Heavy Hitter (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 4)

by Lucy McConnell

  “He’s on his way,” answered someone she didn’t recognize.

  Sheila looked for something that would help and spied an unopened water bottle next to Mike. Leaning forward on her knees, she snatched it from the counter and cracked it open. She could get Mike more water later. “Here, take a drink.”

  Harper took the bottle and downed half of it. “This is so embarrassing.” She swiped at her forehead.

  Above them, the program continued. The streaker was removed. Over the speaker, Sheila heard Brock ask one of the questions she’d typed up for him. Her heart warmed just hearing his voice. What she wouldn’t give for one of his lingering hugs right about now.

  Coach Wolfe arrived, sweating as much as Harper. He must have sprinted the five flights of stairs. “Honey.” He knelt next to her, cupping her face and pushing her hair off her forehead.

  “Is she sick?” Sheila asked. “Should I call Doc Burningham?”

  Harper shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’m fine.” She drank the rest of the water and handed Sheila the empty bottle.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” admonished Coach.

  “I had to.”

  He shook his head in reproach even as he kissed her hair. “It’s too much.”

  She lifted her chin and they locked gazes, Coach’s eyes full of worry, Harper’s full of determination. “What, am I supposed to let go?”

  Not the Redrocks! Sheila wanted to scream. She rocked back on her heels. Questions burned in her mind. They teased her tongue, begging to be let loose. However, it was obvious by the vagueness of the conversation happening in front of her that these two didn’t want her in on what was going on.

  “You know what you have to do.” Coach moved her hair over her shoulder.

  Sheila’s stomach sank to the floor. Harper knew what she had to do? What was that? How was what she had to do going to affect the Redrocks? If being the owner was taking a physical toll on her, how could she continue?

  Harper nodded in resignation, and Sheila’s hopes for the Redrocks family staying together took a hit. “Help me up. I got dizzy again.”

  Coach sighed the sigh of a husband who loved his wife more than he loved baseball and hated to see her down. He put his hand under her arm and lifted her with ease.

  Sheila watched, concern for Harper and for the team coursing through her mind. “How can I help?” she asked quickly.

  Harper patted her arm. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  Sheila put on a happy face as the couple left the room, but inside, she was dying. That wasn’t an answer that gave her any insight. Should she keep doing her job so Harper could sell the team at a premium? Or should she keep doing her job so no one knew what was coming? Or was it all so the team could continue on?

  The worry was a weight on her chest. Sheila had poured herself into the Redrocks. She believed in them. She’d come in on the ground floor, when they were nothing more than a joke in the league. While she hadn’t hit a home run or made the game-winning catch, she’d played a part in making the Redrocks the franchise they were today and had a stake in who they would be next season. If Harper sold the team, it would be like starting all over again.

  Sheila ran her hand through her hair, tugging at the curls. She needed a minute to gather herself, to calm her mind.

  What she really needed were Brock’s arms. Without contemplating the ramifications, she bolted from the room and headed for the field.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brock

  Brock shuffled the cards in his hand, looking for a question that would match up with the woman on stage doing the splits and balancing a spinning plate on a stick held between her teeth. She had potential; that was for sure. Although he wasn’t sure how she would make the plate thing work with a full face mask on instead of the Wonder Woman outfit she wore today.

  He looked up at the ceiling of the party tent they’d placed over his head about an hour ago. October in St. George was warm. While other parts of the state had crunchy leaves and breezes that promised a cold winter, the home of the Redrocks was warm enough to drive lemonade sales in the stands. Which was a good thing, according to Sheila. She’d said something about needing to bring in money, that this whole party was a fundraiser for the team.

  It didn’t look like any baseball fundraiser he’d been a part of before—and he’d done his fair share of selling cookie dough, oil changes, and roast dinners to pay his dues. His high school coaches were energetic when it came to finding financing for the program, and they weren’t shy about shoving their players into the neighborhoods to make sales.

  He shook his head. Even they had an agenda. He’d never really thought about that before, but they got a bonus when the team went to state. Having a large budget brought in specialists to teach the guys skills the other teams didn’t have and gave them an edge. He couldn’t complain too loudly, though, could he? Not when he’d benefitted so much from the perks the coaches provided.

  He shook himself out of his head. His dad told him on numerous occasions that he buried too deep into his own thoughts—that it wasn’t good for him. But the one thought that stuck to him like a bur on socks was Sheila.

  As if thinking of her made her appear, she was suddenly standing in the doorway to the dugout. Her almost-white hair was slightly mussed and her red lips were drawn down. When their eyes met, she smiled and crooked a finger at him.

  He pointed at his chest like a dork.

  She nodded. The surety in her eyes was attractive and drew him across the grass. He handed his mic to the intern who had brought him more water than a camel could drink and headed Sheila’s way.

  She backed into the room as he came through the door, and he followed, matching her every step, enjoying the energy zapping between them. Still, he wasn’t sure what was going on in her head or why she was looking at him like he had something she wanted—badly.

