Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  He squeezes me tightly and kisses me.

  It isn’t any ordinary kiss.

  It is hot and hungry.

  His kiss instantly turns wild. He has one arm around my back, while his other hand threads through my hair to hold my head, pressing me tightly against his lips.

  I cling to him, my fingers curling in his jersey as I glory in the feel of his tongue stroking mine, the hard muscles of his chest pressed against my breasts, the tingling tightness of his fingers in my hair.

  “You are amazing,” he hums against my lips. “I missed you so much.” He kisses me again, flooding me with his needs, commanding my body’s response. “I missed this.”

  “Okay, you two. Either knock it off or get a room,” Hugh warns.

  Cole puts me down, but grabs a tight hold of my hand. “Sorry about that, but honestly – who could blame me? Just look at her!” He smiles down, beaming at me with a deep emotion I’ve never seen before.

  Looking back up at Hugh and Noah grinning shamelessly, he quickly changes his mind. “Wait, scratch that. Don’t look. Pretend she doesn’t exist. Don’t even breathe in her general direction. At least not until I get back.”

  Evan shakes his head and checks his watch. “Do me one favor, cuz – make this a quick game. Don’t make me sit through extra innings again.”

  “Oh – you can count on it. And you . . .” He looks down at me, “. . . you are not to leave this ballpark without me. Stay right here in this very spot and wait. I’ll come grab you after the game.” He squeezes my hand. “Got it?”

  “You got it, Stretch.” I stand up on my tiptoes and give him one more kiss before he leaves. As he and Adam walk back down the hallway toward the waiting bank of elevators, I can’t help but giggle a little as I listen to his cleats tapping on the hard floors. It reminds me of the sound of Cait’s heels as she walks through TitleWave, the unmistakable click clacking announcing her approach.

  A young hostess enters our suite and introduces herself. She’ll be here to take any orders we might have and to ensure everything is in order. She announces to the group, “Can I get anyone anything from the bar?”

  The boys all dismiss her politely, perfectly happy with the beer on tap provided by Evan. However, the girls and I have a different idea. “How about a lemon drop martini?” I ask, hoping that this simple drink is one they can accommodate.

  Our hostess nods and writes it down. The girls take my lead and order simple, two-ingredient cocktails, too. For Juliette, it’s a classic daiquiri. For Paige, it’s a Cuba Libre.

  We make our way to the outdoor seating just as the game is about to begin. It’s nearly seven o’clock and the sun is beginning to set, bathing the entire ballpark in a pink and orange glow. It turns the massive concrete structure into something more grand, romantic even.

  On the scoreboard, stats on all the Red Hawks players are being flashed, along with their photo. It’s like a larger-than-life digital baseball trading card. The players are shown in their batting order, and since Cole is the cleanup hitter, batting fourth in the lineup, I don’t have to wait long.

  It suddenly occurs to me, Cole must certainly be on a baseball card – a Topps Baseball Trading Card. This will be the first thing I do next time I’m at work. I’m going to sell baseball cards in my shop and make sure to find a way to acquire one featuring a rookie that is near and dear to my heart.

  Our drinks arrive just as the game begins. When the Red Hawks come jogging out from the dugout, it’s hard to tell the players apart, all wearing their red jerseys, gray pants, and black hats. But I watch as they take their places on the field. And standing tall and proud in the place between second and third base awaits their shortstop.

  Cole doesn’t get many balls hit in his direction and I don’t think that’s an accident. The space between second and third belongs to him, and nothing gets past it without his consent. Nothing. Not today. I can feel it – his determination. It’s what got him here today. And I am awed by it.

  The inning ends quickly.

  I watch as the Brewers sit down two out of three Red Hawk batters. Now it’s time for Cole to exchange his regular black cap for a batting helmet. Caked-on dirt and clay nearly obscure the Red Hawk logo on the front, the accumulation of hundreds of at-bats. That is one of their superstitions—never clean a batting helmet mid-season.

