Sweet Spot: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Bad Boys of Summer Book 2)

by Winters,KB

  I made my way through the sea of angry fans, grumbling their frustrations to one another, trying to get to the media pit in time to get a good spot in the front. I might not have the exclusive yet, but I could be front and center and ask the right questions. It would be a little preview to tide over my impatient boss—who had already texted and emailed me several times to check my progress.

  If I played my cards right, I knew I could get Trey to agree to the interview. I was already on better terms with him than ninety-nine percent of the sports media. He liked me and I was confident I could wait it out and swoop in at just the right moment.

  The media were already crowded around the table where the Cougars’ team captain and coach would appear—once they got done sulking, that is—and I hurried by on my way to the visiting team locker room on the opposite end. The hallways were for staff only and I moved much quicker, flashing my media badge to anyone who looked my way. I belong here, I thought to myself, smiling and showing the plastic credentials with a new swell of pride.

  It was far from my dream job, but it was a helluva lot more exciting than waiting in line at Starbucks day in and day out, catering to the bitchy high-maintenance weather girl and dodging the lewd comments of the lead anchor all the damn time. I was important. Needed. With my head held high, my shoulders thrust back, and a confident smile, I rounded the final corner.

  Then immediately screeched to a halt.

  “Damn it,” I growled. Everyone and their mother was gathered outside the doors. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to get Trey’s time and attention. I ran my fingers through my hair, fluffing my loose curls and licked my lips.

  Chatter and buzz filled the room and the reporters all wedged in even tighter as the new arrivals came. I ended up squashed up against a heavyset man in a pit-stained polo. Thankfully—or, maybe not—he was wearing a bottle full of cologne and I couldn’t smell anything other than his expensive fragrance. I coughed and tried to scoot away, only to get trampled on by a tall woman with buxom curves, hair so bleached out it nearly looked transparent, and a floral scent that clashed horribly with the sweaty man. I ducked out of the way as she planted herself front and center, and skulked off to the other side. The air was clearer, but from my new vantage point, I could barely see the doors to the locker room. There was no way that Trey—or any of the other team members or coaches—were even going to see me.

  The metal doors kicked open and the coach filed out, followed closely by Trey and Cody Wright—the other all-star of the game, having pitched three strikeouts in a row—and I frantically pushed at the people ahead of me to try and get to the front. But it was no use. The other reporters seemed used to this pushing and shoving and didn’t budge an inch.

  I sighed and grabbed my phone from my pocket to record some notes. I still had to turn something in, even if I ended up regurgitating things other reporters would be asking.

  The questions fired off, the volume of the hallway instantly going from a dull roar, to deafening.

  “Trey, are you going for a sixth year as the home run champ?”

  “Cody, tell us how you got in the zone tonight?”

  “Coach, it really looked like this duo could be the magic sauce, how are you going to keep this going?”

  “What can we expect to see tomorrow night against the Wasps?”

  Coach Robinson raised his hands and started picking and choosing from the sea of questions.

  I raised my stylus into the air, hoping to catch his eye. “Trey! Mr. Delgado! Can you—ooph!” I got elbowed by another reporter as they jockeyed for position and the wind knocked right out of me.

  The man mumbled a quick apology over his shoulder before asking his question.

  “We have found the winning ticket here with these two gentlemen,” Coach Robinson said, tackling the questions as they flooded in.

  I tried to get around the rude reporter, even going so far as to wave my hand up over his head, but it was pointless. I was stuck in a gridlock, unable to move or get my questions answered. After ten minutes of questions, Coach announced the team had to get ready to fly out to Seattle. There wasn’t any more time. He thanked everyone and they took off. By the time the crowd broke loose, I caught sight of Trey as he was walking in the other direction, his attention focused on a quiet conversation with his coach.

  “Damn it,” I growled, stuffing my phone back into my pocket.

  Mr. Jones was going to kill me.

