“I’m glad he’s coming with us.” I shift my body as much as my booster seat allows. This seat is so limiting and embarrassing—especially when Noah rides with us. It makes me look like a baby. Mom says I have one more year before getting rid of it. I can’t wait.
“So am I. I just hate his parents won’t be there.”
“That’s why I made this bracelet. To keep him happy.” Duh. I can’t voice that last thought. Mom would get mad and yell at me for being rude. But Braxton’s being rude right now.
“It’s stupid. He won’t wear it.”
“Yes, he will.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at my older brother. He’s such a pain. Just because he’s ten years old, he thinks he knows everything.
“Okay, you two, stop arguing.” Mom looks in the rearview mirror at me and winks. “He’s going to love it.”
I stick my tongue out at Braxton as soon as Mom focuses on pulling out of the garage. Braxton remains quiet while Mom drives to the neighbor’s house. Noah stands at the corner of the brick-paved driveway. When he slips into the back seat, his minty scent fills the air, and my heart does this weird flippy thing. My insides always do that when he’s near.
“Thanks, Mrs. Smith.” Noah slides his sunglasses to the top of his head and forces a half-smile. I don’t respond as my concern for him deepens. I worry the beads back and forth while contemplating whether to give them to him or not. Maybe Braxton is right, and the bracelet is a stupid idea.
“You don’t have to thank me. You’re welcome to ride with us anytime. You know that.”
“We’re going to win today,” Braxton says as he fist-bumps Noah.
“All the way,” Noah speaks upbeat, but his hazel eyes are dull. He turns to look at me, and my throat tightens when he smiles.
I clutch the beads tighter, wishing they could disappear. I can’t give this to him. Braxton’s right; Noah will think the idea is stupid. Why did I think some string with beads would help him feel better?
“Whatcha got?” Noah glances down at my tight grip before looking back at me.
“Nothing.” There’s no way I’m giving this to him.
“There’s something there. I see a leather strap sticking out from your fist.”
“Nope. It’s nothing.”
“She made you a bracelet,” my rat of a brother says.
My face flames. I can’t believe he called me out. I’m going to tell Mom he broke the vase in the living room.
Noah’s eyebrows raise. “That’s for me?”
For a moment, I thought about saying Braxton was wrong, but Mom knows. She doesn’t like us to lie. Why did I make this? It’s so stupid.
Embarrassed, I fling the bracelet over at him. His quick reflexes catch the strands before they fall between the seat cushions. He turns it over and inspects the white bead with the cardinal painted on the flat side. I chose that bead specifically for him. Mom says when you see a cardinal perched on a tree limb nearby it means a loved one is visiting. I don’t know if that’s true, but I like the story. I want him to have his daddy with him.
“Thanks.” His voice drops to a whisper. “This is really nice.”
“It’s for luck.” I point my shaky finger to the bead with the painted bird. “That’s supposed to be your dad always being with you.”
His lips form a tight smile, and I think I hurt his feelings. I open my mouth to apologize but stop when he takes a stuttering breath.
“I’ll always wear this.” He slips his mirrored glasses back on and turns to look out the window. I stick my tongue out at Braxton again. See, guys do wear bracelets.
And Noah did wear it. After hitting a home run and winning the championship that day, he never took it off until he went to college.
Second Chance Hero Excerpt
LACEY
Citi Field Stadium
Zach Pritchett. The one name I never want to see on my itinerary. Ever. But I’m not stupid and know the possibility of our paths crossing exists. I just refused to believe they ever would. I don’t care that the position I accepted places me in press conferences with professional athletes. There are one hundred and sixty-two regular season games. With a five-man pitching rotation, the probability of being in the same room with him is rather low. But as today proves, my odds are not favorable. Then again, when have they ever been when it comes to that man?
I close my eyes and try concentrating on the surrounding chatter. The buzz of well-acquainted sports journalists—the deep masculine chuckles and feminine laughs from people comfortable being here—fills my ears.
I’m so jealous.
Although, I shouldn’t be. I’ve put in as much, if not more, legwork as any other person in this room. I’ve earned my spot to be here.
As far as Zach goes? I’m seated in the fourth row toward the edge and highly doubt he’ll see me. Of course, I could shrink farther in my seat and hide behind the row in front of me. No matter what I do, I’ll still be nervous.
God, five years have passed, and my heart still can’t handle facing Zach. No way am I prepared to talk to him.
“Excuse me,” a masculine voice says.
A young, dark-haired gentleman with eyes the color of a mocha latte stands to my right. I’d place him around my age of twenty-seven.
“Sure.” I shift my legs to let him pass and try to pretend being here doesn’t freak me out.
Mocha Latte Eyes sits next to me and opens his briefcase. As he rifles through his belongings, I continue to stare straight ahead and act casual. But it’s almost time to start. Any second, I’ll be in the same room with the guy who shattered my heart.
Tiny sweat beads form on my forehead, and I casually raise my hand and dab with my fingers to soak up the evidence.
Sweet Jesus. I’m totally freaking out.
