Swing Batter Swing

by Zaida Polanco

  Swing Batter Swing

  by Zaida Polanco

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Welcome!

  Chapter 1: Marty

  Chapter 2: Marty

  Chapter 3: Jay

  Chapter 4: Marty

  Chapter 5: Jay

  Chapter 6: Jay

  Chapter 7: Marty

  Chapter 8: Jay

  Chapter 9: Marty

  Chapter 10: Marty

  Chapter 11: Jay

  Chapter 12: Marty

  Chapter 13: Jay

  Chapter 14: Marty

  Chapter 15: Jay

  Chapter 16: Marty

  Chapter 17: Jay

  Chapter 18: Marty

  Chapter 19: Jay

  Chapter 20: Marty

  Chapter 21: Jay

  Chapter 22: Marty

  Chapter 23: Jay

  Chapter 24: Jay

  Chapter 25: Marty

  Chapter 26: Jay

  Chapter 27: Marty

  Chapter 28: Jay

  Chapter 29: Marty

  Chapter 30: Jay

  Chapter 31: Marty

  Chapter 32: Jay

  Chapter 33: Marty

  Chapter 34: Jay

  Chapter 35: Marty

  Chapter 36: Jay

  Chapter 37: Marty

  Chapter 38: Jay

  Chapter 39: Marty

  Chapter 40: Jay

  Chapter 41: Marty

  Chapter 42: Jay

  Chapter 43: Marty

  Thank you!

  Welcome!

  Hello lovely reader! Thanks so much for picking up my first romance novel! I know there are countless options for romance these days, so I really appreciate you spending some time in my little world.

  If you like the book (or even if you don’t), I’d love to hear from you! Rate and review the book on Amazon and get in touch on Twitter @ZPolancoWrites. I can also be reached through my website here or via email at zaidapolancowrites[at]gmail[dot]com.

  Thank you and happy reading!

  Love,

  Z

  Chapter 1: Marty

  Marty Alvarez was exhausted. As she inched along the Friday night LA traffic, which honestly wasn’t that distinguishable from Tuesday morning LA traffic or Thursday night LA traffic, she desperately fought against the urge to just close her eyes for a little nap, right in the middle of the 10 freeway. Instead, Marty opened her music app and blasted some Beyoncé, singing along to Lemonade at the top of her lungs hoping to stay awake. It only partially helped.

  She had just completed her first month as a mailroom assistant at CAA, one of the most prestigious talent agencies in the world, and she was desperately looking forward to the upcoming three-day weekend in honor of Presidents’ Day. It’s as if she had been running on fumes the entire month and the closer she got to the weekend, the more her body shut down, seeking the sweet relief of a weekend of uninterrupted sleep.

  Just as Beyoncé encouraged her listeners to “tell him ‘boy bye,’” her phone rang, interrupting her favorite part of the song and scaring the shit out of her. At 24 years of age, Marty was rightfully suspicious of phone calls, as the only calls she ever got were from telemarketers or her university asking for money. Apparently, Yale expected her to have enough money to donate to them not even a full year after she graduated with an MFA and six figures in student loan debt. Fat fucking chance.

  She hesitated as she let the phone ring. She noted it was a local number and answered, tentatively, as if a serial killer could be on the other end.

  “H-hello?” she asked, frowning before the caller even identified themselves.

  A male voice, brusque and confident, responded with his own question. “Marty Alvarez?”

  “Um, yes? Who’s calling?” Marty hoped she didn’t sound like a complete idiot.

  “Hi Marty, this is Jon from the CAA mailroom.”

  Marty panicked, wondering why the fuck her boss was calling late on a Friday night. She must be getting fired. That’s the only explanation.

  “Listen, Marty,” Jon continued, impatiently, “would you be interested in covering a desk starting Monday? It’s in sports, and I know you’re more interested in literary, but it’s a good opportunity. It would just be temporary, til the current assistant gets back from parental leave.”

