by Lulu Pratt
Table of Contents
Copyright
Author's Note
Fast Baller
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Thank you!
Pretend Daddy (Preview)
Lulu Pratt’s Books
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Lulu Pratt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Author’s Note
Fast Baller is a full-length 60,000+ word novel. Please note it ends at 92%.
Thank you for reading this. I hope you enjoy Fast Baller.
I’ve also included a preview of my book, Pretend Daddy, for your enjoyment.
Happy reading,
Lulu xoxo
Fast Baller
All I care about is baseball until her.
I was a star pitcher but an injury sent me down.
My career is over, that is until Scarlet starts working with me.
She’s my physical therapist and her gentle touch heals me.
I’m on my way back.
Her soft lips, however, prove too much to resist.
We’re together, against the rules, but it feels so good.
We keep our passion a secret, but it turns out there is another secret.
One that could pull us apart for forever.
*** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.**
Prologue
SCARLET
THINGS WERE always hectic at the grocery store. I had just moved to Toledo, Ohio, in the heart of the country, to work with the Toledo Spark Plugs, a Minor League baseball team. That was a great bit of luck, to be their official physical therapist, but it was also amazing because I had loved and followed baseball all my life.
And so, I needed groceries. I was pushing my cart with purpose, determined to get everything I needed in the quickest time, something near impossible when you aren’t familiar with the store. I had an almost-full shopping cart, and I was just getting to the haircare section, when my cart was sideswiped by another cart.
“Hey!” I said.
My cart had been pushed into an end-of-aisle display of shampoo, knocking off about a dozen bottles all over the floor.
“Ow!” the man pushing the cart cried, holding his shoulder. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t see you coming around the corner.”
“It’s okay. But please, slow down. There’s no need for demolition derby,” I said with a smile. He was cute, but I wasn’t looking for anything. The last thing I wanted to pick up at the grocery store tonight was a new boyfriend.
“I know. I guess I’m just a little nervous. I just moved here, you see,” he said as he started slowly picking up the bottles.
“Yeah, well, so did I, and you don’t see me crashing into innocent bystanders,” I replied, a little gruffly.
He laughed, and his smile lit up the whole place. I got a good look at him and realized that he was not just cute, but handsome, very handsome. Which made me smile too. “Well, there’s no harm done, I guess,” I said.
“I’m just afraid I might have re-injured my shoulder. I just had surgery.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Then he looked up at me from his spot on the floor. “You know, you could do a commercial for this shampoo.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, look at your hair. It’s stunning,” he said, flirting with me.
“Thanks. Anyway, I am in a bit of a rush,” I said awkwardly. To be honest, the only place I had to rush to was my couch and my latest romance novel.
“Of course. Please forgive me.”
“Forgiven. Now can you move your cart? You’re kinda blocking the aisle.”
“Sure,” he said, standing up and moving his cart. “I hope you have a great day.”
“Thanks, you too.”
Chapter 1
HARRISON
“YOU KNOW who’s responsible for this catastrophe, don’t you?” I said to my friend Chris Steen. I was on the phone because I was no longer able to just visit him, after having been sent down to the Minors.
“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me.”
“Damn straight I am. You know as well as I do that my dad is a gigantic pain in the ass. He has been riding me like a mule for years. I’m not saying I’m a golden boy, but how many times do I need to get these stupid email messages from ‘the owner’ before I just blow up and go postal on someone?”
“I’ll give you this, Harrison, you pull no punches.”
“To be honest, I think that’s part of the problem. Even today, you know what happened? I had a collision in the grocery store.”
“The grocery store. You mean the parking lot?”
“The grocery store itself. This woman was just minding her own business, and I crashed into her cart,” I didn’t let on that I had noticed her earlier in a previous aisle staring at some fine print on a package, and that I was babying my shoulder and had lost control of the cart.
“That’s a bummer.”
“But that’s not all. Everything is going wrong. And all the while, my dad wants me to be the billionaire’s son, take over, be a businessman. He has some kind of image — like some suck-up that will parrot every stupid thing his father says. Well, that’s not me. I know Roger Brett has some good qualities, but man oh man, does he ever make a lot of mistakes. Rookie mistakes. Like he never had a baseball team before. I mean we had a lot of chances — let’s face it, the Spark Plugs are pretty near the bottom of the standings in the Minors, which is a bad thing, except at one particular time of year.”
