Page 77 of Vegas Heat

“Playing third. You?”

His brows shoot up. “The elbow?”

“Surgically repaired,” I say dryly.

“They tapped me for first.” He shrugs. “Looks like we’re gonna be teammates.”

I make a face at him to indicate it’s my worst nightmare, and he laughs.

“Guess I’d rather play on the same team as you than against you,” I admit. Danny Brewer was the reason I fucking hated playing the Rockies. He’s a master of first base, and between him on first and me across the infield on third, we’re going to be a fucking force right out of the gate—just like Troy said. But the thing about Danny Brewer is that even though we were enemies on the field, we were friends off it. He’s a hell of a fun guy, and we went out more than once after a game and got fucked up together. “Troy hasn’t mentioned anything to me. How’d you end up here?”

“I wanted out of Colorado and you know Mr. Bodine. He made it happen.”

“How?” I ask, feeling a little stupid that I haven’t taken the time to research more about this team. In my defense, I’ve been preoccupied…but the team must already be filled with players considering the draft was back in July and the trade deadline was in August. We’ve got the expansion draft coming in November, too.

Jesus, I’ve really had my head in the sand.

“A few hours ahead of the trade deadline, he struck a deal with the Rockies back in August. They’re taking the first two picksfrom the expansion and Troy traded two picks for the regular draft next season.” He rubs his knuckles on his chest. “You know, four good players for me. No big deal.”

I laugh. “So modest. It’s good to see you, man. You still have my number?”

He nods. “I’ll use it sometime this weekend. I’m putting together a poker crew and we need a fourth.”

“Count me in,” I say. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I head to the weight room, excitement coursing through me now that I’ve met my first teammate, and my breath is stolen by the sight in front of me. I feast my eyes on state of the art equipment, the types of machines that will get me into game mode the right way.

Troy stands talking to a man sitting at a desk near the back of the room, and I saunter over in that direction.

“Cooper, this is Nick Lynch, our head athletic trainer here at the Heat. We’ve spoken at length about you and he has some ideas,” Troy says.

I nod at Nick, a guy who appears to be around the same age as me with a much bushier beard than me. “Nice to meet you, man. I only have one request.”

Nick raises his brows, and he looks like the kind of person I could grab a drink with after he puts me through the wringer. “What’s that?”

“Be gentle.”

Nick laughs, and it’s a hearty laugh. “Have you done anything recently or are you in what we in the business like to callactive rest?”

“A better description might beinactiverest.” I twist my lips, and Nick laughs again. “I’ve hit the treadmill a few times since Troy gave me the offer, and I ran on the beach back in San Diego before I moved here. I’ve started changing my diet. But I could use a program to guide me from rest back into anything at all.”

“Can I take a look at your arm?” he asks, and I nod. He stands and moves around the desk, and he bends and flexes it at the elbow for me, nodding and muttering as he works. “It looks good, man. Looks to be in working order, and I think we’ll start you off light as you come off active rest and transition into rebuilding. In six weeks or so, we’ll shift into phase one, and you’ll be season-ready by February. I’ve worked out a diet plan, too, and I just ask you do your best in sticking to it.”

“Do pizza and-or beer appear anywhere on the menu?” I ask.

He doesn’t laugh this time. “There’s always a spot for pizza and beer. You know how to distribute your calories, man, so do what you need to do.”

He holds up a hand, and I grab onto it as we bro-shake. I love this dude already.

I chat with Nick a few more minutes, and he tells me he’ll send me everything I need. “You can call me any time if you don’t feel like reading it and want me to walk you through it.”

“Thanks, Nick,” I say, and Troy flicks his head toward the door.

“Ready for the next part of the tour?” he asks.

I draw in a deep breath as IthinkI know what’s coming shortly.

I follow him through the tunnel underground, and he points out the batting cages, the place where we’ll warm up prior to entering the game and the place where we’ll practice before games.

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