  * * * *

  “Yes, sir, I know…I was trying—”

  “Trying? Josie, what the hell is trying? Now, not only do we not have the interview, but we don’t even have coverage of this amazing, everyone-won’t-shut-up-about-it game!”

  My cheeks flushed and I stormed back across the hotel room. I wanted to point out that maybe this is why he should have sent a proper sports reporter on the road with the team, instead of me, but figured that argument wouldn’t win me any points. Not that I could get much deeper in the shit pile…

  “I talked to him off camera,” I added, hoping to spin the conversation.

  “Was it on the record?”

  I winced. “No…not exactly.”

  “Then it’s worthless to me!” Mr. Jones roared.

  I dropped down onto my bed. My hotel accommodations in Seattle were slightly nicer than in Denver, but I was still not living at The Plaza. After a red eye flight and a pre-dawn check in, all I wanted to do was curl up under the hopefully bedbug free comforter and crash out. My mind had raced all the way from Denver to Seattle and prevented much more than a cat nap on the flight. At the airport, I’d hung around, hoping to catch Trey, but I didn’t know what time their flight was arriving and after half an hour, I left for my hotel.

  “I’ll get something. After the Seattle game. I promise.”

  “You better, Josie. I really thought you could do this. I had to pitch it to the station owners to get the budget approved…there’s a lot on the line here.”

  I sighed and pressed my eyes closed against the throbbing pulse in the back of my head. “I understand, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  Mr. Jones clicked off the call and I tossed my phone down on the bed beside me. No interview. No post game segment. And no sign of Trey.

  “Maybe Daddy was right,” I whispered, flopping back against the stack of flat pillows. “Maybe this is just a wild goose chase. Maybe what I want doesn’t even exist.”

  I had the day off. The game wasn’t until the following afternoon. A Saturday double-header. I had no idea where the Warriors were staying, and I wasn’t about to call Jones again. Why couldn’t he keep me updated? I couldn’t stumble into every hotel bar and hope to run into Trey again.

  I laughed at the idea. “Then he’d really think I was stalking him…”

  I pushed off the bed, tucked my phone away in the bedside drawer, and shucked out of my jeans and tee shirt. I showered, toweled off, and fell into bed once the blackout shades were drawn. One thing was clear, I was worthless to the world until I had some sleep.

  Hours later, a soft knocking sound drew me out of my heavy sleep. Luckily, I was so exhausted, my subconscious gave me a night off from fantasizing about Trey. But as soon as my eyes opened, he popped into my mind.

  “That’s irritating,” I mumbled to myself before pushing up out of bed. I threw on my cotton robe and went to the door.

  After a quick check in the peephole, I opened the door and greeted the concierge on the other side. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I have a delivery for you.”

  “A delivery?” I repeated, my brows furrowed together.

  He nodded and presented me with a small, white box. “Yes, ma’am. Here you are.”

  “Thank…you…” I said, taking it from him. “Oh, um, let me get my purse…”

  The concierge flushed at my offer of a tip and waved his hand. “No need, ma’am, it’s all taken care of.”

  “Oh! Okay. Well, thank you, again.”

  He gave a small nod and started off towar
d the elevators. As soon as he was out of sight, I went back inside my room and let the door shut behind me. I sat down on the bed and popped the lid off the glossy box. I flung a hand up to cover my mouth when I saw the contents. A little giggle burst out anyway and I shook my head.

  Inside, a busted up baseball lay surrounded by white tissue paper.

  A note accompanied the battered ball:

  Hey sexy lady, this one’s for you.

  Wow. That was sweet—and bold. Sexy lady, hah! It was such a sweet gesture, it started to pick away at the assumptions I’d been holding onto since Trey Delgado first crossed my radar. Maybe there was more to him than the media portrayed.

  But if that were true…it changed everything.