  He steps up to the plate, taking his time to dig in. Getting on base is the single most important thing his team needs if they are going to score in the inning, and Cole knows it. It doesn’t matter if he hits a single or walks on balls, he just has to get ninety feet away to first base.

  He swings the bat over his shoulder and looks out at the Milwaukee pitcher, ready. Almost in slow motion, I see the ball emerge from the pitcher’s glove and watch it leave his fingers. It crosses the plate and Cole swings his bat, connecting with the clear, sharp sound of maple on leather.

  I can tell it’s going to be a homerun before Cole even completes his swing and I cheer triumphantly as it jets towards the deepest parts of the park and over the centerfield fence. It’s his third homerun of the season and the crowd roars the entire time Cole trots around the bases.

  I’m so fucking proud of him!

  Paige smiles over at me as I sit next to her. “He’s good.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “He’s a really great guy too,” Juliette mentions casually.

  “He’s the best man I’ve ever met,” I reply immediately. And I mean it. I feel Juliette’s gaze on me, and I meet hers straight on.

  She smiles. “He’s a lucky guy.”

  “No, I’m the lucky one.”

  “You have it bad, girl.” Paige nudges my shoulder with hers. “And it looks like it’s mutual.”

  I shrug smugly and take a sip of my cocktail. “I’m surprised how many fans show up for a game. There’s one hundred sixty-two games a season.”

  The girls follow my gaze up into the crowd. There are thousands of fans in red and black gear, cheering loudly. And they all seem to know my boyfriend’s name.

  By the fourth inning, the boys have joined us and I watch and listen in fascination as they discuss baseball statistics, trying their best to outwit each other with random scores and stats. These men seem to know so many obscure facts, it boggles the mind.

  Juliette’s husband is a professional athlete, and she clearly is used to listening to this babble. Turning to me, she says, “I never understood how men could memorize every player’s batting average, but can’t remember to take the garbage out once a week.”

  “I know, right?” Paige responds. “The day after we got married, Reed completely forgot how to do his own laundry. When I met him he was wearing clean clothes, so he definitely knows how to operate a washing machine.”

  I wonder what it would be like to live with Cole. I could handle him forgetting trash pick-up day and I think I would actually enjoy doing his laundry and taking care of him. The only thing I couldn’t bear is if he conveniently forgot how to cook. The poor boy would die of hunger waiting for me to cook his meals.

  I decide a change in scenery would do us some good, so I lead the girls back into the suite and we fill our plates with cookies. Sitting around a small table in comfy leather club chairs, we take some time to get to know each other a little better. I make sure to choose a seat with a direct view of the television so that I don’t miss a single thing.

  The conversation quickly turns to one all three of us can discuss – Juliette and Evan’s wedding. All three of us were there, although my appearance was completely unplanned and brief.

  I listen to every word as she tells the romantic story about her wedding day. She explains to us how she was tricked into a trip to Hawaii under the guise of attending the Pro Bowl. It’s not until she arrived and found her wedding dress waiting for her in her villa that she realized it was her wedding day.

  “Evan and Auggie arranged the whole thing,” she explains. “They flew everyone out to the island and worked with the hot
el’s events coordinator on the decorations, the menu, the entertainment. All of it.”

  “You may not remember this, Kenny, but I remember seeing you that night,” Paige adds. “Reed and I were on the dance floor when Cole swept you off your feet.”

  “And then the two of you disappeared into the night,” Juliette recalls.

  Paige smiles proudly. “I had a feeling we’d see you again.”

  “Really? Why is that?” I ask, surprised.

  She and Juliette look at each other conspiratorially. “See, Cole doesn’t usually hook up with random girls. I don’t think he’s had many one night stands.”

  Paige agrees. “And the way y’all looked at each other? It was kind of obvious. If you don’t mind me asking, I was wondering what you were doing in Hawaii. You weren’t there with a boyfriend, I assume.”

