Wild Pitch: (Love for the Game Book 1) Read online

  Wild Pitch

  REMI GREY

  Copyright © 2019 Remi Grey – All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Cover Created By Embrace the Pace Designs

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

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  About the Book

  An Alpha Athlete and the Physical Therapist Romance

  Sydney Baker:

  After years of dedicating every moment to my career, I finally landed my dream job in a new city.

  With a new home in a nice subdivision and a volunteer gig where I'm welcomed with open arms -- I feel like I'm finally where I'm meant to be.

  Also, the fact that I'm a physical therapist for MLB sports stars is pretty cool too.

  When everything is going right, what could possibly go wrong?

  Oh yeah, the fact that the MLB pitcher I'm supposed to help rehabilitate is a grade-A jerk and his team might have a hidden agenda against him.

  Shawn Weeks:

  I hear the whispers of how everyone thinks I have an attitude problem.

  But, who's to say I'm not allowed to?

  I'm a top pitcher in the league.

  Our team has a good shot at finally making it to the World Series this year.

  And -- I've been on the cover of several magazines for my good looks.

  So, there's no reason I have to put up with anyone else's shit -- until an injury threatens to ruin my career.

  Now, the only person who can fix me seems to hate me for my biggest flaw.

  Wild Pitch is a sweet and steamy short romance that features a star player who won't let anything stand in his way until he suffers a potential season-ending injury and a woman who is supposed to fix him despite knowing what's written in the tabloids. Will Sydney Baker be able to do what's expected of her or will her feelings for Shawn Weeks get in the way?

  Chapter 1

  Shawn

  "It's not that I hate kids," I muttered under my breath as I continued to do jumping jacks under the watchful eyes of thousands of children. "It's just that they make me uneasy."

  “I feel ya, man.” My right-hand man and our right fielder Ollie Reinhardt laughed as he gave a double wave at the crowd mid-jump. He was eating this shit up, whereas I was left with a sour taste in my mouth.

  Usually, our practice wasn't on display for a bunch of kids, who didn't give a shit about Major League Baseball, to see. They were only there because it was a warm day and a chance for them to get out of the classroom, having made it onto honor roll during the school year or something like that.

  “Look.” Ollie pointed to the left as I followed after him for a few quick sprints. “You’ve got a fan.”

  I turned my attention to a small group of boys, hanging around by the netting chanting my name.

  “A fan,” I repeated after him with a laugh. He knew as well as I did that I had the largest fan base despite being relatively new to this team, whereas I called Ollie an old man for being a seasoned pro. He had already been in for several years by the time I was taken by the Bluff Bruisers in the top 16 during the MLB Draft.

  From the sunny beaches of California to the cold Midwest winters, we formed a bond the instant we met. He helped calm my nerves from the very first day, where he turned everything into a friendly competition. To this day -- we did the same. Who had the most fan jerseys present at the game that day? Whose name got cheered for the loudest? How many slick comments our manager Aidan Walsh made under his breath when we were losing. Which one of those comments did we think would eventually get him canned?

  I was sweating, and most of the fans in the crowd had already lost interest -- choosing to talk among themselves, which was fine by us. We weren't there for them, and they weren't there for us. We were still in the regular season, and baseball fever had yet to take over this city, but we were getting closer.

  "Weeks. Weeks. Weeks." The group of boys was chanting. Their bodies were pushing the netting forward as if they were about to fall through it. One boy, nearly double my size, made me wonder if the mesh would hold.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Ollie as we sprinted right by them, continuing our workout. I raised a hand in a wave as we continued.

  “Hey Weeks, you’re weaaaaaaaaaak.” A voice called out as I passed, followed by snickers. I abruptly skidded to a halt.

  "Don't you do it." Ollie started jogging backward so he could face me. He gave me a head nod to keep following him.

  I don’t know why I always let a bunch of kids get to me – but I did. I was used to adults being upset during games, booing us when we were losing, and only caring when we had a chance of making it to the World Series.

  But kids? This was the next generation of baseball fans. For whatever reason, they always seemed to act like assholes when they came to these events. I thought I was fierce and mighty when I was in the 8th grade, but never to the level where I would boo the hometown team, I was supposed to be cheering on. This city didn't have much going for itself otherwise.

  As if right on cue, something hit me in my right arm. I froze and looked towards the crowd. A barrage of soft plush baseballs came flying at me all at once. They went over the netting and through the areas that weren't covered.

