Game Face (Small Town Bachelor Romance Book 3)

by Abby Knox

  “Leather and dirt. And your hands.”

  “Look around you. What do you see?”

  “I see green grass, turf, I see blue sky, white fluffy clouds, green hedges bleachers, blue flags, I see people over there on that rooftop, drinking beer at noon and watching us.” She waved. “I think I smell hot dogs.”

  “Correction, you smell real Vienna beef sausages.”

  “OK. What are you getting at?”

  “I have loved baseball my whole life. I never loved anything the same way. I have never stopped loving baseball, even though it hurt me, but it’s not over. I can still play, have fun, enjoy games. Coach kids. Baseball will always be with me. When I love something, I don’t ever walk away completely. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  His words were breaking through. He could be trusted. He had more than proved it, over and over again, in the short time they’d known each other.

  Did she love him back? Was this what she was feeling?

  He was reliable. He wanted to take care of her and Elliot. He was protective, almost to a fault. He was smart. He could argue with her and not get too personal or get easily offended. He had her best interests at heart. He put her before himself.

  “Batter up!” he called. Troy took the mound and stood there watching her for a moment. Remy loosened her wrists by swirling the bat around over her shoulder, then took a couple of practice swings. She was conscious of Troy staring at her. “What?” she said.

  He replied, “Hang on,” and trotted over to home plate. He tucked himself in behind her and corrected her form. Now his gaze was up close and to the side of her face. She could feel his heart pounding into her backbone. Troy placed his hand on her hands on the bat and directed her swing. “Keep it level, like this. Not too high, not too low. Just even.” They did a number of practice swings like this, and she was exquisitely aware that all of this was an excuse to cop a feel. There was his little buddy, hard and ready and pressed up against her ass cheeks.

  “Troy,” she said, low enough so only he could hear. “Don’t you ever stop with the hard-ons?”

  He slipped a hand up under the side of her shirt and gripped her around the waist, drawing her in closer to his pelvis. “I hope I never stop. I’m gonna have a hard-on for you the rest of my life, and that’s a fact.”

  The word choice stuck in her brain. “Your life?”

  “Of course. What do you think I’m doing here, Remy?” He breathed into her neck. She could tell he was inhaling the scent of her shampoo, a thing he liked to do. The question in her mind was, would he like the way she smelled, looked, acted on her rough days? One of many, many questions.

  34

  Troy

  He felt her body stiffen under his embrace, her hands tightened on the bat.

  He inhaled the scent of her hair, her skin, her scalp. She was intoxicating. Everything about her aroused him.

  He kissed the back of her neck and felt her body relax about one-tenth of a degree. “Just remember what I said. You don’t have to respond to anything I’m telling you. I’m just telling you what I’m thinking. I want to put it all out there to let you know I don’t have any barriers to this or to you. There’s a 50/50 chance I’m going to get hurt—no, utterly crushed to a million pieces—but that’s the chance I take. That’s the risk every time in baseball.”

  “Huh?” She was a numbers person and not given to metaphor as he, the English teacher, was.

  “Every time you size up a pitcher, the pitcher is sizing you up. You may think you know what he’s going to throw at you, and you may be ready. Then again, he could throw you a knuckleball, a curve ball, a fast ball. You don’t really know. If it’s a wild pitch you can let it sail and walk the bases, waiting for something to fall into your strike zone, or you could go down swinging. Or you could hit a home run. I’d rather take my chances between striking out and going all the way home. I don’t like walking on base. It’s too easy. Maybe that’s why you picked me.”

  She huffed. “I picked you? Really? I think it was you who came after me.”

  He turned her around and she dropped the bat. “You knew on some level that I liked fighting with you. You liked it too. You don’t like things the easy way, either, or why would you be fighting so hard for everything? You are just like me. You don’t half-ass anything. You don’t want to walk into a relationship where you’re certain everything will be OK. I don’t either. You might be so wrong for me, but you came to see me at school and well, damn if I didn’t hate you and fall for you at the same time. You and I are opposites, but we have one thing in common. We fight for what’s ours and we enjoy the fight. We are aroused by the fight. Don’t deny it.”

