A bit about the book:
Matt Jackson, clutch hitter, fielder extraordinaire, and team captain, is dynamite on the baseball field, but a loser with women. Or is he? He makes a show of coming on to chicks in bars, but always strikes out. Convinced being dateless is safer, Matt keeps his distance from women. Is he simply an insensitive chauvinist, or a crafty man hiding a secret?
Everything he believes in is challenged the day he walks in on a beautiful woman in the locker room. Dusty, the sharp-tongued spitfire, cuts the all-star pro down to size. Unwilling to accept second-class status, she challenges everything he knows about women.
Does a solo life make living with emotional pain easier? Drawn to the stunning, talented woman, Matt has a long way to go to win her trust. Getting close to Dusty is dangerous. Can he risk his well-protected heart? Matt faces a difficult choice -- will he make the right decision?
How about a little taste from the book?
February, Sandy Key, Florida
Depressed after losing the World Series, Matt needed sunshine, which was in short supply in February in New York. In the weeks before spring training started, he’d agreed to head up a two-week camp for underprivileged kids. Matt wouldn’t be doing it alone, some joker, named Dusty Carmichael, from professional softball would partner with him.
The catcher sniffed. This asshole, Carmichael, was a pitcher. How good could he be playing men’s softball? The guy’s probably a fucking amateur and doesn’t know shit about baseball. It annoyed him to think he’d be running the show with little help from someone who didn’t know crap and was getting paid a bundle. He shook his head. Why did he always get stuck with the losers?
The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he got. He shouldered his equipment bag and headed for the locker room. He stopped at the stadium entrance and flashed his credentials to the security guard.
“That guy Carmichael here yet?”
Matt waved him away and continued on. At least the sun was shining. It was seventy-three degrees—perfect weather for baseball. Sure beat the twenty degree, cloudy day he’d left in New York the morning before. Arriving an hour ahead of time, he whistled as he strolled along. Matt had a thing about being late and showed up early to most everything.
He waved at the janitor as he pushed open the locker room door.
But Matt didn’t hear the rest. He looked up to see beautiful, long auburn locks hanging down from the head of a woman, who was dressed only in panties. She was bending over, brushing her hair, so he couldn’t see her face, and she couldn’t see him. At the click of the door closing, she snapped up straight, whipping her tresses back, so that they fell down her back and revealed the most gorgeous breasts he’d ever seen.
Her eyes widened. “Get out! Get out!”
Matt froze, his gaze locked on her chest before he realized what he was doing. He covered his eyes with his hand and backed toward the exit. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was a woman in here.”
“Big fat lie, asshole. Get out!”
He peeked through his fingers, but the previous view was covered by her bare arms. He still managed to take in a middle with some ab definition and long, slender legs. Her white panties were almost see-through. Almost.
With one hand, she rifled a gym bag at him, scoring a direct hit. Reaching behind his back, he found the door handle and was in the hall in a flash. Heat ran up his chest, to his neck and his face. The woman was stunning. He didn’t know if his flush was from sexual excitement or embarrassment. Maybe both.
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