Squeeze Play (Washington DC Soaring Eagles Book 1)

by Aven Ellis

“One advantage of having parents involved in holistic practices is that they made me practice yoga as a condition of playing baseball,” Brody explains. “I hated them for it, hated it, but it was the best thing that ever could have happened to me because I was hell-bent on playing catcher. Stretching and recovery are important to help my legs. I do Bikram yoga in the off-season, where the room is 105 degrees. During the season, I do a half-hour of yoga every day before warming up at the ballpark. After games, I do serious stretching and foam rolling as part of my recovery. It’s just as important as the strength and agility work I do.

  “But to answer your question, I’m doing everything I can to keep my body in shape to play this position as long as I can. I love catching. I know eventually I might have to move positions, as the game is hardest on catchers, but I want to do it as long as possible.”

  “I’m still worried about your knees,” I say as we reach his Jeep. Then I remember him telling me about being run over last year. “Or getting hurt.”

  Brody walks me to the passenger side of his car and turns me to face him, a look of wonder lighting up his handsome face.

  “You’re worried about how I’ll feel in the future, aren’t you?” he asks.

  I swallow hard before answering. I know I shouldn’t be saying these things on a first date. I know I’m doing everything a dating guide would tell me not to do, but as I stare back at him and see how touched he looks by my concern, I find it hard to believe my instincts are wrong.

  “I am,” I say, nodding. “I don’t like the idea of you being in pain.”

  “I promise you I’m taking care of myself. I do all kinds of preventative work, and I’ll keep looking for ways to evolve my conditioning. I’m on it,” Brody says, lowering his mouth to mine and dropping a kiss on my lips. “Trust me.”

  He draws me into his chest, against his luxurious suede jacket, and I close my eyes. Brody’s arms are protectively wrapped around my back, and I’m snuggled into his body, and it feels absolutely wonderful to be held by him.

  Only him.

  “I don’t want to let you go, but I need to take you home,” Brody murmurs, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

  I smile into his jacket. I’m so smitten, smitten, smitten with the way Brody likes to give me sweet kisses.

  I stay put for another second, allowing myself to draw in a deep breath of his cologne, before I step back from him.

  “Okay,” I say reluctantly.

  Brody opens the door and helps me up into the passenger seat. He comes around the other side and hops in, and soon we are driving through DC, passing by many of the famous buildings and landmarks as we head back to Arlington. I love the city at night, and while I never tire of gazing at the mix of new architecture and historic treasures, tonight, my eyes keep shifting elsewhere.

  I study Brody as he drives. This San Diego baseball player who suddenly appeared in my life. Like a snow globe, he has turned it upside down and shaken it up.

  Fewer than two days ago, the thought of any man flipping my world around was absurd.

  But now?

  My world is covered in shiny glitter and seems more beautiful than ever.

  The drive is way too short, as traffic is obviously manageable in the wee hours of the morning, and I wish we could be going to an all-night diner instead of home. I want to keep talking to him, hearing his stories and asking him questions about baseball, which I just now touched on but have so much more I want to know.

  Brody parks in front of my building and walks me inside. He pauses with me in the lobby.

  “I’d like to offer you door-to-door delivery service,” Brody says, smiling down at me.

  “As in walk me up to my apartment door?” I ask, grinning up at him.

  “Yes.”

  “I’d love that, thank you.”

  We step inside the elevator, and Brody wraps his arms around me, drawing my back into his chest. I put my hands over his forearms, content with every second I have in his arms before he has to say goodnight.

  The elevator chimes open on my floor, and I lead Brody to my apartment door.

  “This is home,” I say quietly.

  “4D,” Brody whispers back. “I will commit it to memory.”

  Ooh!

  “I guess this is goodnight,” I say.

  Brody slides his hands up to my face. “For now. I’ll text you in the morning.”

  “No. I’ve changed my mind on that.”

  Brody wrinkles his forehead. “No?”

