Blushing in the Big Leagues

  Copyright © 2023 R.S. Grey

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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  This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  Published: R.S. Grey 2023

  authorrsgrey@gmail.com

  Editing: Editing by C. Marie

  Proofreading: Red Leaf Proofing, Julia Griffis

  Cover Design: R.S. Grey

  CONTENTS

  Reading Order

  Author’s Note

  Blushing in the Big Leagues

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  The Summer Games: Settling the Score

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Stay Connected

  READING ORDER

  This book can be read as a complete standalone.

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  However, this book shares characters with Three Strikes and You’re Mine. If you’re planning to read both, Three Strikes and You’re Mine should be read first. Happy reading!

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Blushing in the Big Leagues is a full-length standalone novel. At the end, I’ve included an excerpt from my bestselling romantic comedy The Summer Games: Settling the Score.

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  Blushing in the Big Leagues concludes at around 90% on your device.

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  Happy Reading!

  XO, RS Grey

  ONE

  TATE

  As ridiculous as it sounds, it all started with a silly dare.

  I’m putting the finishing touches on my mascara when one of my roommates lays this gem on me: “We triple dog dare you to hook up with someone tonight.”

  Wow. So original. If we were in eighth grade, the dare would be accompanied by tittering laughter, blushing cheeks, and a speed-dial call to some punk named Jason. But we’re not middle schoolers. We’re adults in our mid-twenties with careers and ever-intensifying skincare routines. I contribute to a 401k. I am not susceptible to ridiculous dares.

  “Is that even a real thing?” I ask Daphne.

  She’s the one who issued the dare. I thought she was otherwise occupied—she’s been lying on my bed in her underwear (no boundaries with this one) watching a makeup tutorial on YouTube and trying to convince herself that today, finally, she might master the art of winged eyeliner—but I was wrong. Apparently, she grew bored with the video and moved on to a more interesting topic, i.e. my love life.

  She’s looking at me now like I’ve just asked her if cheese really belongs on pizza. “Yes, it’s a real thing! There are compounding levels of dare seriousness. A triple dog dare is an escalation of a double dog dare, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I retort.

  My other roommate, Sophia, steps out of my closet. She was in there rifling through my clothes, trying to decide if she should swap her outfit and wear something different to the party we’re about to attend. She shouldn’t bother. She looks great in her white dress.

  Her problem is she’s bored. She’s been ready to leave for half an hour. Always on time, she’s the mom of the apartment, which would make Daphne the petulant toddler, and me…somewhere in between. The spunky middle child? The type-A oldest daughter? Who knows. I’m a fiercely competitive, goal-oriented people pleaser. I am not whimsical like Daphne or as serious as Sophia. I do, however, enjoy a challenge, which is maybe why Daphne has dared me in the first place. She knows me too well.

  I touch up my mascara one last time and then twist the cap closed. “So what happens if I complete the dare?”

  I’m imagining a trophy with my name carefully engraved on it. A three-tier cake in my honor.

  I catch their private glance in my mirror; their barely restrained smiles say it all. Sophia and Daphne are sisters. Occasionally, they share a secret language I’m not privy to.

  “Uhhh…you get to enjoy a night of raucous lovemaking?” Sophia responds.

  Daphne sits up and emphatically adds, “You get laid, Tate. Laid. You need it. Everyone agrees.”

  “Who’s everyone?”

  Sophia grunts. “You don’t believe us, do you?” She affects a serious tone as she continues, “All those in favor of Tate getting banged tonight say ‘aye.’”

  Daphne and Sophia both raise their hands. “Aye.”

  “Those opposed say ‘nay.’”

  “Nay,” I respond drolly.

  “The ayes have it, and the motion is carried.” She bangs her fist on my bed like a gavel.

  “Hilarious. Both of you.”

  I zip my makeup bag closed and step back to assess my look. I’ve poured myself into a black mini dress that I’ll pair with a vintage Knicks bomber jacket and black heeled ankle boots. I’ve let my chestnut brown hair do its thing. It’s long and prefers to be unkempt at all times. If I try to straighten it completely, it curls. If I curl it, it decides to go pin straight. People have told me it’s sexy, so I try to just roll with it these days.

  My makeup, hair, and outfit actually all look good, which means in the next week I’ll have to pay for it somehow. That’s just the way it is; you can’t have it all. Tomorrow, watch, I’ll wake up with a pimple the size of Mount Vesuvius.

  “Look at her, Soph: a bombshell. You make me so proud.” Daphne applauds from her perch on my bed.

  I tap a pretend watch on my wrist. “You getting up anytime soon? We’re supposed to be there already.”

  She groans and dramatically log-rolls off the bed. “Okay fine! Fine! I’m going. It should only take me like thirty minutes to figure out this winged eyeliner.”

