Page 14 of Force At Third

“Then came the warrior poses. Not for one second did I feel like a gladiator ready to take on the world. I felt more like a WWF towel boy trying to wrestle with a rubber band.”

They both laugh.

“Oh, I’m not finished,” I assure them. “With all that twisting and bending, I thought I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. My body was protesting like a rookie umpire facing down a Blaze Sr. on the pitcher’s mound—with a lot of grunts and curses.”

“And …?” Ellis smiles.

I paused, not wanting to admit quite yet that she was right. “You want me to tell you that there’s something about the calming music or the soothing voice of the instructor that had me feeling like I was floating on cloud nine?”

“Did you?” she asks, knowing damn well I’m not giving in that easy. As she herself pointed out, that’s not how Doc Steel and I roll.

“I get how yoga can be a game-changer for MLB players,” I say, holding the door open so the three of us can exit the yoga studio. “Flexibility and range of motion, core strength and stability, injury prevention and recovery.”

Smiling, she nods. “And mindfulness and focus for your mental game.”

“Right now, I’m mindful that my hamstrings are still screaming for mercy.”

Amias chuckles. “You’ll get used to that.”

“And maybe one day I’ll master the art of the downward dog without face-planting into my yoga mat. But until then, namaste, my friends.” I fold my hands into prayer position and bow to them. “Nama-fucking-ste.” Then I turn in the direction of the exit.

The plan is to catch some Z’s before coming back here for the pregame team meal and to kick some Maverick ass … again.

My hands are on the door when I hear, “Hey, Rocky, you got a minute?”

Fuuuckkk.

I turn as Justice Steel walks toward the stairs, taking them two at a time as he heads up to the second-floor offices, where the property owners, Cyrus, Jase, Zander, Xavier Steel, and the ladies who love them, even though each act like men-children, especially when the four are together.

All but one of their kids used their trust funds to buy the Jersey Jaguars. The one who hasn’t bought in on the purchase is Amias Steel, who played for the Jags before they bought it without him knowing. We’ve all heard some of the new players to the team mumble about him being a nepo baby. This could not be further from the truth. Since joining the team, the kid works harder than ninety percent of us.

I walk into the conference room, unable to hide the smirk creeping up on my face as I count, “One, Steel brother, two, three, and four. Gen twos representing, as well. Damn, I was expecting a talking-to for the fight at O’Donnell’s, not a party.”

Max leans back with a shit-ass grin. “Sorry I missed that.”

Jase whips his head around and glares at him. “You couldn’t give us five minutes to see if we could get him to sweat?”

Xavier leans forward. “I’m with Max and also against sweating unless it’s on the field, at the gym, on stage, rocking out, or between the sheets.”

Zandor holds out a fist, and Xavier taps it.

Cyrus clears his throat. “I’d have liked to see where your breaking point is, but the reality is we wanted to tell you it was cool you paid for the damages without being asked to.”

“Even though Frangula threw first.” Ranger, Brisa Steel’s husband, shrugs.

“Mama Locke raised a gentleman,” I state because it’s better than asking the question burning in my mind. Nah, screw that, I must ask. “How is it that Brisa the Barbie ended up with tatted Tarzan and not some Ken-looking frat dude?”

Ranger purses his lips together, hiding what would either be a smirk or a sneer.

“Careful planning.” Justice chuckles.

“She played the long game,” Max adds. “Fifteen, and she was telling him she was legal.”

I look at Zandor to see how he feels about that.

“I can’t blame her. He’s got good ink.”

“Would have been a different story had I not done some digging.” Ranger shakes his head.

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