  “You’re talking crazy.” She said the words but didn’t believe them herself. He could tell. He was getting through to her, but she wasn’t ready to admit it.

  “Am I? Tell me what you would do if a milquetoast middle school dad you met at the bake sale asked you for a date?”

  She looked around hesitantly. ”I don’t attend bake sales. Pointless. I call my congresspeople and school board members to lobby for more money.”

  “Exactly. You’re a Tiger Mom. Say it.”

  “I’m a Tiger Mom?”

  “You don’t go out with mild-mannered dudes. Why not?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Not too busy to fuck me.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes flashed in semi-shock at him. But she had no words.

  He continued. ’It’s true and you know it. You make room for what you want. And what you want is someone with as much fire as you. Because if you don’t have that, if you have a dude without any tenacity or chutzpah or balls or whatever you want to call it, you’ll burn him to the ground. The average Middleburg dude can’t be next to you because it’s too much heat.”

  “I think you mean they don’t sit by me because I’m a raging bitch.”

  “So what!?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You are raging, but you’re not a bitch. You might have made me think so at first, but you’re a lioness. Even if you decide you don’t want to be with me, then just promise me you won’t let anyone make you feel like anything less than a queen.”

  She looked surprised. “Well, now it sounds like you’re giving yourself an out. You said before you were all in.”

  “I’m doing everything in my power to win you over. In the end you have to choose. I can’t force you to love me.”

  She was quiet for a time, and then they walked the bases together.

  “I think you like to exaggerate your perception of me. I’m not as amazing as you think I am. You might not like me when things calm down and I’m just sitting around in my sweatpants, carb-loading and training medical transcriptionists online with my hair up in a ponytail and no makeup. Or on days when I decide I can no longer give a shit and I lose that fire that you seem to think I have.”

  He stopped and grabbed her hand to keep her from moving away from him. He squared her shoulders in front of him.

  “I might and I might not. There’s a 50 percent chance I won’t like you in that state. But here’s the thing. I’ll still love you. So the chances that this will work is 150 percent. Right? I don’t know, I’m not good with numbers, I’m an English major.”

  She smiled a little. Then he could see it. A light had dawned. “I like these chances. OK, Coach. Let’s do this.”

  Troy pulled her in close and closed his arms around her back as they kissed at second base, the late morning sun basking them where they stood, halfway home.

  35

  Troy

  It was the beginning of the seventh inning stretch and Troy was getting nervous. He felt he had been fairly chill so far. The Cubbies were winning 10-2, the beer was flowing, the crowd around them was cracking jokes right and left, and it was a beautiful day for a ballgame, with his girl by his side. She had bought herself a program and was keeping stats like it was her job.

  In fact, when the big moment arrived, he had a hard
time getting her to peel her eyes away from the program. “Remy, look up!” He nudged her. Everyone in the seats around them laughed, and they all started yelling at her to look up. She finally looked up at Troy, slightly annoyed. Then she finally realized the entire crowd was shouting for her to look up. She looked around and then followed Troy’s pointing finger, across the field, and saw their faces on the giant screen.

  Remy

  She saw herself, then laughed and waved, still oblivious to what was happening. This was cool, being at a Cubs game and then getting filmed on the big screen. The crowd then went berserk and she noticed Troy was getting down on one knee. He was pulling out a little red box out of his jeans pocket. She pried her wide, shocked eyes away from the screen and looked at Troy. This was happening.

  It was a beautiful ring, but she barely noticed it, because all she could see through tears was Troy looking up at her. She could hear nothing because the crowd was totally losing its collective shit. Apparently, word had got out he was an ex-Cub, for however short a stint.

  She could barely see him mouth the words.

  And there was only one possible answer.

