Page 48 of Imperfect Player

He’s right. I didn’t.

I look back at the unexpected woman that fell into my life. So beautiful. So kind. So much more than I ever expected or believed I deserved. Deserve. Because honestly, do I? Sure, I’ve cleaned up my act some. The drinking, mostly. That was just for self-preservation, not even because I wanted to.

Yes, I’m a better man for it. But am I good enough for her?

I think about the things she’s told me about her relationship with Kai. Tidbits that she let slip. I sure as fuck would never treat her like he did.

Turning around again, my eyes land on her. Everly. She looks amazing in the too-short black shorts and tight black jersey with my name on it.

Christ, does she look good.

“Ambrose!” Fox shouts my name again. This time I’m so lost in Everly’s silky thighs I’m not ready when I turn back and get hit square in the chest with the ball.

“Fuck!” I yell out the word as I rub my chest. “Maybe you should be pitching instead.”

“Maybe I should,” he agrees.

Practice time is over. It’s time to focus on the game at hand. The winning season. Yet when I should be walking to the dugout, my feet carry me over to where Everly sits.

“My lucky charm,” I say, my hand gripping the fence in front of me. “Nice jersey.”

“As the lucky charm, I have to represent.”

“You’re doing a damn good job of it. The seats okay?”

“They’re amazing. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Trouble? This was nothing.

“You must be Chelle,” I say, finally acknowledging the beautiful brunette standing next to Everly.

“I am, and I’m also your biggest fan. Great season.”

Her tone isn’t flirtatious. She isn’t saying it to try and get in my pants the way most women do. She’s sweet and genuine, and hearing that I’m her favorite makes me smile. Even more than I already am.

“I have to head into the dugout, but sky’s the limit, ladies. Your wish is Dwight’s command.”

I throw them a wink before jogging back to the dugout.

With Everly here, I’m ready to play. Even better that she’s wearing my jersey.

When we were on the road last week, I would stand on the mound, eyes on the plate, mind on Everly.

Today? Things are a little different.

This time while I’m on the mound, I can see her. I lock eyes with her. Even from this distance, the things I can see and feel in them . . .

Fuck.

I wind up.

There goes the pitch.

“Strike one,” the umpire calls out.

She smiles. I smile back. Fuck, I never smile on the mound. Focused, tough, no-nonsense. That’s what I am when I’m playing.

Fucking Everly, she changes everything.

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