Catching Her Heart (For the Love of the Game) Read online

  Sawyer grinned. “Noted.” He turned and nudged her forward so they were walking up the steps to the turf-covered platform. Looked like they had the place to themselves. “I was just coming to see if you were here.”

  “Did you text? I’m not late, am I?” She started to open her purse and pull out her phone, but he stopped her.

  “I didn’t text. You’re not late. I’m just antsy today.”

  Addie tilted her chin up and studied him a moment. His strong jaw looked tense, his eyes…tired. Guarded. What it must be like to always feel so…closed off. Or to feel the need to be.

  “Your meeting didn’t go well?”

  “I don’t want to talk about work.”

  Sawyer was standing too close for her to pull in a proper breath. Unless she wanted to breathe him in, and that wasn’t a good idea if she was going to keep her libido under control.

  “You wanna hit balls?”

  He nodded, staring at her mouth.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered. Her heart danced too quickly in her chest.

  “Like what?” His face dipped closer.

  Addie swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat and wished she’d brought a vat of water. “Like we’re going to be anything other than friends. I’m not even sure if we should be that.”

  His lips didn’t curve into a smile, but she was almost positive they trembled slightly. That’s fine. Laugh all you want, Mr. Hot Guy. I’m not one of your groupies falling at your feet. Just the woman who kidnaps you and sells you to the highest bidder. She stopped the groan that wanted to escape from her throat.

  “I don’t have a lot of friends,” he said, his voice low.

  Stepping back, she pushed her purse behind her, grateful she’d worn a cozy sweater. The September air was delightful, but it would be chilly soon. “I find that hard to believe.”

  He started to speak, but she held up a hand and stopped him. “Actually, you know what? I don’t find that hard to believe at all.”

  She walked over to the buckets, chose a slightly dented silver one, and put it into the ball dispenser. Holding it there with her thigh, she pulled her purse around to find some coins. Sawyer appeared beside her and inserted several coins, setting dozens of balls clamoring for first place in the bottom of the pail.

  “Because I’m such a jerk?” he asked when the noise stopped.

  She picked up the bucket and crinkled her brows. “What?”

  They walked back to one of the semi-private stalls and he took the pail from her and set it down. Only then did she see he’d brought a bag with a few clubs in it. She knew it was his because his name was engraved down the side. He must take his golfing very seriously.

  Sawyer pulled out a club and set up a ball but kept his eyes on her. “You think I don’t have a lot of friends because I’m a jerk?”

  Again, her brows pushed together. “I didn’t say you were a jerk.” Not a good time to mention she’d thought it. “You’re kind of guarded and most people who are find it hard to let others get close. Which means they usually don’t have large groups of friends but rather a small circle.”

  That’s right. She took her psych classes seriously. He grinned at her and once again stepped closer, the club hanging at his side.

  “I’ve definitely never had a friend who liked to shrink talk me,” he said.

  Addie laughed. “I’ll admit to enjoying some psychology classes but mostly I was just being honest. I think if you chose to be someone’s friend, you’d be loyal. I also think if you’ve been a jerk, there might have been circumstances that warranted it.” Like, say, a woman kidnapping him and using his status for personal gain.

  The grin faded, and his eyes went a shade darker. “You always see the best in people?”

  Stepping back, needing the personal space for her own sanity, she shook her head. “I’m not looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. But I like to think positively.”

  Sawyer stared at her a moment longer and then grabbed a ball, placed it on a little plastic piece on the raised turf, and lined up his body. It gave Addie time to take in his profile. He really was a strikingly handsome man. The right mix of rugged and polished with that five o’clock shadow on his square jaw, his dark jeans and his crew-cut, designer-looking sweater. Sawyer adjusted his grip repeatedly on the club. Glancing around, she saw they were still alone. It struck her as odd that he’d call her and ask her to join him when he easily could have asked one of the few he did consider friends.

  Crack. The sound jolted her out of her musings and made her heart race.

