“Who?”
I know who.
“I’m just saying, if I were twenty-four and single, I’d let myself enjoy a little fling from time to time with a nice set of abs and some gray sweatpants magic.”
“Lindsey!” I tease, stretching my leg toward her chair and poking her knee with the toe of my sneaker.
“What? Girl, I’m turning thirty, and my boobs were milk trucks for piranhas for two whole years. I’m simply saying you’re young and hot, and he’s young and hot, so why not be young and . . .hot . . .together?”
My sister’s brow waggles as she says, “hot.” I snort out a laugh.
“I don’t know, Linds. You know how those guys are.”
Unserious. Uncommitted. Selfish.
A lot like our mom.
“I’m not saying you have to marry him, for Pete’s sake. I’m just asking you to be open-minded about seeing him naked. And then telling me all the details.” A devilish smirk pulls up both sides of her mouth, and I shake my head at her. The wine is hitting her hard, and I have no doubt she’ll be projecting these thoughts onto Brandon when they get home. He’s getting lucky for sure.
“He is fine,” I finally relent.
My sister sits up tall and leans toward me, slapping the tips of her fingers against my knee. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
We both laugh and act like giddy schoolgirls for the next thirty minutes, gossiping about cute boys we went to school with and espousing the perks of baseball pants. But after my sister’s husband shows up to sweep my sibling and their kids off to her fairytale life, the reality of mine sets in.
I clean up the clutter of toys left in Riggs’s and Deacon’s wake, then help my dad maneuver his wheelchair so it lines up with the adjustable hospital bed we set up in the space that was once his home office and our mother’s library. Mom’s books are long gone—one of the few things she took with her when she packed up and moved to Houston. My dad’s coaching books and trophies remain clustered on the few shelves she set aside for him. Everything else in here is medical.
“Ready?” I hunch down so my dad can swing his right arm around my shoulders and use me for leverage.
“One, two,three!” We grunt the final number as my dad uses every muscle he’s retrained, and I lock my legs and core in place until he’s able to transfer himself to his bed. The nurse comes in the morning to help with his bath, and then we’re back at it with his physical therapist. He’s so close to walking without havingtwo people at his sides to brace him. His doctor thinks he could very well regain full walking ability within the year—two and a half years after he lost the ability to do everything.
Two years after I left college—a semester away from finishing my degree—and moved back home to help him after my mother decided that while she loved the man, she didn’t love him quitethatmuch. So, while my sister means well, the state of Hunter Reddick’s abs will remain a mystery to both of us. I barely have time to sleep, let alone hook up with this season’s hottest prospect.
Chapter 3
Hunter
Oklahoma and California are very different. I didn’t think I’d miss the ocean air as much as I do, and it’s humid as fuck here—every damn day.
I run my forearm across my forehead, then push my hat back down, pulling the brim lower to block the sun. Rosin and sweat do mix, for a nasty curveball at least. I should be able to throw some crazy pitches while I’m out here, though I’m not used to a hard limit on how much I can throw. I get twenty in today’s session, all breaking balls. I suppose when people pay more than a million dollars for an arm, they want to do all they can to protect it. I’m not so sure coddling it is the way to go, however. Nolan Ryan threw his ass off back in the day, and he was the best there was well into his forties.
I wind up and release my last pitch for the day, and it snaps in Roddy’s mitt. He holds it in place for an extra beat, letting Coach get a good handle on my spot.
“Good work, Reddick. Your curve looks solid today. Hit the trainer and take the arm care seriously.”
Coach Burdick slaps my back with his massive palm, then heads toward Roddy to chat. The two glance my way while I’m packing up.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and meander toward them. “Did I miss my spot or something?”
Roddy shifts his glove from over his mouth, revealing the hard line of his mouth.
“You did fine today, Hunter. Go take care of your arm,” Coach repeats.
I nod and their eyes linger on me for a beat before Roddy’s glove comes back up to cover his mouth. He’s clearly talking about me. I thought the little bet incident was our icebreaker. I don’t know what the fuck I did to make this guy hate me so much, but I can’t have him fucking up my path to the show.
I spin around again and their gazes zip to me.
“You know, if I need to work on something, I can take it. You can tell me.”
