Heavy Hitter (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 4)

by Lucy McConnell

“Love you.” Mom grinned as she pulled Sheila closer. “When you get a minute, fill me in on who you were kissing.”

  Sheila’s mouth dropped open. “I—I—” Her gaze cut to her dad.

  “Oh, he has no idea.” Mom giggled. “But I know my girls. Kelly’s been head over heels for that Brock fellow down there and can hardly think straight.”

  Sheila’s knees gave out and she landed on her backside on the stairs. “Kelly what?”

  Mom frowned in concern over Sheila’s lack of social graces. “She talks about him all the time.”

  Ice filled Sheila’s stomach. “They only went out once.”

  “I know. But there’s something for love at first sight.” Mom sighed happily. “She’s smitten, and if I know your sister, she’ll bring him for family dinner soon.”

  Sheila was at a loss for words. Was Brock playing her? She turned to find him on the field, her eyes tracing the outline of his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Had Kelly wrapped her arms around him? Were they texting, calling, communicating—just waiting for the chance to get together again?

  This wouldn’t be the first time a guy played her. Although Brad, her college romance, hadn’t dated her sister. He’d dated Wanda, who lived down the hall. For three months! Her face burned with humiliation just thinking about how their whole dorm knew and not one person had told her. Some of them had even helped Brad and Wanda sneak around.

  She pressed her fisted hand against her stomach. Throwing up was a definite possibility.

  “I have to go,” she mumbled as she stumbled up the steps. Her mom was probably watching her, and she’d call with questions. Sheila could make something up about the team’s image or worrying about mixing family with business or something along those lines to explain her sudden departure.

  She grabbed for her phone, needing to hear Kelly’s side of the story. Her thumb paused over her sister’s name in her contacts lists. She couldn’t just call out of the blue, not when she was in the middle of an event. There wasn’t time to subtly craft questions, and she didn’t want to give away her hand. If she told Kelly she’d gone out with Brock, and Kelly thought she was in love with him, then there’d be heck to pay.

  So she couldn’t call. Not here. Not now.

  But if she didn’t call, she wouldn’t have the answers to calm her quaking body. She continued up the steps, her legs shaky.

  She tapped her finger in the middle of her forehead and closed her eyes, feeling her way up the steps using muscle memory. She was almost to the top of the lower bowl when she heard a low “Hello, Sheila.”

  Smiling out of reflex, she turned to find Greg Downs, owner of Rev-Aide sports drinks, getting to his feet, offering a handshake. He had on a Rev-Aide ball hat, a pair of gray slacks, and a white polo shirt that reflected light like tinfoil.

  Sheila stuffed her surprise down and heartily shook his hand. “Greg, it’s so good to see you. I wasn’t expecting you today, or I would have sent tickets for the VIP booth.”

  He batted away her offer. “I wanted to experience this like a fan.”

  She pointed to his souvenir cup and box of Cracker Jacks. “I think you’re doing a great job.”

  He laughed. “I guess so. Did I ever tell you I played ball?”

  She folded her hands in front of her. This was excellent news. A fan was a much easier sell than someone who didn’t have baseball laces on their heart. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “All through high school. I wasn’t good enough to play in college.” His gaze traveled over the field below. “This game gets inside of you, though.”

  She nodded sagely and took a deep breath through her nose as if memorizing the scent of baseball. “I know what you mean.” An idea hit her. “Come with me. I think it’s time you were on the field again.” She started down the stairs, paused to wait for him, and when he caught up, she continued.

  Her parents smiled as she went by, but they didn’t interrupt her. Mom winked. Sheila silently groaned. She probably thought Greg was the one who had kissed her lipstick off. Geez. She sent her mom a quick text: It wasn’t him.

  Her mom sent back a winky-face emoji.

  What did that mean? Probably that Mom didn’t believe her. Oh well. When Greg didn’t come to Sunday dinner, she’d know.

  Security let them onto the dirt.

