you’d…well, maybe you’d like it.”

I hand Isla the box and she opens it, revealing the delicate gold bracelet with its tiny baseball charm. Her breath catches, and her hand flies to her mouth.

“Killian,” she breathes, her eyes glistening. “It’s beautiful.”

“It reminded me of us,” I say, my voice rougher than usual. “How we met. How baseball brought us together.”

Isla reaches out, her fingers trembling slightly as she touches the delicate chain. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to wear it tonight if you don’t⁠—”

“Help me put it on?” She turns, offering me her wrist. “Of course I want to wear it.”

The clasp is small, and my hands are shaking more than I’d like to admit. I’m a professional athlete with precise control over every pitch I throw, yet this tiny piece of jewelry has me fumbling like a teenager. I fasten the clasp, my fingers brushing against the soft skin of her inner wrist. The gold looks perfect against her fair skin, the baseball charm catching the light. When she finally looks up at me, a lone tear slips down her cheek, and I tenderly swipe it away with the pad of my thumb.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers, holding up her wrist to admire it. “Thank you, Killian.”