Page 1 of Force Play

Prologue

Dom

One Year Earlier

My dad has always told me that the first time he saw my mom, he was drawn to her—that her beauty and her laugh mesmerized him. Although, he’s never gone as far as to say it was love at first sight, probably because my mom would laugh her ass off at that.

The way she tells it, cheesy lines and charm weren’t enough to win her over; she made him work for it. But they both agree that a love like theirs is a rare gift—the kind that comes into your life in a flash. And when you’re presented with it, you should grab on and give it everything you’ve got.

If anything is missing in my life, it’s what my parents have. For years I’ve dedicated myself to baseball, and while I haven’t shut myself off from love like some of my teammates, I just haven’t found that person yet.

Like that old, twangy country song, there’s been plenty of faces, but they tend to be of the one-night variety.

I’m already riding high from our shutout tonight when I step out of the locker room and see a stunning, dark-haired woman standing against the opposite wall with my teammate Hendrix and his girlfriend Poppy. Big almond-shaped eyes the shade of dark-chocolate size me up, swirling with interest that she tries to hide behind crossed arms and a potent “don’t fuck with me” expression. Long, toned legs give way to a pair of frayed denim shorts. She’s wearing my team’s jersey, and while I have no reason to believe my name is on her back, I’d love to find out if it is.

Call me a fool, but I don’t expect to find my person by spending my nights alone. It might not be the love my parents talk about, or maybe it will be; I’ll never know for sure if I don’t shoot my shot.

When those soulful eyes find mine again, I smirk. Normally, that’s all it takes to seal the deal, but she just rolls them, dismissing me, and focuses back on Poppy. Her curls are wild and even though I know nothing about her, I get the sense that they fit her perfectly. The bouncy locks shift, covering her face when she leans over to whisper in her friend’s ear, making Poppy shake with laughter.

Funny, smoking hot, and not fawning over me—I already like her more than I should.

I’m not sure who this fiery woman is to my teammate and his girlfriend, but I’d really like to find out. Maybe figure out why she’s looking at me like she wants to maim me on sight, and why I’m considering letting her.

“You coming to Dean’s?” I ask Hendrix, the newest member of the Bandits and one hell of an outfielder. Our grumpy first baseman is opening up his penthouse for everyone to hang out—a rare occurrence—but everyone was in the mood to do something a little more low-key tonight.

He nods his head once. “We’re heading there now. Want to ride over with us? I ordered an Uber.”

I glance over to where the drop-dead gorgeous Medusa, with the nearly black hair, is leaning against the wall, her eyes cast down at her maroon nails, clearly bored. One look from her right now is sure to turn me to stone.

“Will you be there?” It’s the wrong move and I damn well know it, but I’m dying to see what happens when I push her buttons.

“Mhmm.” She doesn’t bother looking up at me. “I’m going to use the restroom before we leave,” she tells Poppy, giving me her back, which is currently sporting my best friend’s last name and number. That’s not ideal, but whoever she is, she’s not his. Dean doesn’t date.

All signs point to her being fair game. How pissed would she be if I called dibs?

Very.

It’s tempting, but I rein myself in. It’s a fine line between annoying her and making her hate me, one I need to tread carefully if I want a chance with her.

The next night, after sweeping the series against the Los Angeles Diablos, our favorite post-game bar is wall-to-wall with fans streaming in from the stadium. Wayward hands pat my shoulders as I pick my way through the cheerful crowd at Draft to the roped-off tables in the back.

There’s no shortage of women here who would eagerly come home with me, but for the second night in a row, I can’t take my eyes off the woman currently sitting across the table from me.

Tonight, she’s wearing a short denim skirt that accentuates her curves, ending in a flap over her thighs. It has me dying to find out whether it’s a real access point or some sort of optical illusion designed to intrigue me. The simple teal tank top she’s wearing shouldn’t be anything special, but its square neckline frames the swells of her breasts, making me want to know if they are soft as they look. Not to mention, it reveals a delicate tattoo that you would almost miss if you weren’t paying attention.

Indie Moreno, the captivating childhood best friend of my teammate’s girlfriend, is here visiting, and so far seems outwardly unimpressed with me. Almost all of her energy has been directed at sparring with me and there’s something about the challenge that has me hooked.

Except for last night, after the game, when she confused the shit out of me by flirting with both Dean and me. I’m almost certain she’s doing it solely to fuck with me. And there’s the fact that she let me buy her coffee earlier today. I think that was more for Poppy’s benefit—to give her friend some alone time with Hendrix after we helped build her sound booth.

What really throws me off is the way she watches me when she thinks no one is paying attention. She hasn’t figured out that the hot and cold game she’s playing with me only makes me want her more.

Mostly.

Watching her flirt with Dean is getting old, painful even, but I plan to remedy that tonight—just as soon as I can get her alone. Right now she’s sandwiched between my teammates, alternating between chatting with Poppy who’s perched on her boyfriend’s lap and flirting with Dean who’s seated on the opposite side, leaving me across the table.

Cockblocking my buddy isn’t normally my style—I prefer the role of accomplice—but this is going to be too much fun to pass up. I see right through Indie, and it’s not really him she’s after. If it were, her eyes wouldn’t keep drifting to mine in the middle of their conversation.

A woman comes up to Hendrix, interrupting the conversation he’s having and blatantly disregarding Poppy. Across from me, Indie freezes, her piercing eyes narrowing on the woman who’s aggressively flirting with her best friend’s man. Her knuckles turn white on her beer bottle as she watches the interaction, looking like she’s ready to leap over the couple and come to her friend’s aid at the first sign she needs back-up.

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