  “There’s a whole different energy down here,” Greg commented. He rubbed his palms together.

  “There is.” In the stands were concrete and plastic chairs, shouting, laughter, and the smell of hot dogs, onions, and sugar. Down here, the world was calmer, the grass cooler, the dirt absorbed footfalls, and you could hear someone talk without having to strain to hear their answer. The ball field looked huge, but it was only 350 feet deep. That was shorter than the 17th hole at Pebble Beach. The field was … friendly. Intimate, even. A whole different world separated by a fence, white lines in the dirt, and four bases.

  Small lines appeared around Greg’s eyes as he smiled, almost involuntarily. It was like there was something in his soul that felt complete when it was down here; she could see it in his face as the years and stress of running a growing company faded away. He was definitely a baseball fan, but she needed him to be a Redrocks fan. A fan so devoted to the team that he was willing to shell out big bucks to be a part of the family.

  “Let me introduce you to some of the main players around here.” She took Greg on a tour behind the scenes. They talked to David and the general manager, Jeff Hickman. While they chatted, she quietly checked for the owner and coach. Harper and Coach had left the building. That didn’t bode well. A rock formed in her gut. Heavy storm clouds couldn’t have put a bigger damper on her day.

  Finally, she brought him around to Brock. “And this is our star for the day.” She brushed her hand down the back of Brock’s arm, unable to be close to him and not touch him. There were a lot of unanswered questions stirring in her head about him and Kelly. They’d have to wait until they were alone together to resolve the doubts that hung like a pop fly over the infield.

  Julia popped over, a broad smile on her face. The bridge of her nose was red from the sun, and her eyes were hidden behind bug-shield glasses. She thrust her hand out. “Well, hello there, stranger. And who might you be?”

  Sheila reared back at the way Julia thrust her chest out in front of her. Greg’s eyebrow lifted in amusement, though he dropped Julia’s hand faster than a fumbled third strike. Sheila made the introductions, leaving out the part about Rev-Aide’s possible sponsorship.

  Brock stepped back to do an interview on camera with a contestant wearing a bacon costume and a superhero mask. He angled himself so he could brush his fingers against Sheila’s lower back without anyone noticing.

  She noticed. She noticed big time. Butterflies filled her stomach and her mouth went dry, all while her body screamed at her to jump into his arms and catch up.

  “Well, I can see why you’re garnering all of our event coordinator’s time.” Julia looked Greg up and down like she was trying to find the sticker price on a sports car.

  “Greg’s an old friend.” Sheila tried to downplay any rumors Julia cooked up in her cauldron of mischief. “We met a while back at a conference. In fact, we should find Ashley. I’m sure she’ll want to say hello.”

  Greg nodded eagerly—knowing an out when he saw one and being willing to take it. “I’d like to see her too.”

  “We’ll go through the locker room.” Sheila smiled to herself. It wouldn’t hurt to give the guy a tour of the facility on their way. The more he fell in love with the Redrocks, the easier the sell would be. This time, her trip through the dugout was completely platonic, and she was with a man she had no intention of getting to know outside of the office. That didn’t stop her entire body from singing praises in memory of the stolen moments with Brock. Heaven help her, she’d never be able to walk through the locker room without blushing.

  She only wished that she didn’t a past that had her looking over her shoulder when it came
to Brock. If Kelly was as in love with Brock as her mother claimed, then kissing him may have cost her a sister.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brock

  Brock watched as Sheila showed Greg down the dugout steps. They paused, and her arms moved about like she was giving him a tour. They both laughed.

  Brock took two steps to follow, the need to interrupt their happy moment storming around inside of his chest like a territorial bull. The microphone slipped in his slick palm. He’d gone to the locker room with Sheila and had the best kiss of his life. Watching her walk in with someone else didn’t bring up healthy emotions. In fact, they were destructive emotions—as in, he wanted to deconstruct the guy.

  He shook out his shoulders and rolled his head from side to side to relieve tension. Sheila wasn’t the type to go around throwing her lips at guys, was she?

