Would they be better with her in them?

  I’m not the most open guy with my teammates, preferring to keep things light. But Drew seems more upbeat than I’ve seen him before, so maybe there’s room to crack open this conversation.

  Clearing my throat, I toss out my contribution to the bar debate. “Do you think romance and baseball can ever work?”

  Sullivan laughs to himself.

  Drew whistles.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  Sullivan arches a brow. “Dude, look around at your team and ask yourself that question.” He rattles off the names of my Dragons teammates who’ve fallen in love lately.

  Holden, Declan.

  Then he gestures to himself. “My team too. All the guys are falling hard. Crosby. Chance. Grant.”

  Drew taps his chest, weighing in. “And so is this guy on your team too. In fact, I need to get back to my room for a little FaceTime date. So I’d say the answer is yes.”

  I wish I knew for sure if the answer was yes for me.

  13

  Clementine

  I flop onto a black-and-white-striped couch in The Spotted Zebra a few nights later, checking the time on my phone.

  My friends should be here soon, but Sierra—the bar owner—swings by, drops down next to me, and squeezes my shoulder.

  “Do I need to dangle cupcakes in front of you to bring you to your Clementine senses?”

  I pout at my friend. “It’s that obvious?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Normally, you’re the happiest camper in the land. You ride in on your Pegasus,” she says, rocking her head and making a clip-clop sound like she’s on a horse. “And you fire rainbows from your dog-decorated fingers and sing to chipmunks.”

  “I am not a Disney princess,” I say, insisting.

  “Oh yes, you are!”

  I turn to see Nova sashay in, all tall and leathery—well, she’s wearing leather. She’s not wrinkly. She’s in a leather skirt and a leather vest, and the whole look is sex-ay.

  “Badass babe! Whoa! Is it Leather Day?”

  Nova casts me a don’t be silly face. “Vegan here. I don’t wear real leather. This is fake. It’s made from tires or something,” she says, gesturing to her outfit.

  “Well, you look hot in tires or something,” I say, as Erin and Frankie follow her in and join her on the couch across from mine. “And I’m not a princess.”

  Erin chuckles under her breath, her brown hair spilling across her face.

  I kick her playfully. “I’m not.” Then I peer at her. “Also, you look . . . happier.”

  She grins, wide and satisfied. “I am.” Erin beckons us closer, then gives us the inside scoop on what she’s been up to.

  I’m kinda floored by her plans, yet they also make perfect sense. And I’ll support her, of course, as she takes this chance.

  I squeeze her knee. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Speaking of happy . . .” Sierra lets the sentence hang deliberately open before she casts a glance back to the bar. “I need to return to serving all my happy customers, so can you all tell Ms. Happy Till She’s Not about our new plan for her?”

  I let my jaw fall open in mock annoyance as Sierra takes off for the bar.

  I turn to the others. “What have you been up to?”

  Frankie smiles, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Sometimes you have to take a chance. Especially when you want something.”

  Erin nods a few times too. “You do, friend. You really do.”

  Nova crosses one leg over the other. “Putting yourself out there can mean more than just dating again. It can mean putting yourself out there for one person,” she says, and my throat tightens.

  Emotions arise in me, a slew of them. Missing Shane, wanting Shane, but also loving these ladies for knowing me so well. “I’m like cellophane. You can see right through me,” I say, a knot of feelings tightening in my chest.

  “Like the song from Chicago,” Frankie adds, then pats my knee.

  “Yes, you get me,” I say, my voice shaky.

  But why? Why am I so emotional? Oh, maybe because I have amazing friends who want the best for me?

  “I want to talk to him again. To see him again,” I confess, blurting out my true, messy heart.

  “We thought as much,” Erin says with a grin.

  “But I don’t even have his number. We didn’t exchange numbers. We just said goodbye, agreeing it was for the best,” I say, practically pleading to the universe to help me.

  Erin barks out a laugh. “Friend, I got you. Gimme your phone. I tracked it down for you, so I’ll enter it.”

  As my heart races—with hope—I hand her my phone. Thrilled that she went hunting. More thrilled that she knew I needed it. Knew I wanted it.

  She enters his info, then hands the device back to me.

  I crack up as I read the name she’s typed in.

  The Deflowerer.

  Later, I open my phone to send him a text. But I startle when I see one from him.

  14

  Shane

  An hour earlier

  * * *

  Another day, another save.

  Drew high-fives me in the locker room after a game against the Minotaurs. “You’re the secret weapon,” he calls out.

  Bemused, I shake my head. “I’m just one piece of the puzzle.”

  “The missing piece,” Holden shouts, then claps me on the back. “By the way, it is good to be reunited with you.”

  “Same to you,” I say, since we played together on the Bandits before the team’s owners unloaded a ton of players a few years ago.

  “And we are going to have an epic Opening Day. The goal, gentleman?” he booms, speaking to the whole team now in the locker room.

