by Joy Eileen
Don't look in his eyes.
Shit, too late. His blue eyes were the color of cookie monster.
I live with a four-year-old.
I locked gazes with him for a moment before I looked down at my cleats, trying to figure out why they weighed so much.
"Perfect. Coach, this is Claire Hoffer, our first string pitcher, and McKenna Raine, our backup. Girls, why don't you go out to the pitching area and get started."
My cheeks flooded red as Claire stood in front of me. I followed Claire's feet, not looking up from my own.
"All right, let's warm up." His southern drawl had my shoulders tensing even higher. "How about a light jog? I'll run with you."
That got my attention. "You shouldn't be running with your arm in a sling."
"Shut up, Raine," Claire hissed as she straightened her already perfect ponytail.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked, his monster-colored blue eyes on me.
"Your arm. You shouldn't be running with it in a sling."
"Thanks for the worries, darlin’, but I'll be fine. I'll take the sling off if you want.”
"No, that's not what I want. You’re going to ruin your chances of getting back with the Pappies if you don't take care of yourself."
His smile faded and he stepped closer to me. "And as a pitcher how do you know what I should be doing with my injury? What are you, some first year nursing student?"
I smiled at him and stepped closer. "I'm finishing my PHD in PT with an emphasis on sports. I'm the person who’d be treating you if I took cases like you, where the patient didn't care about healing."
He rocked back on his heels as we glared at each other.
"How's everything going?" Coach Mae asked, noticing our standoff as the rest of the team ran laps.
"Just fine," Trip yelled back, his jaw tensed, his attention not moving from me. "It seems I won't be joining you for your run. Get to it." He pointed to the far end of the field, and Claire and I took off.
"Why would you talk to him like that?" she panted as we hit the wall and turned back around.
"Because he's the best pitcher I’ve ever seen. His stats are perfect. I can't stand around and let him ruin his career over a stupid injury."
"Whatever, do what you want. In fact, let him get mad at you. I'll get all the attention."
"He's our coach, Hoffer. And you’re the player. We can't be anything but that, so why do you want his attention?"
It was a stupid thing to say because ever since I noticed the male species, getting Trip's attention was all I wanted. I just never thought there would be a chance I’d actually meet him.
"All right, let me see what you have," Trip said as soon as our feet were back in the pitching field.
Claire grabbed her glove and a bucket of balls as she made her way toward center field. I went to the other side so I could practice pitching away from Trip and his sexy annoying self.
"Wait, I want to see what the second stringer has first."
My eyes narrowed as I spun around to glare at him. He lifted an eyebrow as Hoffer's glove landed on her hip.
"Fine." I stalked over to where Claire was and pushed my shoulders back. If he wanted to see what I had, I’d show him. My first pitch was wild and showed him I shouldn’t be pitching. Claire didn't bother hiding her laugh behind me.
"Again." Trip's voice cut into Claire's amusement.
"Shouldn't Hoffer be practicing since she's the first string?" I pointed to Claire, who was now glaring at me.
I had stayed out of the drama too long to be pulled into it now.
"Shouldn't you be listening to me since I'm the coach? Now concentrate."
My nostrils flared as I palmed another ball. "Concentrate," I muttered under my breath.
"What was that?" he asked as he leaned against the chain-link fence.
"Nothing."
"She whispers under her breath. Don't worry. She does it all the time."
"Thank you, Hoffer," I said over my shoulder.
"Enough," Trip barked. "Pitch."
Channeling all my anger, forgetting my aching shoulder and my exhaustion, I pitched the ball into the backdrop. The loud pop it created was more satisfying than it should have been. I was never a competitive person, but there was something about today that had me wanting to show someone I was the best.
"Damn, Raine. I haven't seen you pitch like that since your first season." Coach Mae whistled, her smile so wide I could see her back molars.
