The Perfect Catch

by Meghan Quinn

  “No, babe, you were meant for me.”

  He brings his lips to mine again and for the first time in months, I feel as if I can breathe.

  Everything feels right.

  No more roadblocks.

  No more walls.

  It’s just me and Walker and the rest of our lives ahead of us.

  Epilogue

  WALKER

  “Happy birthday, babe,” I say, whispering into Kate’s ear.

  “Kate’s still sleeping,” she mutters while curling into her pillow.

  I chuckle and slowly move my hand over her naked body, barely grazing my fingers across her skin, just the way I know she likes it.

  “Mm, okay, maybe she can be awake.” She twists to her back and spreads her legs while moving my hand past her stomach and right to her sweet spot.

  I chuckle and pull down the comforter and sheets, exposing her breasts.

  God, she’s so sexy. Her body fucking destroys me every day. And since we got back together, she’s filled out her skirts better, showing off those delicious curves again, making it hard for me to keep my hands off her and allow her to get up and go to work.

  After we won the World Series—yeah, we fucking won in five games, at home, in the Bobbies stadium—I took Kate out on our first date. It was an utter disaster. Note to self: don’t win the World Series with a game-winning home run and expect to be a normal, everyday citizen after that. We were bombarded. So, our public dates were postponed until everything calmed down. Instead, we came up with different date ideas we could do at home. One weekend we went up to Jason’s wife’s cabin for a getaway. Another weekend we spent at a lake house. And we even took a four-day weekend to the Caribbean where I drooled all over Kate’s bikini choices. The girl’s thighs were on fucking fire. We barely spent any time on the beach because we could barely get out of the hotel room.

  But for her birthday, I have a trip planned for her, one I cleared with Roark, to give her some time off. Time she hasn’t been taking off because she likes to prove herself. So of course, now that I have time off, she’s working her ass off, as the off-season is one of the busiest times for an agent representative, what with navigating all our sponsors and requests for our time.

  But for the next week and a half, I’m going to have my girl all to myself.

  I slip my hand past her slit and then back up her stomach.

  “Walker, don’t tease me.”

  I kiss her jaw and up her cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll be getting my fill of your pussy shortly. But first, presents.”

  Her eyes open and she smiles. “You got me something?”

  “I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I?”

  She rolls over and props her hand on my chest. “You are.” She kisses my chin. “Now, is my gift your dick? Because I’m ready for it.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “It’s one of them, but I’ll give that to you in the shower, just the way you like it.”

  Yeah, Kate is a big shower-sex girl. Can’t get enough of it.

  “Mm, you know the key to my heart.”

  I lean over the bed and reach for the little box I wrapped for her and hand it over. “Here you go.”

  She eyes the flat box and then, like a rabid beast, tears it open.

  “Jesus, thank Christ I had no intention of wrapping my cock.”

  She laughs and then opens the box, revealing a picture of the villa that rests over the water I rented for us in Bora Bora. Her eyes widen and she asks, “Are you taking me on a trip?”

  “Yup. We’re going to Bora Bora, babe.”

  “Stop. Seriously? When?”

  “Today.”

  “Today?” Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “Why do you think I woke you up? I planned enough time for us to fuck in the shower, get dressed, and head to the airport where Penn hooked us up with a private jet.”

  “Oh my God—wait, does it have a bed in the back?”

  I smile. “It does.”

  She sits up, her beautiful breasts on full display. “Hold on a second. Are you telling me that not only do I get to go to Bora Bora, where I can watch my sexy, athletic boyfriend waltz around in a Speedo—”

  “Swim trunks.”

  “My birthday, my choice,” she says with a smile. “You walk around in a Speedo, but I also get to join the mile-high club?”

  “A birthday for the ages.”

  “God, I love you. And Penn really did that for us?”

  I nod. “It was a thank you for all we’ve done during his rehab. He said he couldn’t have made it through without us.”

  And that’s true. He had a rough go of it, struggled the first two weeks, hated having to talk about his feelings. But slowly he started to open up with our encouragement, and he left rehab a week ago. Ryot has been hanging with him, as well as Dempsey and Kate and I. We’ve been rotating and checking in on him and going to AA meetings with him. He’s done great so far, and luckily, the Bobbies have been extremely supportive as well, not chastising him, but helping him thrive.

  “I can’t believe it. Gah, I have to pack.”

  “Already done. Vivian came over and packed yesterday. You’re set, babe.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief. “Wow, Walker. Just . . . wow. If you’re trying to keep me forever, you’re doing a good job at it.”

  I smile up at her. “That’s the plan, babe. That’s the plan.” After all, Kate Chapman is the perfect catch for me. The perfect future.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from my teacher romance, Earn Your Extra Credit

  And if you haven’t already read my other Brentwood Boys baseball romances, you can find them here:

  The Locker Room

  The Dugout

  The Lineup

  The Trade

  The Change Up

  The Setup

  The Strike Out

  The Perfect Catch

  Read all of Meghan’s books in Kindle Unlimited.

  Excerpt - Earn Your Extra Credit

  Prologue

  ROMEO

  “Do you want to sit next to Stella on the airplane?” Arlo asks.