  “Jeez, look at it go.” Like Sawyer, she watched the ball until she couldn’t see it anymore. “That’s awesome.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “You ever played?”

  Shaking her head, she took a step back, seeing exactly where this was going. “Not my sport.”

  “How would you know?” He reached out and wrapped warm fingers around her wrist, giving her a gentle tug forward. He was making it clear that he wanted her closer but giving her the choice with his light grip.

  “Same way I know baseball isn’t my sport but I haven’t played. Or squash. Basketball. Lacrosse. Basically, any sport that could result with me getting beaned in the head with a hard object is not my sport.”

  Sawyer chuckled and turned her away from him. “Here. Hold the club. Okay, line your body up.”

  Right. Make your body and brain function naturally while he’s crowded in behind you like the very best shelter from the breeze. She held the club loosely. His hands went to her hips and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  “I’m going to put my arms around you to show you how to hold the club, okay?”

  She nodded. It was less embarrassing than answering with what she was sure would be a breathy response.

  As he slid his arms around her, tucking her into his body so he was plastered to her back, he adjusted her fingers and then covered her hands with his. His chin was tucked into the crook of her neck and if she turned her head, they’d be in optimal kissing distance. No kissing. She kept her head down.

  “Keep your eyes on the ball. The entire time. Bend your knees a little,” he said, his voice husky in her ear. His knees nudged hers and when she bent them, it locked their bodies together even tighter.

  “You’re going to pull all the way back and then swing. It’s not about hitting hard, it’s about connecting and following through.”

  He used his own motions to guide hers, stopping before they connected with the turf. Up, down; their bodies moving in tandem. It shouldn’t have felt sexy. They were on fake grass. In the cold. And yet, there was something about the way he held her that made her want to turn and snuggle into him. Sawyer McBain did not strike her as a snuggly guy. And this isn’t a date. Back when Isla had started up with Liam, he’d taught her how to swing a bat. Addie’s body flushed with warmth when she remembered where that had led for those two. Not the same thing. Not at all.

  “I’m going to step back and you stay in this position. Eye on the ball.” He moved so he was in front of her and she had plenty of room to swing. Which she did four times before he put down an actual ball for her to keep an eye on.

  When she skimmed the top of the ball, her brows scrunched together.

  “Widen your stance. You looked up. Keep your arms straight.”

  She tried again. And missed.

  “Follow through all the way. Glide back, eyes on the ball, swing.”

  The sound of the club slicing through air seemed louder each time she missed.

  Sawyer came behind her again. “We’re going to hit this one together so you can feel it, okay?”

  She swallowed, feeling far more than she should. “This game is stupid,” she whispered.

  “Say that again in a second,” he whispered back.

  Together, like intimate synchronized swimmers, they swung together, and when the club cracked off the ball, sending it flying out into the grass, the feel of it vibrated up her arms
.

  “I did it!” The ball dropped just past the one-hundred-yard marker and she turned, throwing her arms around Sawyer.

  His laugh sent an entirely different type of vibration through her. He stepped back and she felt heat rush to her cheeks.

  “Sorry. I got excited.”

  His smile was quiet, his eyes soft. “Don’t say sorry. It feels good, doesn’t it? Try it again.”

  Addie shook her head. “We’re here for you to hit balls, not me.”

  “More fun when we both do it. Come on, try again.”

  They took turns, him giving her pointers, her missing more often than she connected and him looking a lot more relaxed than he had when she showed up.

  Two older gentlemen with white hair and equally white pants took up two stalls a short while later. They kept darting glances at Sawyer, and Addie felt him tense beside her, but they didn’t come over. Sawyer gave a slight wave, which seemed to be enough for them. When she and Sawyer finished the bucket of balls, they sat on one of the benches, leaning against the wall.

  Addie shivered, wishing she’d brought a jacket. “I can’t believe you used up a perfectly good favor on this.”