  “Will you text me when you get home? So I know you’re okay?”

  A huge smile lights up his face. “I live two minutes from here.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’re cute,” Brody says, caressing my face in his hands.

  I smile as his mouth brushes against mine. He slowly parts my lips, giving me another exploring, lingering kiss. My heart skips happily as his hands touch my face, and heat rises in me once again from his mouth taking from mine. I slide my hands up his jacket, to his neck, and Brody moans softly.

  “This feels too good,” he murmurs against my lips. “I don’t want to go.”

  “I know.”

  He gives me one final kiss and lifts his head.

  “I’m going now.”

  I open my purse and dig for my keys.

  Which is taking forever because my bag is big.

  And a total disaster inside.

  A put-together working woman would have a clean, organized purse.

  I add another thing to the already long list of items for me to improve about myself.

  “Hold on,” I say, embarrassed as I dig underneath some crumpled receipts.

  “Do you need to dump it out on the floor?” Brody teases.

  I want to die.

  I hold my bag and shake it, confirming there are indeed keys in there.

  Somewhere.

  “They’re here, hold on,” I say, growing more embarrassed as I take out my bullet journal and stick it under my arm.

  “Want me to hold stuff?” Brody asks.

  Oy. This is so embarrassing.

  “No,” I say, pushing aside my makeup bag. “Ah-ha!”

  With relief, I pick up my keys and show them to Brody.

  “Victory is mine!” I declare, putting it into the lock.

  “Congratulations,” Brody quips. “That was a hard-fought battle.”

  I blush, and he laughs.

  “Did I tell you you’re cute when you’re embarrassed?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.

  “You said I was cute,” I say.

  “Very cute,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a warm kiss on my lips “Among other things.”

  Ooh!

  “Like what?” I ask, desperately wanting to know.

  “That’s for tomorrow,” Brody says. “Goodnight. Text you in a few.”

  “Goodnight,” I say, opening my door.

  I step inside and close the door behind me. If Katie weren’t dead asleep, I swear I’d squeal with joy. Brody is beyond anything I could imagine a man could be. Behind the superstar baseball player, behind the gorgeous exterior, is so much more than I ever could have hoped for. Brody is gentle, sweet, and clever. He’s sexy, intelligent, and thoughtful.

  And that’s just the beginning. I have so much more yet to learn about him.

  I sigh happily and drop my purse onto the kitchen table. I need to get to bed, but I know I won’t be sleeping. I’ll be reliving that kiss under the cherry blossoms.

  My phone vibrates inside my bag, and I know it has to be him. I quickly retrieve it and indeed, Brody has texted me:

  Forgot tomorrow is actually today. So I need to tell you at least one more thing I think of when I look at you.

  My pulse is racing as another text drops in:

  You are beautiful. And I have no idea how I’m going to fall asleep tonight.

  I hold the phone over my heart. Brody thinks I’m beautiful.

  From the Fruity Pebbles to the walk along t
he Tidal Basin, the most romantic first kiss to this romantic text, this was the most magical first date ever.

  And I can’t wait for our second one tomorrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Ultimate Modern Girl’s Guide to Self-Motivation, Zen, and Being the Absolute Best You Now!

  Today’s Question: What have you done recently to step outside your comfort zone?

  As I sit on the Metro making the commute to work, I scribble my answer to this question in the margin of my book.

  Brody Jensen.

  I smile as I tap my pen to my lips. I have slept for a whole three hours, but I don’t care. Every moment spent discovering Brody was worth it. I have this sense of excitement that never leaves. He’s imprinted on my brain. I can’t wait to see him tonight, as we made plans for me to go over and hang out at his place when he’s done with his recovery routine after the game.

  Normally, I’d be thinking non-stop about my new job and my career, but that has faded into the background since I met Brody.

  Yet as much as I enjoy thinking about Brody, it’s time to channel my inner Mary Richards and get re-set on my career, along with the myriad of self-improvement projects I need to complete. I decide to do this by scribbling notes in my trusty bullet journal:

  Identify ways to be helpful at work. Prove value. Develop action plan to improve website and social media communications.

