Page 12 of Scoring Position

If we were playing at home, I’d be making a show of dancing to the plate while whatever walk-up song I chose for the evening blared through the stadium speakers. It’s been my thing since I was in the minors, and it made me a fan favorite, bringing people from all over to watch us play. When I was called up, I honestly thought the Fury would tell me to stop and focus on the game, but so far, it’s been the exact opposite. The gimmick was embraced by the organization—after much convincing from ourpublic relations manager, Taylor, I’m sure—and they’ve used it to sell tickets and merchandise.

I like the attention it brings. My grandma would call me herlittle hamwhen I was younger, always wanting all eyes on me, but the truth is that I just like having fun. Life is too damn short not to, which is why I’m so excited to bring that side out of Lark. From what I’ve seen so far, she doesn’t have anyone to break her out of her shell. I want that person to be me.

I step into the batter’s box, stretching my legs one last time before pulling my bat up over my back shoulder.

“Come on, Acey boy!” Riggs yells through his cupped hands. “Why don’t you slap a tater for your new tutor? She’ll love it!”

Holy shit. I’m going to kill him.

I seriously hope he’s not near a hot mic. That’ll be all over the sports news channels tonight, and I’ll have to explain to Lark that I wasn’t trying to show off for her by hitting a home run. Unless she actuallyisimpressed by that sort of thing.

I’ll hit one for her every goddamn night.

The pitcher gets his signal, winding up and throwing a curveball low and outside. I swing because that’s my sweet spot, but end up missing by just a few inches.

“Damn, Mathers,” Cleveland’s catcher, Vince Edwards, says. “Almost gave me a cold with that wind.”

“Fuck off,” I say with a grin, knowing I’m going to shut him up in just a minute. One way or another, he’ll be eating his words.

The next pitch comes, and I know immediately it’s a beauty. Low and way outside, but I take a swing anyway, the sweetcrackof a connection reverberating through my hands and up my arms as I drop the bat and take off. It doesn’t quite have the distance Hawk’s did, but when it goes over the head of their left fielder, ricocheting off the wall and taking a very lucky bounce, I know it’s at least a triple. I blow past second base as he finallylocates the ball, hurrying over to it and reaching out. I lose sight of him as I slide headfirst into third, knowing it has to be coming—but it doesn’t.

“He errored! Go!” the third base coach shouts as I shoot to my feet and take off like a bat out of hell toward home. I know it’s going to be close by the way Edwards’ eyes widen as he waits to make the catch. I stay as far left of him as I can, sliding again and grazing the plate with the tips of my fingers just as I feel his mitt touch my elbow.

“Safe!” the umpire yells, throwing his arms out wide as the crowd gets louder. I squint because I took about a pound of dirt straight into my eyes, slowly returning to my feet and dusting myself off.

“That cold really slowed you down, Vince,” I quip. “Get well soon.”

“Fuck you,” he replies with a quiet laugh as Dante runs up and jumps on my back. Pain radiates up my hip at the contact, and I wince, trying not to let on that I got hurt on the play. If Clyde finds out, he’ll bench me for the rest of the game—and I can’t afford that. I have to be in top shape at all times so I can prove to the organization that I’m worth keeping.

“Hell yeah, baby!” he yells as he hops down, slapping my shoulder. I laugh, walking into the dugout where my team awaits, ready to congratulate me. Taking it all in, I accept the high fives and fist bumps before sitting on the bench. I immediately feel the sting from my pants rubbing against the now-tender skin of my thigh, and I’d bet every dime I have that I’m going to be dealing with one hell of a friction burn when I get back to the hotel.

In the end, we win by a run, capping off our road trip on a high note. Despite my injury—which I tell no one about—I’m excited on the bus ride back, ready to see Lark again and get towork on my next assignment. I just hope the awkwardness from earlier doesn’t bleed into tonight.

NINE

LARK

“Hey, Sweets. Come on in,”Ace says as he opens the door for me. His hair is damp, and he’s wearing only a pair of low-hanging basketball shorts, clearly fresh from the shower. I try my best not to stare as I step into the room, taking in how amazing he smells as I pass.

Walking over to the table, I set my laptop and books down, noticing the giant bag of mixed bulk candy in front of the chair I used last time. For some reason, I fixate on it, taking in all the colorful, sugary pieces as my mouth waters. I have the biggest sweet tooth, and this bag is full of some of my favorites.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he says over my shoulder, making me jump at how close he is. “I figured you can’t go wrong with the classics.”

I turn my head, looking up at where he towers over me. “These are mine?”

He shrugs. “A little thank you gift for letting me put my mouth on your boob.” A boyish grin blooms across his face, making me turn and slap his shoulder playfully. He laughs, rubbing the spot as though I hurt him. “Yes, they’re yours.”

I smile shyly, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Thank you.” I don’t know why I’m shocked at the offering. It’s just a bag of candy. Maybe it’s because after we got married, I put on some weight, and Ryan was always criticizing my sugar intake. Every time he saw me with a treat, he’d make a comment about how it would affect my body.

I’m happy with the way I look. I’m not stick thin, and I definitely weigh more now than I did in college—but I’m healthy. I work out and eat plenty of vegetables and proteins…I just also happen to never turn down a sour gummy worm. It’s taken me a long time to reach this level of comfort in my own skin. I have days from time to time when I wish I looked like the models on the covers of fashion magazines, but that’s just not my body type—and I’m okay with that.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, rounding the table and pulling out his chair. He winces as he slowly lowers himself down, shifting his weight to one side.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. He’s clearly in pain, which is jarring to see because he’s so big.

He shakes his head. “Just a little parting gift from tonight’s win. It’s no big deal.” He moves again, trying to find relief against the hard pleather he’s sitting on.

“Ace, you’re not going to be able to focus if you’re uncomfortable. Let’s get on the bed so you can lie down.”

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