Bring The Heat: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Bad Boys of Summer Book 1) (7 page)

“Unless you’d rather go with…” Paris dangled the bait with a sweetly sing-song tone.

Damn it!

I grimaced and squeezed my eyes closed. “Don’t call Whitney.”

I could just picture Paris’ Cheshire grin. She had me and she knew it.

“Are you sure? Robby will probably want to hang out after the game, and I don’t know who might tag along…”

I gritted my teeth together. “I said I’ll go.”

“Okay doll. Get to work and I’ll swing by to pick you up tomorrow at three! Ta-ta!”

How does she do that?
I marveled to myself, staring at the phone in my hand.

* * * *

After getting off the phone with Paris, I slipped into a pair of black leggings, a t-shirt dress, with a black belt cinched around my middle. I piled my hair up in a sloppy bun on the top of my head, applied a smattering of blush across my cheeks, a thin layer of lip gloss, and laced up my trusty pair of classic black Converse high tops and headed off to the coffee shop a few blocks from my house.

“Hey, Chelsea!” Tonya, one of the regular baristas called out when I pushed through the door.

Tonya was probably around my age, with dark skin, dark, expressive, almond-shaped eyes, and sleek ebony hair that always made me feel like a sloth by comparison. She was always dressed like she stepped out of the pages of some fashion forward magazine—a feat considering her wages were probably barely above minimum wage—and was one of the sweetest people I knew.

“Hey, Tonya.” I stopped by the door to snag a newspaper from the stack in the media bins. I walked it up to the counter, already searching for the sport’s section.

“Hot news item?” Tonya asked, her tone amused as I tore through the paper.

I found the page and drew in a sharp breath. I’d expected to see a blown up version of the picture of my car. What I hadn’t expected was to find an even larger picture of Cody Wright beside it.

“Ooh! Who is that man-muffin?” Tonya asked, gawking at Cody’s picture.

Unbelievable. It was like he was stalking me in a very passive-aggressive kind of way.

“That is Cody Wright, some new baseball player.”

“Well I can see why this was an emergency newspaper situation. Too bad it’s not in color, huh?”

I glanced up at Tonya and shook my head. “That’s not what’s important. Trust me. He’s not important. This…” I paused to slap my finger down on the picture of my poor, innocent bystander of a car. “This is my car!”

“What?” Tonya reeled back. “What happened?”

“He did…” I said, glaring at Cody’s image.

“Wow. I’m sorry, Chelsea. How awful!”

I shrugged, trying to let it go. If I got all riled up again I’d never be able to get my focus back to work. “The car is fine. The repair shop dropped it off this morning with a new windshield. I just can’t believe they printed this is the paper.”

“Did you get to keep the ball?” Tonya asked casually. “You could probably sell it.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

She shrugged. “That’s what I would do.”

I squashed the paper into a square, not bothering to take the time to follow the crease lines. It was going in the recycle bin anyway. “The paper, a banana muffin, and a…” I stalled as my normal menu options rotated through my head. “And a caramel drizzle vanilla latte. Please.”

“You got it!” Tonya sprang into action and a few minutes later, I was holed up at the corner table, my laptop open, muffin halfway devoured, and my latte cooling to tepid perfection.

Unfortunately, Cody’s image was glued in my mind and the words and figures on the screen in front of me lost all meaning. What was I doing? I absently fingered the corner of the newspaper and before I could stop myself, I peeled it back to the sports page and Cody stared back at me. The black and white image was nothing compared to the real, breathing, living man, but it was enough to rattle me and take my mind back to forbidden places.

Damn him.

I pushed the newspaper off the table and it fluttered to the seat opposite mine. “Screw this! I have a bestselling game to design!”

A little pep talk never hurts.

Cody

“So, they shipping your sorry ass back to Holdenville?”

I turned at the question and saw Robby Brown standing off to one side of Coach’s office, leaning back against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. “Not yet. What are you doing out here?”

He grinned. “Waiting for you, dumbass.”

“Why?”

Robby pushed off the wall and came over to me. “Cause I’ve decided we’re friends now. You obviously need some around here.”

I shrugged. “Why do I care?”