  “DAPHNE!” Sophia and I both chide in unison.

  “I’m kidding! I’ll be ready in five. Go crack open a bottle of wine to take the edge off before we leave because that dare is happening, my friend. Mark my words. An hour from now, you’re going to be doing the splits on top of some Henry Cavill lookalike. I know it.”

  It’s Tuesday night in New York City and we’re heading to a random apartment. In the normal world, people don’t party this hard on a Tuesday, but we aren’t in the normal world. We’re beholden to the whims of major league baseball and its somewhat erratic schedule. Spring training wrapped up yesterday down in Florida and the Pinstripes are back in New York after a long month away, which means, tonight, we celebrate.

  There are lots of names for women who chase professional athletes, and I refuse to repeat any of them. Quite frankly, more power to the ladies who go after what they want. I’m stuck around the guys for a very different reason. It’s more like…I can’t escape them. My brother’s a veteran pitcher on the team. Sophia’s boyfriend, Josh, also plays. His best friends, Dustin and Nick, are now my good friends. We’re all together all the time. At this point, I might as well be the team’s resident little sister.

  When Daphne and Sophia issued their dare earlier, they knew it wouldn’t involve anyone from the Pinstripes roster. I will never date a professional baseball player and they know that. The reasons are complicated but sound.

  Don’t get me wrong, it has nothing to do with the sport itself. I love baseball. I’ve been surrounded by it my entire life. I’m the product of a collegiate baseball coach and a small-town Texas beauty queen. I had a bat glued to my hand when I was still toddling around in diapers, a big bow stuck in my hair while I was catching fly balls in the outfield. I was carted from ballet to the ball field and back again, endlessly.

  My dad had his hands full with his job at the University of Texas and coaching my older brother who showed real talent from a very early age, but that didn’t mean I could escape the mandate. Oh ho ho, no way. The sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and the Allens play baseball, end of story. In kindergarten, I was the only girl on an all-boys T-ball team. Those little shits harassed me endlessly, especially if I made an error on the field, so I learned not to mess up. I hit better than any of them could. I figured out how to throw the ball hard enough that I once gave ol’ Tommy Nichols a black eye. From that day on, I was a walking legend.

  Eventually, my baseball career came to an end in middle school in favor of dance (much to my dad’s dismay), but I was still part of the world. My brother was already getting noticed by major league scouts. Our weekends were spent at baseball tournaments. Our summer travels always included a tour of that city’s professional stadium. Fall ball, winter ball, spring ball—baseball was all I knew.

  So it should come as no shock that my first kiss happened in a dugout. My fir
st boyfriend asked me out underneath a set of bleachers. My first date involved stadium peanuts and nachos and nine innings where our attention never once strayed from the field. I can’t even remember the guy’s name, but I do know Joseph Vargas pitched a no-hitter that game.

  My issue with baseball guys begins when they make the transition into the majors. Aside from the fact that their schedules are horrendous, their priority is always the game, and their egos are obscenely inflated—most of them have this unyielding urge to go crazy the second they sign on the dotted line on their MLB contracts. And I get it. For most of their lives, these guys have been focused on honing their craft and putting in the work to play professionally. Once they do, all bets are off, especially when it comes to women and how many they choose to date at once.

  Anyway, the point is, when it comes to dating baseball guys, it’s plain and simple: don’t do it. Look elsewhere. A cafe, a park, a retirement home—any other place will do.

  Daphne and Sophia don’t agree with my poor assessment of professional baseball guys. Sophia is crazy about her boyfriend, Josh, and I will say, he’s one of the good ones. An outlier, if you will. They’ve been together for years and he’s never so much as sniffed in the direction of another woman. He puts her first, always. Also Daphne, while single, has made it very clear that she would be willing to entertain any Pinstripes player who happens her way. Just ask my brother. Unfortunately for her, he’s been officially off the market for a while.

  Once we’re in the elevator in a swanky high-rise in Midtown, I look over at my friends. “There are going to be other guys here tonight, right? Not just our group?”

  That was the promise. This isn’t supposed to be another standard get-together with all the usual suspects. I’ve done that a million times, and while fun, nothing unexpected ever happens with our group. Josh and Sophia fawn all over each other. Dustin and Daphne get on each other’s nerves. Nick regales us with a story that is either funny or gross or outright idiotic. Rinse and repeat.

  “Yes,” Sophia insists. “This isn’t even a baseball party, really. It just so happens that the guys will be here.”

  “Whose place is this anyway?” Daphne asks, using the mirrored surface of the elevator to check her teeth for lipstick stains.

