Page 1 of Hard Ball

1

Harper

The bar is packed as my eyes look around trying to find Mel, who texted that she’s already here and ready to get drunk. We’ve been coming to Paul’s Bar since college and although I think we’ve matured beyond needing to get drunk on a Monday night, apparently Mel never got the memo. I’d much rather be at home, binge-watching all four seasons of Stranger Things than be here, pretending to smile all night.

“Harper!” Mel yells from across the room as she motions to the two empty seats at the bar next to her. I wonder for a split second if the entire downtown core decided to come out tonight, and I dread the next few hours. It’s not that I hate Paul’s, it has everything you need to have a great time, aside from the lack of bed or pajamas. There is a line of dartboards along the back wall, a raised stage to my left that is usually reserved for karaoke nights every Saturday, and let’s not forget the wall of TV screens that takes over every one of your senses the closer you get.

Mel yells once again, our eyes meeting as hers tell me to get my ass over to her. The sigh comes naturally as I make my way over to her. Paul’s is known for its round bar, set directly in the middle of the room. The dark oak bar top is covered in stickers, something I try not to think about because if I delve into how they clean it—or don’t—I might never come back. There are dozens of neon bar signs that hang from the ceiling and create a weird glow across the room. When I reach Mel’s side, I tap the bar, getting the bartender’s attention, ordering a rum and Coke.

“What’s wrong with you tonight? You look like I made you come here against your will…” She takes the seat next to me as I roll my eyes because she did pretty much bring me here against my will, promising me a quick drink, but seeing the way she’s dressed and the smile on her face, I know that was all a lie. But her happiness is enough for me to stick this night out because Mel’s the light to my darkness. Her long blonde hair dyed red, and green eyes light up every room she enters, making her extremely intimidating, but in truth, she’s just as much of a dork as I am, just in a different package. But I do notice the looks we get when we’re together, with my dyed blonde hair that’s hiding the person I once was, to the yoga instructor wardrobe that shows just how much effort I put into my appearance. I’m not naïve to the fact that we’re complete opposites, but after seven years of friendship, neither of us can let go.

“Nothing is wrong,” I growl, taking a sip of my drink and looking around at the packed bar around me. I take another even bigger sip, hoping the burn helps get me through the night.

“Nothing, my ass,” Mel says, taking my hand. “Cole was a dipshit, and I never liked him anyway.”

I take a breath because I promised myself a night of not thinking about my asshole ex. But now that’s gone out the window. I know I did the right thing. Cole was a dipshit.

“You know what you need?” she asks, her eyes scanning the room and from the way her gaze lands on every guy in sight, I know exactly what she’s doing and before she opens her mouth, I start shaking my head.

“Don’t even say it,” I mutter, her smile turning devious.

“You need a rebound, someone to get the image of Cole out of your head.”

Little does she know that he himself isn’t inside my head, it’s the image of him fucking his secretary that seems to play on a loop.

“No way, I told you last night that I needed a break from men, for at least a few weeks. I’m not capable of handling their shit right now, I have enough of my own.”

Mel rolls her eyes but seems to ignore my words and spins on her stool, searching the bar once more. As I follow her gaze, I notice the small group of guys congregated near the dartboards surrounded by a group of girls. Mel’s eyes dilate as mine narrow at the scene before me, knowing exactly who those guys are and wanting no part of it.

“No, Mel, anyone but them,” I beg, cringing at the way the girls fawn all over them, the way their egos take over the entire space and it doesn’t take a genius to realize that these guys are pro baseball players.

It’s not uncommon for pros to hang out at Paul’s, it’s been around since the seventies and is usually discrete enough that players can come and go as they please without being harassed by fans… women? That’s a whole other issue altogether. Mel’s devious smile is turned on me and I start shaking my head again, hoping she gets how serious I am about this. There are many reasons to stay away from men like that. One, I’ve lived by the no baseball players rule, and so far, I’ve lasted twenty-six years and I don’t plan on breaking that streak now. Secondly, with the amount of pussy that seems to follow them wherever they go, I’m not really in the mood to fight off a woman who thinks she has an imaginary hold on a grown man.

“Too bad,” she says before downing the rest of her drink before she gets up from her stool and turns toward me. “You need to interact with some hot men…”

I audibly sigh as her eyes soften.

“I’m not telling you that you have to sleep with one of them, although from what you’ve told me about dipshit, you could use a good fuck.” She smirks at that last part, and the worst part is that she’s not wrong. My sex life these last few years has been less than ideal. Even with Cole in the picture, it was never mind-blowing. Honestly, it’s been so long since I’ve had mind-blowing sex, I wonder if it’s even possible anymore.

“I’m not like you,” I start before taking another sip of my drink. “This isn’t easy for me…” The pity in her gaze has the pit in my stomach growing heavier with each passing second. I hate that look.

This stuff has always been easy for Mel. Confident to a fault, fearless in the pursuit of a good time even when I know deep down, she wants exactly what I want. To settle down and find that one person that sands down the sharp edges of your life, the one that looks at all your faults and still sees the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen. But I know the last time Mel felt that pit in her stomach, wishing on a star kind of love, it broke her apart. And I know she uses the armor of getting laid, no strings attached sex as a way to deflect her feelings, and sometimes I’m in awe of her stamina and sometimes I want to punch her.

Tonight, I want to punch her.

“It’s easy for me because practice makes perfect.” She winks as I roll my eyes for the thousandth time tonight, thinking back to the first time I met Cole. I never meant for us to last as long as we did, he was supposed to be a one-night stand, yet before I knew it, he was staying over on weekends and two years later, I’m stuck with mediocre memories and an ex that I’d rather forget.

Mel shifts beside me and when I look over, I stare in fascination as she eye fucks a guy on the other side of the bar. At this point I know exactly how our girls’ night is going to end up, and I silently thank God because now I can go home and get out of these damn heels. I glance at my godforsaken footwear and groan. The black wedges are the only pair of heels I own, which in turn means they’re the only ones I know how to walk in. Tonight, I paired them with dark wash skinny jeans with holes all along my thigh and a dark green camisole that shows just enough cleavage to make me feel amazing, but not enough to garner too much male attention.

Before I have the chance to tell Mel that I’m leaving, allowing her to climb all over Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome across the room, someone touches the small of my back, making me jump.

“Hey there gorgeous, mind if I sit?” I quickly glance behind me seeing a man many women would die to have touch them, but I shrug away and turn back to Mel, who is still paying no attention to me. I ignore his question, tapping on the bar and ordering another drink. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” I can hear the smirk as he takes his hand off my back as I take a deep breath.

Okay. New plan.

I spin on my stool, placing my newly filled glass on the bar. The second my eyes land on him, I know exactly who he is, and I definitely do not have the patience for a man like him right now. Cameron King is one of the best pitchers in the major leagues and a complete and total manwhore. And right now, his eyes are tracking me like I’m his next meal.

I do a once-over myself, studying the short brown hair styled perfectly, deep brown eyes, and a smile that should make me weak in the knees, yet I feel absolutely nothing. He’s wearing a simple black T-shirt that accentuates his forearms and loose hanging blue jeans paired with Converse shoes. A man after my own heart.

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