Page 25 of Sterling Stone

He should have never kissed me in the first place. And I’m the stupid one who let him.

Forcing my gaze to unlock from his, I turn my attention back toward Clay, waiting on my new coach to give instructions.

Being involved in a game is like being placed in another community. Players find a sense of belonging and common initiative. Go. Fight. Win.

Being among this lot is an entirely different experience from the average competitiveness of an athletic game.

The teams are as evenly divided as they can be. Partners get separated, leading to flirty innuendos about going down and future promises. Children get included, right down to a pair of five-year-olds. The six Sylver brothers divide down the middle.

Stone, Ford, Sebastian. Clay, Judd, Knox.

As the game begins, I’m surprised by the overall athleticism of the boys, now men, and their playful banter. Jabs and jokes about age and ability are tossed around the diamond.

The night I met Stone, he said he intended to make his brother’s fight, and I realize now he meant Judd, who’d been boxing in bars for a number of years.

My gaze slings between the two, wondering how I hadn’t made the connection. Then again, Judd is a little taller than his older two brothers. He’s lean like Clay but muscular and strong like Stone. His eyes are more cobalt blue than the softer tone of the older two, and honestly, I wasn’t thinking about my old friend when I gazed upon the kind glow of his oldest brother.

Fool me once, shame on me. I will not be fooled again, and I pull my gaze from Stone and his position as pitcher on the mound.

As a weak link on my team—even the kids are better than me—I’m at the bottom of the batting order, so when it’s finally my turn up at bat, I try to concentrate more on the ball than the silver fox pitcher.

Easier said than done as he’s looking at me from beneath the brim of a low-slung ball cap, sizing me up and down, making me feel like he’s mentally undressing me. Pop would go the fastenings on my overalls. Down comes the denim. Off comes the tank top.

Yeah, not happening.

“You gonna pitch that ball or just stare at me?” I taunt, unable to stop myself.

For some strange reason, it isn’t only that I want to attempt to hit that ball, envision it being smacked out of this makeshift ballfield, but I want to prove I’m a player too.

I belong on someone’s team.

Stone slowly lowers the ball to his waist, eyeing me like he’s surprised I spoke.

“Cat got your tongue, old man.” The teasing jab comes from one of his siblings.

“More like the girl has his attention.”

Flustered by the comment, I turn toward Sebastian who is crouched behind me as the catcher for his team.

Does he know Stone and I met? Has Stone mentioned me? How could he after what he did?

While I’m distracted, Stone lets the ball sail. It narrowly misses me. Thanks to the quick reflexes of Sebastian, he catches the ball.

“What the hell?” I mutter, turning back toward the pitching mound and taking up a batting stance again.

I will not strike out. I will not strike out.

The mantra seems to shift in my head.

You will not regret me. Say you will remember me.

Sheer determination has me swinging, connecting the bat with the next pitch, and sending the ball between second and third base. As Stone’s team has one of his young nieces covering the shortstop position, he runs toward the spot to help her retrieve the ball.

Because I’m so excited I made a hit, I race toward first and round for second like I’m a newly drafted professional when my exercise regimen consists of occasional yoga and a rare walk. Focused on second base, I don’t pay attention to Stone making his way to the same spot. I should slide, but that isn’t going to happen in my cute overalls, not to mention I don’t know how. Plus, flinging myself into the dirt and gliding over it seems like it would hurt. Badly.

Stone tags the base with his large foot, which is a certain out, the last one of the inning for my team. Only my momentum keeps me going and I barrel straight toward Stone who catches me around the waist, spins me around, and hikes me over his shoulder.

“Out,” he cries, loud and proud, further confirming what I already knew.