Beyond the Bases

by Kaylee Ryan

  Copyright © 2018 Kaylee Ryan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of Kaylee Ryan, except for the use of brief quotations in articles and or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, sponsored or associated by or with the trademark owners.

  The following story contains sexual situations and strong language. It is intended for adult readers.

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Photography: Sara Eirew

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Formatting: Integrity Formatting

  1 - Easton

  2 - Larissa

  3 - Easton

  4 - Larissa

  5 - Easton

  6 - Larissa

  7 - Easton

  8 - Larissa

  9 - Easton

  10 - Larissa

  11 - Easton

  12 - Larissa

  13 - Easton

  14 - Larissa

  15 - Easton

  16 - Larissa

  17 - Easton

  18 - Larissa

  19 - Easton

  20 - Larissa

  21 - Easton

  22 - Larissa

  23 - Easton

  24 - Larissa

  25 - Easton

  26 - Larissa

  27 - Easton

  28 - Larissa

  29 - Easton

  30 - Larissa

  31 - Easton

  15 Months Later - Easton

  8 Months Later - Larissa

  3 Years Later - Easton

  11 Years Later - Paisley

  Bonus Scene

  Contact Kaylee Ryan

  Also by Kaylee Ryan

  Acknnowledgments

  I tilt the bottle to my lips as I listen to my best friend and teammate, Andrew ‘Drew’ Milton, yammer on about some chick he hooked up with while we were on the road. Drew is what you would call a hookup artist. He’s bagging girls in every city.

  “I’m telling you, East, you don’t know what you’re missing,” he says before finishing off his own beer.

  “I do fine on my own,” I remind him.

  “Fine.” He says the word as if he’s never heard it before. “Fine is for frog hair.” He grins, his Alabama country boy roots showing. “Grade A, all you can eat, is what I’m talking about.”

  My lips tip up into a smile. I can’t help it. “Just because I don’t broadcast it, doesn’t mean I’m not getting it.” While lately I’ve been in a dry spell, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have just one woman. Someone to trust to be there regardless of my job. Someone who wants me outside of the balance in my bank account.

  “Right.” He laughs. “How long has it been? Weeks? Months? Fuck, man, your dick is going to fall off from not using it.”

  “Do you hear yourself right now?” I ask, amused. “My cock is fine, thank you very much.”

  “Suit yourself.” He scoots back from the table. “You want another?”

  “Yeah.” I reach for my wallet, but he waves me off, heading toward the bar.

  Shorty’s is a hole-in-the-wall joint here in Nashville. It’s off the beaten path, and the patrons, as well as the owner, couldn’t give a fuck that the Blaze players hang out here. Which is precisely why we do it. The fans are great, and with growing up being the son of the Houston Flash’s all-star pitcher, I’m not new to the celebrity status. When I signed with the Blaze, I was all for it, lapping up the attention. I was eighteen and went straight to the majors. I was living the dream, or so I thought. Baseball has been my passion since I was a kid. I’m honored to be able to play a sport I love for a living. The rest of it, the attention and the hookups… that shit gets old, fast.

  I’m fortunate that my dad taught me everything he knows. He didn’t just teach me about the sport, but also the industry. I didn’t go crazy like some of the other rookies. I’ve had my fair share of fun, but some of these guys make hooking up into a sport all of its own. Dad was a family man. I’m sure before he met Mom he was wild and crazy, but those stories are buried under a rock somewhere.

  I finish off my beer and let my eyes roam the dark room. There are a few regulars playing pool on a table that looks to be as old as I am. There’s duct tape around the legs, holding it together. Besides that, there’s a dartboard that hangs a little further to the left than it should, but no one seems to care that it’s crooked. They continue to toss darts night after night. There are several small, round tables, and chairs with scratched legs. The bar itself is also wooden, with chips and carvings into the grain of the wood.

  There’s a single flat-screen TV that hangs over the bar. More than likely, you can find a game of some sort playing at all times. Billy, the owner, is a sports nut. When I started playing for the Blaze, and the guys asked me out for a drink, they assured me that no one would bother us. I didn’t believe them, we were the Blaze after all, but they were right. Billy apparently threatened to kick anyone out years ago who bothered any of the Blaze players. Over the years, there have been a few newbies, and he’s the first to put them in their place or kick their asses to the curb. It’s nice to have a place to unwind and not have to deal with the masses.

  My eyes sweep past the door and then back. Two women who I’ve never seen before just walked in. We’re here a lot, enjoying the anonymity and all that. Very rarely is there a face I don’t recognize, and none ever as gorgeous as these two.

  “What are you…?” Drew’s voice trails off when he follows my gaze. “Damn.”

  They’re both gorgeous, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off the brunette. I watch as her friend links their arms together and guides them to the bar.

  “I call—” Drew starts, but I stop him.

  “The brunette is mine,” I say, not giving him a chance.

  “Hell yeah.” He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  I don’t dignify his reaction with a response. Instead, I watch them. The blonde friend orders them drinks, and I’m surprised they both receive a bottle of beer. My kind of girl. They turn to look for a table, and Drew stands and saunters over to them.