  “Hey.” She bit her bottom lip.

  “Hey, yourself.” He lifted his chin in response.

  “Is everything going okay?”

  “Yeah.” He folded his arms. She’d come to check up on him. That was fine. It was her job. It was just that by the way she crooked her finger and the smolder in her eyes, he’d thought there might be something more.

  Remembering a lecture he’d gotten from his agent about appearing open and approachable, he dropped them to his side, not sure where he was supposed to put them.

  “Good. I—” She looked over her shoulder and then dove towards him, wrapping her arms around his middle and holding on.

  Brock’s arms came around her on instinct, and she relaxed into him, feeling just right, right where she was. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. She was short compared to him, but then, most women were. He liked that her head came to his chin. “It’s just crazy and there’s so much pressure, and there were kids with beer and cops and then Harper about fainted when that guy pulled his clothes off and I don’t know if—” She cut off suddenly, and he got the feeling she was about to say more than she should.

  He rubbed a hand up and down her back. “Can I help?”

  “You are helping.” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder. Her arms tightened.

  “Really? ’Cuz I feel like I’m getting the better end of the deal here.”

  She chuckled against him.

  He trailed his fingers up her back, her neck, and then slid them into her hair. Her body was soft against his, so womanly, so precious. He shifted so he could pull her closer, and she complied. As much as he would have liked to lose himself in the moment, his head was still holding on to her earlier comment about keeping things professional.

  “You know,” he ventured, making circles at the base of her head with his fingertips, “this doesn’t feel professional.”

  She moaned into his shirt. “I know. It’s not. It’s really, really not.”

  Outside the open door, the auditions continued. The crowd clapped and hooted loudly. T
hey may have another contestant to move up to the semifinals.

  “Should I stop?” he tested.

  She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, you probably should. But I don’t want you to.” She sighed, and he felt it all the way through him. “I should not hug you in the locker room.”

  “You really shouldn’t. I mean, if you’re trying to keep things professional between us.”

  Her hands slid up his back and then back down again. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  It was his turn to chuckle. “Maybe you should clarify, then.”

  Her hands slid around his body, making his stomach drop out in the best of ways. She laid her palms on his chest and tipped her chin up to look at him. “I mean we should be professional at work, and then, when we’re not at work, we can be unprofessional together.”

  He couldn’t stop a teasing smile from lifting the corners of his lips. “So, just to clarify, what we’re doing right now, in the locker room, would be considered unprofessional behavior.”

  “Exactly.”

  He began swaying from side to side. “What about dancing together? Is that unprofessional behavior for the locker room?”

  She moved with him, her brown eyes sparkling. “Most definitely.”

  He stopped swaying and moved his thumb to brush her chin. The noise from the stands had faded away. All he could hear was his heartbeat and her breathing as it hitched. He leaned down, closing the distance between their lips. “What about this?”

  “Completely unprofessional,” she murmured, her eyes dropping shut.

  This close, her minty breath tickled his lips. When the anticipation was too much for him to resist, he pressed his lips to hers. She gasped quietly before melting in his arms. He gathered her close, happy to hold her up if it meant holding her tighter.

  She smiled against his lips and giggled. He laughed and they kissed again. But their lips didn’t stay together for long, because they both grinned. She shook her head, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Happiness he’d put there. He wanted to pound his chest in victory.

  “I wish I could stay here and do more of this.” She leaned her forehead against his jaw. “But I have to go back to work.”

  “It’s the professionally responsible thing to do.”

  “Hush!” She smacked his chest. “I’m trying to save your reputation and the team, and you’re seducing me with your dance moves and …” She trailed her hands up his arms. “… muscles.”

  He flexed.

  She laughed. “Stop that.”

  He lifted one eyebrow, silently asking if she really wanted him to stop.

  She gave him a knowing smile. “Seriously, we need to be careful. I don’t want this plastered all over Julia’s social media pages.”

  He nodded. “I get it. I do. But I think you’re overthinking it.”

  Her bottom lip pouted out. “I’m not.”

  “You might be.”

  She opened and closed her mouth. “There’s a small possibility that I’m overthinking things. I just, I spend so much time trying to drag the spotlight around with me that it’s nice to have something all my own.”

  “And I’m that something?”

  She bit her lip. “If you want to be.”

  “I want.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. It was so soft against his fingers.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened slightly and her pupils dilated. “I want, too.”

  He laughed. “You’re hilarious.” Before she could respond, he bent down and captured her lips once more. This time, he took his time, moving slow, cupping her face, enjoying the sweet sensations holding her built inside of him. He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss felt this perfect—like he’d found the person God created him to kiss. Was that strange to think that there was a soul mate out there, that he could find his match? Maybe. Even stranger was that the longer he kissed Sheila, the stronger that knowledge burned inside of him.

  “Brock?” she gasped between kisses. “I have to go.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, making him shudder.

  “Of course.” He moved to kissing her jaw, then her neck.

  “Okay. I’m going,” she sighed.