  “What? Fuck, no,” I say while turning up the game so I can hear the announcers over my tedious, wedding-planning best friend.

  Arlo snatches the remote from my hand and turns off the TV. The room is silent for a moment before uproarious objections fill the air.

  “Gentry is up next,” Gunner, my other best friend and former teammate, complains from next to me. “He’s three for three so far.”

  “We need to talk,” Arlo says in that stern, alpha-like voice that won over his fiancée. Little does he know it doesn’t work on me.

  I reach for the remote but he swats my hand with a resounding thud, causing me to yank my hand back. “What the actual fuck, man?”

  When I decided to have the guys over to my loft, I assumed we’d tear up some wings, drain some brews, and watch the Bobbies game. Never in my wildest fucking dreams would I have pictured Arlo Turner, the grumpy curmudgeon of the Forest Heights English department, to roll in like a beaming bride, holding a wedding planning folder to his chest, and consume the night with questions about what he should wear and if coconut cake is too “Hawaiian-y” for his Maui destination wedding.

  But here we are.

  “Cut the crap, Romeo.”

  “Cut what crap?” I reach over to the coffee table and pick up my almost empty glass of beer.

  “I’m not about to have the Bickersons attend my wedding, so what the hell is going on with Stella?”

  “Nothing is going on,” I answer, then take a small sip of my beer, making the liquid last so I don’t have to get up for a refill.

  Gunner leans in and asks, “If we get to the bottom of the problem, can we turn the TV back on?”

  “Yes,” Arlo answers.

  “Then it was the baseball game he took her to.”

  “Dude,” I say in protest while sitting up on the couch. “What the fuck happened to don’t sa
y anything?”

  Gunner unapologetically shrugs. “I really want to watch the Bobbies kill the Rebels in interleague play.”

  “What baseball game?” Arlo asks. “Do you mean the game you took her and Cora to?”

  “Yup.” Gunner pops a chip in his mouth from the bowl on the coffee table. “Except Cora wasn’t supposed to go. It was supposed to be a daaate,” Gunner drags out.

  “You asked Stella out?” Arlo asks, shocked.

  “Way to sell me out for a game, you dick.”

  Not showing an ounce of remorse, Gunner stands from the couch and takes my glass from me. “I’ll top you off. You’ll need it.”

  Seething, I pass my hand over my head and say, “Yeah, I asked her out. She invited Cora. End of story.”

  “That’s not the end of the story,” Gunner says from the kitchen, the open concept of my loft allowing his voice to carry to us easily.

  When you think a friend is trustworthy and then they go and shock your fucking nuts right off by divulging everything you told them in secret . . . without even a blink of an eye. Gunner is dead to me.

  You’re probably wondering why I didn’t say anything to Arlo about what happened, given he’s one of my best friends, right? It’s simple. Gunner got me drunk and I relished in the comfort of far too many cold beers and a listening ear. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have kept my mouth shut, because the entire incident was fucking humiliating.

  Between you and me, I’ve liked Stella Garcia, the Spanish teacher at Forest Heights, for a while now. Far too long actually. I can’t quite pinpoint when it happened, but all I know is over the three years I’ve known her, I’ve been pining after the girl for the majority of the time.

  Fucking bold, quick-witted with a sharp tongue, loves sports, shy when it counts. Flat-out gorgeous with her long, wavy brown hair and fascinating green eyes that have a ring of brown around the pupil. She’s had my attention for a while and last year, I decided to finally make a move.

  Enough was enough. We shared too many dinners together as friends. She’s pressed her lips to my beer glass without a second thought way too many times. The moment presented itself, I grew a pair, and asked her out to a baseball game knowing she loves watching the sport as much as I do.

  But fuck did it backfire.

  “What’s the end of the story?” Arlo asks, growing agitated. His patience runs thin, which is surprising, given his profession of educating the youth.

  He’s not going to drop it.

  Arlo’s relentless when he wants to know something.

  Dragging my hand down my face, I say, “It was supposed to be a date.” Gunner sits next to me and hands me my refilled glass, which I gladly take. “She invited Cora. Which was fine. We had a good time, I still sat next to Stella, and we shared jokes even if there was a third wheel. But it was what happened afterwards that—”

  “That gutted him,” Gunner finishes for me. When I snap a look at him, he smirks. “That’s what you told me. Just thought I’d help tell the story.”

  “I wasn’t gutted.”

  Maybe I was a little.

  Hell . . . I was humiliated.

  Gutted isn’t a strong enough word for what happened.

  “What the fuck happened after? Christ. Why are you taking so damn long to get to the point?” Arlo practically growls.

  “Go easy on our guy.” Gunner grips my shoulder. “He was embarrassed, man.”

  “It’s fine, I’m over it now,” I say in a passive-aggressive tone.

  “You’re clearly not if you and Stella can’t even be in the same room together. I don’t want anything ruining this trip for Greer, and your constant arguing with Stella is driving everyone fucking crazy.”

  “Great, then I just won’t talk to her. Simple.”

  “Just tell him,” Gunner says, nudging me.

