Young, rich, and unaware of how seriously hot he is, Brooks Davison is tearing it up as the latest shortstop for the New York Kings, despite his tendency to blush whenever girls scream his name.
When a health scare forces his best friend, Kyle Roberts, off the team, no one can stomach the thought of replacing him, especially so close to the playoffs.
Until Kyle’s sister, Sasha, steps in, convincing management to let her take his place. The idea of signing the first female player in Major League history proves too tempting for the Kings to resist.
Nevertheless, Brooks doesn’t want any part of it. Sasha is Kyle’s little sister, not some sideshow.
Yet when Kyle takes a turn for the worse, Brooks promises to do everything in his power to help Sasha win a championship for him. Because there’s no way he’s letting either of them down. Not now, not ever.
I’m in a fitful kind of sleep, one arm tossed over my face, one leg hanging off the bed,
when I hear a rapping at my door.
My heart starts to pound. What if it’s some demented stalker fan? I pull the covers up to my chin, determined to wait it out. But when it comes again, my curiosity gets the better of me and I inch slowly off the bed. Going stealthily step by step, I take a deep breath and look through the peephole.
I gasp when I see Brooks standing there.
My heart goes from a dull pounding to full-on somersault mode. I run my hands through my hair. I must look a wreck. But why should I care?
Because he’s pacing outside my room in the middle of the night.
He knocks again, and I unfasten the chain and twist the lock before I change my mind. His feet are bare, and he’s wearing nothing but a faded Pac Man shirt and his boxers. He shouldn’t be out here looking like he just rolled out of bed, but he is.
The way his eyes are roaming across my body makes me conscious of the fact that I’m only wearing a pair of itty-bitty shorts and a flimsy tank. I cross my ankles and fold my arms around myself in an attempt to bolster my courage.
“Don’t,” he whispers, stepping across the threshold. His hands encircle my wrists, gently pulling them away from my body. “You’re too beautiful to cover yourself up.” He presses the door closed with the back of his foot, extinguishing whatever light was streaming in from the hallway.
Now we’re alone together in the darkness of my room, and I’m kind of glad he can’t read my face. I’m too conflicted. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why he’s here. But if I’m being honest, I’m glad that he is. He’s finally making the effort to reach out to me instead of leaving me in the barren wasteland I’ve been living in. Oh, how I’ve missed basking in the warmth of his smile.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, feeling the heat of his body against mine.
“Apologizin’,” he says in that sexy twang of his, drawing out every syllable.
About Collette West
Collette West grew up as somewhat of a jock-nerd hybrid. Entering the world three weeks premature, her dad nearly missed her birth because he had seats behind the dugout for a sold-out, highly-anticipated match-up between two of baseball’s biggest rivals. Not to be outdone, her book-loving mom taught her how to read by the time she was three. A love of the game coupled with an appreciation for the written word were instilled in Collette’s impressionable brain from a young age. No wonder her characters believe in the philosophy: sports + romance = a little slice of heaven.
Splitting her time between the Pocono Mountains and Manhattan, Collette indulges her inner fangirl by going to as many games as she can from hockey to baseball and downloading every sports romance novel in existence onto her iPad. When she’s not clicking away on her laptop, she enjoys walking her dog in Central Park, satisfying her caffeine craving at the Starbucks on Broadway and keeping an eye out for Mr. Right. But above all, she loves dishing with her readers. Email her at email@example.com.
She is the author of NIGHT GAMES and GAME CHANGER.