Jock Blocked

by Pippa Grant

  “You let me know if you need any help. I might be new, but I like the dragon best too.”

  The tension that built as he started his questions melts away, and my shoulders sag in relief as I nod vigorously.

  Yep.

  Totally going to swoon.

  Even knowing he’s trying to sabotage the team by getting laid, I am not immune to him offering to help in my quest to bring back Fiery.

  I still won’t sleep with him, but maybe I could lead him on a little so he only wants to hit on me?

  No. Bad Mackenzie.

  Not only would I like to not die of hyperventilation, but my dads and Sarah would probably like that too.

  Probably. “Do you want a Fiery Forever button?”

  “Duh.” He winks. “Don’t tell anybody, but I helped the meatball escape last night.”

  I suck in a surprised breath, because first of all no, he didn’t, which I know, because I was there, and second, I can’t believe I got away with it.

  “My hero,” I manage faintly.

  “I don’t know who thought that thing was a good idea. I mean, is it a meatball, or is it a giant round flaming turd? It should be on hemorrhoid commercials, not representing a baseball team.”

  “That’s exactly what I told Tripp and Lila!”

  We share a look, and oh my god, I’m sharing a look with one of baseball’s hottest sluggers.

  “Mackenzie!”

  A different feeling floods through me as Sarah breaks through the crowd. I wave, then throw myself at her for a hug.

  She’s laughing as she squeezes me back.

  “I got lost playing hide-and-seek with Cooper,” I blurt.

  Hide-and-seek.

  Sheer genius, or complete madness.

  Probably both.

  Either way, I’ve managed to stop Brooks from making a huge mistake without also revealing myself as the same person who jock-blocked him last night.

  Sarah pulls back, glances at Brooks, then at me, and she’s known me for way too long, because I can see realization dawning.

  Her lips twitch. She tries to squeeze them together, but I know what’s going on.

  She knows.

  She knows I was keeping him from getting laid.

  We’ve been best friends for over a decade. And while I didn’t know until two years ago who her parents are—hello, Hollywood royalty—she knows when I’m plotting something.

  “Curfew,” Beck says as he joins us. He claps Brooks on the shoulder. “Rest up, slugger. We’re counting on you. Thanks for a great party.”

  Brooks is staring at Beck’s junk. “Is that…a steak in your pants?”

  We all look at Beck’s pants. Both pockets are bulging.

  “The steak’s under his shirt.” Sarah taps one of his pockets. “Pretty sure these are cookies.”

  “Hey. This one’s vegetables.” Beck taps his other pocket.

  “He eats a lot,” I tell Brooks, like it’s natural for me to explain the habits of an underwear model to a baseball slugger god.

  Brooks winces. “Yeah. I know. Sister. Huge fan.”

  “Like the kind that knows my underwear size?” Beck asks.

  “I need to go see a guy. About a thing. And not talk about your steak, vegetables, cookies, or underwear. Ever. Again.” Brooks gives me a half-smile. “See you around, Mackenzie. Let me know if you ever want tickets.”

  He turns and saunters away, and did I say Cooper Rock has a great ass?

  Because he has nothing on Brooks Elliott.

  Holy. Butt. Cheeks.

  “You talked to baseball players!” Sarah whispers as she tugs me to follow the crowd of women leaving the party.

  Ashley—or was it Ainsley?—is a couple people in front of us, so I slow my steps and pretend I’m checking my pockets to make sure I didn’t leave anything, except my dress doesn’t have pockets.

  So basically, I look like I’m checking my hips to make sure I didn’t add any extra pounds.

  “Hey, Mac, you feeling better?” Cooper Rock says behind us.

  I jump.

  Then nod vigorously.

  He meets my gaze.

  Glances back to where Brooks is entering his house.

  Then slides me a grin and a wink. “Good. Nice chatting. Thanks for that laundry trick. Later, taters. I need my slugger sleep.”

  Sarah pulls me behind a palm tree near the driveway. “Mackenzie, did Cooper Rock help you cock-block Brooks Elliott?”

