Page 1 of Strike Zone

Prologue

LINC

ONE YEAR AGO

Weddings are the perfect place to find a one-night stand bridesmaid, and tonight I have my sights on someone specific—Diana Lexington—sister of the bride and raven-haired bombshell. I’ve been hounding my now-married best friend to give me her number for months.

She looks incredible in a figure-hugging, floor-length lavender dress. The only distasteful accessory she’s sporting is on her arm—some douchebag date with shifty eyes. He looks like he’s waiting for the FBI to crash the reception and cart him off to the slammer. He can’t be her type. Diana is the reigning women’s UFC champion with a body that could make a grown man beg—this grown man, to be specific. She’s stunning, and my cock is twitching at the sight of her. Unfortunately, she’s letting herself be corralled around the room by some schmuck who doesn’t deserve her. Not that I do either, but watching the way she moves, I know we’d have insanely hot sex.

“You’re drooling, bro.” Anders, my best friend and groom, slings his arm over my shoulder with a smug grin on his face. “She has a date. Don’t make me have to back you up in a fight with that guy. It would be sad how quickly you knock him out.”

A wry grin tugs at the corner of my lips at the thought of it, and a chuckle escapes my chest. “Right? Who the fuck is he anyway?”

“I think his name is Anthony. She’s pretty cloak-and-dagger about the whole thing.”

“He looks like a total douche nozzle. What does she see in him?”

“Maybe he’s rocking some major hardware.”

“I just threw up in my own mouth. Thanks for that.”

Anders slaps me on the back. “Consider it a wedding gift… on my wedding day. Now, for the love of God, go and chat up one of the single ladies here tonight. Dee is off limits.”

“Why would you say that to me? Now, I want her more. Look at her, she’s hotter than a blow job in a sauna.”

“I’m leaving now. My new wife is ready to be swept off her feet and out of that dress. It’s going to look so much better on the floor of our suite.”

“I hate you.” I pull him in for a bro hug. “I also love you, Anders. I can’t believe you’ve got a ball and chain. Fuck me. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Me either, but when the right woman finds you, it’s not a choice. It’s a compulsion.” He stares off into the distance, and I follow his gaze to where his new wife, Brooke, is laughing and joking with her sister—the southpaw spitfire. “I’d crawl through broken glass to the ends of the earth for that woman.”

“No woman is that good a lay, but I wouldn’t mind being proven wrong by your new sister-in-law. She’s a goddess.”

“Keep it in your pants, Linc.”

“Yes, sir.” As I watch Diana laughing with her sister, I can’t help wondering why she came here with a date. I would’ve blown her fucking mind tonight—still would if she gave me half a chance.

Chapter One

LINC

PRESENT DAY

“No pressure, Linc, but if you don’t hit this, we’re not going to win the World Series.” Why do people start a sentence with the phrase, ‘no pressure?’ It has the opposite effect. They may as well say, ‘just to heap the pressure on… blah-fucking-blah.’

“And here I thought I could phone it in at this point.”

“You’ve got this, bro.” My best friend and teammate, Anders Verbeck, was the one under pressure this time last year when his pitching was the difference between a World Series win and a crushing defeat. Tonight, it’s my turn.

The bases are loaded, and I’m the last up to bat. The smell of freshly cut grass is sorely lacking as I step up to the plate.

Astroturf isn’t great for bringing back fond childhood memories. I’m slightly disturbed by the scents that comfort me in these major moments. Countless months of sweaty funk in my helmet and the dirt that’s accumulated on the grip of my bat—it’s nasty—like a jockstrap with toe-jam mixed in. It’s the smell of success.

I really wish my jockstrap hadn’t just come to mind. I need to be laser-focused for the team, but now all I can think of is how sweaty my balls feel at this historical moment in my career. I’ll be sure to leave this out when I write my memoirs years from now.

“Swing and a miss. Feeling the pressure, Nash?” The Red Sox catcher has a shit-eating grin on his face through that grill of his.

“Just warming up. I’d hate to just rip victory straight out of your hand. It’ll be better with some dramatic effect.”

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