“Draft time?” Chris said. Sometimes I wonder if Chris was interested in me because of my father.
“Yup. We had the opportunity to get three of the top ten draft picks and genius daddy decides to trade them for money. He decides he has the winning team when the coach himself, the GM, you name it, every player knows we need new blood. Jeez, I’m thirty-four and I’m one of the younger players on that team.”
“Hey, listen, pal, you’re preachin’ to the choir.”
“Huh? What?�
��
“Listen, this conversation is off the record. I’m not gonna do a show on you. I just want to know you’re okay. You are okay, right?”
“Yes. I just hate it here in Mudville,” I said.
“Mudville?”
“Yeah. Feels like that poem. “Casey at the Bat.” You don’t know it?”
“Harrison, you must realize you are one of the most erudite players in the entire league, don’t you?”
“Erudite?” I said teasingly, knowing full well what the word meant.
“Yeah. You seem to absorb knowledge like a sponge and then use it in interviews. It’s why I love interviewing you. I always learn something. Something esoteric about baseball.”
“Esoteric, eh? Well, all I know is Toledo is literally the end of all civilization.”
Chris laughed. I could tell I was entertaining him, but that was not my point. I needed to vent. I was sick of being Dad’s doormat, and I sure couldn’t tell him. I probably shouldn’t be telling this to Chris Steen either, especially since he’d signed with ASTN, the American Sports Television Network.
“How’s the team?”
“Team? What team? The Toledo Spark Plugs are about as sparky as a loose wire, and about as effective, too.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Actually, they win a fair amount, if I’m being fair. There’s this kid on the team — another pitcher — Clay Carter, who has an arm on him. Remember my ninety-five mile an hour fastball?”
“Yeah, I know my history.”
“Funny. Anyway, this kid has a ninety-two. And he’s improving. It’s killing me, but he strikes out better than anyone I’ve seen in the Majors. I mean, I know the batters he faces suck, but still, that is amazing to me. He is twenty, and he’s keen.”
“Competition for you, I guess.”
“It’s more than that. He’s a mean son-of-a-gun too.”
“In what way?”
“He wants to win for himself, not for the team, and so he sacrifices players left and right and center field. It’s bad too, Chris. I mean, this kid will throw me under the bus soon as look at me. And then there’s that physical therapist I have to work with.”
“What’s he like?”
“He? It’s a girl, apparently! I haven’t met her yet.”
“Listen, pal, you want to watch out there. There’s a reason they call you Pretty Boy Brett. You got the looks, and you know how to use them.”
“Trust me, I’m not remotely interested in any woman after Lori left.”
“Yeah, that was a bad breakup.”
“The worst!”
“You never did tell me what happened.”
“I didn’t? Oh my God. Do I have to relive it?”
“No. It’s all good. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Yeah, I’m all right, for a washed-up loser.”
“Listen, you aren’t a washed-up loser. You just had a couple bad breaks. And whatever Lori did to you, it’s probably for the best. She was bad news for you.”
My ex-wife, who had left me as soon as she knew things were heading south in my career, had taken my money, my house and my car. She’d filed the divorce papers as soon as she could. I had loved her, but she was an ice princess and I don’t think she’d ever cared for me, just my wallet and my status as a Major League player.
“Listen, I gotta go. Time for my first appointment.”
“Sure thing, Harrison. Get that fastball back. The Spark Plugs need it.”
“You wouldn’t know it, the way they treat me.”
“Cry me a river. Anyhow, get it back. Listen to that lady.”
“Yeah,” I said, not looking forward to being told what to do with my own body.
“Just do as you’re told. That’s your biggest problem, you know. Not doing what you’re told. Don’t get me wrong, it’s also why I love you, but it is definitely your biggest impediment to success within MLB.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Talk later.”
“Sure thing.”
I hung up. I sighed. It seemed like a shit storm of the worst kind had been raging around me in the worst possible way of late. Or, judging by my experience in the grocery store, it was inside me, caused by my inability to focus. And now, this physical therapist would be on my back. And I was late, which she would probably hold against me. They call her Ms. Ravenwood. When they told me I had to meet with her to deal with this operation I had on my rotator cuff, I had a feeling I was going to hate her. She emailed me, and I took an instant dislike to the tone in her email. She was not arrogant or mean or anything — but there was something about her I just couldn’t stand. But apparently nobody cared. So, in I went.