  “I’m not listening to this.” Beck turns his back on both of us and pulls his steak out from under his shirt. It’s wrapped in aluminum foil, and he peels back one corner and lifts it to his mouth. “There’s a code.”

  “Cooper smelled good so I asked what detergent he used,” I lie.

  Sarah winces.

  Beck makes a noise and takes another bite of the steak.

  “But I talked to Cooper Rock! With words and everything.”

  She’s shaking her head as she pulls me into another hug. “And Brooks Elliott. I’m so proud of you!”

  Beck holds out a fist. “Give it up, Mac.”

  I bump him. My heart’s doing that erratic thing where it’s fine one minute and racing the next, and I should probably get checked out to make sure I’m not having a heart attack.

  Sarah pets my hair as she pulls back. “You feel okay?”

  “As well as I should.”

  “Did you talk to Brooks about the virgin thing?”

  “Ninety-eight percent positive it’s true.” And if not, it should be. He’s super awkward.

  Like, how does a guy get to be a god on the field but can’t even talk to a woman in private? First the janitor last night, and tonight—well.

  It’s none of my business.

  He could talk to me, but it’s not like he’s trying to score with me. I’m the weirdo who was humming baseball songs in his closet, and there’s no way those vibes I was getting off him mean he was hitting on me, and even if they do, I already know he has zero taste in women.

  He just wants to get laid.

  I happen to have the right equipment.

  Cooper has a point—it has to be hard being a thirty-year-old virgin. But if he held out for New York this many years, he can give the Fireballs a single season.

  My phone dings with a text.

  It’s from Fiery the Dragon, which means it’s really from Cooper.

  I’m looking into that thing. What kind of donuts do you like? I’m having them flown in from my brother’s bakery. Meet me on the beach in the morning, and we can have another conversation where we don’t look at each other while you tell me what you learned.

  Sarah taps my phone. “You told Cooper.”

  “Someone on the team needed to know.”

  Her eyes are round, like she’s not sure if she should be horrified or extra proud of me that my first conversation with a baseball player was about the state of use of another player’s penis.

  “I know, okay? I know it’s crazy. But after I told Cooper, he put me in Brooks’s bedroom, and then Brooks came in with that woman while I was hiding in the closet, and I let him get half-naked. And they touched. And kissed. And she had her hands down his pants before I started humming. If he can’t hit for crap tomorrow, then we know it’s true.”

  Beck shifts uncomfortably and takes another huge bite of steak.

  I might be going too far. It takes a lot to make Beck uncomfortable.

  Sarah’s face is contorting. “Humming?”

  “Please don’t ask more about the humming. Plus, he called her the wrong name at least once, so he shouldn’t be sleeping with her anyway.” I stick my lower lip out like a toddler, then jerk my head toward the driveway. “Can we go? I really want to get to the ballpark early tomorrow, and I need to make new signs first.”

  “And you’re meeting Cooper Rock for breakfast.”

  “Not alone. I couldn’t deny Beck donuts. Especially from Cooper’s brother’s bakery. So, you’re coming with me, right?”


  Beck shoves more steak in his face, which could either mean he’s really hungry—basically his default setting—or it could mean he’s avoiding the question because he doesn’t want to take part in plotting another man’s cock-blocking.

  Sarah frowns. “If the team wins tomorrow, are you prepared to have breakfast with Cooper every day this season?”

  “That is so not fair.”

  “Mackenzie. You know I love you. But this is possibly going a little too far.”

  She’s probably right.

  But I’m saving judgment on if I’m being crazy until tomorrow.

  If Brooks hits it out of the ballpark again, then fine.

  I’ll let Cooper decide what’s best for the team.

  But if he strikes out all day, Operation: Guard Brooks’s Innocence is on.

  8

  Brooks

  I’m studying a profile on one of my dating apps at breakfast when Cooper Rock drops a pile of donut boxes on the table in front of me. “Banana pudding donuts, flown in from home. Life-changing. Who’s the hottie?”