  Begin journaling all self-improvement projects (Organization, Drop ten pounds/improve fitness

  I stop writing as Brody flashes in my head. Fitness is a huge part of his life. If things continue to develop between us, won’t he want to do athletic things? I bite my lower lip. What if he wants to go for a run by the Tidal Basin? Or take a hot yoga class together?

  Oy vey, what if he wants to take me surfing?

  Shit. I held on by my fingernails to that stupid recumbent bike for ten minutes. My current fitness level is crap. I definitely need to improve that to keep up with Brody. I go back to writing:

  Begin journaling all self-improvement projects (Organization, Drop ten pounds/improve fitness level.)

  Then I drill deeper:

  Organization: Clean purse. Filing. Meal prep on Sunday for the full week. Do grocery shopping with organized lists.

  This is a good start. I already feel better about myself and the ability to change by tackling these few things. The workbook was right. Putting things in writing is motivating me to actually want do them. I move on to health and fitness:

  Drop Ten Pounds: Throw out my un-nutritious foods. Eat as clean as possible. Exercise every day. Sign up for a hot yoga class. Buy real adult workout clothing. Get workout DVDs and/or subscribe to fitness video streaming programs.

  I know they make some really good HIIT—High Intensity Interval Training—DVDs and online workouts. They are short, which is the best part. From what I read, you go all out for a brief period, recover, then move on to the next exercise. If it’s for thirty seconds, I should be able to manage that. I jot down a note to research this on my lunch break.

  No, I can’t. I was going to run out to that boutique I saw on my walk to work to see if I could get a new outfit for my date tonight. I can’t afford it, but I was so fixated on a work wardrobe I never bought any sexy, pretty, date outfits. To be fair though, I didn’t want to date until I met Brody.

  But I want to look beautiful and sexy for him.

  Wow. I need to write this down as a life-changing moment. I want to look beautiful for a man.

  Then a realization hits me.

  At some point, if things go well, Brody is going to see my underwear.

  HE IS GOING TO SEE MY UNDERWEAR.

  Which consists of practical T-shirt bras and stomach-control panties.

  SHIT. CRAP. DAMMIT.

  Panic fills me.

  I’m pretty certain my elderly neighbor Barbara has sexier panties than I do.

  THIS IS A CRISIS OF EPIC LEVELS.

  Two things must be accomplished today on the “Things to Improve” front: a new outfit.

  And new lingerie.

  Not that I’m planning on him seeing my bra tonight.

  Right?

  I blush furiously. Maybe I’m jumping the gun on the underwear. I’m not one to jump into sex right away.

  Ha, that might be the understatement of the year. I’ve had sex with exactly two guys.

  One was my high-school boyfriend. We lost our virginity on prom night, and it was hideous. Neither of us knew what to do and it was not romantic, sexy, or fun. We never attempted it again, and we mutually broke up a week later.

  The other guy was my last attempt at dating. I was a sophomore at Georgetown. Bryan was a graduate student. We met at a party Katie dragged me to. We ended up having a conversation in the corner, a real adult conversation, and I liked him. He was intelligent and nice, and I thought he was the kind of guy I should try to date. We went out for six months before I broke up with him, and while the sex was better than my first attempt, it wasn’t mind-blowing. I knew something was missing, but I didn’t know what it was.

  I haven’t had sex since.

  I bet Brody has had a lot of hot sex.

  Now my face is on fire. Oh, shit, I can’t think about this. I can’t think about sex with him. What if he does have a trapeze? He’s into yoga, so I know he’s flexible. What if he expects all these amazing sexual acts and I have no idea what he’s even doing? Would he dump me for being sexually clueless?

  Or for having bad flexibility?

  GAH.