  I smashed the lid back on the box and tucked it into the drawer with my phone. No, it didn’t change anything. Trey was nothing more than a story and that’s how it had to stay. I couldn’t let myself get tripped up by stories of the house in Florida that he bought for his parents, or the sweet way he’d insisted on walking me to my hotel, the vivid dreams of what it would be like to spend the night with him—or even the damn baseball.

  I would not be the stupid fangirl that’d fall for some hopelessly out of reach famous baseball player and throw her entire life away to chase some stupid fairy tale.

  Or would I?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Josie

  After receiving the ball from Trey, I knew there was no chance I’d be able to go back to sleep. Instead, I called up room service—this hotel at least had the option—and ordered an English muffin and a couple of scrambled eggs. While I waited for my food to arrive, I hopped in the shower and was just tugging on a pair of black leggings when my order came. I tipped the delivery boy who pushed the cart into my room and he tried to make small talk but I wasn’t in the mood. I sat down at the small in-room dinette and dug in.

  Another knock on the door and I frowned down at my plate. “Ugh!” Did they forget to give me something? Maybe they wanted to ask if I was one of those people who liked ketchup on their eggs. Although that did sound good. I got up from the table and went to answer it, swallowing my bite as I tugged the door open again.

  Instead of a server dressed in all black, I found some man candy on the other side.

  “Trey!” I choked on the eggs and coughed.

  His grin melted as I sputtered to catch my breath. “Woah, you okay?”

  I raced to the table and chugged half a glass of water. I gave a final cough into my hand and blinked away the tears in my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  His grin slid back into place as he sauntered into the room. “I came to see you.”

  “How did you even find out where I was staying?”

  He laughed. “Most of the media is staying here. I took a gamble. I stopped at the front desk before my run and sent up the…” he stopped short and glanced around, clearly looking for his gift. “Did you get it?”

  “Oh—” I cut a guilty glance to the bedside table where I’d banished the ball. “Um…yeah. The ball. I did.”

  He smiled. “Corny?”

  I laughed. “A little. It was thoughtful, though.”

  “You look like you’re ready for the gym,” he said, checking me out with a sweeping glance. His eyes were hot on the exposed skin of my neck and shoulders. I’d thrown on a workout tank right as room service arrived. It was suctioned to my body and from the look in Trey’s eyes he appreciated it just a little too much. “I bet we could work out together.”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the shiver than ran through me at the double meaning in his words. “Dreamin’ pretty boy.” I took my seat and picked up my fork, trying to act natural, as though his very presence wasn’t driving me insane—which it was.

  He laughed and took the seat opposite mine. His knees brushed against me under the table and I retracted my legs like his were made of fire. He chuckled under his breath when I flinched. “Relax, baby, I don’t bite. Well, unless you’re into that kinda thing. Then, I’m totally game.”

  My cheeks flushed and I stuffed a bite of toast into my mouth to keep myself from saying something stupid.

  I twirled my fork through the remnants of eggs on my plate. “I just find it ironic that two nights ago, when we bumped into each other at the hotel bar, you accused me of being a stalker. And yet…here you are…in my hotel room. Sending me gifts. I’m not an expert on stalkers, but it seems like you’re headed in that direction.”

  Trey raised one eyebrow at me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. What girl doesn’t dream of being stalked by a pro athlete?”

  He laughed and leaned back in his chair. He had a way of owning every room he walked into. Even when it wasn’t his. There was something about his posture and his relaxed manner that made me feel like I was the one visiting him. “Truthfully, I just got done with my workout and decided to take a look around the city. Thought you might wanna join in. We could get some lunch or go raid a bakery.”

  I arched an eyebrow back at him. “Why would I do that?”

  He shook his head, still grinning. “You just playing hard to get? Or you honestly don’t know why I want to take you out?”

  I set my fork down and leaned in a little closer. “I’m not stupid, Trey. I know why you want to take me out. But I’m telling you—just like I told you the other night—I’m not interested in you. You’re just a baseball player on a team I’m following for the next week. kapish?”