Chapter 2
SCARLET
OKAY THEN. I really need to get my shit together. I’m a professional, and this is a professional organization. I know I should be grateful to be in such a cool job, and I am, but Ohio? Are you joking?
I turned on my voice recorder. It was the thing my mother got me — bless her — when I graduated.
Many of my clients are good, and with my help they could be better. The goal was to incrementally improve their muscles — the damaged muscles — so that they could become the elite players they were, or want to be.
“Okay, so this is Scarlet Ravenwood, registered physical therapist with the APTA and lead physical therapist to the professional baseball team, the Toledo Spark Plugs.”
I continued. “My subject today is one former Major Leaguer named Harrison Brett. I have yet to meet him face to face, and, judging by my email interactions with him, I don’t think he will be an easy nut to crack.”
I pick up a pen and start twirling it as I recorded myself.
“Harrison is an interesting subject because he had a fastball that was off the charts until he damaged his rotator cuff. It was something like ninety-five miles an hour — a full three m.p.h. faster than the Major League average. He claims it hurts under certain conditions, which is why he has been sent to me. Anyhow, he had surgery on it — and surgeries on rotator cuffs are notoriously unreliable. Not the surgery itself — that is a day-surgery procedure — it’s the recovery that is unreliable. Harrison Brett was traded down here and when he arrived, I was told that he was in a sling.”
I paused for a moment and cleared my throat.
“So far, he’s made no progress. He’s putting off meeting me twice already. I’m still unsure if it’s his labrum or his rotator cuff that needs strengthening. However, the client says he hasn’t done the exercises I recommend, and his attitude, which I believe is the major culprit in this failure of progress, needs improvement. I blame myself. He knows I am new and he used it against me. It is five past two on the fourth of May, which means he is late. Signing off.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” I called across the large office.
He opened the door and — of course — it was him. The handsome idiot who smashed into me at the store yesterday! The perfect storm of a problem client for me. I have never had trouble with any client before, and did not think it was one of my weaknesses — personal issues of attraction — but this guy got under my skin both in terms of his personality and his looks.
He walked into the room and sat in the chair in front of my desk without glancing up. I was stunned into silence.
Then he looked at me, and that look came across his face. “Oh, perfect!” he said.
“So, you are that guy,” I said with a smile.
“Yep. The grocery store bandit. Listen, I was just—”
“It’s fine. Just let’s turn the page.”
“Fine,” he said, settling back into his chair.
From what I’d been told, Harrison was smart as a whip, well-spoken, if a little gruff, but as I looked at him, he was also pretty much the perfect male specimen, physically speaking. And as his physical therapist, I would have had to examine it in some detail.
“Mr. Brett, I am going to have to measure you. Is that acceptable t
o you?”
“Measure me? What for?” he asked.
“I need to know your measurements for my records and to diagnose the proper treatment.”
“Fine. Do your worst.”
Snarky, I thought.
I measured the length of his arm, his chest, his back, his hamstrings, his calves. And everything was just incredibly perfect. His arms were a little bit long, but that was a big advantage in baseball. His eyes were blue in the way the Caribbean Sea is — it sort of redefined the color. His arching eyebrows were bleached by the sun, and his eyelashes were so long that they seem like deer-eyes. Like Bambi, only sexier. Like a mixture of Rambo and Bambi… Rambi?
***
It was our third meeting and he had arrived later and later for each appointment.
“Good afternoon, Harrison. I see you’re punctual as always.”
He looks at the clock. Ten after… “Well, it couldn’t be helped.”
“It could. It just wasn’t. Let me suggest to you that you do not value my time the same way you value your time.”
“Let me suggest that I know how to recover from my injury—”
“If, in fact, it is an injury…”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, we have still not established that your lack of performance is in any way related to your physical abilities. We have yet to rule out your attitude.”
“My attitude? What is this, sixth grade? I fail to see how my career as a Major League baseball player—”
“A Triple-A baseball player—”
“Are you gonna needle me for the whole hour?”
“No, I’m gonna needle you for fifty minutes, because you showed up ten minutes late.”
“Anyway, I fail to see how this has anything to do with my attitude. The fact is, I had surgery—”
“You could have recovered completely by now,” I replied.
“No offense, but that seems like a ‘mind over matter’ argument that is beneath you as a physiotherapist,” he replied.