  Ollie jogged back over and laughed as he started picking up the balls. Meanwhile, I was pissed.

  “Chill.” He shot me a look. “They’re just the plush balls they handed out as a reward for honor roll.” Sure enough, one of the balls was emblazoned in bright blue with Honor Roll Student. I didn’t care what they were from, I kicked one hard off the field and headed to the dugout where Aidan was watching something on a tablet.

  "What can I do for you, Weeks?" He asked when he saw me approaching. I tossed the ball to him, which he caught at the last second. "They are changing the regulation balls?"

  I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Whose bright idea was this?”

  “My guess is the marketing team.” He studied the logo. “All the kids got one when they entered. They were promised a free gift.”

  "Gift or not, it's interfering." I looked back on the field, expecting to see more covering the ground, but instead, it was just the same lush green grass shining brightly in the warm sun. Ollie had kicked most off to the side.

  "Look." Aidan put down the tablet and studied me. "Just relax, okay? They're only here for 15 minutes, and then we can begin actual practice. Just put on a show for them – okay?"

  "Sure." I stormed out. I couldn't get mad at the way the manager chose to handle things or the way he always reminded us in subtle ways that we were just elephants in a circus.

  Ollie waved me back over to the center field to practice a few of my warm-up
pitches before the kids cleared out.

  "Hey," Another small voice called from the stands. I looked up to see a little blonde girl, drowning in a team jersey that seemed a few sizes too big for her. Likely her dads.

  “Look.” She said as she turned around to show me number 22. My number.

  "Great choice," I told her with a smile.

  “You’re my favorite.” She responded proudly.

  "Is that so? Then, here." I tossed the baseball I was holding, a real one, up over the net, and watched as a few of her classmates rushed over once they figured out what was happening.

  The girl jumped up on the seat and caught it well before the others even had time to reach their hands out. She held it up proudly, clutched firmly in her hand like a trophy.

  “Thanks, Weeks. I’ll remember this when you make it to the World Series.”

  Sometimes, despite the vast majority of kids who didn't give a shit about baseball, there was always one to change your mind. And although the Bruisers hadn't made it to the World Series ever -- there was still hope.

  Chapter 2

  Sydney

  “Welcome to the neighborhood.” A perfect looking couple was standing on my doorstep, beaming up at me as they spoke in perfect unison. I studied their matching windbreakers – one bright pink and the other army green – before returning my gaze to the plate of cookies that the woman was holding out.

  It was neatly wrapped, a thin layer of moist appearing on the top of the saran wrap, indicating that they must have been freshly baked and pulled from the oven.

  "Thank you." I took the plate, awkwardly keeping the door open with one foot. Did I invite them in, or was that weird? Did moving into a subdivision mean all rules about stranger danger go out the door...literally? I mean, I was accepting cookies that very well could have been laced with poison, and so who was to say they wouldn't mind getting into a person's house they didn't know.

  Then again, I was probably overthinking everything as usual. I had come from a tiny town where I lived in a studio apartment where virtually everyone kept to themselves. This was uncharted territory. I realized the windbreakers were still waiting for me to say something.

  "Would you like to come in?" I finally asked. "The movers aren't really in yet, so there's not a whole lo-“

  "We would love too." The woman grabbed her husband's hand and pulled him up the steps and into my home. "I'm President of the Neighborhood Home Association. My name is Patsy. And this is my husband, Archie."

  "Sidney." I gave them both a polite nod as they followed me inside to the kitchen, where thankfully, I had a few stools that made the cross country move with me in my small Nissan. "I have some lemonade?"

  "That sounds lovely, dear," Patsy said as she took a seat, neatly crossing her legs and smiling at me.

  I took out the one bottle of lemonade I had picked up at the gas station and divided it into three cups, sliding two of them towards them. They both took their cups and exchanged a look that I didn't get until a beat later.

  Shit. I was a single woman moving into my first home. Mine was the smallest on the block, one of the very few without a second story or a fancy attached garage. I felt like I was openly accepting the position of outcast the second I closed the deal. And now, I didn’t even have proper lemonade in a pitcher with fancy slices of lemon and perfectly cubed ice to serve to them.

  “So what brings you to Bluff City?” Archie asked, killing half the lemonade with one gulp, which made me feel a little better already.

  "Job, actually," I said proudly, having something that would make them think I'm worthy of being here. "I'm actually starting as a physical therapist for the Bluff City Bruisers."

