Bottom Of The Ninth: Bad Boys Redemption: Book Three
Page 1
Bottom of the Ninth
Meet bad boy catcher, A. J. Gonzalez...
When I stood Mia up eight years ago, I never dreamed I’d run into her again. But here she is, making me look like a fool in front of thousands of fans.
The sweet, innocent girl never knew why I left. But I had my reason. A good one. In no way was I worthy enough for Mia Gunner. Today, grown up and hotter than ever, she’s still too good for me. But when she walks by, wearing those skin-tight leggings, that doesn't stop me from wanting that taste I denied myself. And I get it.
Almost.
It turns out; Mia isn’t through plotting her sweet revenge. Now, left in a not so compromising position, Mia won’t have anything to do with me.
That is until we find ourselves in another awkward situation. When I think life can’t get more complicated, Mia packs a few more surprises. And believe me, she may not be as timid as I once thought.
I can’t help wanting her, but I need to stay away. Especially with our paths taking different courses. But I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge. It’s the bottom of the ninth. Time to score. I’ll either step to the plate or strike out. No matter what happens, this will definitely be a December I’ll never forget.
Bottom Of The Ninth
Bad Boys Redemption: Book Three
Kimberly Readnour
Rae-Allen Publishing
Copyright © 2018 by Kimberly Readnour
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 a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for references.
ASIN:
ISBN: 9781724023070
Cover Design by Daqri Bernado of Covers by Combs
Editing by Kelly Hartigan (XterraWeb) editing.xterraweb.com
Proofreading by Deanna Cole and Kaitie Reister
Printed by Createspace
Created with Vellum
To my sissy, Jamie. You’ll never know how much I appreciate everything you do for me. You’ve been there right from the start, shouting my praises and telling everyone you knew about my book. I love you so much, even when you root for the wrong baseball team. ;)
Contents
Unforeseen Love: The Novella Offer
Author Note
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
Epilogue
JOIN Kimberly Readnour’s Newsletter
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Kimberly Readnour
Unforeseen Love: The Novella Offer
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Author Note
Dear Readers,
Bottom of the Ninth is a full-length novel derived from the Bottom of the Ninth: The Novella. The novella was featured in The Mistletoe Kisses Anthology and was strictly from the main character’s, AJ Gonzalez’s, point of view. The full-length novel features added scenes, along with dual points of view and an epilogue.
AJ’s a true alpha male who was fun to tame. I hope you enjoy seeing him grow as much as I had fun creating him. If you need more of these bad boys, Second Chance Hero and Swing for the Fences are available for download now.
Thanks so much, and I hope you enjoy reading Mia tame AJ!
Chapter One
AJ
Current Day
“Why the hell do I look like a half-naked lumberjack elf?” I snap the red suspenders against my bare chest and glance at the green velvet boy shorts. Red triangles, with actual gold jingle bells, trim the waistband. Fucking bells. But I don’t know which is worse—the redonkulous suspenders or the green felt elf shoes with pointed toes curling upward, capped with more damn bells. I jingle like a powder-puff princess cat every time I move.
“You look...cute?” Jax, my soon-to-be-former roommate, says, suppressing a grin.
“Fuck you. Trade me costumes; I’ll be Mr. Fourth of July.”
He flanks my side, wearing red-and-white-striped pants and a matching patriotic hat. He’s like a beefed-up Uncle Sam. I don’t understand why I couldn’t have gotten that costume.
“No way, man. I’m not wearing that thing.”
“So much for helping a guy out.” The words no more than fall out of my lips when Mr. April, better known as Zach, our ace closer, walks by with a large pastel Easter egg tucked under his arm.
Zach stops midstride and sizes me up, the horror of my outfit reflecting in his bulging eyes. Perfect. His jaw drops, and he stands there gaping like a fish.
“Uh, I just… Yeah, MVP announcement party at my house. And I’ll”—Zach’s voice drops as his bunny paws carry him away—“stop complaining about my outfit.”
My blood boils. Sure, his silky boy shorts have tiny bunnies draped everywhere, but he pulls it off. I do a quick check of the other teammates and conclude I’m the only creepy one. When I agreed to be Mr. December, I thought a Santa Claus hat with sexy underwear would be my costume. Not this hideous contraption.
“Why the hell are we even here?” I grumble more to myself.
“You know why. Just grin and bear it.” Jax’s gaze roams along my outfit, and his lips press tightly together. Despite his best efforts, his shoulders start to shake, and a huge grin slowly stretches across his face. He snorts as he turns to leave and slaps my butt, the jingling sound drawing out the overdue laugh.
