The bar is loud, the kind of loud that rattles in your chest and makes everything else fade into background noise. Music thumps through the speakers, bass-heavy and unapologetic, and every time the door opens, a fresh wave of cold air and curious eyes sweeps in.
And yeah, those eyes land on me.
They always do.
“Jesus, Wild,” Kamden laughs, clapping a hand on my shoulder as another round of shots lands on the table. “You’d think they put your face on the damn menu the way everyone keeps staring.”
I smirk, lifting my glass. “Can’t help being memorable.”
“That’s one word for it,” Evan, our shortstop, adds. “Obnoxious is another.”
The girls pressed in around our table laugh, the sound light and flirtatious. One brunette is practically in my lap, fingers tracing lazy circles on my thigh like she’s already claimed real estate. Another leans over the table, her cleavage dangerously close to my drink, batting her lashes at me like I’m the last man standing.
They like the confidence.
They love the reputation.
They crave the thrill of being wanted by a Rebel.
By me.
“Shots!” someone yells.
I lift mine without hesitation. “To winning streaks and bad decisions.”
“Bad decisions,” Kamden echoes, grinning before we knock them back.
The burn hits hard and fast, but it’s familiar. Comforting, even. This is my element. The neon lights, alcohol, attention. The place where Wilder Calloway thrives just as much as he does on the mound.
A girl with red lipstick leans in close, her mouth brushing my ear. “You pitch tomorrow night, right?”
“Always,” I say easily. “Curveball’s been nasty lately.”
She bites her lip. “I like nasty.”
I chuckle, letting my hand rest at her hip just long enough to make her breath hitch. It’s effortless. Too easy. And part of me knows that’s exactly why I keep doing it.
Kamden shakes his head at me, amused. “You ever get tired of it?”
“Of what?” I ask.
He gestures vaguely to the girls, the crowd, the noise. “All of this.”
I scan the room. Fans pretending not to stare, phones subtly angled in my direction, strangers shouting my name like we’re old friends.
Nah.
“This?” I say. “This is the payoff. Long nights. Early mornings. Blood, sweat, busted knuckles. I earned every second of it.”
Kamden raises his beer. “Damn right you did.”
Someone calls out, “Wild! Over here!”
I turn, giving them a lazy salute. The cheer that follows is instant, loud, intoxicating. I feed off it, that surge of adrenaline buzzing just beneath my skin.
A blonde slides closer, pressing herself against my side. “You really love the game that much?” she asks.
I don’t even hesitate. “More than anything.”