Dangerous thoughts infiltrate my mind. Stupid ones like what if Zach notices me and shows no signs of regret? Or worse yet, doesn’t recognize me. Or remember what we shared. I mean, my body has changed. I’m no longer that perky, slim college girl he let go. I’m not sure my fragile ego could withstand him passing over me. No matter how much I hate him.
The ball in the pit of my stomach tightens as I straighten my back. I’m so not ready to face him. Why, of all the assignments my boss gave me, do I get stuck in the same room as my ex?
New plan. Let everyone else ask the questions while I absorb the answers.
And believe me, there will be plenty of material to sort through with all questions directed toward Zach. After all, he swept into town and pitched a no-hitter against my beloved team, the Mets.
Asshole.
The man can pitch. Always could. Even in college. And what’s worse, his success proves we made the right choice to end things. That he made the right choice. I never agreed to end anything, but I didn’t fight to keep him either. Although, I tried once. Three months after he left me, I went to see him. A sharp pain slices through my chest at that memory.
Damn it. I’m not strong enough for this.
“Are you new to the Times?” Mr. Mocha Latte Eyes asks.
Jesus, girl. Quit comparing this guy to a latte. I must be in dire need of coffee. Or something stronger to relax my nerves.
“Not exactly, but this is my first assignment.”
I’ve been with the New York Times for almost five years now. It’s taken me awhile to get to the sports journalist position, and even though it wasn’t what I had intended to do, I’m grateful for this opportunity. But I’ll keep that information locked tight. No stranger needs to know my life story. No one does.
“I’m Brayden Hicks with CBS New York.”
He extends his hand, and when I shake it, his hand is warm and soft. Not at all like the callused ones I prefer. Like pitcher’s hands.
“Lacey. Lacey Stark. Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine. If you need anything, I’m here to help.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I end with a warm smile and turn my attention to the front. B
rayden seems nice, but I can’t focus on any other guy right now.
“Okay, we’ll have the coach answer a few questions, then open it up for the one you’re all waiting for, Zach Pritchett,” the media relations guy announces.
Brayden doesn’t say anything else and faces forward himself. My stomach churns. This interview will not be good.
I swallow my insecurity and watch as Coach McFay steps to the platform. A moment later, the blond-headed star pitcher waltzes in behind with his confident swagger. He always was a cocky bastard. That hasn’t seemed to change.
As Zach extends his arms to pull the chair out, his white shirt sleeves fit snug against those massive biceps. His six-foot-three-inch frame settles into the seat, and I can’t help but gawk. Damn, he’s filled out nicely since the last time I saw him. All lean muscle, he looks good. All hints of boyish features are long gone, replaced by a strong, chiseled jaw masked with stubble. He never did shave on the days he started.
I bite my nail as my focus shifts to his perfectly thinned lips. Oh, those lips that dominated every kiss. Spearmint floods my senses from the memory of that perfection, his greedy tongue claiming me. He always tasted of spearmint. Does he still?
No. No. No. I will not allow my thoughts to stray there. Zach Pritchett crushed me when he left, and I never fully recovered. I will not revisit that memory.
“What was the morale of the dugout?”
“At what part did you let the no-no enter your mind?”
Questions are flung at Zach, but he answers each one with the grace of a seasoned player. I’m not surprised; he’s always been good at everything he does.
Zach smiles and brings his large fingers to his chin. My body betrays me as my nipples harden and press against my bra, yearning for those big hands to caress my skin. Among other things. He sure could fuck. He brought my orgasms to a whole other level, and no one since has matched his skill. Or even come close.
That pisses me off more.
“What does the last out of a no-hitter feel like?”
To hell with these bullshit questions. How do you think Zach felt? He felt freaking fantastic. I need a question that gets to the heart of the matter. I’m sorry, Mr. Pritchett, but I know exactly what to ask. Your physical appearance and performance may have improved, but you haven’t shed your little habit. And I’ll be the one to call you out on it.
“Mr. Pritchett,” I shout. “Do you expect the pain in your left shoulder to be a lingering problem?”
Zach’s head snaps toward mine, our gazes locking.
Warmth travels through my bloodstream and heats places that haven’t been alive in months. Crap. I think I just messed up.
Impossible Love Excerpt
KAYLA
The warm trade winds blow gently across our faces—a welcoming greeting that beats the chilled December air we left behind. Not even the luggage spinner wheels bouncing along the asphalt can dampen my mood as Mom and I make our way to the parking lot.
“That boy sitting next to you seemed nice.” The inflection in Mom’s voice makes me laugh. She’s never been good with subtle hints.
“He is. But that hardly matters.” The boy she’s referring to is Ray, from Ohio State, and considering we sat by each other for hours, we were bound to talk to each other, especially given my nerves. The flight went smoother than expected, but the patch of turbulence we hit had me grabbing the armrest and holding on for dear life. Ray helped by asking questions. His short blond hair and smoky hazel eyes were a bonus, but his witty sense of humor made the flight easier.
“What? With today’s technology, I’d figure you’d exchange contact information.”
“No way. I’ll never see him again.”
She shrugs. “He was cute.”
