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“Freeman, you gonna make it? You could barely lift your bat out there on the field.”
It’s our first game back since the All-Star break and while most of us managed to get some much-needed R&R, a few played a little too hard, and it shows.
“Don’t worry about me, Brick. I just need a Red Bull and maybe a sling for my dick. Poor guy is exhausted from our weekend with Holly,” he says wagging his eyebrows.
I smirk, shaking my head. Holly Cooper is a cleat chaser who has run the bases when it comes to our team. She’s hot, extremely outgoing, and she doesn’t blab to the media about her conquests.
All of that makes Holly a perfect companion for guys who are only looking for a good time and zero commitment; guys like Jason Freeman, and not too long ago, me.
My last encounter with Holly was about a year ago. We were at a bar on Bourbon Street and she cornered me in the bathroom, where she dropped to her knees andcongratulatedme on our win earlier that night.
“Holly? You mean Holly “The Hoover” Cooper?” I ask, knowing I’m about to piss Freeman off and loving every second of it. “I didn’t know she was still making the rounds. Man, that girl is fun.” I pause for dramatic effect, a dreamy look on my face as I pretend to reminisce. “She damn-near sucked the barbell off my Prince Albert the last time I saw her.”
“You motherf—”
The room goes quiet as our skipper, Buddy, clears his throat. Loudly. And obviously in response to our exchange, based on the stern expression on his face.
When I make eye contact and start to apologize, I realize he’s not alone.
Standing beside him is a familiar face I definitely did not expect to see here.
Greer Bradley.
She’s a friend of a friend. Owen Thatcher, one of our relief pitchers and a good friend of mine, is engaged to her best friend, Sophie. So, I’ve seen her around. But besides that, she’s a reporter for one of the local television stations.
One thing is for sure, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—a real bombshell.
Long, toned legs, curves in all the right places, a mouth that’s begging to be kissed, dark hair, and sultry green eyes that are shooting daggers straight at me.
Damn.
Not sure what I did to deserve that, but if looks could kill, I’d be dead. Maybe she overheard our bullshit, but surely that wouldn’t be enough to earn me a death sentence. It had nothing to do with her.
Instead of giving her a look of apology, something to smooth the waters, I do the opposite and smirk. I can’t help it. Give me a challenge and I’m going to attack.
These guys call me Brick, as in brick wall, because nothing gets through me. But when I was in college they called me Bulldog, because if I wanted something, I latched on and I didn’t let go. I’m tough and tenacious. Nothing gets me going more than a challenge. Since I was a little kid, I’ve always thrived in the face of adversity.
So a little pushback from Greer is like catnip for me.
And let’s get one thing clear, my smirk is not your run-of-the-mill facial expression. It’s a weapon of mass destruction, capable of vanquishing mere mortals with devastating accuracy.
That’s not me being cocky, just confident. I’ve seen what it can do.
We’re a team, my smirk and I.
It makes the promises and then I follow through.
The only question is, how will the illustrious Greer Bradley react?
I watch her intently and she does not disappoint. Her eyes narrow even more and if I had blinked, I would’ve missed the brief flare of her nostrils. There might have even been some smoke coming out of her ears, but I miss it due to her breaking eye contact and making a quick sweep down my naked torso.
Did I just flex my chest muscles?
Maybe.
“Gentlemen,” Buddy calls out. “I have some information I’d like to share with you all, so if you could settle down and remember the manners your mamas taught you, I’d appreciate it.”
Greer’s eyes meet mine once more, briefly, and I see a slight blush on those gorgeous high cheekbones.