  Sawyer turned his head, which was resting against the wall. “You should be happy. Now I owe you.”

  Copying his motion, she met his gaze. “I made you dress up in a suit, auction yourself off, and mingle with strangers for hours.”

  His lips pursed. “Hmm. You’re right. This isn’t balanced. You still owe me.”

  Laughter bubbled up in her chest. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

  “Actually, you improved my mood, so I’m okay with calling it even.”

  She nibbled on her lip a moment, listening to the smack of the balls as the other golfers swung.

  She shouldn’t push. She knew that but she also sensed that he didn’t have a lot of people to lean on; that he didn’t have a lot of people that would push. “How was your meeting?”

  Sawyer sighed, turned his head toward the grass and closed his eyes. “They’re bringing in a rookie. Supposedly for me to mentor but, in reality, it’s my not-so-subtle reminder that I can be replaced.”

  She didn’t like the bitterness in his voice. “Anyone can be replaced. Do they have reason to think you can’t do your job?”

  He held her stare and she knew they were both thinking of what she’d overheard.

  “I can do my job just fine.”

  “I’ve explored several alternative therapies for the different muscle and ligament groups.”

  His face went dark, a blackout to erase the openness they’d shared. “You a doctor now, too?”

  Addie sighed. “Of course not. Forget I asked.”

  “I’d like to forget most of today. Including the meeting where I had to meet a kid fifteen years younger than me.” His gaze locked on hers and Addie felt like her skin caught fire from the intensity. “In fact, this was the best part of my day.”

  She tried not to grin like an idiot and offered a quiet smile instead. In the back of her mind, his words about the “kid” bothered her. She had to bite her lip to keep from responding without thinking it through. Isla was her best friend. Her only friend, really. Isla didn’t know a lot about baseball but she trusted the people advising her so if she was doing this, there was a reason.

  “Is this standard?” Asking a question felt safer.

  “It’s not unheard of.”

  “Did Doc clear you?”

  Sawyer turned her way again, the look he gave her making her breath catch in her throat.

  “He did.”

  The hesitation in his answer was noticeable, but she tried not to let it hurt her feelings. “If Isla presented it as a mentorship opportunity for this new player, I would bet money she believes in what she’s saying.”

  He leaned forward. “Sure you’re not wearing rose-colored glasses? This isn’t cub scouts. It’s the big leagues. There isn’t room for everyone and we already have a second. Besides, Mateo isn’t your stock pro catcher. He’s more.”

  To avoid reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, she curled her fingers into her palm. “You’re one of the best. You’ve made a full recovery. They have no reason to lie to you or replace you.”

  Shaking his head, Sawyer stood up. “The reason is always the same, Addison: the bottom line.”

  She knew that was how things worked, in theory. But she believed that Isla really was trying to do something bigger. She wasn’t the type of person to fill a person’s head with stories. She wouldn’t lead anyone on that way. It was part of what she and her father had fought about when Isla had worked for him at his fitness corporation. Isla, like Addie, was about people. And maybe baseball wasn’t, but it didn’t have to be so black and white.

  “I think, if you give her a chance, you’ll see that Isla is true to her word. I get that it’s about money and rankings but that isn’t all it’s about. I’ve spent enough time with her to know that she wants the Slammers to be more than a team. She wants them to be a family.” She stood up, holding his gaze.

  Sawyer’s rough laugh held no humor. “Funny thing about family is they can let you down just like anyone else.”

  He started walking and though she fell into step beside him, Addie felt alone. Sawyer had put up his walls, shutting her out. Despite feeling frustrated with his attitude—his easy dismissal of her point of view—she wanted to reach out, make him feel better. Which was exactly why she was keeping herself free from romantic entanglements. She had goals and plans and they didn’t include building up the ego and self-confidence of a well-paid, highly respected baseball star. Especially one with such a jaded outlook.