  Epilogue

  The summer sun is shining down on the open meadow near Caleb Creek. Elliot is swinging a bat over a makeshift home plate made from a discarded wood fence.

  Troy is pitching. Ryan is catching.

  “Heyyyy, batter-batter-batter, swing, battah!”

  “You don’t have to do that every time, Dad.”

  “I know,” Ryan says, “but it’s fun. That’s what I do!”

  “Yeah, you know Ryan is such a baseball aficionado, he learned everything he knows from Ferris Bueller,” Remy shouts from second.

  “And what, madam, is so wrong with that?

  “Nothing, let’s play.” Troy is getting impatient.

  “What, you don’t want to trash talk everybody on your own team some more?” Elliot asks with a laugh.

  Troy pitches the ball and Elliot knocks it into left field, where Jackson calls it.

  Ryan stands up and watches it fly, sure that it’s going to go into the woods. But Jackson gets under it and catches it with ease. “You’re outta there!” Remy shouts.

  Troy and Ryan turn to look at Remy. “You’re gonna call your son out? You enjoyed that a little too much.”

  “Keep talking, sporto, you’re next.”

  “Great catch, babe!” shouts Maggie, who is sitting on a giant quilt with two young toddler girls and another woman, who is new to the group.

  “Thanks, babe!” calls Jackson from left field, “I think I missed my calling. Want to divide the land and put in a ballfield right here?”

  “Sure, but who would play?”

  “Well, we’re well on our way to making our own baseball team!”

  Maggie smiles and says nothing. Everyone in the group swivels around and looks at Maggie, playing with two-year-old Emma.

  Remy squeals from second base. Maggie laughs.

  Troy and Ryan exchange looks. “I have no idea,” Troy says.

  Ryan shrugs. “Womenfolk squealing about something or other, one can never tell.”

  Jackson laughs. “I never thought I’d be the least chauvinistic in this here group, but I gotta tell you fellas, you can be pretty thick in the head sometimes.”

  Ryan turns around and, seeing the look on Jackson’s face, finally understands. “Well, congratulations, man!”

  Troy throws his head back and laughs. “Well, this calls for a celebration! Man, why didn’t you say anything?”

  Jackson shrugs. “I believe I just did.”

  Misty, the new girl, turns to Maggie, “Is it true? Are you expecting your second?”

  Maggie’s eyes shine as she nods. “We’re due in February!”

  “I’m so happy for you!“ says Misty.

  Maggie grabs her in a hug even though she barely knows her. “I’m just so relieved to talk about it, I hope you don’t mind if I hug you.”

  “Not at all,” Misty chuckles as Remy flies over from second base to nearly tackle her pregnant friend on the blanket.

  “Oh my god, I’m so excited! I’m going to be an auntie again!”

  Elliot called over, “Um, Mom, you do know you were not technically anybody’s ‘aunt’ in the first place.”

  Ryan admonishes him, “Your mom doesn’t have any siblings. She can claim anybody she wants to as her niece or nephew.”

  Remy smiled at her daughter. “Did you hear that, Caroline? You’re going to have a new cousin! And don’t listen to your brother, Elliot. You can call Emma and her new baby brother or sister your cousin. Because Mommy makes the rules, just remember that.”

  Misty smiles and hands Caroline up to Remy. “Your daughter looks exactly like you. She’s so beautiful,” Misty says.

  Remy smiles down at Ryan’s girlfriend. “Thank you, hon. Thanks for watching her. I can’t play now. We need to talk about the nursery with Maggie. Maggie, are you going to put the baby in the extra room, or will they share?”

  Maggie and Remy go on and chatter about nurseries, and the conversation eventually morphs into breastfeeding versus bottle feeding, cloth diapering versus disposables. “You know, I have been doing research on compostables and that might be a good option for us, since we have to handle our own trash disposal out here in the sticks…”

  Misty smiles and turns her attention back to the field. She runs out to second and picks up Remy’s mitt. “Can I play with you guys?”