Bastard.
If Jax weren’t dating someone, I’d kick him in his nuts. His girlfriend may not like me much for that, though. Who I’d actually like to cock punch is Drake, our secondary catcher. Not only is the asshole vying for my spot on the team, but he’s the reason we’re here. His sister organized this fiasco disguised as a photo shoot.
I bite back a swear word. Yeah, the Ass Award goes to me for complaining. The calendar—the reasoning behind the photos—is for a good cause. I mean, it’s kind of hard to be upset when all proceeds go toward St. Claire Children’s Cancer Research Hospital. And that is the reason certain teammates agreed to stay in town a few days longer. Back-to-back World Series wins make for two long seasons, and everyone’s ready to return to their homes, families, and normal offseason liv
es.
With a deep breath, I look up to the ceiling to calm myself. It works. The metal I-beam framework pulls my attention away from myself, and I get lost in the architectural design. For an old abandoned warehouse, the building isn’t in bad shape, but it doesn’t take long before martial arts fight scenes flit through my mind. Blame the lackluster lighting and open-floor plan, but any minute, I swear ninja warriors will pop out from their hiding spots and spring into action.
I shake my head. I may need to cut back on the kung fu flicks on the El Rey Network.
Our right fielder walks by, and his chortle tramples upon my peaceful zen. Fuck! Charity or not, I look like a freaking creeper elf.
“This calendar better bring in tons of money,” I mumble beneath my breath.
“Oh, it will. Don’t worry.”
My back muscles tighten, causing me to stand straighter. That voice. That familiar voice glides over my skin and awakens every repressed give-a-shit feeling while simultaneously bringing forth every ounce of unworthiness. It’s been too long since I relished that sound. The sweet voice that made me cave and lowered my guard even if it was temporary.
I turn to face the woman I never dreamed of seeing again and force myself not to stumble. The sight of her hits me like a base runner colliding into me at home plate—sharp and painful but somehow satisfying. An eyebrow disappears beneath her blonde bangs as if challenging me to recognize her. How could I not? Of all the stupid things I’ve done—and believe me, there have been a lot—my treatment toward her has been my biggest regret.
But here she is in the flesh, standing in front of me with those electric blue eyes. How? Why? Confusion swirls in my brain before the synapses finally accept the charge, and I utter a single word.
“Cupcake?”
Chapter Two
MIA
Current Day
The pounding in my chest drowns out the chatter of eleven rambunctious athletes as the twelfth teammate stares at me slack-jawed. The only sound he makes is my old nickname. It slides easily off his tongue as if he still has the right to use it. As if he didn’t ghost me for the past eight years.
“Ariel,” I respond. He flinches from either my clipped tone or the use of his full name. Either way, I shouldn’t care, but his defeated look brings forth a pang of guilt that squeezes my heart. And I hate that I care. I’m not the guilty party and have every right to be angry. But staring into those soft, velvety eyes, as deep brown as the cattails he surprised me with, has a way of making me melt. Lost to the memory, I find it hard to remember the reason why I hate this man. Because he humiliated and broke me.
I swallow past the lump threatening to form and shove the red and green material against his hard chest. My voice fills with renewed determination. “Here’s the rest of your costume.”
Oh my God, I did not prepare myself enough to face the beast of the man known as AJ Gonzalez. I thought I was set. I’ve seen photos. Heck, I’ve even gone to a few games, but nothing compares to having the hard mass of muscle in my face. The baby oil my assistant, Nala, had them apply highlights each defined ridge, and his abs are sculptured like a fine piece of bronze art—in color and sheen. My hands itch to run over each valley and peak. I grip the material tighter.
His gaze pulls from my face and travels down my body. The trip is short; at five foot two, I’m not stacked too high, but he lost his privilege to ogle my body eight years ago. A disgusted growl passes my lips. He at least has the decency to look chagrined. I give another nudge against his chest.
Instinctively, he grabs the material. “What’s this?”
“Your tights.”
“Tights?”
“Yeah, it completes your outfit.”
He scoffs as if I’m kidding. I set my jaw with determination. He will wear whatever I tell him. No way is he getting out of this.
“I’m not wearing that.” He shoves them toward my chest, but I ball my hands into fists and place them by the sides of my hips.
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I’m not.” He nudges the tights closer to me again.
I stand there and stare him down. “Why not?”