“That he was, but give it up, Mom. I’m not finding love at thirty thousand feet elevation.”
“Probably not.” Her laugh lingers in the air as she points to a sedan parked by a blue Chevrolet Cruze. “This is us.”
I pause by the blue car’s rear quarter panel and take in the tops of the mountain range in the distance. I barely whisper the word “wow” when a throat clears behind me. I startle and spin too fast. Pain shoots across my knee as I hit the corner of my luggage, causing it to topple forward. The carry-on bag placed on top of the main luggage flies off and lands right on a foot.
“Holy shit, what do you have in there?” Lust blindsides me from the sheer deepness of his voice. It’s the kind of voice heroines in romance books crave. I’m not sure if his looks match the sudden build-up my mind composed because he squats to grab the handles to my luggage. I assume he’s younger, but I only see the waves that are barely visible in his short, dark-brown hair.
“It weighs a ton,” that rich voice says.
A foreign laugh snaps my attention to a guy placing his luggage in the back of the Cruze, and my trance breaks.
“Normal stuff.” My tone has a defensive edge, but my retort dies on my tongue when the rich, voiced guy straightens to stand. His looks definitely match. Boy, do they match.
His eyes, rich as the deepest darkest chocolate, penetrate me, and I break into a light sweat. The humidity must’ve dialed up a notch within the last seconds. There’s no way he can cause this type of reaction. He’s taller than I’d imagined native Hawaiians to be. Why I thought they’d be shorter, I have no idea. But he here is towering above me. His muscle shirt every bit as intimidating as those bulging biceps and tattoo on display.
“Here you go.” He pushes the handles toward me.
I pull my gaze away from his body even though every piece of me protest. The angle’s off so I couldn’t make out the design of his ink. Reluctantly, I grab my luggage and move out of his way. “Thanks.”
He slides into his car as I lift my bag into the trunk of what is now our car for the next three weeks. I try my hardest not to watch him as he backs the car out, but it’s hard. I want more than anything to catch another glimpse of his perfectly chiseled face.
I never knew good looks alone could nearly stop a person’s heart, but damn. My body throbbed with need just from the look he gave me.
“Well, that was...interesting.”
I study Mom for a moment and wonder if she’s reading my mind. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Her smile is far from innocent as she opens the driver’s side door.
I slide my sunglasses on. If all guys look like that, I’m definitely going to like it here.
Also by Kimberly Readnour
Cessna Wildcats Series:
Swinging Strike
Behind the Count
Full Count
Caught Looking
Bad Boys Redemption Series
Second Chance Hero
Swing for the Fences
Bottom of the Ninth
An Unforeseen Destiny Series:
Impossible Love
Unexpected Love
The Mystical Encounter Series:
Visions
Deceptions
Vanished
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much for reading this Swinging Strike! I’ve stressed over this novel and tweaked it until I couldn’t tweak anymore. You’ll never know how much I appreciate your continued support of my work. To any new readers I’ve picked up, thank you for taking the chance on reading my work. I so appreciate it, especially with all the other choices of books out there to read.
There is a team of people that help make a book come to life. I wish to thank every single person who had a part in making this story come alive.
My developmental editor Tex Thompson deserves a big hella thanks. After reading the original version, she made me dig deeper to make the story better. I loved your help and suggestions. Swinging Strike wouldn’t have become the story it is today without your help. Thanks so much from the bottom of my heart.
Michelle, Caitlyn, and Nikki, you all deserve a thanks for your input and wisdom. I always cherish your opinions and feel grat
eful you’re there for me.
To every single book blogger, bookstagrammer, and ARC team member. I’ve said this before, but it still holds true. your shares, posts, reviews, and overall hype from the cover reveal to release day is so greatly appreciated. I wouldn’t be anywhere in the publishing world without your help. Thank you so much!
My editors, Kelly and Virginia, are some of the best in the industry. Thanks so much for keeping my manuscript as clean as it can be!
Katie, once again, thanks for all of your help. You truly are an amazing woman! I hope you know how appreciated you are not only in life but in this book world.
Linda, I wouldn’t be anywhere without your PR services! You don’t know how grateful I am to have found you. You’re such a solid rock in this ever changing environment. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever. lol.
Kelly, I’m looking forward to working with you and your company for that extra exposure I’m seeking. Your extra touch is just what I was looking for. Thanks for everything you’ve done.
I’m so excited to release this series. Next in line is Shannon and Noah’s story. Are you ready?
About the Author
Kimberly Readnour lives in the Midwest with her husband, two children, and a very fluffy cat.
Having a true passion for romance and HEA's, she took the leap from the young adult genre to romance and never looked back.
Unexpected Love, book two of the Unforeseen Destiny Series, hit #1 Amazon Kindle bestseller in the Medical Romance. Her series, the Bad Boys Redemption, has spent many weeks on the Amazon's sports fiction bestseller's list.
Kimberly worked as a Registered Nurse for fifteen years before hanging up her stethoscope. When she isn't running her own business, you can find her tucked away writing.
Contact me at:
SWINGING STRIKE: Cessna U Wildcats Book One Page 33