  “No, I was there with friends. I was fresh out of a relationship and it seemed like the perfect place to be.” It may not be the complete truth, but it’s not a lie, either.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she says sympathetically. “Bad break up?”

  “Nah. He drowned in quick sand. It was over quickly,” I tell her with a deadpan expression.

  “Holy shit, Kenny. Are you serious?”

  “No, not really. But that’s how I choose to remember him. It’s better this way.”

  We all get a good laugh at that one.

  Time flies quickly. The girls and I make it back outside to watch the final inning of the game. The score’s been tied since the seventh inning and both teams have come close to scoring.

  Right now, the Brewers have three men on base with two outs.

  No one dares to breathe.

  I can’t take my eyes off Cole, legs spread between second and third as though he could go either way. I’ve watched him in countless games and memorized the way he moves and when. He chooses a direction before the ball even leaves the pitcher’s hand, and he’s right about where the ball heads every single time.

  We watch as Cole steps right then takes half a step back before the bat connects with the ball and goes flying three feet to his right. He takes another step and catches it, making it look easy, and retires the side.

  We breathe again.

  It’s bottom of the ninth and as the teams switch it up, there’s an unspoken prayer that somehow the Red Hawks get one more point on the board and avoid extra innings. All I know is that if I don’t get to see Cole soon, I may actually spontaneously combust. Right here, in front of all these fine people.

  I try to go through the batters in my mind, attempting to recall where we left off in the batting order. I know Cole’s due to be up soon, but how soon?

  When Tanner Brooks steps into the batter’s box, my eyes immediately dart to the dugout searching for the man that follows him in the lineup. That’s when I see Cole knock the lead practice weight off his bat and step out of the on-deck circle.

  I watch him take a few practice swings. From this distance, it’s hard to make out his features, but really there’s no need. I know well the ripple of those shoulders, hidden now beneath his uniform shirt. I’ve watched the taut lines of his thighs and felt the hard strength of his abs. I know the raw power in him, his wild strength.

  Cole has the power to knock it out of the park, and he’s already proven that once tonight. What are the chances he can do it again I wonder?

  My attention is drawn back to the field when the crowd erupts into cheers and applause. Tanner Brooks has just hit a towering home run over the left field fence. And I missed the whole thing.

  Game over. The Red Hawks win 5 to 4.

  Now that the game is over, I have a strong desire to run through the halls, find the locker room and tear Cole away. I don’t know where we would go. Hell, I don’t even know where the locker room is. So I guess it means that for now I’ll just have to wait patiently.

  The entire McGuire clan is very generous with their time. They don’t want to leave until Cole comes back up to the suite to claim me. But I watch as the boys check their watches and the girls try to conceal their yawns.

  I walk around with a nervous energy, glancing out the window and take note of how quickly the ballpark has emptied. All I see are a few park employees scattered around the empty seats sweeping and collecting the discarded trash.

  Everyone jumps to attention when the door opens. But our excitement is dashed when Adam, Cole’s friend and member of the Red Hawk’s front office staff, enters our suite. After hearing everyone’s groan of disappointment, he responds, “Hey guys, it’s good to see you, too.”

  I rush up to him, hoping to get an update. “How much longer, Adam? Is he on his way?”

  “That’s why I’m here, actually. They’re just wrapping up a team meeting before the break for the All Stars week. He’ll be done in ten. I’m here to give you the ten cent tour while we wait.”

  A private tour? Great. But I so wish it was with Cole, instead.

  “Don’t look so excited,” he warns. Obviously I didn’t hide my disappointment well. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed for long.”

  Good-byes are exchanged and promises to reconnect soon are made. I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting a Marine base. Or an Army or Navy one either, for that matter. This is one promise I hope gets fulfilled.

  The bowels of the stadium are empty and swept clean. The floors and walls show the wear and tear of a long season, and right now the smell of dirty socks and greasy hot dogs clings to their surfaces.

