Being here as mine.
“Up next, we’ve got a different kind of WAG,” Rio announces over the speakers. “Shaylene Turner, agent for Cade Owens is here and ready to rock it.”
Marcus shivers. “Can’t lie. She’s scary, but in a hot way.”
A ponytail of braids hangs from the hole in the back of her helmet, swaying around her hips. Lines of black war paint are striped under focused eyes. She’s called Shayzilla and the Angel Devil for a reason. Her favorite pastime was collecting yellow cards like they were souvenirs. She’s here to win.
I’ve seen her at the batting cages many times. Shay can hit a ball.
“Two hundred bucks the little lady strikes out.”
“Little lady has a name,” I inform the man behind me. Justin’s an outfielder who I’ve always admired, though he’s way too good at poker for my liking, but I don’t appreciate the way he’s talking about my agent. “Use it next time.”
Dawson sighs. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Justin holds his hands up in surrender. “I meant no disrespect, Cade. I swear.” He clears his throat. “Two hundred bucksShaylenestrikes out.”
All I see is red. “Five hundred she makes it all the way home.”
Marcus bumps my shoulder. “Dude.”
“Feeling cocky?” A snort leaves Justin’s crooked nose. “I know she played soccer in college, but baseball’s different. She’s not gonna—”
“Two thousand,” I interrupt. “Take itor leave it.”
Justin hesitates, but like the gambler he is, an eager grin takes up half of his face. “Two grand on a WAG game? You’re willing to bet that much on your agent?”
I’ve never felt more sure. “Yup. Now watch and learn.”
In in the batter’s box, Shay grips the bat with the same kind of determination she puts into everything she does. From working with her clients, to fighting for the promotion, to loving her friends.
I’d go broke betting on her any day with no regrets.
Weston releases a pitch that’s significantly faster than what he’s been throwing to the others. Shay digs her toe into the plate but doesn’t swing.
“Strike!” the plate umpire calls.
“What?” I leap up. “That was a ball!”
Anytime fans scream that at the umpire, I assumed they were obnoxious because they didn’t like the call. Now that I’m on the other side of the fence, it’s not fun.
Another quick pitch flies by, but Justin groans this time.
“Ball!”
The stadium holds its breath for the next pitch. Then Rosie speaks from first base and claps. “Breathe, Shay! And knock the ever-living shit out of that ball!”
Static crackles in the air, followed by a signature Rio grunt. “May I remind you all that this is a family-friendly event. Let’s keep the cursing to a minimum. I’m talking to you, Mrs. Huber.”
When he winds up, I spy a slight tilt to Weston’s lips. Maybe he senses Shay’s bloodlust. She’s desperate to hit the ball, and he wants to see her do it. That’s why he’s putting some real oomph behind each pitch.
The moment the ball leaves his fingers, the hairs along my arms stand at attention. It’s beautiful how her entire body uncoils like a whip—smooth, fast, and precise, like dominos falling in a clear line. The motion starts in her legs, travels through her hips, flows into the torso,and finally bursts out through the hands and into the bat with one clean swing.
Then there’s the long-awaitedthwackof success.
The outfield is a mess, scrambling to grab the ball, which gives Shay all the time in the world to pass first base. Then second. And damn if she doesn’t send the whole crowd into hysteria when she makes it to third and races all the way home.
Before I can cheer for her, fingers grip my shoulder.