  “She’s a pass.” Mostly because she’s all put together, which means she’s probably lying about something. Also, I can’t stop thinking about a hot mess in a pink dress and a Fiery Forever button. I shut the app and decline the donut. “You really eat sugar before a game?”

  “This here’s a once-in-a-spring-training special. Have to have a banana pudding donut to remind me what I’m fighting for. Then it’s back to light beer and plain chicken and no butter on my broccoli.”

  “Eat the donut,” Trevor Stafford tells me.

  Darren Greene pokes his head in the back door, his pregnant wife, Tanesha, glowing next to him. “Donuts?”

  “Donuts, man.”

  “I love donut day. Elliott, man, lucky you got here when you did, or you would’ve missed donut day.”

  Soon, the dining room is crowded with the entire team. The handful of new guys—like me—are being indoctrinated in the donut tradition. Cooper’s rationale works on all of us, and even I give in and eat a donut.

  Don’t usually care one way or another about bananas or banana pudding, but that’s a damn good donut.

  Cooper’s chest puffs, and he pulls out his phone. “Donut selfie!”

  We pile in, knowing it’ll be on the team’s Instagram page within the hour.

  “This is tradition?” I ask Stafford, who’s next to me.

  He nods between moans as he bites into his breakfast.

  “Ever think you need a different tradition to win more games?”

  “Don’t touch the donuts. Touch anything else, but the donuts are off-limits.”

  “Because they’re good luck?”

  “No, because they’re fucking delicious. Rock brings them in three times a season—once during training, once for the all-star break, and once after a sucky, sucky loss. Then we get together at his place in the mountains after the season and have his family cater for us for a week while we mourn.”

  I bite into my donut again. Banana pudding oozes out the side, and I lick it off, because it’s stupidly good.

  I can get any kind of donut I want back home in New York, but even I have to admit that this one’s special. It’s like you can taste the love baked into it.

  Taste the love?

  Christ.

  It’s a wonder I still get endorsement deals for muscle cars, chainsaws, and whiskey.

  “Can’t do it after the season this year,” Cooper says. “My brother’s finally getting hitched.”

  Darren looks up from his own donut. “Thought his wedding was in early November.”

  “Which means he’ll be busy tying the knot and leaving for his honeymoon when we bring home the championship.”

  Silence falls over the team.

  I might not have been here long, but even I can read what’s going on here.

  Be better this year? Yeah. Probably.

  There is all that shit we did at “the club” the other night.

  But the Fireballs making it all the way to the post-season?

  No way.

  We’re not Major-League-ing our way to championship rings, plus the analogy doesn’t even fully hold. Building this year? Yes. Going all the way?

  I’m not betting my virginity on it.

  Darren slowly pushes back from the table. “All the way,” he says softly.

  “All the fucking way,” Rossi chimes in.

  “All the damn way.” Stafford stands and pumps a fist. “We’re going all the damn way.”

  Cheers go up around me, and I get a knot in the pit of my stomach while I join in.

  All the way.

  Yeah.

  Easy for them to say.

  They’re all getting laid. Or at least have the opportunity.

  Me?

  All I have are gloriously filthy dreams.

  Last night, starring an accidentally hilarious, overly-awkward blonde who inadvertently cock-blocked me from a closet.

  Probably because I introduced her to the woman I was making out with by calling her the wrong name.

  Jesus.

  She must think I’m an asshole.

  Actually, I probably am an asshole, even if I know all Ashley—Ainsley—wanted was to sleep with a baseball player.

  “Beach run!” Cooper crows.

  Everyone groans.

  He laughs.

  “Fucker does this every year.” Stafford shoves me toward the stairs. “Gets us sugared up, then says we need to go for a run together.”

  “You get a compound every year?”

  “No, but donut day is donut day, no matter where we’re staying.”

  I look back in time to see Cooper shoving two donuts into a white bakery bag. “Last one to the beach is a rotten egg!”