  He didn’t really know her all that well. They’d had one date. Which he’d had to convince her to go on.

  Next to him, Julia snapped her gum. “He’s post-worthy.” She brought her phone to her chest and took several pictures.

  “You should offer to show him the town.” Brock tucked his chin. Greg had thrown all the not interested signs at Julia. Therefore, Brock should do the guy a favor and discourage Julia from chasing after someone who wasn’t into her. Come to think of it, saying things like that wasn’t kind to either of them.

  Julia interrupted his thoughts with, “He offered her a job, you know?” She brought her nails up and studied them. “I overheard them talking in her office.”

  When was Greg in her office? “Oh?”

  “Yeah, he said he liked her hustle.” She flicked her fingers. “Whatever that means. I’m the one who gives her program reach.”

  Brock swallowed. He reached for a water bottle and downed two large gulps to cover up the fact that he had no idea what to say. He gasped for air. “Is she taking it?” He continued to watch the two chat like best friends in the dugout.

  Julia twisted her lips. “She turned him down, but I think she’s playing a game—getting him to offer more money.”

  Brock’s mouth soured. He hated game playing. His dad was the best game player of all, constantly twisting words and decisions to make himself look better. Growing up, his friends thought he had the best baseball dad in the world, but they didn’t know that once Dad was out of the spotlight, he changed. Brock had sworn he’d never live with someone like that again.

  “Is Sheila that—” He looked for a good way to say what he was thinking.“—strategic?”

  Julia’s arm dropped in disbelief. “Pa-lease. She’s the master of strategy. I give her five years and she’s kicked David Butler out of the corner office and taken over the whole department.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I just try to stay on her good side.”

  Brock went to spin the water bottle and fumbled, almost dropping it. The bottle crinkled and cracked in his grip.

  Julia lifted an eyebrow but continued. “If you ask me, Greg’s interested in more than just Sheila’s professional qualifications. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  Just then, Greg put his hand on Sheila’s lower back and ushered her through the door to the locker room. Brock’s stomach dropped out. He squeezed the water bottle and the lid popped off, making the intern standing with his back to them duck like a bystander of an Old West shootout.

  “Sorry,” Brock muttered. If he wasn’t feeling so keyed up, that would have been funny.

  Julia checked her phone. “Time for another post. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Yeah.” Brock stared down at the rubber mat they’d laid to protect the grass, getting lost in the geometric design as he thought things through. For a minute there, he’d let his heart step away from the base, itching to steal second. His hand stretched out, shaking it a little, daring the pitcher to try and pick him off.

  He couldn’t afford to get cocky—not with his heart on the line. He needed to play it safe, stay closer to the bag. A big lead-off could put him in jeopardy of being thrown out. Losing at love was like getting spiked by a runner: the pain dropped a man to his knees. Brock had been there before, and he wouldn’t go back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sheila

  Sheila scrubbed at her face in an effort to wake up. Life had been nonstop work since the open tryouts several days ago.

  Rev-Aide was ready to become part of the Redrocks family. The only problem was that they wanted to reveal their sponsorship at the semifinals. Which meant that there were about a million and a half things that needed to be done in less than a week’s worth of time.

  The first step had been to sign contracts. Thankfully, legal took care of most of that, but as the instigator of the brilliant plan and Greg’s contact with the team, Sheila had spent at least four hours a day making sure Greg was happy.

  To buy herself some time, she’d called Tilly Birks and asked her to give Greg the world’s slowest tour of the stadium this morning. Tilly knew all the ins and out, the history, and the secret passageways. Not that there were secret passages, but there should be, because that would be awesome.

  Okay, she was officially going on three hours of sleep and losing it. On top of entertaining an out-of-town guest and investor, there were new graphics to create and approve both on her end of things and at Rev-Aide. There was a social media map to hash out with Julia—who was thrilled with having Greg around. She had backed off on the flirting but took more pics than necessary of the poor man.