I shrugged my shoulders, not having an answer. My eyes cut to Trip. My anger skyrocketed when I noticed he was scowling at me. I squeezed my face together and his scowl deepened.
"Do it again," Trip ordered when Coach Mae returned back to practice.
"Shouldn't you be worried about the pitcher who's starting?" I asked him.
Claire huffed out an annoyed breath, but nodded her head in agreement.
"Who says you're not starting?" His body was turned toward me, and I reminded myself to breathe.
I had all his attention, from the set of his shoulders, to the direction of his cleats on his wide-stanced legs. It was too much for me to concentrate on not peeing myself and breathing, let alone speaking.
"Because I'm not as good as Claire." My back teeth were smashed together. "Claire's your starter." I tossed the ball to Claire and headed to the secondary pitching mound.
"I'm not done talking to you." The crunch of his cleats were right behind me.
I threw my hands up and turned. My feet tangled together in the quick movement and I landed on my ass with a thud. Trip stood over me, the side of his mouth pulled up as he stared down at me. Claire howled with laughter behind us.
Trip snapped his head around and the laughter stopped at the contact of his gaze. "Do some warm up pitches," he demanded before turning back to me.
He extended his hand and I swatted it away. Trip was having none of it. His long fingers wrapped around my wrist and hauled me up. The calluses on his palm were rough against my skin and it shot lightning across my nerves. I yanked my hand back and rubbed the skin he had ignited with his touch.
When I ventured to look up at him, his scowl was back. With a scowl of my own I grabbed a ball from the bucket, launching it to the target. Over and over again in mechanical efficiency. I bent, grabbed a ball, focused, and pitched it until I heard the satisfying smack, before doing it again.
My hand blindly searched for another ball.
"The bucket's empty, Raine." Trip's voice held a hint of amusement.
"Good, because the next one might ruin your pretty face," I murmured, going to retrieve the balls.
"What did you say?"
"I said, good because the next one was going into space," I answered.
My fingers were numb as I gathered the balls. When my bucket was full I moved back to the mound. Anger, frustration, and confusion simmered at the surface. I didn't want to be around anyone, especially a certain man plastered on my walls at home.
"Enough," Trip announced when I moved to the mound after collecting the balls for the fifth time.
My eyes closed with relief. I hadn't worked that hard in a long time, and everything hurt.
"Hit the locker room. Meet me in Coach Hans’ old office before you go.
Claire sauntered off, her ponytail swinging behind her as her ass moved in a seductive gait. If I tried to swing my hips like her I would’ve fallen on my ass, and I already met my ass to ground quota for the day.
"Butler, how did it go?" Coach Mae stepped next to Trip as they walked toward the locker room.
Before going inside, I spotted Trip's sling on the ground where he had thrown it off. Idiot was going to ruin the Pappies’ season by not taking care of himself. I snatched the discarded sling and stomped toward the locker room.
After showering and getting dressed, I grabbed two ice packs out of the medical room and held one on my shoulder. It wasn't going to take away all the pain I’d endure tomorrow, but it would help.
Claire wa
s already in the office when I entered. Trip's eyebrow rose when I tossed his sling on the desk.
God, he’s gorgeous.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared right back.
"I can give you the percentages for a full recovery if you don't follow your doctor’s orders," I threatened, ready to spew forth knowledge.
"Please, put on the sling, Trip. She can spit statistics out like a machine."
"It's Coach Butler," he added before pulling his sling on. "Better?"
"Not yet," I answered, putting the other ice bag on his shoulder before sitting next to Claire. “Now I am.”
"Aunt Kenna," Norah screamed, running full speed toward me. Her hair was in pigtails and she was wearing her favorite pink softball leggings and a replica of my jersey. The girl owned my heart.
I slung her on my hip on the opposite side of my pitching arm. It was a dull thud and I knew by tomorrow I was going to be hating life.
"Sorry I'm late. Coach Hans is out for the season and the new coach wanted to go over his game plan.” Before Renee could question me I cut her off. “Come on, squishy face, let's go play catch before I have to go to work."