  Adam doesn’t say much, but guides me alongside him, past a long stretch of cinderblock hallways with buzzing fluorescents overhead, into a bigger area with benches and shelves full of equipment. He smacks the push bar of a nondescript door. I assume there will be another hall or another equipment room behind it. Instead the doorway opens into pure open space.

  I stop.

  He urges, “Don’t be scared. No one’s here now. Well, almost no one. The clean-up crew is just finishing up.”

  I’m not scared and I’m not worried about who’s there. The stadium is empty, just fifty thousand or so unoccupied seats. But I need a moment to appreciate where I’m going. Because I know in an instant that the open space isn’t directly across the outfield or across the parking lot. It is the view from the dugout.

  The door closes and Adam disappears behind it, leaving me here. Alone. I stand silently, surveying my surroundings. I recognize the digital and print ads that span the walls along the field, the expertly manicured field and the black and red seats that stretch the expanse of the structure in every direction. And the giant scoreboard that from time to time, plasters the face of the man I cherish more than I ever thought possible.

  I cannot imagine what it must be like to step up to the plate with thousands of eyes squarely focused on you and you alone. To concentrate on one thing – the path of a little round ball – while fans cheer, and sometimes jeer, loudly and creatively. I don’t know how he does it.

  I am startled by the sound of someone clearing his throat. Quickly, I turn around to find Cole there, sitting on the bench. Watching. Slowly, he stands, smiling broadly. His hair is still damp and I can smell the crisp, clean scent of soap and shampoo. I’ve been holding back all night, and now that he’s standing here with me, I'm feeling a sudden need to take him right here and right now.

  "Kensington, you can't just look at me like that," Cole pleads.

  I can feel my heart racing and my pulse quickening. "Like what?" I ask.

  "Like you're ready to rip my clothes off."

  "Very perceptive," I acknowledge. “It’s your own fault, really. I can’t help it if you’re so extremely fuckable. Seeing you here, in this place, has my imagination on overdrive.”

  He grabs me, lifts me off my feet, and I wrap my arms around his neck. "But there's no law against making out in the dugout." He kisses me deeply, and then breaks our bond momentarily to add a final thought. “Lucky for you, I never felt the urge to kiss anyone in the dugout before.”
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br />   He places me back on my wobbly feet and I have to hold onto him as I steady myself. Being here, from this viewpoint, looking around at the empty stadium seats, at the enormity of this place, just about knocks me on my ass.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his brow creasing with worry.

  I’m speechless as I gaze around the stadium. “You’re a lot to take in sometimes, you know?” I ask him.

  He smiles shyly, and frowns for a second, looking down at this hands. “I can be, yeah.” He takes a deep breath and looks up, his eyes taking in the stadium. “This is all I ever wanted, and sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here.”

  “This isn’t luck,” I state firmly and his gaze whips to mine, surprised. “Cole, this is the result of you working your ass off and earning it. I may not know everything there is to know about baseball, but I know that it’s not easy, and I know that I’m so very proud of you. Not because of your contract, or the jersey you wear – which you look damn hot in, by the way – but because you’re doing what you always dreamed of. How many of us can say that?”

  His eyes soften as he cups my cheek in his big hand and rubs his thumb across my lower lip. “I wanted you to see this. I wanted you to imagine me out there, thinking of you.” He leans toward me and brushes his magical lips over mine, and then sinks into me, pushing my back against the wall of the dugout. He runs that hand down my face, over my breast, and rests it on my hip as he continues to make love to my mouth, his tongue searching and dancing. Our breathing quickens, and dear God, I want him.

  He pulls back and gazes down at me. “Someone’s probably watching us,” he murmurs. He kisses my forehead and then takes a step back. We just stand here, breathing hard.

  We step onto the field. The grass is the boldest shade of green I’ve ever seen, and despite the recent completion of nine full innings, the dirt parts are mostly smooth and even. The lines between the bases are still visible, but the square sacks that mark the bases have been removed.

  He pulls me to home plate and I look out imagining what it must be like when the stands are full and the noise is deafening.