About the Author
Chris was born in a British hospital and happily lived the nomadic life of an Air Force brat until her father retired from the service. She’s resided in New York, Montana, and Ohio. She received a Bachelor’s degree in journalism from Indiana University with a minor in her true first love, history. She worked as a general assignment reporter and sports reporter before settling into her current position as editorial specialist for a law journal.
She lives in Indianapolis with her wife and their beagle, Buddy the Wonder Dog. She is a voracious reader and continues to work on her own writing, including the continuing saga of Amy Perry and Lisa Collins in the Playing for First series.
You can visit her website at www.ckpaynter.com.
Two For the Show Excerpt
If you enjoyed this book, be sure to look out for Chris Paynter’s next book in the Playing for First series,
Two For the Show
Available Soon, only from
“Amy! Amy! Over here!”
Amy blinked as another flash blinded her. The Reds tried to treat this as a normal call-up, but the reporters and photographers didn’t oblige. They descended on Amy as she stepped out of her car at Great American. She headed toward the entrance to the park, but had to run the gauntlet through about twenty members of the media.
“How’s it feel getting the call again?”
“Are you ready to stay up this time?”
“Did you bring your partner with you, and do you anticipate it being a distraction?”
At the last question, Amy zeroed in on a short, scrawny reporter who appeared to be sixteen years old. She ignored him and pushed her way through the human maze. She made it to the gate, where a security guard opened it for her and held up his hand to the throng trying to push past him.
“This is far as you go, everybody.” He closed the gate with a clang.
“Hey, Amy?”
She stopped and waited for the guard to catch up to her.
“Uh… my kid sister is one of your biggest fans. She asked me if… well…”
Amy set her bag down, reached in, and grabbed one of her batting gloves.
“Don’t suppose you have a pen or marker?” she asked him.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Amy smiled when he whipped out a Sharpie from his front shirt pocket, handing it to her.
“Her name’s Colleen.”
“Can you turn around?”
The guard obliged. Amy pressed the glove against his back as she scribbled out, “To Colleen, best, Amy Perry” in the palm of the leather. She handed it to him when she finished.
“Thanks, Amy. She already thinks you’re the best. This?” He held up the glove. “She’ll be a fan for life.”
“Tell her to keep playing the game, because I’m assuming she plays, right?”
“Fast pitch softball. She argued to get on the boy’s baseball team. You realize you started something, don’t you?”
“Glad I could speed along the process,” she said, picking up her bag.
“Good luck tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Amy continued toward the rear entrance to the clubhouse. Another guard opened the door for her. She nodded at the bulky woman. The guard gave her a wink when Amy moved past her.
Guess I’d better get used to that.
“Amy, welcome back.” Phil, the easygoing, rotund equipment manager, greeted her as she entered the clubhouse. “Got your locker all ready. Right over here.”
Amy followed him to a locker with a red nameplate stenciled with white lettering, “Perry 22,” above it. The Reds put her in between Nick Sanders, the veteran power-hitting third baseman, and Tim Rawls, the starting second baseman who’d made the team out of spring training.
Phil watched her check out the other names.
“You’ll like those two. They’ll give you a fair shake.”
Amy didn’t respond, thinking, we’ll see. She’d finished emptying out her bag when Max Murphy strolled by in street clothes. He came over to her.
“Good to have you back, Perry. Why don’t you follow me to my office, and we’ll chat. I know you want to get out there to get in your batting practice, but you have a few minutes.”
She followed him to his spacious office.
“Take a seat.” He took off his shirt and pulled down the uniform draped across a hanger on top of his door. “How’re you feeling?” he asked her as he finished buttoning the jersey. He sat down behind his desk.
“A little nervous, but anxious to get going at the same time.”
“That’s good. The nervous thing should keep you on your toes. The anxious stuff should keep you on top of your game.”
“Hope so.”
“Amy, I’m not going to lie and paint some rosy picture about how things will be for you. You found out some of this last year when you were up for the month. You’ll get cheers, you’ll get boos, you’ll catch crap from other players, and you’ll have other guys tell you they’re glad you got a shot. But you haven’t been up since your press conference earlier this spring.” His voice took on a more serious tone.
Amy gripped the arm of the chair a little tighter, fearing she was about to get a rebuke for announcing her lesbianism before the Indians’ season opener. She’d only played the one month under Murphy. Lisa had told her he was a fair manager, but she still dreaded hearing negativity about her sexuality.
“I expect I’ll catch grief, Murph. I was aware of it when I held the press conference.”
“Do you have a thick skin, and can you be hard of hearing?”
“I can be if needed. Chattanooga wasn’t exactly a cakewalk at first.” Most of her teammates eventually accepted her presence on the team. That’s all she asked—accept her or leave her the hell alone.
“Good, good.” Murphy ran his thick hand through his red hair. “I’ll keep an eye on this team. I’ll step in if needed. But I can’t control the other shit.”
“I had my share of unruly crowds down in the south. I think I can handle it.”
“Why don’t you dress and get out onto the field? If I remember, you like to get your batting practice in to the point Donny had to yank you kicking and screaming out of the box.”
She laughed. “Hey, he should be happy I like to work on my hitting.”
He stood up. “Don’t go giving my hitting coach a heart attack on your first night back, you hear?”
He held out his hand.
“I’ll do my best for you,” she said, shaking his hand. “Always.”
“I’ve never doubted it for a minute. Now go and get suited up.”
Other players had straggled into the clubhouse. A few of them looked in her direction. Nick Sanders sat in front of his locker, shirtless in his sanitary pants. He was a mountain of a man—over six feet tall and all muscles. She stepped in beside him. He glanced at her as he rolled up the stirrups over his socks.
“Hey.” He greeted her with a slight smile.
“Hey.”
Might as well go for it, Amy thought. She lifted off her T-shirt, keeping her jeans on as she put on a red undershirt. She found the guys weren’t so nervous if she undressed in increments.
Sanders stood and pulled his uniform pants out of his locker. As he did, Amy stripped off her jeans. She tugged on a pair of sanitary shorts that came to her mid-thigh and clung to her muscles. She sneaked a peek over at Sanders who remained facing his locker while he finished dressing.
Amy dressed in silence, accepting that the thick-necked blond third baseman had nothing to say to her. She had her head down while looping her red belt through her uniform pants.
Sanders started to walk away, but then stopped. “Anybody gives you any shit, tell me, all right?”
Shocked, Amy looked up from what she was doing to meet his pale blue eyes.
“All right?” he repeated.
“Sure.”
She watched his back as he headed toward the tunnel to the field. The rustle o
f a newspaper caught her attention.
Phil sat in the corner with his feet propped up on another chair. He peered over the paper, gave her a slight nod, and then went back to reading.
“I’ll be damned,” Amy said under her breath.
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Two For the Show Excerpt
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Come Back to Me Page 23