I just know I don’t want it to end.
“Well,” Logan grits out. “So much for the ‘no flirting’ policy.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “We pretty much decimated that, didn’t we?”
Chapter Twenty
LOGAN
I rip a swing, and the ball soars over the fence.
And then another one. Going. Going.Gone.
Straight into the pine trees behind left field.
“Damn,” Brooks whistles, wiping sweat from his forehead. “What’s gotten into you today, man? I think you just hit that one five-hundred feet.”
I shrug and shake out my shoulders, take another pitch. Boom. Right-center. Gone.
“Yo,” he says, walking up beside me. “Be straight with me. Is this because of the scout that’s watching tonight?”
“A scout?”
Brooks raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? Some guy from the pros, from L.A. Coach said he’s got eyes on you.”
I glance toward the bleachers, and sure enough, there’s a man in a collared shirt and wraparound shades leaning back with a notebook in his lap. Shit.
I wipe my hand across my face. “Bro, I have no idea about any scouts. Didn’t even think of that.”
Brooks smirks. “Then what is it?” He leans in. “You been taking PEDs or something?”
I laugh and look out past the field. “Nah. I don’t mess with that stuff.”
My vision travels past the fences and the trees, past the town I never thought I’d care about. My thoughts land squarely on her. The way she tasted. The way her breath hitched when I touched her. The way she looked at me after, like I was more than just a rebound. Maybe.
She still might take some convincing. But she doesn’t know how convincing I can be.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, grabbing the next bat.
After practice, I’m halfway to the locker room when I hear someone call out:
“Logan Wade?”
I turn. It’s the guy from the bleachers.
“I’m Kyle Templeton,” he says, extending a hand. “I scout for L.A. You’ve got one hell of a swing.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” I shake his hand. “Thanks. Just lucky today, I guess.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That wasn’t luck. That was control. Power. Poise. You hit three in a row into the damn evergreen trees. That a normal batting practice for you?”
I shrug. “Been feeling good lately.”
He studies me for a second. “I’m gonna cut to the chase. You’re twenty-nine. Not exactly ancient, but it’s surprising you haven’t played in the majors yet if you hit like that. You’ve got the arm for third base and a bat like that. You’re wasting time in the minors.”
“I’ve thought about it, sure,” I say. “Don’t really want to ride the bench though.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying? I don’t tell everyone this. I didn’t even come here to see you. I came to see, uh, I forget his name…”
