Page 5 of Commit

“Deal.”

We shake on it, and within seconds, I’m walking across the field to the batting cages. The closer I get, I see that these aren’t ordinary men. These are attractive men with muscles and shorts that show off tight thighs. It’s so much harder doing things like this when you’re dealing with Bradley Cooper-caliber men.

Whatever. I’ll never see them again.

I walk up to the cages and clear my voice. “Excuse me?”

The guy with the bat swings at the pitch his friend threw. The combination of the ball on the metal bat makes a loud ding, and the ball goes flying straight back over the pitcher’s safety screen.

He doesn’t need pointers, but this is a dare, so I persevere.

“Excuse me?” I say again, louder.

He turns around, and his brown eyes meet mine. He’s wearing a Tampa Bay Rays baseball hat, a tight white t-shirt, and gray athletic shorts.

Good grief.

He really is Bradley Cooper-caliber, but with brown eyes.

His brows lift, the cue that he’s waiting for me to say something.

I glance up to where Chelsea sits in the bleachers. She’s leaning forward, watching me closely.

Laundry for two weeks. This is worth it.

I shift my eyes back to him. “I hate to interrupt, but your form is all wrong.”

He drops the bat to his side. “What’s wrong with my form?”

“Well, for starters…” My mind races through everything I learned in my junior high PE class. I’m drawing a blank, so I improvise. “Don’t watch the ball. You need to keep your eyes on the bat.”

He laughs and looks at his friend. My gaze jumps to the pitcher. He’s a thin guy with red hair wisping out the sides of his baseball hat.

“Eyes on the bat?” He smiles. Not the cocky, who-do-you-think-you-are kind of smile, but the you’re-adorable-and-I’d-love-to-get-to-know-you smile. Does that smile exist? If it didn’t before, this guy just made it up.

He takes a step forward like his interest is piqued. “What else?”

What else? Dang.

I lean forward. “Make sure you hunch over, really round your back.”

“You want me to bend over?”

“Not bend. I said hunch. There’s a difference. And”—I hold up my finger—“when you swing, don’t be afraid to spin all the way around.” I twirl my finger as an example.

“Spin all the way around?” The cute smile has not left his lips.

“Yep. Spinning. That’s where the real power comes in. Not to mention, it’s a great way to get your momentum going so you can run to first base.” I point to the pitcher. “If you want to throw him a few more, I can watch and make sure he’s doing it right.”

The pitcher raises his arm, taking instruction from me, but the batter holds his hand up, stopping him.

“No. No. No.” He shakes his head. “If you’re going to critique my form, I want an interactive lesson.”

I shift my weight. “Interactive?”

He turns to his friend. “Reece, don't you think she needs to come in here and personally show me?”

Reece laughs. “Yep.”

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