Getting Wound Up: A Sapphire Falls/Love Between the Bases Novel-- PART TWO

Getting Wound Up

A Sapphire Falls/Love Between the Bases Novel

by

Jennifer Bernard

Erin Nicholas

PART TWO

A fun and flirty crossover novel from bestselling authors, Jennifer Bernard (Love Between the Bases) and Erin Nicholas (Sapphire Falls)!

Caitlyn Murray has never let on that she’s had fantasies about her brother’s friend Eli Anderson for years. She’d do anything for the sexy baseball player who walked away from stardom to stay in Sapphire Falls and take care of his family. But she and Eli are friends.
Just
friends.

So when her brother hatches a plan to get Eli to the pro baseball try-out for the Kilby Catfish and another chance at his dream, Caitlyn is all in. After all, what’s a little kidnapping among friends?

A spot on the pitcher’s mound for the Catfish isn’t the only tempting thing about the spontaneous road trip. Eli already knows that Caitlyn is as sweet as the candies she makes for the Sapphire Falls bakery, but alone with her overnight in the tiny motel room in Kansas, it’s impossible to resist the urge to take a little taste.

But when that taste leads to falling for the girl next door just as his front door is moving hundreds of miles away, can Eli really have it all? Or do they have too many strikes against them?

Getting Wound Up

Copyright © 2016 by Erin Nicholas and Jennifer Bernard

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book, with the exception of brief quotations for book reviews or critical articles, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Editor: Kelli Collins

Cover artist: Valerie Tibbs

Digital formatting: Author E.M.S.

Getting Wound Up

PART TWO

In the home dugout at Catfish Stadium, Eli sat with the other rookies watching slugger Trevor Stark toy with a young Aces pitcher. The poor dude was so red in the face, he looked as if he was being roasted over a barbecue pit. Not only was it hot as hell in Texas in July, but pitching to the powerhouse Stark would make an All-Star sweat.

“When are the Friars going to call that guy up?” Eli asked Dwight Conner, the center fielder, who was casually working his way through a package of sunflower seeds.

“Million-dollar question. He keeps messing up whenever he gets close. I love the guy like a brother, but even I don’t know why he keeps screwing up his shot. It’s almost like he does it on purpose. Tell you what, though. When he leaves Kilby, half the girls here will go into mourning.”

Okay then
. Eli still wasn’t used to the attention ballplayers got in Kilby—and not just the stars like Trevor Stark. The first time a kid had asked him to sign a baseball, he’d fumbled the pen and dropped the ball in a storm drain. Not too embarrassing.

“What about you, Nebraska? You got a girl back home?”

“Bet he doesn’t,” said Ramirez, the tough-looking, tattooed third baseman. “He’s got that married look. Like me.”

“Married look?” Jim Lieberman, the shortstop everyone called “Bieberman” because he looked just like Justin Bieber, eyed Eli with fascination. “What makes you say that?”

“Watch him the next time he pitches. Comes off the mound, goes right into the dugout. Do not pass go, do not play eye-footsie with the ladies.”

“I do the same thing, and I’m not married.”

“That’s different, Beeb. That’s because you can’t see over the top of the dugout,” Dwight needled him with a grin.

Bieberman glared at him, but in a good-natured way; clearly he was used to the teasing. “A round of drinks at the Roadhouse says Eli’s not married.”

“Done.”

“Eli?”

“Not married.”

“You’re buying, Dwight.” Jim Lieberman started to give Eli a high-five, but Dwight held up one big hand.

“Hang on. Mr. Anderson,” Dwight made his voice sound like the character from the
Matrix
, “if that girl up there,” Dwight pointed to a gorgeous redhead in the stands, “offered to get naked with you, what would you say to her?”

The other guys hooted loudly enough to make Trevor shoot a glare from the batter’s box.

Eli’s face heated up. “I’d…uh…pass.”

“You’d pass because…” Dwight leaned closer, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Because…” How the hell could he explain this? He’d left things so unsettled with Caitlyn. All that hot sex was imprinted on his brain, body and soul, right next to a lifetime’s worth of friendship. He didn’t know where things stood with Caitlyn, but he did know one thing for sure. The redhead didn’t interest him. Nor did the hot blonde next to her, or the Beyoncé lookalike in the next row. And that was because… “Okay, fine, there’s a girl. Back home. But it’s just casual. We’re not married.”

Now it was Ramirez and Dwight’s turn to high-five. “Not married
yet
,” Ramirez said in triumph. “You’ve got the married look. No hiding it. First round’s on the Beeb.”

“But…but…he said he’s not…” While Bieberman sputtered in protest, Trevor hit a slamming line drive right through the gap between first and second.

Eli jumped to his feet and cheered with the rest of the guys.
Saved by a line drive
.

He’d been a Kilby Catfish for exactly one week, two days, and three hours, and he’d spent approximately two thirds of that time thinking about Caitlyn Murray. She would have filled even more of his thoughts if their one incredible night hadn’t happened right before he got the call. But adjusting to a completely different existence took up a lot of his attention.

He was a professional ballplayer now. It was really true. There was a locker in the clubhouse marked by a strip of masking tape with the name Eli Anderson and the number 29. He was a
professional ballplayer
. Every time he walked into the clubhouse, he expected someone—the intimidating Trevor Stark, maybe—to tell him to get the hell out.