  And it wasn’t just the semifinals Sheila was working on. The finals would take place in two weeks, and she wanted the vote to be cast by phone for immediate results so the winner could don the costume and make an appearance for the finale. Which meant spectators would text in their choice. Which necessitated working with Jerry to get the system up and running. Jerry was great at coding, but he had zero design skills. Each time she sent the ballot back for changes, he growled at her as if she’d poked his baby with a sharp stick.

  Her phone rang, and she reached for it automatically. “This is Sheila, how can I help you?”

  “You can come to dinner tonight,” said her dad.

  She smiled at the warm invitation in his tone and tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she attempted to clean off a corner of her desk. With a sense of glee, she ripped two sticky notes off the surface, crumpled them up, and tossed them in the trash. “I’d love to. What can I bring?”

  Greg was having dinner with Harper and Coach Wolfe at their personal residence. Sheila hadn’t been to the house, but she’d heard it was an architectural accomplishment, having been built into a cliff with gorgeous views of the valley from every floor. Of course, that could be office gossip, but she believed it. Harper was the type of person who would live in an enchanted mansion on the hillside.

  “Potato salad.”

  Sheila grinned. Her dad loved the deli-style red potato salad, and her mom hated it. “You got it.” She’d have time to stop at the store on her way over. She glanced at the clock. Maybe. There was so much to do.

  “Your mom said to bring your gentleman with you.”

  Sheila snorted. That wouldn’t go over well. “He’s busy.” Brock had invited her over for dinner on his half-finished deck, but she’d turned him down, knowing that he was a time vortex. Whenever they were together, minutes slipped away like sugar falling from a measuring cup. At least going to dinner at her parents’ wouldn’t take more than an hour. They were efficient people.

  Brock texted her updates on his deck project and flirted. She loved their conversations and the daily texting session, but barely managed to send replies. A text from him would rip her right out of the zone, and she’d end up reliving their stolen kisses in the locker room instead of reviewing billboard concepts and designs.

  The thing was, she missed him.

  She missed him, and Mom’s comment about Kelly still bothered her. “Is Kelly bringing anyone?”

  “We don’t know. She said to keep an open
spot, just in case.”

  “Hmm.” What was she worried about, anyway? It wasn’t like Kelly had some hold over Brock. They’d had one date. Sheila needed to let go of the doubts in her head. They were based on past experiences with her sister, not with Brock.

  If she didn’t think about it, she was better off. So she shoved her feelings down and plowed ahead.

  “All right. We’ll save a seat for you.” Dad said goodbye, and they hung up the phone.

  Sheila took a pic of the blank spot on her desk and sent it to Brock. Making progress.

  Brock’s reply was almost instantaneous: I’m so proud of you.

  Sheila warmed. He always knew just what to say. Brock was great. Her sister was hopefully moving on. Everything was going to be okay. A chill raced up her spine, giving her the feeling that she’d tempted fate. She took that feeling by the neck and thrust it deep down inside with the others. Just don’t think about how betrayed your sister would feel if she knew you had kissed the guy she crushed on.

  And while she wasn’t thinking about that, she’d not think about how much she actually liked Brock. It wasn’t that she couldn’t or shouldn’t like him; it was that the more she thought about him, the further behind she fell in work. The further behind she fell, the more stress Harper would feel. The more stress Harper felt, the more she was likely to sell the team. And that just wasn’t an option. Sheila shoved all thoughts aside and picked up the nearest sticky note, determined to check another thing off her list.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brock

  Brock pushed the shopping cart with the wobbly wheel through the produce section. A brunette stopped by his cart and reached over to retrieve a bunch of bananas. She glanced up at him from lowered lashes and smiled shyly.

  He smiled in return but kept his focus on the fruit. Ricky was right: the time to find single ladies at the grocery store was around five. Just after they got off work. The store was crawling with them. It would have been great if he was looking for a date. How had he not known this before he started dating Sheila?