  She exhaled, not even aware that she had been holding her breath.

  “So...? ” Jon sighed, obviously having better things to do with his Friday night.

  Marty quickly recovered her senses. “Of course!” she nearly squealed, silently berating herself for fucking squealing.

  “Great,” Jon replied, “I’ll send you the details via email in a little bit. You’ll start on Monday.”

  She nodded, even though Jon couldn’t see her. Then she remembered the holiday. “Do you mean Tuesday? Since it’s Presidents' Day?”

  Jon sighed heavily. “No, I don’t mean Tuesday. This agent will be in on Monday so that means you will be expected as well. Is that okay?”

  Marty hesitated, though ultimately she knew she couldn’t say no to this opportunity. She plastered a fake smile on her face, hoping Jon could hear it over the phone.

  “Absolutely,” she said, “I can’t wait!”

  And with that, Jon hung up and Marty squealed some more. Jesus Humboldt Christ. She was going to get a desk.

  Chapter 2: Marty

  After immediately switching from her business attire into her comfiest pajamas and scarfing down a simple almond butter sandwich, Marty finally sunk into her bed. She was excited to watch reruns of The Office and pass out.

  She had barely taken a breath before she heard her roommates bang into the apartment, loud and tipsy and generally obnoxious. If there was one thing Marty hated about being young and broke, it was that she had to live with other people to afford this godforsaken city.

  She also severely disliked her roommates, which only made her feel like even more of a cliché young person. But even so, her roommates were really fucking terrible. Case in point: they were currently screaming like banshees in the living room with no regard to anyone else’s personal noise thresholds.

  Marty briefly considered that most people her age were probably getting ready to head to the bars at the moment, and her roommates’ loud, drunken escapades were par for the course.

  It’s not like Marty hated being social. Hell, had it been even three months ago, she would be getting ready for a night out as well. But since she started her job in the mailroom at CAA, she had been exhausted and consumed by anxiety and stress, which only served to make her more exhausted.

  Working as a mailroom assistant basically meant Marty spent her days in a bullpen type basement with a dozen other bright-eyed assistants, where they could be asked to do anything from picking up an agent’s dog from daycare to taking someone’s Maserati out for a car wash. And yes, they also made the rounds in the office delivering mail.

  Being a mailroom assistant wasn’t itself a career. It was essentially the biggest stepping stone to landing a desk, meaning becoming an assistant to an agent and having one’s own desk. Mailroom assistants were also expected to float around to various desks that needed covering that day, if one of the permanent assistants had quit or gotten fired or, horror of all horrors, needed a sick day (in which case they would almost definitely be fired once they returned).

  Once a mailroom assistant got on a desk, they were expected to commit at least one year to being an assistant, at which point they would have a glowing reference from CAA and could use that as leverage into many careers. Agent? Duh. Producer? Of course. Screenwriter? Why not!

  And that was how Marty found herself as one of CAA’s newest mailroom recruits. She had no intention of beco
ming an agent. In fact, from her limited experience with them, Marty could safely say she hated agents. Marty, like a handful of her mailroom peers, wanted to be a writer. No wait, she already was a writer. She was trying to get better about owning that title even though the thought of it made her want to vomit.

  Objectively, she knew she was talented. Or rather, she believed she wasn’t a terrible writer. She had obtained an MFA in playwriting from the Yale School of Drama, which she could now admit was probably a terrible idea but at the time seemed like a great choice. After realizing that pursuing a career as a playwright was almost as foolish as getting an advanced degree in playwriting, Marty tried her hand at TV writing, which is what brought her out to LA, the mecca of dreams and bad decisions.

  A loud banging on her bedroom door shook her from her thoughts. Marty was tempted to ignore it and pretend she was sleeping, but she had a feeling that would only encourage her roommate. Cursing under her breath, she opened the door and stood there with her arms crossed, waiting.

