Fed up with cheating women, Dan Alexander, star pitcher for the New York Nighthawks, grew restless. Searching for something more than a bar babe, he zeroed in on a girl in the stands. He never expected to see a beautiful chick pushing frankfurters. But the hot dog girl looked as smokin’ as the food she was selling.
Holly Merrill found a place to hide in plain sight, as a vendor at Nighthawks’ stadium. Keeping her secret safe and simply happy to stay alive, she never considered finding love an option. After all, a bad girl doesn’t deserve a decent guy, does she?
Coming off his best season ever, Dan went into the playoffs, hell bent on winning the pennant and playing in the World Series. But could he maintain his focus on the field, where everything was going right, when off the field everything was falling apart?
Have a taste:
Dan was tired. His six-foot-three-inch frame needed sleep. He raised his hand in greeting to Bud Magee as they passed in the hall, before the pitcher ran smack dab into a young woman. He would’ve knocked her to the ground, if he hadn’t caught her first. He’d never seen her before, but her wide, blue eyes and hair the color of mink captured his attention.
“Excuse me, miss. I didn’t see you.” Though she felt good in his arms, he let go before she started to scream.
“Dan Alexander, one of our top pitchers. This is Holly Merrill. She’s new. Gonna be selling hot dogs for us.”
“Welcome,” the ball player said, as his gaze slid down her curvy body.
“Thanks.” She straightened her shirt and smoothed her jeans.
After shooting her a sexy grin, he tipped his cap and replied, “The top pitcher.” With a chuckle, he disappeared into the locker room.
Then, it happened. She dropped a hot dog loaded with mustard. The man in the stands stood up and started hollering. Holly bent over to clean it up. The guy in the TV booth running the camera zeroed in on her ass, and there it was, cute and big as life on the Jumbotron!
People clapped and hooted. The players laughed. Dan held his breath. She craned her neck and looked around. Although Dan couldn’t hear what the man was saying, the pitcher saw him point to the giant screen. Dan cringed as she spied her backside, huge, amusing the crowd.
Her hand few to her mouth. She picked up the cart and ran up the stairs.
The camera went back to the action on the field. Dan’s stomach flipped. His heart melted. She didn’t deserve that, and he wasn’t sure she'd be able to deal with that kind of humiliation. The inning was over, and it was time for the seventh inning stretch. He looked for Holly, but couldn’t find her anywhere.
He approached his manager. “Cal, need me?”
“You can hit the showers, Alexander. Game’s almost over.”
“Thanks.” He left the dugout and headed for the concession stand. Bud Magee was behind the counter. Dan asked him where Holly was.
“What the hell happened? She dumped her cart and ran out of here like a bat out of Hell.”
Dan explained then asked, “Where’d she go?”
“Damned if I know. Probably back to my place. She’s a good kid, but she needs to get a sense of humor.”
Dan thanked Bud and headed for the gate. He’d been to Bud’s house many times for big dinners, especially during the off season, when they could drink what they wanted and stay up late. He saw a figure walking fast up the sidewalk. He broke into an easy lope and caught up with her. She had her head down and held a tissue to her face. A queasy feeling grabbed Dan’s stomach. He hated crying women. He never knew what to do or say, and whatever he did only seemed to make them cry more.
He cupped her shoulder with his big palm. “Wait. Wait. Holly?”
She stopped in her tracks, but didn’t turn around. He felt her tremble.
“Hey, come on. Nothing’s that bad.”
“You didn’t have your ass, big as the Empire State Building, on TV.” Her tone was sharp, but she had stopped walking.
“No, can’t say I’ve ever had that honor. That I know of. They get shots of us when we don’t know it. Some pretty embarrassing too.”
She turned to face him. “Yeah? Like what?” She trained gorgeous blue eyes on him and rested her hands on her hips.
“Like a guy picking his nose or scratching his…his crotch.” Now, Dan was the uncomfortable one. He raised his gaze to hers.
She was laughing.
“All I ask is that you not be an asshole. Is that too much?” Jake directed his request to Matt Jackson.
“Shut the fuck up,” the catcher said, in a low voice.
Dan cracked up. “Sounds reasonable to me.”
“Same goes for you,” Matt said, pointing a finger at his friend.
“No stories. No fake names, okay? No hitting on the first woman you see. And, no hitting on Valerie!” Dan said.
“Afraid of a little competition?” Matt asked.
“I might be if it came from someone like Jake. But you? Uh, no!”
Matt pushed back into the seat and frowned.
Jake poked Dan. “Remember the time he told some chick his name was Pancho Villa?”
“And she didn’t even know who Pancho Villa was, but Jackson wanted to sleep with her anyway,” Dan said.
“Until he said he couldn’t speak Spanish. Then, there was no way she was going home with him,” Jake croaked out.
“Then, he told her he was a pro baseball player, and she didn’t believe him. Remember what she said?” Dan could hardly speak he was laughing so hard.
“Yeah, yeah! She said, and I quote, ‘next you’ll tell me you’re George Bush’.”
At that, Jake and Dan doubled over, laughing until they cried. Even Matt couldn’t stay angry. He joined his buddies. The men were still chuckling when the cab stopped in front of the club.
I have 35 books & short stories published. You can find them here: