Page 153 of Wait For It

Witnessing the player was sexy as hell.

Besides, there would be plenty of time for trekking through that jungle of a beard to kiss his lips. Plenty of time to breathe in the scent of his body wash.

“He’s in the zone,” I noted, more to myself than anyone else. Killian’s mama, Sheri, agreed. Joe had sequestered himself two seats down and was fidgeting with the bill of his ball cap while watching his son.

“What?” Morgan asked in a thin voice. She’d spent most of the game gnawing her fingernails to the quick and closing her eyes.

I patted her between the shoulder blades. “Are you okay? They’re going to come back from this. I feel it. Don’t give up.”

Georgia hip-checked Morgan with a chuckle. “Oh, I don’t think she’s giving up, dear. I think she’s found the winner.” She slid her glasses down her nose and reviewed her notepad, before tapping it with her index finger. “Just as I predicted, Conor Bailey. He was my number one choice too. Lovely job, Morgan. He’ll make you very happy.”

I pulled my lower lip between my teeth with a shake of my head. There was never a dull moment with Georgia around.

Morgan hesitated before blurting, “It’s not that. I, um, I know him!”

“What?” I shouted to be heard over the crowd. “How? You said you didn’t know any of the players besides Killian!”

She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, avoiding my penetrating stare. “Conor was my neighbor when I was sixteen.”

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” I held up my hands, drawing Georgia and Sheri’s attention. “A neighbor, orthe neighbor?”

“The neighbor,” she said with a laugh, her voice full of affection as she watched him.

Morgan’s first and only love—the man she’d given her virginity to—was Bailey.

“You have to talk to him!”

Her nose crinkled and she shook her head. “It was a long time ago, Ari. I doubt he even remembers!”

“But he—” I was interrupted by the crack of Bailey’s bat and turned just in time to see the ball sail over the second baseman’s glove before dropping onto the field.

“Go!” we screamed in unison, waving our arms as if we could make the giant run faster.

Bailey’s helmet flew off as he went speeding past the bag, rolling across first just after he did.

He and the helmet were safe.

Joe pumped his fist but otherwise stayed silent. Sheri clung to my hand as Killian’s walk-up song began, her fingernails digging into my knuckles.

“And now, your center fielder, number twelve—Killian Reed!”

The noise in the stadium moved to a deafening level. Blue foam fingers waved in the air, as well as several large cutouts of Killian’s head.

I drew in a long breath and released it, unable to resist sneaking a peek at Joe. In a ritual that had become just as much a part of the game as the players on the field, Killian’s father lowered his head, his mouth moving as if in prayer.

One on, no room for error.

The game rested in Killian’s hands.

Morgan linked her fingers through mine before reaching for Georgia’s, the four of us forming a human chain.

We stood together in solidarity, drawing strength from one another and praying it was enough to get Killian through the next few pitches.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Killian

“One of the beautiful things about baseball is that every once in a while you come into a situation where you want to, and where you have to, reach down and prove something.”

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