Page 34 of Keep Me

The corner of his lips twists, and he grins at me, sending heat to my core and flutters to my heart.

His scowl is sexy, but that grin? Nothing could beat it.

“See you at the game, princess.”

As the boys get ready for the game, doing stretches and throwing on the field, I record it all to get content for their page. I do my best not to stare at Ryker, but it’s hard when his uniform looks like it was painted onto his body.

I don’t talk to any of the players, careful not to disrupt their routines and focus. I’m merely here to record and stay out of the way.

Once the game starts, I sit in the stands, right behind first base. I pull my baseball cap low over my face and make sure my laptop is covering my face while keeping my eyes just above the screen to see the game.

The stadium is packed for an early spring game, filled with blue and yellow for the New Mexico Warriors. I’m the only person here in green and white. After the national anthem and the first pitch is thrown by the New Mexico coach’s four-year-old daughter, the game begins.

It’s electrifying watching a baseball game. I’ve always loved everything about it. The way a game can change in seconds, the fact that baseball has no end time, there are no timed periods to rush through.

Baseball decides when to end on its own.

I bring up my notes app and begin to take notes as the game is underway. RLU is set to hit first.

Noah is up and hits a ground ball right in between second and first base, allowing him to make it to first safely. The crowd boos heavily, but he seems to take it in stride, his years of playing baseball giving him the mental resilience needed to keep playing the game.

Cuddy is next and hits a pop fly, which their shortstop catches. The crowd cheers and I do my best not to roll my eyes. This is their territory, so I get it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Next up is Ryker. I sit up straighter in my seat as he steps up to the plate. His back foot twists twice before he plants it firmly, and he lifts his arms back and up, getting ready to swing.

It’s mesmerizing to watch.

The first pitch is inside, a ball. Ryker adjusts his stance, then nods to the pitcher. This time, he swings and misses.

The crowd cheers, but I keep my eyes on him. He’s oddly calm and collected, not letting the fact that he missed bother him like I suspected it might. Especially after I’ve heard how he’s the most hotheaded player on the team.

The next pitch comes in hot, a curve ball, and Ryker swings, whipping his bat to send it flying over the center fielder and out of the park.

I stand up and cheer, making me quite literally the only person in the stands doing so. Ryker turns his head to look at me as he jogs to first base, a smile on his face. A freaking smile. With teeth and everything. It makes me suck in a sharp breath at the beauty of it, at how different he looks when he does it.

I love it.

I blush and quickly sit down to write some notes on my laptop, reminding myself to be careful. It’s not a major league game with big screens and cameras, but I still need to be mindful.

The next two batters strike out, and then we’re on the field.

If I thought watching Ryker swing the bat was mesmerizing, then I was not prepared to watch him catch fastballs and whip them over to first base at lightning speed.

There’s a reason he’s at the top of the prospect list for the draft this year. Not only can he hit, but he’s one of the best third basemen in college baseball. It’s a tricky position to play because it needs a quick yet precise throw to first base to get easy outs.

Fucking up a throw to first base can alter the game completely by allowing a base runner to score, and if the next person up hits a home run, then another person would just score again.

It’s a crucial position, and he handles it with what seems like ease. But I’ve seen how hard he works. I know he’s put the time in to be the best. It’s admirable and hot as fuck.

The game is over a few hours later and we end up winning the game 4-1. While the team has their post-game debrief, I work on my notes for the article that the paper will need tomorrow morning. Usually, I’d interview star players from the game, but since it’s the first game, I don’t need to do that just yet.

As I sit on the cool concrete in the hallway near their locker room, a rush of joy and happiness like no other engulfs me. From the excitement of the game to analyzing plays and having fun with the players and making them more accessible to their fans.

It’s where I’m meant to be, and I’ll do my best to make sure it’s where I stay.

Chapter Fifteen

Camille

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