  He put his arms out, like an offering. “Are you saying you don’t want this?”

  “Oh, gawd.” I rolled my eyes. “So, you’re some kind of prize?”

  “Could be, gorgeous.”

  “Ugh. Trey, listen, it’s not personal. Well…it kind of is…”

  “What do you mean by that?” he replied, his smile fading slightly. “You don’t even know me…personally.”

  My heart fluttered wildly. The way he was looking at me…almost like he was wounded. “Hey…I didn’t mean any offense. It’s just that from what I do know, your life seems a little bit too complicated for me.”

  His expression twisted, like he’d never heard this accusation before. “And…?”

  “Hey, no judgment!” I held up my hands. “My life is plenty complicated too. But that’s why I’m not really looking for anything.”

  “And if you go walk around Seattle with me, that would be something?”

  Damn it. He had a point. I was jumping to a whole lot of conclusions, based on some damn news stories. I knew better. I was an aspiring journalist, for fuck’s sake! I knew how easily stories were fabricated—or at the very least, heavily biased.

  Trey leaned over and grasped for my hand. I met his eyes, my own wide and wild. He grinned. “Come on, Josie. You know you want to say yes. Besides, your breakfast looks cold. Let’s go get something better.”

  “Okay…”

  As soon as the word left my mouth, his smile quirked and his eyes flashed with mischief.

  What the hell did I just do?

  * * * *

  “I honestly think I’d burst wide open if I tried to eat one more thing…” I groaned, placing a hand over my stomach. Yep, definitely growing a little food baby. Trey, as it turned out, was quite a Seattle expert and we spent the afternoon eating our way through the local market and touring a couple of bakeries in the heart of the downtown district. Everything was amazing. The food, the weather—and the conversation. At least, the bits we managed in between interruptions from fans. Most people wanted to stop and get a picture or an autograph with the all-star. A few hecklers threw out attacks but from the safe distance across the street.

  None of it seemed to phase Trey. As much as he hated the media—he was a natural with his fans. I’d halfway expected him to bitch about the attention or the interruptions, but he was incredibly gracious and kind to everyone who stopped us.

  We’d capped off our sight-seeing tour with a couple of ice cream cones and took them to a r
elatively abandoned part of the waterfront and took a rest on a park bench.

  Trey smirked over at me and dropped his eyes to my hand as it rested against my stomach. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I swiped my hand away. “Right there with ya. Coach is gonna kick my ass tomorrow if I let all this slow me down.”

  I laughed. “Coach Robinson’s kinda a hard ass?”

  Trey shrugged. “Not really. He’s actually been pretty damn chill about all this.”

  “This being…?”

  He glanced over at me. “Just all the media shit and the lies, gossip, rumors. The whole front office and coaching staff have been really pro. I don’t know, I figured they’d be like my old team. They were super fuckin’ into me when I was hot, but the last year or two, well, shit happens. Ya know?” He paused and pointed out a large hawk circling the sky. “Damn, he looks big enough to carry away a small kid!”

  I laughed and felt myself tipping to one side, almost as though my body took over and decided to lean into him. Trey’s other arm was resting along the back of the bench. All I’d have to do is relax back and let him gather me against him. So far, I’d managed to avoid too much physical contact with him. Our hands or arms brushed together at a few points during the day, and any time he took a picture with a fan, he’d insist on getting me in there too, introducing me as a famous reporter from Oklahoma City. I was sure it was just a ploy to get his arm around me, but it made me smile nonetheless.

  “Anyway, what was I—oh—right, well my old team got pissed and then it was like all the stuff they’d ever wanted to say just came out in one big wave. It was pretty nasty toward the end.”

  I ducked my chin, overwhelmed by the solemnness in his tone. “I’m sorry, Trey. That sounds awful. I mean, to have all your teammates turn on you.”

  He shrugged but I caught him flexing his jaw. “It’s fine. I mean, I could have handled it—if they’d kept me on.”