  She thought, again, of Isla and Liam and even her own parents. Life handed you the cards it felt like dealing. Addie might not have been looking for anything but she was self-aware enough to know when she felt something. Now, it was a matter of deciding what to do with those growing feelings.

  Chapter Nine

  It was top of the seventh and the Whalers led by three. Normally, Sawyer spent each game so zoned in that nothing else existed. Tonight, when it mattered, the ripple and roar of the stadium and the fans was seeping into his brain. Distracting him. There was no room for error and he felt like he’d been messing up all night.

  Some hidden, hard to reach spot behind his kneecap was on fire. The ever-present throb that couldn’t be ignored was what opened him to all of the things he usually tuned out. And it was costing them.

  Twice now, he’d screwed up the communication, sending a signal to the pitcher to throw a fast ball when he’d meant curveball. Worse, he’d been set to block a play at home for the last runner and he’d flinched before he applied the tag. Maybe no one saw it, but Sawyer felt it. It was his job to take those hits, to block the plate and make the right calls. People thought a catcher did only that—catch—but it was so much more. The job involved having an eye on everything at once, knowing which calls to make and reacting to plays in a split second. The position demanded he be at his best and it grated on his nerves like cleats on a chalkboard that he wasn’t.

  The new batter approached, and Sawyer ran through what he knew about him in his mind, coming up blank. Unsure of his strengths, Sawyer looked back at the dugout to where the team manager, Mickey Sarola, stood, eyes locked on Sawyer. He might not have noticed his all-star catcher flinching as the last runner slid in, but Mickey definitely knew Sawyer was off his game.

  Mickey assisted him with the call, and Sawyer sent the signal, willing his body to block out the pain. If the guy hit it to the outfield, he’d be okay. The squatting was hard enough right now. Popping up to cover a ground ball to an infield hit might land him on his face.

  The ball sailed to the right field, giving the player plenty of time to coast onto second base and allowing Sawyer a miniscule reprieve. Unfortunately, in those seconds, his mind wandered, a vivid and visual loop of his injury flashing into his head. Sawyer sucked in a breath, feeling like he was inhaling the dirt.


  It was like he could actually feel the impact all over again, the player sliding, the full force of his weight hitting Sawyer’s knee at the exact wrong angle.

  The next hitter wasn’t known for stealing, but Sawyer worried tonight would be the night the guy would try. It was the playoffs. All of them were all in. But if he made it to first and tried to steal second, Sawyer would need to pop up and gun the ball to second. With only two innings left, they still had a chance. As long as Sawyer got out of his own head and back in the actual game. For the first time in his career, he didn’t know if he’d be able to make the necessary and routine plays.

  He didn’t say a word when Doc stretched him out after the ice bath. It took almost as much effort not to respond to the movements as it did to avoid Oliver’s assessing gaze. They’d lost, and it sucked. The post-game mood in the locker room was a lot more subdued than before.

  The first group of guys had left on bus one and would head straight to the airport. Sawyer and Oliver were on bus two, giving them a bit more time.

  “How’s it feel?” Using two fingertips, Doc put pressure around the kneecap. It took everything in Sawyer not to react even though it felt like he was pushing a narrow, jagged piece of glass into his bone.

  What was that? “It’s good. I’m tired. We just lost, so I’m pissed on top of that. Can I go?”

  Oliver side-eyed him, more than used to grouchy or injured players. “The bruising is gone, but it’s swelling again.”

  “I’ll ice it later.” Later. When he got home and could be himself without pretending. Don’t have to pretend with Addie. Their impromptu date the other night had been one of the most relaxing and enjoyable evenings he’d had in a while.

  No one else was around, but Oliver still leaned in closer. “Don’t lie. I’d rather know what I’m dealing with even if it’s not good.”

  Sawyer’s stomach swirled. Being on a team meant trusting the guys who had his back. But he wasn’t missing out on one game in this series.

  “It’s a bit tender. I’ll put a compression wrap on it for the flight home and take some ibuprofen.”