  The Metro pulls into my stop. I blink. I feel sweat at the back of my neck. I need to pull myself together. I like Brody. He likes me. I’m going to hang out at his apartment tonight. I need a pretty outfit, and foundational garments are part of that.

  Period. End of story.

  I will worry about sex with him later.

  I’m going to focus on work instead.

  Until it’s time to go out at lunch and buy a legit sexy bra.

  And panties that might involve letting my muffin top fly free.

  With that horrifying thought in my head, I exit the train to take on the day.

  ***

  “Hayley?”

  I lift my head as I hear Belinda’s voice. I’ve been doing exactly as she asked, updating the conference schedule on the website once Tad showed me how to access our page and gave me all the login credentials, when she appears at the edge of my cubicle.

  “Yes, Belinda?”

  “Will you please go visit Addison in fundraising? She’s Mariah’s assistant. You can get the latest fundraising information from her to upload on the website.”

  We need to do more than update the website.

  I decide to be a grown-ass woman and suggest something, daring to step away from the wall I’ve been told to blend into.

  “May I write some Facebook posts in support of the campaign? I can schedule them to run at certain times. I’d also like to create social media accounts on Twitter, Connectivity, and Instagram to create awareness of not only the gala but of our organization and what we offer.”

  A skeptical look passes over Belinda’s face.

  My goal is to change it.

  “I will handle everything, from drafting to getting your approval before going live with any of them. Once I do, I’ll start the campaign. Then I can compile a report to show user engagement and how proactive we are being on the gala promotion. I can also get Mariah’s approval on wording before I do anything. I’ll draft the report on your behalf if you would like me to.”

  Then I see it. Her expression relaxes when she hears the words “draft the report on your behalf.”

  “I don’t see how promoting a gala on Twitter or Instagram will help, but if you would like to do so, that’s fine. Let me see everything before you Twitter it.”

  Twitter it?

  Thinking on my feet, I decide to ask a follow-up question to test my working theory.

  “We could do an Instagram story, too,” I say.

  �
�Stories? What’s a story? How is that different from blogging? Because we’re already blogging.”

  Now I get it.

  Belinda knows nothing about social media.

  And this is how I can not only help her but prove myself to be helpful to the organization, too.

  “Instagram stories are different. They’re really popular.”

  She twitches her nose.

  “Um, right,” she says. “We’ll see about that. You can start by going to see Addison. Go down the hall, take a right, and that’s where you’ll find them.”

  Then she turns and heads back to her office.

  My mind is racing. No wonder why she’s so resistant to change. She doesn’t understand what to do or how to utilize technology.

  My mind is bullet pointing ideas as I head down the corridor. I can’t wait to get started gathering information, drafting a plan, and creating social media posts to get the word out about this gala.

  I’m so excited.

  I reach another set of doors as I turn right. I push them open and the first cubicle I come to is occupied by a redhead around my age. She pauses her typing, looking up at me over the low-profile cubicle wall.

  “Can I help you?” she asks.

  “Hi, my name is Hayley Carter, and I’m new in communications,” I say, smiling at her. “I’m here to get some information from Addison about the gala.”

  “Oh! So you’re Hayley,” she says, smiling brightly at me. “I’m Addison Blakely.”

  “Oh, hi, nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand.

  “I heard from Mariah you would be starting this week. Welcome aboard.”

  Wow. Apparently, my department is the only weird one that is not welcoming, because Addison is treating me completely different than my cubemate, Tara.

  “Thank you. I’m so excited to be here,” I say.

  “Let me introduce you to everyone in fundraising. There’s me. I’m the department assistant,” she says. “Come this way and I’ll introduce you to Yvette.”

  I follow her to another cubicle, where a woman is typing away on her keyboard.

  “Yvette?”

  Yvette turns around.

  “This is Hayley Carter, the new coordinator in the communications department,” Addison says.

  “Oh, hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Yvette says, extending her hand to me. “We’re so glad you are here to handle digital media. When we saw you were hired, we were excited. I know Belinda could use the help.”