  “Would you ladies like to join us?” I hear him ask. Drew doesn’t know the meaning of inside voice.

  The blonde immediately nods while the brunette looks a little less certain. She does, however, follow her friend to the table. I stand to greet them, holding my hand out to the blonde first. “Easton,” I say, shaking her hand.

  “Chloe, and this is Larissa.” She releases my hand and motions toward the brunette.

  “Hey,” I say, my voice more gravelly than I’d like. “Easton.” I offer the lovely Larissa my hand. Hers is soft and smooth, a definite contrast to mine, which are hard and calloused from years of playing ball. Remembering my manners, I pull the chair out for her. She eyes me skeptically, but takes the offered seat.

  “So, are you ladies new in town?” Drew asks.

  “Nah, I’ve lived here my entire life,” Chloe offers.

  “What about you?” I ask Larissa.

  “Yeah, born and raised,” she says with a soft smile.

  “I’ve never seen you here before,” I tell her.

  She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I can see a
slight tremble in her hands. “I don’t really get out much.”

  “Yeah, I had to beg and plead to get her to come with me tonight,” Chloe adds.

  “Not much on the bar scene?” I ask Larissa. I know the answer, just by her reactions. She’s not some barfly who’s playing coy; she really doesn’t seem to be comfortable being here.

  “Other obligations,” she answers.

  “So y’all come here a lot?” Chloe asks.

  “You could say that.” Drew smirks. He’s evasive, but his smirk tells me that he knows if this girl tries to hound him here, Billy, also known as Shorty, will kick her ass out.

  I keep my attention focused on Larissa. “So, what do you do?”

  “I’m a waitress right now. I’m working my way through school. Slowly,” she adds.

  “What’s your major?” She’s quiet, and not vying for my attention. That’s not something I’m used to.

  “Accounting. I’m good with numbers.” She shrugs before taking a sip of her beer. “What about you?”

  I debate on whether or not to tell her the truth, but she doesn’t seem starstruck like so many others. I decide to go for it. “I play baseball.”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  I throw my head back and laugh. “True story. I play first base for the Tennessee Blaze.”

  She looks at me then to Drew and Chloe. “What?” Drew asks.

  “What do you do for a living?” she asks him.

  He looks at me, and I give him a subtle nod. “Third baseman for the Tennessee Blaze.”

  Drew gives zero fucks about shouting from the rooftops about what we do. Me, on the other hand, I sometimes like to just be Easton. In my family, that’s how things work. No matter what your profession, you’re still just one of the Monroes. “I can get you tickets to a game,” I tell her.

  “Uh-huh.” She nods, a small smile playing on her lips.

  She doesn’t believe me, and that’s okay. What’s more important is to keep her talking. I need to know more about her. For example, do her brown locks with a hint of gold feel as soft as they look? How will her lips feel pressed against mine? What does she look like underneath all those clothes? That’s a start, but I’m intrigued by the brown-haired beauty who is working her way through college and what her other obligations are that keep her from frequenting bars.

  “So which restaurant do you work at?”

  “The Vineyard,” she says, not taking her eyes off her beer bottle where she’s currently peeling back the label.

  I whistle. “Nice place. I’ve been there a few times.” This gets me a nod, but that’s it. What’s it going to take to get to this girl? Looking across the table, I see Drew huddled up close with Chloe, and they’re deep in conversation. What is it about Larissa that has me off my game tonight? Finishing off my beer, I stand. “Anyone ready for another?”

  Drew holds up two fingers, and I know he’s ordering for Chloe too. “You?” I ask Larissa.

  “I really shouldn’t,” she says, lifting her bottle and taking the final sip. I watch as she tilts her head back, the long column of her throat exposed. My lips ache to kiss her, to taste her skin.

  Bending down, placing my lips next to her ear, I whisper, “I’ll be right back.” She can’t hide the way her chest inflates with her heavy breath or the way goose bumps break out across her skin. I make my way to the bar and order four bottles of beer, all the while trying to hide my smile. She’s more affected than she lets on. When I turn to head back to the table, I see the girls are gone. Quickly, I scan the room and find them huddled over the old jukebox in the corner.

  “So, your girl’s hot,” Drew says when I set two bottles of beer in front of him.

  “Her name is Larissa,” I remind him.

  He holds his hands up like he didn’t mean to offend me. “Good to see you back in the game, brother,” he says before taking a long pull from his bottle.

  “I’m not back in the game. It’s not a game, and if it was, I could say I never left. I don’t make a sport of dating and hooking up.”

  “Not now.”

  He’s right. When I was a rookie, I ate that shit up, but it got old, and it’s hard to hear Mom call and ask about “all the women.” I hate to hear the disappointment in her voice. I’ve heard whispered stories about my dad and my uncles and their antics all my life, but I’ve never really seen that from them. They’ve always been madly in love with their wives. My grandparents are the same way too. I grew up surrounded by couples who are blissfully happy. I’ve had my fun, not that I’m against more of it, but one day I’d like to find someone to take home to my family.

