prologue
. . .
Lucas - Eight Years Earlier
The locker roomdoor explodes outward under my palm, a satisfying outlet for the frustration burning through my veins. My father’s voice still echoes in my head—Enjoy one of your last games before joining my campaign team—like my future is already set in stone.
“Jesus, fuck!”
A blur of golden hair and tanned skin darts back from the swinging door. I freeze, my jersey hanging open, forgotten.
She’s a vision in cutoff denim shorts showcasing legs that seem to stretch for miles. Her faded band T-shirt is cropped just enough to reveal a slice of toned stomach, and the way her cross-body bag cuts across her chest accentuates curves that instantly send my blood south. At least a hundred thin bracelets jingle at her wrists as she steadies herself against the wall. Her blonde hair escapes a messy ponytail, framing a face that belongs on magazine covers.
When I finally reach her eyes, a piercingblue that reminds me of the California coast, they’re locked on my exposed chest. Her lips part slightly, and whatever she is about to say evaporates as her gaze travels over my abs. The hunger in her eyes is unmistakable, igniting something primal in me.
I can’t help myself. I flex subtly, and a jolt of satisfaction rushes through me when her cheeks flush pink.
“Hey, sorry about that,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. My heart hammers against my ribs, and it has nothing to do with being late for the game.
I should be sprinting to the dugout, but I’m rooted in place, caught in her gravitational pull.
It’s no hardship keeping my gaze trained on her beautiful face, but damn if I don’t want to take my time looking slowly at the rest of her. The quick glimpse I allowed myself is stamped permanently on my brain. She looks like pure sin and sunshine poured into blue denim, with long legs, ample curves, and a barely there grin, but it’s the hint of mischief in her eyes that has me imagining things that would make us both sweat more than nine innings under the sun.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, reluctantly buttoning my jersey. Each fastened button feels like a crime, hiding what she clearly appreciates. As I walk backward toward the field, the roar of the crowd is a distant reminder of responsibilities I’d gladly abandon for five more minutes with this stranger.
“Dugout,” she says, pointing down the tunnel. Her voice matches her appearance—a little husky, confident. It would sound incredible whispering in my ear atnight.
“You’re headed to the dugout?” I blink, thrown. That’s not exactly an open-access area. “Coach Byrum signed off?”
She nods like it’s no big deal.
I should probably wonder who she is—or what kind of strings she pulled—but the thought of her sitting in our sanctuary during the game sends a thrill through me. Nine innings with this view would be worth getting in trouble.
I wave for her to follow, stealing glances over my shoulder as we walk toward the field. The sway of her hips is hypnotic, and twice, I nearly trip over my own cleats. My focus is shattered, my mind already spinning fantasies of getting her number, taking her out after the game, and discovering if she tastes as incredible as she looks.
We emerge into the sunlight, and I spot my teammate Austin charging toward us, grinning like a lottery winner. He barrels past me and wraps his arms around the blonde goddess. Lifting her, he spins her with unbridled joy.
I blink. Wait—do they know each other? Are they together?
A flicker of something unsettled twists in my chest. Not quite jealousy, maybe something more like disappointment? Which is insane. I don’t even know her name. But the way she looked at me, like she saw something worth noticing, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t spark something.
Of course someone like her would already be taken. No way a woman like that walks around unattached. She’s the kind of woman you justknowdoesn’t stay single for long. And I missed my shot.
Austin approaches me, his hand clasped with hers, and my heart sinks.
“Hey, Lucas. Meet my big sister, Jess.”
Sister. The word hits me like a fastball to the chest, but instead of pain, it’s pure elation. I’ve never been so grateful in my life. Austin’s big sister. My joy dissipates only slightly when I realize she’s my teammate’s sister—off-limits, according to the code—but I’m graduating, and some rules might need revisiting.
“We’ve met,” she says, tilting her head with a smile that steals my breath. There’s mischief in those blue eyes, a challenge I desperately want to accept.
“Oh, yeah? Where?” Austin asks, looking between us with growing suspicion.
I take too long to answer, lost in fantasies of how her lips would feel against mine.
Austin nudges me. “You ok?”
“Oh, yeah. We didn’t technically meet, just ran into each other in the tunnel outside the locker room.” I extend my hand, anticipating electricity with our touch. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”