  One of her roommates, Tyler, stared back at her with a maddening grin. He thought he was so damn cute. Sure, he was generically handsome, but his personality made him ugly. He was a trust fund baby who was also a little racist and sexist — a clear winner. Even worse? He was very obvious about his desire to get in Marty’s pants. And her refusal of his advances seemed to only make him more determined. Which brought them to tonight, with Tyler running his lecherous eyes up and down her body like Marty was his own personal plaything.

  “Yes, Tyler?” She didn’t even try to hide her impatience.

  “Come out with us. We’re going to Bungalow.”

  “No thanks, I’m heading to bed early.”

  Tyler wiggled his eyebrows at her in what he surely thought was an irresistible move. “Want company?”

  “Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not ever, but thank you for asking.”

  He shrugged, turning away abruptly and dismissing her. “Suit yourself. I don’t need you to give it up. Lotta girls out there.”

  “Of course, Tyler, of course.”

  Marty went to shut her door but not before her other roommate, Lisa, approached, already drunk. “Martyyyyy, what are you doing? Are you coming out with us?”

  Marty shook her head, sad that she and Lisa were no longer friends. They had gone to undergrad together and lived across the hall from each other. When Marty moved to LA, she thought it was so lucky that her casual friend was looking for a roommate.

  But then that casual friend came with her on-again, off-again boyfriend Tyler, plus their insane party habits and general disdain for cleanliness.

  Lucky for Marty, their Uber arrived right at that moment, and they left in a cloud of booze and noise. The apartment was back to silent for now and Marty’s mood quickly improved.

  After queuing up her favorite episode of The Office (season 3, “Beach Games”), Marty relaxed into her pillows and closed her eyes. An alert from her phone interrupted her much-needed peace and quiet. She glanced down and saw it was an email notification. Jon from CAA had finally sent her the start info for Monday.

  Curious and slightly scared, she set her phone down and opened up her email on her laptop so she could take it all in.

  She scanned the email for pertinent details. Starts Monday. Business attire (as if CAA would allow anything less). Arrive at 8AM. Jay Michaelson, VP Sports Division: Baseball.

  Ah, there it was. Marty knew she would be covering a sports desk as Jon had mentioned, but seeing it in black and white really cemented it: she was in over her head. Though she had a slight advantage due to growing up with a sports-obsessed dad and two brothers, Marty hadn’t really kept up with baseball after she left home for college. She knew enough to get by in conversations with her family, but not enough to work in the sports division for crying out loud.

  Suddenly, Marty felt panicked, like she was making a huge mistake. She tried slowing her breathing and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply for 5 counts, holding for 5 counts, and then exhaling for 5 counts. It was a trick her old therapist taught her that still worked wonders. Shoot, she needed to find a new therapist. Not that she had any time or money for regular appointments.

  Marty spent the next hour researching her new boss. He had been a baseball star in college who left early to sign with the Yankees. He then suffered a career-ending injury during spring training and never got to play in a major league game. He went back for his degree and then his MBA. He then rose through the ranks at CAA as a mailroom assistant (!) to his current position as VP of the baseball division. Marty was impressed. This guy was legit.

  Another thing she noticed about him in her hour of research was that he was hot. Like, really fucking hot.

  She scrolled through his Google Images page, scrutinizing each picture. First, there was his carefully styled official headshot from the CAA website, in which his reddish-blonde hair was slicked back and he was wearing a blue suit and yellow tie, his golden eyes piercing, a smirk on his plump lips.

  Yes, he had plump lips. That was the only way Marty could describe them. She wasn’t usually one to notice a guy’s lips unless they were kissing hers or insanely chapped or something. So she was surprised to find herself drawn to Jay’s lips. She couldn’t help it. He had a perfect, beautiful, Cupid’s bow, which made her jealous as she imagined how great his lips would look in lipstick. It was one of life’s cruelest jokes that such attributes were usually wasted on people who didn’t need them.