  He kissed his way back up to her lips and lingered there. Neither of them made a move to break apart. It was like, now that they’d found one another, there was nothing outside of the two of them.

  “Sheila,” her phone barked.

  She jerked as though there was an electric shock that came along with hearing her name. “Crap!” She patted her pockets, looking for her phone, and finally found it. Brock kept his arms around her, and she leaned into him. “Sheila here.”

  “We can’t find Brock. He’s been gone for a half hour.”

  Sheila squeaked. “A half hour?” She whispered to him as if the person could hear her without her pushing the button. “You’re a bad influence on me.” She pecked a kiss to his lips.

  “You like it,” he growled.

  “Yeah, I do.” She winked. “I’ll find him and send him back out,” she told the person on the phone.

  “Roger that,” they answered.

  “You’re making your intern sweat.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Totally worth it.” He’d trade ten hours in the sun for walk-off perfect kisses any day.

  She laid a hand in the middle of his chest and pressed, scooting him back. “You have a job to do. Go be fun. Make them laugh. And then tonight, we’ll—”

  He growled and gave her the smolder.

  She flushed. “—catch up,” she finished.

  He nodded. “You can call it whatever you want, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head at him and laughed, feeling so much lighter than she had when she’d come into the locker room. Sure, trouble still lurked in the waters, but she was floating instead of sinking.

  Brock gave her one last smoldering look before disappearing into the bright sunlight. She sighed happily, counted to thirty, and then ducked out after him. She needed to check on the feel in the stands, find out if people who had been there all day were still having a great time. She walked along the edge of the field, her shoes crunching the dried dirt, and scanned faces as she climbed the steps.

  Her head was still locked in Brock’s embrace when someone grabbed her wrist. She blinked, looking down to find her mom and dad staring at her with concerned expressions. “Honey?” Her mom tugged her back down a step. “Are you all right?”

  She felt a lazy smile creep across her cheeks. “I’m great.” She shook herself out of the memory of Brock holding her close. For the record, being in his arms was everything she’d thought it would be and so much more. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Are you kidding? This is our team.” Mom pointed to the Redrocks hat perched on her head. Her shorter blond hair was gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, and sections framed her face. She wore a hat well. Dad was in the Redrocks tee shirt she’d given him for Father’s Day last year.

  “You guys could use an upgrade in gear. I think I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”

  Mom shimmied her shoulders. “I won’t say no.”

  Dad turned to look at her as a contestant ran off the stage. “You look like you’ve had a rough morning.”

  Sheila patted her hand over her short hair. It felt … big. Brock’s fingers had worked their way through it once … twice? Heavens, but it felt wonderful when he rubbed circles over her scalp. She practically melted just thinking about it. “You know how it is—I’m going in twenty directions when I’m over an event.” She pulled out her phone and turned the camera to selfie mode to check out the damage. Her lipstick was gone. She checked the Jumbotron, where Brock was interviewing a lady in spandex and a plastic face mask. He didn’t have a splash of color on him. They must have done an excellent job of kissing away her lip stain. She pressed her fingertips to her slightly swollen lips.

  “Here.” Mom shoved a tube of lipstick at her. “Pull yourself together.”

  S
heila chuckled as she popped off the lid and twisted the color out. It wasn’t her normal bright red; Mom preferred a darker tone. But it would work in a pinch—and this was a pinch. She’d lost a whole half hour in a kiss. Well, not lost. She was holding on to that time—keeping it in her pocket to pull out when she felt overwhelmed again. Still, there was so much to do, and she needed to be on top of her game today. Once the color was in place, she took a moment to tame her hair, twisting it around her fingers to smooth out the curls.

  She glanced back up at the screen. Brock didn’t look like he’d had a half hour of kissing. He smiled big into the camera. Okay. Maybe that smile was an indicator that he’d enjoyed his time. It was kind of a perma-grin. He hadn’t been that relaxed before they disappeared in the locker room.

  Chagrined that she’d done something so unprofessional, she ducked away from her image on her phone. She darkened the screen and put it in her back pocket. “Have you been here all day?” she asked her parents.

  “We had to come early to get good seats,” said Mom.

  “And we’re staying until they announce the mascot,” added Dad.

  Sheila grinned. That was exactly what she’d hoped the die-hard fans would do, and no one was a bigger fan than her father. Mom came in a close second, though. She lifted her gaze and surveyed the lower bowl. It was packed. Fans lounged in their seats, snacking or sipping on giant cups of soda. She needed to check the concession sales numbers. They were reported in real time, so she’d know how close they were to meeting their goals.

  Her lightness started to evaporate. She crouched down and gave her mom a quick hug. “It’s so good to see you both.” She leaned across Mom and hugged Dad too. He smelled like popcorn. “But I have to get back to work.”

  Dad waved her off. “Go be awesome.”

  She laughed. He’d said the same thing each morning as she went out the door to school. She’d carried that phrase with her through life, feeling the pressure to be awesome while knowing that her father would think she was awesome no matter what.