Page 48 of The Player I Can’t Pick

I look down at myself. “Are you serious right now?”

His jaw tightens. “I’m very serious.”

I put a hand on my hip, and it brings up my shirt, showing even more of my naked lower half. “Guy!”

He points toward the area of the front of the apartment. “It’s my teammates. A bunch of guys.”

“So?”

“So you’re mine.”

The possessive way he says it sends heat through me even though I’m trying to get rid of him. “Fine. I’ll put more clothes on. Obviously, I’m not going out there with my ass hanging out.”

A loud knock sounds from the front door. “That’s them.” I lean through the window and kiss him quickly. “I’m sorry about this. Bye, Guy. I’ll call you later.”

He looks completely unhappy with the situation. “This is bullshit.”

“I know.”

I push lightly against his shoulder. “Go.”

He finally climbs the rest of the way out, and I close the window behind him.

I grab a pair of shorts and pull them on as I hurry down the hallway. I know I probably look like a mess. My hair is wild, and I’m pretty sure I look exactly like a woman who spent most of the night getting ravaged by a professional baseball player. There’s nothing I can do about it now. I open the door, and my dad is standing on the other side. “Hey, sweetie.”

I smile like everything is completely normal. “Hey, Dad.”

He points toward the moving truck and the group of men already gathering outside. “We just need the key and we’ll start bringing everything in.”

I turn and start searching for my purse. “I can help.”

Dad shakes his head. “We’ve got it. You just tell everyone where things go.”

I find the key and hand it to him. “Everything is labeled, but yeah, I can do that.”

He kisses the top of my head before heading back outside. As soon as the door closes, I rush into the bathroom. I brush my teeth, run a brush through my hair, and splash cold water on my face. When I look at myself in the mirror, I groan. There is no fixing the satisfied smile I can’t seem to get rid of. I walk back into the living room as the guys start carrying boxes inside. For the next twenty minutes, I point them toward different rooms and try not to wonder where Guy went. I know he parked across the complex last night, so I assume he made it to his truck and left. I’m almost disappointed. Which is ridiculous because I’m the one who shoved him out the window.

The guys are on their second load when someone backs through my front door carrying one end of my couch. I recognize the broad shoulders immediately. Guy.

Finn Peters, the Bears’ second baseman, is carrying the other end. “Look who we found,” Finn says as they maneuver the couch through the doorway.

My face heats. “Oh. Hey, guys. Thanks for doing this.”

Finn flashes me a smile. “Anything for you, sweetness.”

My eyes instantly move to Guy, and his jaw tightens. Oh no.

Finn has flirted with me the few times I’ve seen him around the stadium, but I know it doesn’t mean anything. He flirts with everyone.

Guy apparently doesn’t care. They set the couch down and stare at each other.

“Thanks,” I tell them.

A few more guys carry boxes through the apartment before heading back outside. Finn and Guy both stay behind. Finn turns toward me. “Hey, so I was wondering if you’d want to go out sometime. I know you’re new to town. I could show you around.”

My eyebrows lift. I’m about to answer when Guy steps beside me and hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. “Forget it. She’s taken, Peters.”

My mouth drops open. Did Guy Brody just claim me in front of one of his teammates?