Renee's head tilted to the side as she studied me. My armpits broke out in a sweat. I wasn't sure why I was hiding that Trip Butler was my new coach from her, but it was obvious she knew something was up.
"Did you know giraffes only need five to thirty minutes of sleep within a twenty-four-hour period?" I spouted off.
"Does that mean you're turning into a giraffe?" Norah asked, wiggling down off my hip.
"If you keep waking her up. Her neck does seem a bit longer," Renee replied, the suspicion gone as she teased her daughter.
Norah's eyes widened as she gawked at my neck. "Oh, no. I'll let you sleep longer."
I burst out laughing with Renee as Norah hugged my legs.
Chapter Four
"McKenna, can you take the patient in room five? Jessica’s making a spectacle of herself." Dr. Bert, my boss, ran his hands through his white, thinning hair.
"No problem. I just finished my last patient."
This wasn’t the first time Jessica had been pulled from a patient because her flirting was uncontrollable. The only reason my uptight boss kept her was because some of the patients adored her and would take their business elsewhere if she left.
Dr. Bert gave me a tight smile and went to his office. Jessica entered after him, her head hanging low.
I pulled the chart off the wall and scanned the patient’s details. A bubble of laughter hit me and my eyes watered from keeping it in.
"Alfred, I'm going to be finishing up your treatment today." I entered the room and hoped I could get through the session without bursting into giggles.
"Good, the other girl couldn't stop staring—Raine?" A familiar voice broke into my thoughts.
"Trip?" I glanced down at the paperwork and back at a very shirtless Trip Butler.
My mind halted, and if someone held a gun to my head I wouldn't have been able to spout off a single statistic, or fact. I forced my eyes to meet his and not wander over his bare chest, memorizing his tattoos like they wanted to.
"Wait, your name’s Alfred Butler?" I blurted out, still focused on his eyes.
Trip's jaw clenched tight. The five o'clock stubble made him even more appealing. "You can never tell anyone my real name." With his jaw so tight his words came out hard.
I nodded my head and moved to the electro-stem machine. My fingers tingled when I placed the pads on his shoulder.
"I promise your secret’s safe with me." I packed his shoulder in heat as the machine worked its magic.
In all the time I’d researched Trip, and I researched a lot, I'd never realized Trip wasn't his first name. By the red tips to his ears he would've been fine with that not changing.
"So where did Trip come from?" I asked, taking the pads off.
"I'm the third Alfred in my family."
I pushed him on the table and worked my fingers into the muscles around his shoulder. He winced when I encountered a nasty knot.
"Breathe through it. I need to work it out so it doesn't get stiff. The scar tissue needs to be broken down."
Trip's blue eyes connected with mine. "Do you need to breathe too?"
My pent-up breath released in a wheeze as my cheeks burned. "You kind of stink," I blurted out, giving him the only explanation I could think of that wasn't humiliating.
He chuckled and I dug my finger in a sensitive area.
"Ouch, Raine."
"Sorry," I replied sweetly, still digging into his shoulder.
"No, you're not. Just wait until tomorrow. You're going to regret this."
"Well, right now you're not my coach. Right now you're my patient. I'm the one in control." I bit the inside of my cheek.
What the hell am I doing?
Flirting with Trip Butler was way out of my comfort zone. This was the man I’d crushed on for way too long. The man who admitted he never wanted to get married. The man who was seven years older than me. And last but not least, the man who was my coach and off-limits.
"That's where you're wrong. I'm always your coach." His eyes burned into mine and I hated being the one to break contact first.
"So, was it your grandpa who was employed by Bruce Wayne first?"
"So many buckets of balls in your future," he growled.
I could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smile on his face as we went to the workout area.
"All right, Alfred, you're done," I announced.
"Don't call me that," he snapped, getting off the weight bench. He wiped the sweat off his face and my mouth dried.