Not that everyone hadn’t been welcoming. The wild and crazy Catfish had greeted him just like any other new arrival.

With pranks.

During his first bullpen session, every single one of his pitches had fallen exactly six inches short. He’d been sweating like a pig, trying to get that extra distance, when Dwight Conner happened by.

“Hey, Nebraska, you always move the rubber back half a foot when you work out?”

The other pitchers had cracked up and Eli had turned beet red, then moved the rubber back to its proper location.

He didn’t mind that prank. He didn’t mind the teasing. He didn’t mind the relentless critiques from Mitch the pitching coach, or being brought in for one inning of work at the end of a losing game, or warming up only to sit on his ass in the dugout.

He loved it all. Every grass-scented, sweaty, muscle-straining moment.

Only one thing was missing. If only Caitlyn could be here. He longed for her with an intensity that kind of shocked him, to be honest. He wanted to share this amazing experience with her. He wanted to see her in the stands, go home to her at night. Instead, he was sharing a mostly unfurnished apartment with two other players.

The place smelled like sweaty socks and Chinese food. And he lay there every night trying to bury all those sensual memories from Kansas City.

He was a jackass, straight-up. Caitlyn had made it totally clear that their hookup was a one-time thing. When he’d rushed over to her house to tell her he got the call, he’d assumed they’d celebrate in bed. Naked. All night long, and maybe until his plane left.

Instead Caitlyn had celebrated by calling everyone in Sapphire Falls to share the news. Then she’d made homemade Cracker Jacks for the entire town. He hadn’t gotten a single second alone with her between then and the moment when he’d stepped on that plane.

Obviously, Caitlyn wanted to put Kansas City behind them. Which made sense. They wanted different things; they were headed in different directions. Casual, that’s what things were between them.

Casual.

He could do casual. He’d done it before. He’d walked away from several beautiful women because his responsibilities to his family and the business took all his time. He knew that drill down cold.

So why couldn’t he do the same thing with Caitlyn Murray? Maybe because she was the sweetest, sexiest, kindest, sassiest girl he’d ever known?

Thanks to Trevor’s three-run homer in the eighth inning, the game ended in a win for the Catfish, which put everyone in a good mood. The clubhouse quickly filled with ballplayers in various stages of nakedness. A reporter snagged Trevor to talk about his game-winning homer, while the other players talked trash and joked around. Eli still felt like an outsider, so he skipped the post-game chatter and headed straight for the shower.

Which made him think about the shower he and Caitlyn had taken together in Kansas City before hitting the road. The one in which he’d soaped every inch of her body, then licked her sweet, plump little clit until she came over and over, her moans echoing off the tiles of the shower stall.

How had he never realized what a sex goddess Caitlyn was?

He braced his hand on the tile, letting the water stream down his body. Caitlyn might want to
pretend
things were casual, but she couldn’t hide her reactions to him. And yeah, they might be a thousand miles apart, but technology was his friend.

Back in the locker room, he dried off, tied a towel around his hips, then dug through his gear for his phone. He’d noticed the way she looked at his bare chest; it was almost as lustful as the way he ate up every curve of her delicious body. He snapped a shot of himself and fired it off in a text, along with the words,
Live from
Kilby, Texas.

After a moment, she answered.
You did NOT just send me a locker-room selfie
.

He grinned, imagining her sassy eye-roll.
It’s like a postcard without the stamp.

So true. OMG, who’s that gorgeous hunk in the background?

What? He pulled up the photo and peered at it. Oh damn. He’d managed to get a piece of Trevor Stark’s chiseled rear-end in the shot.

Delete. DELETE.

Sure. After I blow it up to poster size and hang it on my bedroom wall.

That’s not the ass that belongs in your bedroom.

ROFLMAO. Did you just call yourself an ass?

Crap. Maybe technology wasn’t his friend after all. He ran his hand through his still-damp hair, trying to figure out a way to salvage this conversation.

Passing by, Ramirez snapped a towel at him. “Married look.”

“Not married,” Eli said through gritted teeth.

“Uh-huh.”

Irritated, Eli addressed the entire clubhouse of half-dressed players. He needed to make a statement, right here, right now, for his own sake as much as anyone else’s. “Anyone up for the Roadhouse tonight?
Single
guy looking to have some fun here.”

“Awwright. Time to initiate the rookie!” Dwight called above the chorus of “yups” and “hell yeahs.”

The Kilby Roadhouse was the favorite hangout of the Catfish and half the town of Kilby. It was a fun spot, a big open space with worn wooden floor planks and red chili pepper lights strung along the walls. Its homey feel reminded Eli of the Come Again. Which, of course, reminded him of Caitlyn. He ate a burger and a beer, talked a little baseball with the bartender and a few players. But when he found himself ordering a shot of Jäger and telling Dwight about how Caitlyn had kidnapped him and taken him to the tryout, he threw in the towel. As Ramirez cackled and clapped him on the back, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the exit.

“Married look,” Ramirez mouthed over a country beat he didn’t recognize.

Whatever. If he had the “married look,” it was thanks to all his responsibilities, not his confusing, all-over-the-place feelings for Caitlyn. Right?