  “Sure!” Troy tosses a few back and forth with her to warm her up. “Hey, you’ve got a good throw. “

  “Hey, man, no flirting with my girlfriend!” Ryan calls from home plate.

  Misty laughs. “As if he had a shot!”

  Troy belly-laughs. “Hey, she can talk trash, she’ll fit right in in this family.”

  Elliot taps the plate with the bat. “OK, old people. Are we gonna talk, or are we gonna play?”

  “Hey, if you’re so serious, maybe you can stop clowning around at our actual practices.”

  ”Yeah, yeah. Just pitch already.”

  Troy throws the ball. Elliot cracks it, and it goes soaring into left field again, this time way over Jackson’s head and into the woods.

  “Whoo-hoo!” The 15-year-old Elliot runs the bases triumphantly, waving and blowing kisses like a gold medal Olympian taking his victory lap.

  Jackson calls as Elliot passes, “You hit into the woods, you find the ball—them’s the rules!”

  Elliot runs across home and keeps on running toward the group on the quilt.

  He starts galloping as he approaches. “Hey, Emma, have you seen my horse?”

  Emma laughs, “Das not a horse!”

  Elliot looks down. “You’re right! I’m banging two ends of a coconut together!”

  “Oh Lord,” says Remy. “Please do not corrupt these baby girls.”

  Emma laughs some more. “You don’t have coconuts!”

  “I do too! They’re invisible! Do you want to come with me to the woods and help me find the invisible coconut tree?”

  Emma’s eyes widen. “Yes I do.”

  Elliot grabs up his sister Caroline in his arms and says to Emma, “Let’s go, kid. Follow me!”

  The rest of the adults, sensing things have devolved into chaos, leave the field and join Remy and Misty on the blanket. Jackson opens a cooler and fishes around for a preferred beverage. He tosses beers to all the non-pregnant adults, and flavored seltzer to his wife.

  And with that, the adults watch Elliot gallop off to the other end of the meadow toward the woods, his baby sister giggling in his arms, and young Emma following close behind, until they disappear into the trees.

  “Should I be worried?” Remy asks. “Are they gonna get lost out there?”

  “Probably,” Troy says, cracking open summer ale. “Ranger will round them up before they get into any real trouble.”

  Maggie smiles. “That dog will be the instigator, don’t kid yourself.”

  Remy says
, “I’m not worried, it’s all good. As long as they’re all back in time for the wedding next week. I’ve got a tux and two little flower girl dresses that I cannot get deposits back on.” She looks down at her hand and smiles at her engagement ring.

  Troy catches her looking at her hand, picks it up and kisses it. “Well, if they do get lost, then you know we shouldn’t have had a two-year engagement.”

  “I like to plan things!” Remy argues.

  “I don’t think anything will make Remy stop worrying and planning,” Ryan says.

  She sighs and says, “You know what? I think for the first time in forever, I’m OK…with everything just the way it is.”

  THE END

  About the Author

  Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with Ryan Gosling, where she could raise goats and chickens and go to baseball games every day. Reality Abby has no desire to muck out stalls, and Reality Abby’s family has even less tolerance for sports than she does. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into sweet little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy this brand of sweet, sexy, storytelling. This is Abby’s third book.

  For more information and to sign up for Abby’s newsletter:

  www.authorabbyknox.com

  authorabbyknox@gmail.com

  an excerpt from Abby’s next book…

  WRITTEN IN THE STARS

  A sexy and sweet Christmas tale — about a cowboy who’s forced into a new job, and his sweet new down-on-her-luck assistant — is Book three in the Small Town Bachelor Romance series… to be released December 2017!

  They all stared. God, this was torture. When cows stare like that it doesn’t mean anything. When office people, stare it meant something, but hell if Devin knew what it meant.

  “Great! Thanks for the meeting. I’m going to go home and take a shower, I literally smell like shit. I’ll check back in after lunch.”