  “Some tech mogul. He’s the one who got Josh and Dustin to invest in that baseball app that took off last year. He’s apparently pretty nice. The guys like him. I don’t know… I was told there’s going to be catered food and an open bar so I didn’t ask too many questions.”

  “Sold,” I tease with a wink. “And who knows? If the tech guy is hot, maybe he’ll be the one I hook up with tonight.”

  I’m talking out of my ass, mostly just stringing them along at this point. I’m not going to hook up with someone just to complete a dare. Sure, I could use a little action. It’s been…a while since I’ve had sex, and Sophia and Daphne have clearly caught on to that fact. However, I’m not a love ’em and leave ’em kind of girl. I’m the exact opposite. I consider all things from all sides, contemplate every side effect and consequence. I read the fine print. Hence why my friends think I need a silly dare to jumpstart my love life, but they’re wrong.

  I’ll admit, I’m partly to blame for this misunderstanding. For the better part of the last few years, I’ve been focused on my career. Graduating with my nursing degree and establishing myself as an RN took precedence in my life probably for a little too long, but now seeing my brother happily engaged and knowing Sophia’s not far from the altar herself has been a big wakeup call. I have to shift gears. I love love as much as the next gal! I want a boyfriend! I even think I’ve figured out exactly what I’m looking for in a partner. Why is that important? Oh, simple. The idea of letting the universe orchestrate my love life seems absolutely ludicrous. Leaving room for fate? No ma’am. Spontaneity? Never heard of her.

  My plan for my perfect guy includes (but is not limited to) the following criteria. Obviously, we’ve established that he can’t play baseball. Outside of that, I’d like him to be kind; smart; attentive; a hard worker; tall; handsome; someone who can sleep on the left side of the bed because I prefer the right; someone who gets along with my friends, but not like too well, not in a creepy way; dog lover; brunch lover; book lover; and for brevity’s sake, I’ll skip past a fair number of other requirements to emphasize that he must, most importantly of all, make me feel safe and steadfast in our relationship.

  It’s really not that much! There are probably ten guys at this party who could fit the bill. For all I know, hot tech guy himself could be my soul mate!

  We discuss him on the way up to the top floor. Well…Daphne discusses him, and by discuss, I mean she chants “Hot tech guy! Hot tech guy! Hot tech guy!” like she’s a frat bro about to do a keg stand.

  When the elevator stops and the doors sweep open, we arrive in an ultramodern apartment. It’s so blindingly white that I feel bad walking on the marble floor in my boots.

  A large foyer gives way to a living room filled with art and décor and people. People! I sigh in relief. Scanning the crowd, I see a lot of unfamiliar faces. In fact, I don’t see any of our friends. A rare occurrence, for sure.

  “Come on,” Sophia says. “Josh said he’s here somewhere.”

  We stick together, moving through the crowd, looking for Josh. But oops, would you look at that? We land at the bar instead and take our time perusing a custom cocktail list.

  “Ooo, I might get a French martini.”

  Daphne’s not even looking at the cocktail list. She’s leaning back against the bar, watching the crowd.

  “Found him,” Daphne proclaims proudly.

  “Josh?” I ask, trying to follow her line of sight.

  “No. I found the hottest guy here.”

  I eye her skeptically. “How do you do that so fast?”

  She shrugs, nonchalant about it. “It’s a gift.”

  I shouldn’t indulge her, but I’m mildly curious. Daphne has good taste. “Where is he?”

  “Over in the corner, near the glass windows. He’s talking to two other guys. Ignore them—they aren’t important.”

  Her instructions make it easy for me to find the person she’s referring to quickly enough. Glass windows in the corner…three men talking…then wham. The sight of him hits me like a Mack truck.

  Wow, she’s good. He’s without a doubt the hottest guy at this party. How do I know? Because he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Tall, tan, clearly in shape. He has luxuriously thick black hair and a sharp jawline. His full lips say, Kiss me. His sultry eyes say, If you dare.

  Before I fall deeper into his devastating good looks, I turn away and accept my drink from the bartender.

  “Nice,” I tell her.

  My remark seems casual enough, but it’s not. Looking away was absolutely necessary. The tight tug that man elicited in my low belly was way too intense. A warning, loud and clear. Knowing absolutely nothing about him beyond how he looks, I’m certain he would not fulfill my list of requirements for a boyfriend. He’d be nothing but trouble. He would wreak havoc on my carefully laid plans.

  Daphne hasn’t looked away from him yet, even as she puts in her order for a gin and tonic.

  “Daph,” I hiss. “Don’t be obvious.”

  “I’m not.” She says this while waving coquettishly in his direction.

  My eyes bulge and I reach out to take her hand and yank it down out of the air.

  “Are you insane?” I snap despite knowing the answer.