Robby ginned wider and shook his head. “You’re something else, man. I’ll give you that much.”

“I’m going to hit the gym. You can come with if you want.”

“Cool. I could use a good workout. Gotta tell you though, my ass is sore from fucking the shit outta my lady last night.” He jabbed me with his elbow.

“Was that before or after the entrees were served?” I retorted, remembering their vivid behavior at the sushi bar the night before. Normally I wouldn’t have even cared, but I was frustrated and edgy after the game, and Chelsea hadn’t been enough of a release to take that pent-up aggression off, leaving me even more pissed off.

“Sorry about that, brother. We just don’t know when to quit.”

“How about this for a general rule then, when two or more people are around…simple guideline.”

Robby laughed. “Fair enough. Unless I can talk her into swinging…”

A smile tugged at my lips. I didn’t want to laugh. I preferred my broody facade. It would be better for tomorrow night’s game if I could keep all the rage and anger bottled up and unleash it on schedule. But Robby was making it hard not to crack up.

“Swinging huh? Why not just a three way? More fun for you.”

“Ho ho! You say that like you have some experience. Come on, give me the deets.” He slapped me on the back and we started off toward the team gym facility.

I shot him a sideways grin. “I could make your head spin around like that thing on The Exorcist, Brown.”

“See? I knew this
friends
thing would work out just fine.”

“Maybe. Tell me what you know about Chelsea, Paris’ friend.”

Robby threw his head back and laughed loud enough the entire team could probably hear him coming. He slammed open the door to the gym and we entered to the attention of half a dozen players already mid-workout. As soon as they saw Robby they all shook their head and went back to what they were doing before his grand entrance.

This was apparently normal behavior from him. Shows over, folks, nothing to see here.

“Come on, I’ll spot ya,” Robby said, ushering the way forward.

We got settled at the bench and after loading it up, Robby spotted me through a set and then we switched roles.

“So, you like our little Chels, huh?” Robby said, grinning up at me once he got situated on the bench.

“How well do you know her?”

“Her and Paris are best friends. So pretty well. What do you want to know?”

How to get her to strip naked and call me daddy…

“Everything,” I said, going with the safe answer.

“All right. She’s a nerd girl. In a good way—”

I laughed. “Hot nerd. Got it.”

“Yeah, she spends most of her days glued to her computer and Paris has to pull teeth to get her to come out with us most of the time. But when she does, she’s a good time. Very funny. Smart wit. Obviously, doesn’t know she’s hot.”

I riled at Robby’s statement. For some reason, I was already incredibly possessive of her. She was going to be mine and no one else on this team was allowed to have her once I was done.

Hah! I grinned to myself. She wouldn’t want them anyway. None of them could live up to me.

“She date any of these losers?” I glanced around the room.

“Nah. Paris has tried to set her up over the last year and a half that I’ve been with her, but Chelsea always finds something wrong. Picky. Or scared. I don’t know which.”

“Picky.”

She wasn’t scared.

“Probably.” Robby grunted as he forced out his last rep and I guided the bar back into its set position. “Switch.”

We switched positions again, my arms fresh and ready for another round. “So, wait, you’ve known her a year and a half and she hasn’t dated anyone?”

Robby thought for a minute and then shook his head. “Not that I can think of. Dates, yes. Dated? No.”

“Hmm.” This might be tougher than I thought.

Good. The challenge would make it all the sweeter to enjoy the spoils once I won her over.

* * * *

The crowd was noticeably thinner than the last game. Either the Pioneers didn’t draw a crowd, or it was because of my major fuck up. TV cameras and sideline reporters still dotted the outskirts of the diamond, and I’d done enough pre-game bobbing and weaving to avoid photographers and nosy sports reporters to know the eyes of the MLB world were on the game, regardless of how many asses were actually in the bleachers.

I scanned the crowd once more, only interested in one particular spectator.

Chelsea Brooks.

Robby had called me last night, after we wound up practice, to tell me that when he got home, Paris told him that she and Chelsea would be at the game tonight. I was shocked she was coming back so soon—especially after everything Robby had told me about her. There could be only one reason she was there.

To see me.