  Next, Google showed her casual photos of Jay that were clearly from his Facebook page (homeboy really needed to lock down his privacy settings) that showed him shirtless on a pontoon boat, surrounded by equally fit and handsome white bros. He had a golden tan and an amazing body. Jesus. Is this what people meant when they said ‘washboard abs’? Did anyone still use washboards?

  Marty’s mind continued to wander as she combed through Jay’s online presence. She kept coming back to the shirtless picture though, for uh... research purposes. Marty became acutely aware of how long it had been since she had gotten laid. Marty wasn’t shy about it — she absolutely loved sex, with male and female-identifying partners. She had never been picky about what was between another person’s legs as long as they knew how to take care of what was between her legs.

  Back in college, right before she began dating her ex, she had tried to downplay how into sex she was. Her friends didn’t seem to need it or want to talk about it as much as she did, so she tamped it down. She hated feeling like a pervy horndog but come on! She was a young, healthy woman and sex was normal.

  Thankfully, she entered a relationship her sophomore year and was sure to get it in at least five times a week. And that’s how she ended up staying with a guy who was obviously so wrong for her, simply because she was getting the sex on the regular.

  She’d been single for over a year now and, for the most part, she had a steady roster of fuck buddies / friends with benefits to keep her satisfied. She did the Tinder thing sometimes when she was really desperate. Since starting at CAA, she was so busy and so tired that she was fairly positive she was down to having sex 1-2 times a month. A MONTH!

  This unexpected sex hiatus was obviously the reason she was lusting after her new boss. Suddenly, her nerves from before multiplied, and they had nothing to do with her job qualifications and everything to do with the fact that she was going to be working for a literal god of a man and she wasn’t sure how she would survive the three months without offering to sit on his face at least once.

  While Marty was DTF almost always, she wasn’t a huge fan of shitting where she ate, so to speak, so she had no intention of pursuing any aforementioned face sitting activities just because Jay Michaelson was hot.

  Still, just the thought of him had Marty reaching for her trusty little vibrator and she hadn’t even met the guy in person yet (though she kept his shirtless photo up on her laptop screen... ahem, yes for research).

  Chapter 3: Jay

  Jay walked into the CAA building on
Monday morning, wondering why it was so empty before remembering that most people were off for the holiday. He rolled his eyes to himself. Presidents’ Day was not even a real holiday, in his opinion. Sorry George and Abe.

  Jay’s loyal sidekick, Bruce, walked at his side, eliciting amused looks from everyone who passed them. Jay couldn’t blame them — Bruce was handsome, a little dangerous, and a lot adorable. Jay had rescued Bruce when he was just a puppy who had been abused by a breeder. These days, Bruce was 7 and well-adjusted, for the most part.

  Jay didn’t bring him to the office every day though, because Bruce’s presence had a certain distracting quality that just made Jay want to play fetch or cuddle him on the couch. Today was supposed to be a light day though, so Jay made an exception.

  As they rode in the elevator up to the 17th floor, Jay checked his phone for important news alerts and schedule changes. He frowned when he noticed a reminder pop up on his schedule: Assistant Onboarding w/Marty Alvarez. The fuck?

  Jay then remembered that Ralph, his loyal assistant of two years, started his paternity leave that week. He vaguely remembered Ralph sending him a list of names and resumes and Jay had selected Marty from that list.

  As he walked the long, circuitous path from the elevator to his desk, Jay passed the mostly empty cubicles and offices and smiled at the unfortunate assistants whose bosses were as crazy as he was. He could already feel his blood pressure rising a little at the thought of having to get used to a new assistant, no matter how temporary it would be.

  Jay tried to remain calm and not get started off on the wrong foot with the new guy. He attempted to center himself and reminded himself that he too was a newbie once, and the only way he learned was because people helped him.

  As he approached his corner office, he noted that the assistant desk, the one that sat in the little nook directly outside his office, was empty. He glanced down at his watch: 8:15AM. Hmm, strike one against the new guy. He liked his assistants to get there early.