“I think you know why.” His eyes narrow and shift to the other guys in the room, including Drake who sports black boxer briefs with a pilgrim hat. Admittedly, he’s tame compared to the jingle bell elf in front of me. “Ah, I see. You’re getting back at me.”
“Egotistical much?”
AJ steps forward and closes the space between us. His body still dwarfs me—being vertically challenged, most people do. I’m used to it. What I’m not used to is having a body I spent the last eight years trying to forget hover over me. I’m suddenly back in college trapped by the spell he cast on me. The one where I want to nuzzle against his chest and curl underneath the protection of his arms. Well, the curse breaks today. There will be no fantasizing over that man. His rugged features and bulging biceps will best be spent on someone other than me.
I drop my arms and turn on my heels. “I expect you in full uniform by the time you’re scheduled to shoot.”
“Sure thing, Cupcake.”
I bristle and press forward.
“I’ll rock the shit out of this outfit. Just wait,” he calls after me.
Getting behind my camera, I adjust the settings that don’t really need to be changed, just so I have something to do with my hands while I try to calm down. This guy always could rattle me, damn it.
“Someone, grab the fire extinguisher. Enough sparks are generating between the two of you to burn the entire warehouse down.” The slight tease to Nala’s voice causes my jaw to drop.
“I don’t like that guy,” I say a little too fast. A little too defensively. “I can barely stand to be in the same room with him.”
“Whoa, relax. I just meant because of the arguing.”
“Oh.” Heat rises in my cheeks. Way to be inconspicuous. I wave my hand dismissively. “He was being difficult about his costume.”
She snorts. “Can you blame him? It’s hideous.” She glances over toward where AJ stands in full costume. “But damn, he’s still hot. Even with all the bells.”
I refuse to look. Instead, I double-check the setting. This wide-open space is perfect for my photo shoot, and I was lucky in scoring this location. The client from my last session happened to overhear me trying to secure a spot and volunteered their abandoned warehouse. Turns out, they have the same charity cause as me—help kids curb cancer.
As Nala fans herself, I press my lips together and try to remember she’s clueless about my past with that man. The man who led me on only to make me feel like the biggest loser on campus. Jerk. I should have known better than to believe the campus stud would’ve wanted anything serious to do with a lowly freshman. But it still hurt like hell.
“Hey, sis.” Drake’s excitable voice resonates against the steel walls, and I instantly cringe. I love my younger brother, but his enthusiasm for life can be rather grating. “Can I wear this home? I have a hot date tonight, and maybe a little role play—”
“Fine, whatever.” I cut him off. The last thing I want is to visualize Drake’s sex life. “They’re yours to do with as you wish.”
“Sweet, because she is a fine piece of ass.”
Ugh. My brother is a pig. I knew that already, but it never ceases to amaze me how his attitude seems to grow more each day.
As his voice fades in the background, I do a final check with the camera, trying to block his words. For a twenty-three-year-old, he still has a lot of growing up to do. I can’t be blamed entirely for his actions, but I failed in teaching him respect for women.
“Nala, can you adjust the larger light to the right just a bit?”
The natural lighting coming in from the glass-paned windows isn’t enough and will only get worse as the sun sets. After a few more tweaks, we start shooting. Our low budget doesn’t allow for fancy scenery—the steel walls and wooden beams will have to do. But honestly, I don’t think the backdrop matters much w
hen twelve hunky abs pop from the pages. People, women especially, will devour this calendar. There isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t appreciate the repeat World Series winners and their delicious bodies staring at them daily. This is one project I won’t mind editing.
I continue to work my way through each month with the help of my assistant. The noise level decreases as each team member leaves until only a slight murmur fills the air. My brother, who wouldn’t shut up about his hot date, hightailed it out of here before the camera had time to commit his image to memory. He was so desperate to leave he cut in line, trading with the right fielder, Axel Rodriguez—a.k.a. Mr. October. I have a strong suspicion as to who Drake’s girl is, but if there was ever a time I hoped to be wrong, it’s now.
“I’m going straight to hell because ‘hello, Sexy Satan.’” Nala clucks her tongue. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at another photo shoot the same. So much sexiness.”
“Yep,” I say, finishing up Axel. One more to go. October wasn’t the least sexy month to pick an outfit for, but it proved to be the most challenging. I needed the model to portray Halloween but sexily. After careful debate, the red cape, pointed horns, and flaming jockey underwear won in the end. And I must say, Axel makes Satan look rather good. And that thought just seems wrong on so many levels.