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Rafe nodded, cracking open a bottle of water and sitting back in one of the lounge chairs that lined Kane’s large deck. “The curse is nothing to screw around with.”
“Heck no, it isn’t. We don’t need that distracting us this year,” said Aiden.
“What curse?” asked Kane, looking at each of the Strikers.
“Any season one of the Strikers falls in love and ties the knot—or even just gets engaged— three will fall,” answered Rafe, shaking his head. “Every damn time, if one falls, two more will fall that season. And every year the curse is in play, the team suffers from the diversion.”
“What?” Kane asked, the confusion and incredulity hard to ignore on his face.
Gage nodded. “There was five years ago when Justin Yardley met that girl just before the season started. He married her less than a month later, triggering the curse. Mike Bussey was next, falling for that doctor who subbed for the team doctor for a month, and then Dale Carey. He got engaged right at the end of the season. We lost our bid for the pennant that year.”
Aiden picked up right after Gage finished. “Then two years ago, it was Dane, Jackson, and Eli. Last year, we thought we escaped because only Pete Murphy and Alex Perez fell in love during the season, but at the very last minute, Coach Mendez asked his girl to marry him, completing the trifecta.”
Rafe jumped in. “And, whenever the curse is in play, something gets fouled up. We lost the World Series one year because of it. But, if no one gets married or engaged and activates it, the curse won’t hit us and we won’t have any distractions.”
Kane, Jake, and several other Brawlers were almost on the floor laughing. The football players might have a few superstitions here and there, but they weren’t nearly as bad as the Strikers and they liked to taunt them for it.
“Hey, laugh all you want. This shit is serious,” Rafe said, shaking his head at his friends again. “You don’t mess around with the curse.”
“What do you call it?” Jake asked. “The Triple Play Curse?”
His friends buckled over laughing at that, but every Striker in attendance was quick to stop that line of questioning.
“You don’t name these things!” Rafe said, sitting up in his chair and pointing to the Brawlers with his water bottle. “That just gives it more power.”
The football players all straightened up, nodding and putting on more solemn faces for a few minutes before Kane spoke up again.
“So, it’s like The-Curse-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named?” he asked. The Strikers scowled while the Brawlers continued to laugh.
Ashlyn Daniels smiled as Elise Tyler—her long-time friend and a teacher at the same school where Ashlyn taught fourth grade—handed her a bowl of potato salad to carry outside. Elise and her husband, Kane, always threw great parties and barbecues. Since Kane played football for San Francisco's beloved Brawlers, the parties never failed to have plenty of eye candy for Ashlyn and Elise’s other girlfriends. Some of the girls had occasionally sampled the candy as opposed to just looking, but that wasn’t Ashlyn’s kind of thing.
She wasn’t pro-sport groupie material. She was a schoolteacher and smart enough not to let the fame and good looks of Kane’s friends dazzle her. She knew better than to believe that lightning would strike twice. Just because Elise and Kane had fallen in love, didn’t mean a long-term committed relationship was in the cards for any of the other Brawlers. She’d heard the guys talking. Most of them were young, wallowing in wealth, incredibly good looking and—based on what she’d overheard—committed to bachelorhood. In fact, most reveled in the attention they got from their groupies and were all too happy to take advantage of the no-strings-attached offers thrown at them on a daily basis.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, a few of the Strikers are here today, too,” Elise said casually, as the women walked out of the kitchen and toward the backyard. Ashlyn stumbled and Carrie and Beth, two of their other friends, smacked into her from behind.
“Sorry,” she said, as her face grew hot. For whatever reason, she’d always found the baseball players who hung out with Kane a lot harder to ignore than the football players. Maybe because she loved the game, and, she had to admit, she loved the uniforms, the long, lean bodies of the players—the whole package. The blazing blue eyes, coal-black hair and panty melting smile of one player, in particular. One she hoped to avoid but didn’t want to ask about specifically for fear of tipping Elise and the others off to her attraction.
Apparently she hadn’t been as slick as she thought because Elise’s next words, delivered right as Ashlyn walked out the patio doors and into view of all the other guests, were, “Even Rafe came today.”
She turned to eye Elise and caught the ear-to-ear grin her friend didn’t seem able to suppress. Elise was enjoying this a little too much. Ashlyn shrugged a shoulder.
“So? I told you, Elise, I’m not looking to date a player. Football, baseball, orotherwise.”
Elise shook her head while Carrie and Beth walked ahead of them to place their bowls of salads and chips on the long table lining the patio. Kane’s friends sat in chairs around him while he removed burgers and chicken from the grill, piling the meat on a large platter.
“It sure worked for me, Ashlyn. And, I know Carrie has had fun hanging out with a couple of the guys. Why not have some fun and see where it goes?” she whispered.
Ashlyn shook her head. “It’s just not for me, Elise. That’s all. I’d rather stick to guys my own speed.” As she said it, she all but cringed. The last guy she’d gone out on a date with had been an accountant. Good looking and safe—mostly safe—he’d been looking for marriage, kids, and the white picket fence. Everything she wanted in life.
Only he’d also been as boring as watching paint dry. They’d gone on three dates before he kissed her goodnight, and when he did, there wasn’t a spark to be felt for miles around. Nothing, nadda, zilch. Still, that didn’t mean she should be foolish and go hog wild in the other direction. A baseball player who routinely moved from one woman to the next wasn’t what she needed. She needed a happy medium. Some balance, that’s all.
Ashlyn shook her head at Elise once again for good measure, purposefully walking toward the group and ending the discussion. She would find what she wanted one day. A safe guy, whose dreams and goals matched hers, but who also sparked a fire in her. Who made her feel like the women she’d read about in all her romance novels: women whose men made them feel like they were the only woman on the planet; women whose men set them ablaze with heat and passion and love. She’d find that some day, but it sure wouldn’t be with a baseball player who could have any woman he wanted any night of the week. A baseball player who would most likely break out in jock itch at the mention of marriage or a white picket fence.
She stole a glance at Rafe Wilson with his sparkling blue eyes, tanned, chiseled face, and tattoos running down the full length of both arms. Nope, definitely not for her, she thought, completely ignoring the way her thighs clenched at just the sight of him. And the heat that seemed to race through her when he laughed and glanced her way. Or the way his long legs looked wrapped in faded, oh-so-soft looking jeans that hugged in just the right places.Allthe right places. Nope.
Not. For. Her.
Chapter Two