  “Good choice,” Drew says when the girls join us. It’s an old Aerosmith song, “Dream On,” that you can’t help but sing along to.

  Chloe points across the table. “That’s all Larissa. She’s the music guru.”

  “What’s your favorite genre?” I ask.

  She smiles over at me. “All of it. Well, I’m not much on the super heavy metal stuff. It gives me a headache. Other than that, I’m a fan.”

  “Really? You go to a lot of concerts?”

  “Not really. No time.”

  When the song changes to Cole Swindell’s “Middle of a Memory,” I can’t fight my smile. Standing, I offer my hand to Larissa. Drew catches on and does the same with Chloe.

  “What?” Larissa asks, her green eyes staring up at me.

  “Dance with me.”

  She looks around nervously. “There’s no dance floor.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Drew and Chloe head to the darkened corner, leaving us alone. “Dance with me,” I repeat. Reluctantly, she places her hand in mine and allows me to guide her to the same corner Drew and Chloe disappeared into. My hands on her hips, I pull her close and sway to the music. I listen to the lyrics and think about how they relate to me, to us in this very moment. There is something about this girl that grips me.

  “I feel like everyone’s watching us,” she says, glancing around.

  “Hey,” I whisper, and wait until she’s looking at me. “There’s no one watching you but me. It’s just us, right here, right now. Making memories.” I wink, and her lips tilt in a smile.

  “Are you always this charming? Or just when you’re on the prowl?”

  “On the prowl?” This girl is a ball buster.

  “Yeah, isn’t that what you’re doing? Trying to sweeten me up so when you ask me to go home with you later, I’ll go willingly?”

  “Are you suggesting that I would force you to go otherwise?”

  “Not at all. I just meant, if you’re sweet and charming, you assume my answer will be yes.”

  “Would it be?” I know the answer is a resounding no.

  “No.”

  “Good thing that’s not what I’m doing then, huh?” I give her hip a gentle squeeze.

  “Right.” She laughs. “I’m the first baseman for the Tennessee Blaze, and we’re making memories,” she coos, mocking me.

  I don’t bother to hide my grin. “So, you think this is all talk, just to get you into my bed?”

  She shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”

  “We fit,” I say, pulling her tight against me. The subtle hint of warm vanilla assaults my senses. Her hands, which were resting against my chest, snake up around my neck. I could pull out my phone and type my name into the search engine and prove her wrong, but I don’t. Instead, I sing along to the song, my voice just low enough for her to hear. I like the thought of just being Easton to her. I like it a whole hell of a lot.

  When the song is over, I don’t let go. She’s going to have to be the one to break this connection. It’s been too damn long since a woman has felt this right in my arms. Then again, has it ever felt this right? Chloe appears beside us and pulls Larissa with her to the restroom. I watch them disappear down the hall before going back to our table. Back at the table, Drew sets three fresh beers down, keeping the fourth for himself.

  “We’re getting ready to head out,” he says.
r />   “You and Chloe?” I clarify. I’m not leaving here until Larissa does.

  “Yep,” he says, popping the p and grinning like a fool. “I’m sure they’re discussing it now.”

  “Ready?” Chloe asks, sneaking up on us.

  “Got you another.” Drew points at the three bottles on the table. I have yet to touch mine.

  “We’re going to drop Larissa off at her place,” she tells him, ignoring the beer.

  “I can take you,” I offer. “I’ve only had two.” I point to the bottles on the table.

  “That’s sweet of you, but not necessary.”

  I stand and grab her hand. “I’d like to.” I’m not ready to end my time with her.

  She gives me a smile, one that says, “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not happening.” Her words confirm the look. “Really, I’m good. We live in the same complex, so it’s a wasted trip.”

  “Can I see you again?” I ask her.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Are you seeing someone?” Please say no.

  “No.”

  “We could have dinner,” I suggest.

  “Other obligations.” She shrugs.

  Defeated, I watch as the girls turn and walk away. “Catch you later,” Drew says, finishing off his beer and setting the empty bottle on the table. He doesn’t comment on me being shut down.

  I watch them go, debating on whether I should follow them, follow her and try again. It’s not often in this town, or others, that people don’t recognize me, either from my family or from my career. She’s like a fucking needle in a haystack. One I’ll never find again.

  “I still can’t believe you turned him down,” Chloe says.

  It’s been a week since I let her talk me into a night out, and this is what I’ve heard every day since. “You know I have no room in my life for more complications.”

  “Complications,” she scoffs. “I didn’t say to marry the guy, just get back on the horse so to speak, and trust me, if he’s anything like his friend, you really, really wanna ride the horse.” She winks.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Chloe, I’m good. My days are full right now, and I’m okay with that. I have a plan. I need to finish school. I want better than this.” I motion to the room with my hand. Chloe and I both work at The Vineyard. It’s a swanky upscale restaurant here in Nashville. It’s good money, but the nights and weekends are grueling. Add school and family obligations on top of that and, well, there just isn’t much time for anything else.