  The guys turn around and quiet down, no doubt thanks to Holden’s commanding presence.

  “The goal,” he repeats, then claps my shoulder, “is to get this man on the mound every goddamn game. If we see Shakespeare coming in from the bullpen, it’s a damn good day.”

  “Truer words,” Declan seconds, leading a round of clapping.

  They’re not wrong.

  I only show up if we’re winning. If we need to close out a victory. “I hope to make many, many appearances,” I say, and I long to show all these guys what I can do.

  I also want to live up to my father’s legacy.

  I want to win the owner’s trust.

  And I want to enter arbitration in a great spot.

  But as I leave the locker room that afternoon, my thoughts drift once again.

  To Opening Day.

  To something else I want.

  To romance and baseball.

  To one woman.

  She hasn’t left my mind since I’ve been here in Arizona. I’m not sure I want to play the whole season possessed by the idea of her. It seems that whether we’re dating or not, my mind is on her—so why not try to play it another way?

  With her in my life.

  All the way in it.

  As I leave, I call Drew aside. “That person you’ve been FaceTiming with? Think you can call in a favor, mate?”

  “Name it.”

  “Can you slip me Clementine’s number?”

  He thumps me on the arm. “You dog. I fucking can. Look at you. Guess you’re not just ice. You’ve got fire in there too.”

  I laugh.

  Perhaps he’s right.

  Or maybe I just miss the woman far too much to deny these feelings any longer.

  I suppose the heart is like that.

  It wants what it wants.

  And I want her.

  No matter the risk.

  15

  From the Texts of Shane and Clementine

  * * *

  That night

  * * *

  Shane: Hello, love. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re literally in my thoughts all the time. You’re so much more than a crush.

  * * *

  Clementine: I SOUND LIKE A COPYCAT, BUT SAME, SAME, SAME. YOU ARE SO MUCH MORE THAN A CRUSH TOO!

  * * *

  Shane: Well, then, would you like to come to Opening Day when I return to San Francisco? And by come to Opening Day, I mean, would you like to be there in the stands as my date? Because the night before I want to take you to “adult prom.” Go ahead, ask me what adult prom is.

  * * *

  Clementine: I’ll bite. What’s adult prom? Also, hi!!! I can’t stop thinking about you either—just had to say that again.

  * * *

  Shane: Thank fuck for that. God, my head is full of you. I’ve replayed that night about ten million times. All of it.

  * * *

  Clementine: Twenty million for me.

  * * *

  Shane: Show-off.

  * * *

  Clementine: I know. Now tell me!

  * * *

  Shane: Adult prom will be held this year at the former site of the Carter Club. Aka the Luxe Hotel. Just you and me. I’d love to take you there, spend the night with you, and keep lavishing on you all the joys of fucking and making love.

  * * *

  Clementine: Adult prom sounds like the best thing ever! I say yes.

  * * *

  Shane: I can’t wait to see you again and sweep you into my arms.

  Epilogue

  Clementine

  * * *

  Adult Prom

  * * *

  There’s a knock on my door.

  Magnus barks.

  I run to the door, hopped up on jet fuel, driven by desire.

  I swing it open and beam.

  Then melt.

  Then soar when Shane steps inside, hauls me against him, and kisses the breath out of me.

  It’s a passionate, soul-deep kiss, full of fire and longing.

  And promise too.

  It’s a kiss that says, I missed you so fucking much.

  And I kiss him back the same way.

  When we come up for air, he tugs me close and runs a hand along my cheek. “I’m not letting you get away this time. Screw circumstance. You’re not becoming an ex. You’re mine. Say you’re mine. I want you to be mine.”

  I laugh, bursting with joy and emotion as Magnus jumps at our feet. “I’m yours. You’re not Mr. Right Now. I’m pretty sure you’re Mr. Right.” Then my hand flies to my mouth.

  Shoot.

  Did I say that aloud?

  Will that scare him away?

  But he drags me closer, brushes another kiss to my lips, then says, “Good. That’s who I want to be to you. Your Mr. Right.”

  Goodbye, Queen of Terrible Dates.

  I’m the queen of my own romance story, and I’m writing it with this guy—the guy I’m not letting get away.

  I say goodbye to my pup, then we leave, head to the Luxe Hotel, and slow dance in the corner of the bar.

  “Better than prom,” he says.

  “Big fan of adult prom,” I say.

  “Want to know what I like best?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He roams a hand up my back, keeping his gaze locked on mine. “That I’m falling for you.”

  My heart sails away. “I’m falling so hard for you.”

  Then he takes me to a room and makes love to me.

  And it’s even better than the first time.

  And the second time.

  The third too.

  Sheesh, we had a lot of sex that night.

  But I really, really like sex with him.

  Wait. Nope.

  I love it.

  Pretty sure I love him too.