My posters really didn't do him any justice. Maybe I should spray them with water and try and get that just worked out gleam.
"Oh, come on. It's just us. Unless Jessica's still lurking about."
Trip scanned the workout room. "You don't think she's still here, do you?"
"No, you're safe. Dr. Bert made her leave when he caught her drooling over you during your reps.”
"She tried to get me to take off my pants for therapy."
Why didn’t I think of that?
"Oh, I'm sure it was a hardship for you. You get no sympathy from me. Jessica’s gorgeous," I told him, cleaning up the equipment.
"I can get gorgeous any day of the week."
"Ugh, so arrogant, Alfred. It's not becoming on you." I wiggled my finger at him and he grinned.
"It's not arrogance when it's the truth. Women fall for me, but that's the problem. I don't want them to fall for me."
"Yes, your so called bachelor for life decree."
"Stalking isn't becoming, Raine." He grabbed the weights off the floor and put them away.
"You're my coach. Of course I checked up on you." Arrogant ass didn't need to know I could rattle his stats off the top of my head.
His posters are definitely coming down when I get home.
"So you’ve never heard of me before today?"
"Only in comic books."
“Yet you knew what team I played for when you yelled at me to put my sling back on.”
“Well, I’ve heard of you in passing. I grew up in San Diego and you’re one of the older pitchers.”
"Not funny. Come on, I'll walk you out. I need to make sure you’re alive so I can kill you tomorrow in practice."
"I promise I won't die. I wouldn't want to miss a chance at torturing you on your next appointment."
"See you tomorrow, Raine."
"Night, Coach."
I climbed into my Explorer and started the engine. Trip climbed into his Dodge Viper, but the engine remained off. I waited, wondering if he was on the phone. When his car didn't move I killed my engine and went to knock on his window.
He glared at me and got out of his car.
"Are you sleeping in your car? Don't tell me you blew all your money. There aren't a lot of studies about the rate ABL players go bankrupt, but in other sports it’s a pandemic." I put my hands on my
hips, ready to lecture him on his poor money management.
"Shut up, Raine. I have money." He glanced at his car like it had betrayed him.
"Then why are you hanging out in the parking lot? Is your car not starting? The Viper isn't on a recall list and its performance index rating is fantastic."
"My shoulder hurts and I don't think I can shift it."
"Oh, uhm. Here, take my car." I shoved my keys in his hand.
His face twisted in horror when he looked at the pink softball and adorable turtle hanging from them.
"No." He pushed them back into my hand.
"Why? Are you afraid driving a car beneath you will ruin your bad boy reputation?"
My shoulders rose and my eyes narrowed. Nobody, not even my future husband could make me feel bad about my car.
"The car that drove me to every t-ball practice all the way to high school was an Explorer. Don't get high and mighty on me, Raine. It doesn't look good on you."
"Then take my car." I thrust my keys back in his hand and settled into his car, starting the engine.
"Do you know how to drive a stick?" He leaned into the open door, his scowl present.
"Yes, I know how to drive stick. I'm part of the eighteen percent of people in the US who can."
Trip's mouth looked odd as if he was trying to keep frowning, but fighting a smile at the same time.
"So many buckets tomorrow."
"You're welcome, Coach. See you tomorrow."
Trip walked to my car, his head shaking, and I was pretty sure his mouth was moving.
"Norah Grace, don't answer that door," I hissed, not wanting to wake up Renee.
"Hi, Uncle Trip. Are you here to marry Aunt Kenna?"
I needed to look up the probability of having a sink hole develop under me. Norah Grace was so close to turning five. It was a shame she wasn't going to make it.
With dread I walked over to see Norah ushering Trip and his Pappies’ teammate Brian Wright into our apartment. Brian and Trip had been named the dream team over five years ago. As Trip’s catcher, the two of them acted as if they had a telepathic connection between them. Watching them play was magical.