  Christ.

  Staring down at my beer, I quietly say, “She went home with someone else that night.”

  The room falls silent.

  They don’t have to react for me to know what they must be thinking. They know I’ve liked Stella for a while. They know I’ve been trying to figure out a way to ask her out.

  And this . . . hell, this was an epic fail on my end.

  It wouldn’t be as bad if I weren’t already carrying a chip on my shoulder about the way I was forced to twist my life around.

  Five years ago, everything changed.

  Five years ago, I was stripped of the one thing that brought me life.

  A ruptured Achilles tendon ended everything for me.

  I never got the chance to appreciate my last game.

  I never had the opportunity to sit on the field and say goodbye.

  Instead, playing professional baseball was stripped from me and I was forced to fall back on my teaching degree I earned while playing in college.

  To say I’m bitter, resentful, and fucking angry . . . yeah, that’s an understatement.

  I live with regret daily and harbor more animosity than anyone should.

  So, when I took Stella to the game, on a date, hoping to tell her how I feel, and she went home with someone else, it fucking stung.

  Do you know what stung more, though?

  The fact that she looked right past me and instead went for a rookie on the Bobbies.

  Why go out with a washed-up baseball player turned phys ed teacher with a slight limp in his walk, when you can go out with an unmarred professional baseball player?

  Yeah. There’s resentment for a reason. She chose the star. That’s who she wants.

  That’s who I’ll never be.

  And that’s why I plan on staying as far away from Stella Garcia on this trip as I can.

  And when we get back to Chicago and the school year starts, everything will go on as planned.

  Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.

  Too easy, right?

  Chapter One

  STELLA

  “This place is amazing,” Cora says, lost in the ambiance of the grand lobby of the Four Seasons Resort Greer and Arlo chose for their wedding locale.

  I’ll give it to them, fantastic choice. Thanks to the time difference, we arrived right at noon. The car service that picked us up from the airport offered us fresh fruit, snacks, and champagne. I indulged in all of it.

  And I realized something—it might be the tropical breeze, or the fact that I can already feel my body starting to relax, but the pineapple here tastes a thousand times better than on the mainland.

  Yup, I’m using the terminology already.

  “Greer informed me of the absence of any person younger than the age majority while we holiday,” Keiko, my wonderfully brilliant, slightly quirky, always awkward friend says as she adjusts her glasses on her nose. She went all out on the Hawaiian prints when packing for the trip. She went with a light blue print featuring palm trees and rainbows for her first day, tucked into a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts.

  Cora, Arlo’s sister, and a member of our Ladies in Heat Book Club, gives me a confused look. “What did she say?”

  “I think she’s trying to tell us there won’t be kids here.”

  “Affirmative,” Keeks says while reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pair of sunglasses that attach to her glasses. “Shall we comb the grounds and make ourselves familiar with the exotic vegetation?”

  “Uh, I think I’m going to head to the bar,” I say. “After that flight, I need a Mai Tai.”

  “I second that.”

  “Was the flight unsettling to you?” Keeks asks, confused. “I don’t recall much turbulence nor an uproarious baby that could deter a flight from being enjoyable. In fact, you had two and a half mimosas, the egg and bacon sandwich, which the flight attendant paired with a lackluster bowl of fruit, a strawberry yogurt cup, and an uninspiring croissant. After you nourished yourself to satisfaction, you delighted in a role reversal romantic comedy, What Men Want, and then proceeded to take slumber on my shoulder, where you sleepily salivated, leaving a one-inch diameter wet s
tain on my sleeve. If anyone had a rough flight, it would be me, having to fend off your hot breath on my shoulder while I attempted to compete in a challenging game of travel chess against myself.”

  Did I mention Keiko has no problem telling it like it is?

  Nor does she have a filter.

  “My breath wasn’t hot,” I mutter.

  “All human breath is hot—”

  “Okay,” Cora cuts in, eyes wide. “Let’s not get into the core temperature of our breath. I think Stella was referring to the way Romeo was sneering at her the entire flight.”

  “Oh.” Keiko nods. “Why, yes, I did happen to arrest a contemptuous glance from him. But I considered the object of his disdainful glare to be the lusterless fruit bowl.”

  “I wish it were the fruit bowl,” I say while scooping my long hair up and quickly tying it into a knot on the top of my head with my hairband. “He has something against me and I don’t know what it is.”

  “I feel as though it’s been going on for months. You two have not been fun to be around,” Cora says.

  “Which is why I don’t plan on being around him at all during this trip.” I take in a deep breath and let the ocean breeze wash over me. “This is my time to relax and enjoy watching Greer marry the most pompous and arbitrary man I’ve ever met. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”

  I head toward the bar when Keiko says, “Although relaxation of the human spirit is much needed when basking in the glow of paradise, have you forgotten about the detailed itinerary?”

  I pause midstride and swivel on my heel to face Keeks. “Uh . . . what?”

  She adjusts her glasses, chin tilted up. “The itinerary. It was attached to your flight information. There are quite a few excursions the happy couple planned for the group.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Cora says. “I remember something like that. There was some sort of chocolate tour I was excited about.”