  But I also love my dog, so when I get up at six to go home and let him out, I whisper goodbye to my guy, figuring he’ll stay in bed.

  Instead, he joins me, and we take my dog for a walk together, then go back to sleep at my place.

  Best adult prom ever.

  That afternoon, I go to Opening Day and cheer him on. He saves the game and kisses me in the stands when it’s finished.

  And this is how we start over.

  Remaking the past, shaping it into our brand-new present.

  * * *

  THE END

  Captain Romance

  A Virgin Scorecard novella

  Prologue

  Sullivan

  * * *

  The October before that Valentine’s Day

  * * *

  Women fascinate me.

  Ever since I discovered the allure of curves, soft skin, and lush hair, I’ve been drawn to the fairer sex.

  But it’s not just the way women look. I’m wildly attracted to the minds of women too, and I desperately want to understand what makes women tick.

  I’ve turned to many sources over the years in the pursuit of that knowledge. Psychology in college, then magazines and articles in my early twenties—anything to gain insight into my favorite subject.

  I’ve devoured memoirs, podcasts, and novels too.

  Romance novels, to be precise.

  Just call me Captain Romance. I like to pop in my earbuds on the San Francisco Cougars team plane and get lost in a world where the endings are always wins and no one strikes out looking in his last at bat.

  I’ve learned a lot from these stories.

  For the most part, women like a guy who listens. Who treats her like a queen. Who has rock-hard abs. And who can go all night long.

  Check. Check. Check. And more check.

  I’ve learned, too, that women are like snowflakes. No two are the same, so no matter how much research I do on my own, there’s no substitute for hands-on study.

  And I sure as hell would like to conduct some research with a smart, sexy, fantastic woman I see nearly every day.

  Trouble is, she’s the reporter who covers my team.

  Which probably makes me off-limits to her.

  So, I’ll need some extra strategy to win her over.

  1

  Sullivan

  True fact about being a Major League pitcher: the fans either love you or hate you, and the needle swings based on your latest game.

  Deliver a shutout?

  You’re a god.

  Serve up more than a couple runs?

  You’re washed up, over the hill, and ready for pasture.

  That’s especially true as a reliever. Your task is to either hold the other team down or to staunch the bleeding. You come in, get the guys out, send your team back to the dugout.

  And you damn well better do it as quickly and as efficiently as possible.

  It’s a thankless job, so thank fuck it’s no longer mine. After four seasons in the bullpen, I switched last year to the starting lineup, so I pitch every fifth game. I started and won game six in the World Series—a victory that gave us our first championship trophy.

  I’d like to get us to the Fall Classic this season too.

  But first, the divisionals.

  I arrive at the ballpark for game five, warming up with Grant, my catcher, on the diamond. When we’re done, I stride off the mound and meet him at home plate. He taps his glove against mine, as has been our ritual since the two of us came up together in the minors in Bakersfield, California, nearly six years ago.

  “Let’s make it a double,” I say.

  “That’s the one and only plan,” Grant says.

  As we walk along the spongy grass, I do my best to avoid staring at the brunette babe on the third baseline.

  Erin Madison, the spitfire of a reporter, knows her baseball history and isn’t afraid to pitch a tough question, not even to our manager. She’s talking to him right this second, likely lobbing a hardball at him.

  She’s so fearless that it’s hot.

  Ah, hell.

  I steal a glance after all, cataloging her brown hair curling over her shoulders, her trim figure, and the intensity in her eyes as she ends the interview, nodding her thanks.

  I’m stepping into the dugout when she catches my eye and calls out, “Hey, Sullivan. Got a second for your favorite network?”

  “Run, Sully, run,” Grant teases under his breath.

  I roll my eyes at my catcher. “I do not run when she calls my name. I strut.”

  Waving me off, he laughs. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  I leave him behind and head along the third baseline to the woman who revs my engine, and has for some time.

  I flash a smile, wishing she were anyone but the beat reporter. Pretty sure it’d be a mess for her if she went on a date with an athlete she covered. Might look like she’d slept her way to insight, to team secrets, to answers.

  Stop thinking about sleeping with her.

  The thing is, I want to do more than take her to bed. I want to spend time with her. Get to know her more. Talk.

  I meet her blue-eyed gaze and decide to have some fun. “Hey, Erin, how do you feel about our chances tonight?”

  She smiles, laughing lightly. “Good, as always, but why don’t you let me ask the questions?”

  Maybe I’m just a hopeful guy, but I’m hearing some flirting in her voice too.

  I’ll take what I can get.

  I give an easy shrug. “Just like to keep you on your toes,” I say, my gaze straying down to her shoes—red ballet flats.

  “Which is what you’ll aim to do against the Texas Scoundrels tonight. Keep them on their toes. But their bats have been on fire lately,” she segues, then asks some questions about expectations for the game.