  “No way!” Archie clapped his hands together. “I’m a big fan. So do you have team connections and stuff like that?"

  I saw the wheels turning in his head. I had been warned that this was the question that would inadvertently follow when I told people about my new position.

  “Not yet. I just moved here, and I won't be starting until next week. It’s a good thing if I don’t get to know a player because I’m just on if anyone gets injured.” I laughed.

  "Right. That's cool, though." Archie was crinkling the paper cup with his hands, proving that not everything in the kitchen was the picture of perfection. "How'd you get a job like that?"

  "I actually had an internship with the team several years back and built some great connections. I even worked for a high school on the east coast, one where some of the top prospects for baseball came from. And then this option came up, and I was encouraged to apply."

  "That's wonderful, dear," Patsy said kindly. "Everyone here is so dry – accountants, lawyers." She was ticking things off on her perfectly shellacked nails.

  "Gary's a podiatrist," Archie interjected.

  The Boerner’s, I learned was their last name, but I would have figured that out sooner rather than later since everyone had their names neatly labeled on their mailboxes.

  They excused themselves once my phone rang.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  "Hi, is this Mrs. Baker?"

  "Miss, I corrected him."

  "Hey, this is Ronnie from Mountain View Movers.” His phone was cutting in and out as if he were driving through some sort of tunnel. “I have some bad news.”

  "What's that?" I took a deep breath and leaned against the wall since I had nowhere else to sit, and it didn't look like I would for a while, either.

  "The truck, unfortunately, broke down while crossing Highway 41 into Steele County. We're getting someone out there, and your things are safe – they might just not get to your location until tomorrow." He spoke so fast as if getting everything out there at once would cushion the blowback he would receive from me.

  “Oh, thank god." I let out a laugh. "I thought you were going to tell me something horrible like an accident or a fire. I can wait for my stuff."

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath, instantly relaxed. “I’m very sorry about that.”

  My dad's voice popped into my head, telling me to cram as many things as possible before it got uncomfortable and unsafe, into my car. He didn't trust cross country movers, and I thought he was exaggerating. I suddenly missed him.

  That pang mixed with exhaustion, and I wanted my bed more than anything, but that wasn't going to happen tonight. I thought briefly about getting a hotel and writing it off through my new employer. Seeing as how they had offered to do everything they could to help me get acclimated. But, I had a perfectly good house right here. I dug a fuzzy blanket, my pillow, and my alarm clock radio out of my car.

  It was a little after 7 p.m., and I wondered briefly if I was crazy for going to bed so early. I had a full day planned tomorrow for shopping and exploring my new city.

  I opened the curtains to the master bedroom, taking in the neighbor’s large house next door. Their windows were all lit up, a soft glow against the dusk setting in on the neighborhood. I could hear laughter and yelling of a family -- something about someone peaking at the cards.

  I thought yelling over game night would annoy me, but on the other hand, it was comforting. I felt less alone. I placed the blanket down on the floor underneath the open window so I could catch a breeze.

  I was unfamiliar with the radio stations, and I flipped through the AM dials -- looking for sports. Eventually, an announcer’s voice, along with a tolerable amount of static, filled the room, drowning out the sounds of the nearby family. I tossed my long auburn hair out of my face and into a bun. If I couldn’t talk to a real person -- the next best thing was having someone talk sports at me.

  The announcers were discussing some controversy surrounding their pitcher Shawn Weeks. He had lost his temper again during practice, smashing a bat against a Gatorade cooler. Shawn Weeks. I could picture him instantly. Number 22. Tall, blonde, tan, with a scruffy face, and a slightly crooked smile. He was named one of MLB's Top Heartthrobs in baseball last year. His looks weren't overshadowed by the rumors and stories th
at swirled around his temper, however. People were always ready to forgive a sexy asshole, however, so he seemed to get away with more than he should.

  I just hoped I wouldn't have to meet him. I had dealt with my fair share of divas during my years as an injury specialist -- their complaining made matters worse when it was related to injuries.

  Chapter 3

  Shawn

  "Shawn Weeks is an asshole." I read it out loud and laughed, an honest laugh at the words staring up at me.

  "Shawn, this isn't funny," Aidan said sternly, surveying me from across his desk.

  “And with all respect – this is trash.” I shoved his phone back towards him with such force that it shot off the edge of his desk. Luckily, he caught it.