  Can’t help liking the sadistic bastard. Between his brand of crazy and his energy levels, he’s too much like my brothers for me to not like him.

  Right down to carrying that bakery bag of donuts all through the whole run.

  “What the hell are those for?” I ask him as we’re all collapsing post-sugar-fueled morning workout. The coaching staff showed up to oversee us, and some of them joined us on the run, but none of them have touched the donuts.

  He grins at me while his breathing evens out. “Invited some lady friends for a late breakfast on the beach.”

  Now that’s good news.

  “Don’t get too excited, Elliott. Not enough time for nooky before weights, but this is just the warm-up, right?”

  I grunt.

  He lifts a brow like he’s waiting for me to say more.

  I lift a brow right back. In my decade in pro ball, I’ve never once asked a teammate if he gets laid the morning of a game, and I have no intention of starting now. Some might talk about if banging is good luck or bad luck, but no one outright asks.

  Most of the team are heading the three blocks back to the compound, but a few stragglers are sitting along the beach or taking pictures while the sun makes its lazy trek higher in the sky.

  “You don’t want to be here,” Cooper finally says.

  I stare at the water and don’t answer.

  “I get it, man. Sucks to be traded to the worst team in baseball. But this team isn’t the same team it was last year. New owners, new management, new coaching staff, new fans…fuck the curses. Fuck the haters. Last year, the year before—none of it matters. We’re gonna fucking win.”

  He’s so insistent, it’s hard to not believe him.

  There’s power in belief.

  So much power in belief.

  I stare out at the surf rolling in. “You’ve never wanted to play for another team?”

  “I grew up an hour from Copper Valley. I was born a Fireballs fan, and I’m gonna die a Fireballs fan. They’re gonna scatter my ashes in the infield one day, and say I was the greatest Fireballs player that ever lived. I get a ring out of my time here, that’s the icing on the cake.” He shrugs. “Guessing you feel the same about New York. Home team love, rig
ht?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I get it, man. I’d be fucking broken if I got traded away from my home team. But give us a chance.” He looks behind us, grins, and leaps to his feet. “Hey, Mac. Thanks for coming. You ready to try this for luck?”

  I scramble to my feet too, shoving my hands in the sand as I do, leaving me with sandy hands that I can’t dust off fast enough while Mackenzie approaches.

  She’s in skintight jeans, a Fireballs jersey, and a Fiery the Dragon hat, complete with her Fiery Forever button. Her lips are painted pink again, her hair tied back in a ponytail, and her feet are bare.

  My dick immediately leaps to attention, and I go from semi-hard to uncomfortable and having to block my junk when she shoots me a hesitant glance and a small finger wave after she hands Cooper a bag of buttons.

  Fiery Forever buttons.

  I might not be happy about playing for her team, but I’ve gotta admire her dedication. She loves baseball and she loves her team.

  How can you not respect that?

  Fuck, when’s the last time I would’ve handed out New York team buttons to people because I wanted to, instead of because management put them in my locker and suggested I do it?

  “Mac’s good luck,” Cooper tells me. “She’s gonna eat a donut during warm-ups today too.”

  “And take one to Beck.” Her voice is small and hesitant, and she keeps dropping her gaze like she’s staring at the sun.

  Fuck.

  She is staring at the sun.

  I shove Cooper and make him move until the sun’s not behind us so she doesn’t have to squint anymore. “You’re coming to the game today?”

  She nods.

  My heart does a boogie dance, and I cringe to myself, because boogie dance?

  No wonder I’ve never been laid. “Good seats?”

  She nods again.

  “If security gives you trouble about the donuts—” Cooper starts.

  “I know. Call Lila.”

  He beams and holds out a fist. “You’re talking, Mac.”

  “Trying new things.”

  “Superstitions, man. Gotta stick with what’s working and take the leap to change when it’s not. Appreciate all the help we can get.”

  She nods again. “I like winning.”

  “Right? Whatever it takes.” He turns to me. “You got any superstitions?”