And if I had it my way, she’d be getting an eye full. Both on, and off, the field.

The pressure on my shoulders was enormous but I was taking it all in stride. I was going to use Coach Robinson’s opportunity to show the crowd, the networks, Chelsea, my father, and the rest of the world who Cody fuckin’ Wright was and silence the haters once and for all. Tonight, I’d walk into any damn bar I chose and instead of a rain of hecklers and venom, I’d receive a hero’s welcome with cheers and autograph requests.

End of the fuckin’ story.

This was my true coming out party and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.

I spotted Paris in the crowd. She was a hard woman to miss in her red top that displayed what I already knew—Robby Brown was a lucky son of a bitch. I quickly shifted my eyes from her to the knockout sitting beside her. A smile spread across my face.

She dressed up for me.

The first night we met, she’d worn a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a baseball cap. Totally normal. Typical. Nothing spectacular—well, aside from the way her ass filled out those jeans. Tonight though, she was wearing a skin tight red tank top that was not only the team color but dipped low in the front and a bra that gave her cleavage that was visible from the diamond.
Damn it, Chelsea. You’re killing me.
On top of that, her hair was pulled back, showing off her kissable neck, collarbone, and the silver hoops in her ears. I couldn’t see below her waist but in my mind, she was wearing a short, black skirt that showed off her legs and curvy hips and a pair of sick heels that I’d make her leave on while I fucked her over the side of my bed.

She caught me watching her and ducked her chin before glancing at Paris and whispering something. My eyes snagged on her ruby red lips and—

“Yo, Wright? Pay fuckin’ attention!”

I snapped from the image of Chelsea’s red lips wrapped around my cock and tuned into what Coach was rambling on about. The rest of the team glared at me. They didn’t understand why I was being started and I held back my tongue before I could put them all on blast and remind them that while I fucked up and gave up a grand slam, they’d fucked up the first eight and a half innings and loaded up the bases before I even showed up.

But, that wasn’t going to win me any points.

As promised, I started the game on the mound, and by the seventh inning, we were up two nothing and my confidence was at an all-time high. Which was saying something. Up to that point, I’d only allowed three hits and none of them had converted into any traction for the Pioneers. It was actually fun watching them scramble to try and get their shit together while I blew fastballs clocking over 100 MPH at them.

Throughout the game, I kept sneaking peeks of Chelsea in the stands. She’d plopped a floppy sun hat on her head at some point, but I could still see her face and on a few occasions caught her staring right at me. Each time sent a rush of heat through me, and the mental timer in my head was counting down the minutes until the game would be over and I could get her to myself.

“Okay, Wright, this is your game, you own it. Just hold onto this momentum and the meatball you gave up last night will be a faded memory,” Coach told me as I guzzled from my Gatorade bottle. He continued, rattling off stats and strategy for the next guy up to bat.

“Send them my way, Coach. I got it.” I tossed the bottle down, dusted my hands, and took off to my place on the pitcher’s mound.

The Pioneers got their batter set, I reminded myself of what Coach had told me, and set a grin on my face.

“Time to have some fun,” I said to myself. I flicked my eyes to Chelsea. “You better be watchin’, baby.”

The first batter stepped into the box and tapped the plate with the tip of his bat before pointing it at me. He flashed a jeering smile and my lips curled back into an even wider grin. “Oh, you don’t wanna do that, son.”

Once the batter got set, I reared back and delivered a blazing fastball right down the middle to an eruption of cheers from the crowd.

The grin slid right from the cocky bastards face as the first strike was called over the PA.

The crowd cheered harder as the speed of the pitch lit up the scoreboard with pixelated fireworks flashing around the number.

100 MPH. “Who’s your daddy, bitch?”

Chelsea clapped, a smile cracking that beautiful face. I’d never wanted her more.

Damn it, let’s get this thing over with.

The next pitch clocked in at 101 and caught the lower inside corner of the plate for strike two. The crowd jumped to their feet and my name was chanted from top to bottom as the stadium of fans joined in. Across the diamond, the batter looked like he was about to piss his pants. Odds were, he wouldn’t try for the next one. I slowed it down and threw him a changeup that he swung at before the ball even got to him.