Playing for Kinley (Cruz Brothers Book 1) (23 page)

I looked over to where they were staring, searching the rows of seats, until I spotted her. When I did, my heart skipped a beat. As cliché as it sounded, that actually did happen in real life. I couldn’t explain it any other way. It felt like the muscle had been so surprised yet excited at seeing her that it literally forgot how to function for a second.

It was Kinley.

And she was looking right at me, smiling.

Hot damn
, they were right. Taking in the sight of her was a hell of a lot better than getting ready for this game. In fact, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Neither could the rest of the guys.

“
That
, boys, is off-limits,” I told them.

A couple of them snickered, elbowing each other like they were in on a joke. I turned and stared each one of them down, my eyes hard and my jaw set. When I spoke, my voice was stern, letting them know I was perfectly serious.

“I mean it.
Off. Limits
.”

They stood there frozen as they took in my expression. I didn’t blame them for their reaction. I’d never kept a girl around long enough to make any claim on her, and I definitely hadn’t given the “hands off” speech to any of the guys before.

But I was today.

I left them standing there with mouths agape as I jogged over to my woman.

And with that action, whether she realized it or not, I staked my claim.

As far as any of my teammates were concerned, Kinley was mine.

Kinley

I wasn’t nervous.

For the first time in I wasn’t sure how long, I wasn’t nervous to see Parker. Instead, I was excited, giddy even. I felt like I was seventeen again, waiting for him to visit from college so I could get just a quick glimpse at his beautiful face.

I’d planned on coming to his game after the photo shoot all along, but I’d wanted to surprise him, so I let him think there was the chance that I wouldn’t make it.

So here I was, trying not to fall on my face as I walked down the stadium steps, looking for my seat while trying to spot Parker on the field all at the same time. It was hot and even in my shorts and tank top, I was already feeling moisture gather on my back and neck. Luckily, the sun would be behind the walls of the stadium soon.

From the second I’d walked into the stadium, I’d been immediately immersed into the baseball atmosphere and I loved it. The summer air, the smells of hamburgers and hot dogs, the sight of the well-tended field before me. This world was one I’d kept away from for so many years, but it was one that up until now, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed.

After maneuvering my way around a guy talking on his phone in the middle of the aisle and a family trying to corral three kids into their seats, I finally made it to mine and plopped down. Both seats on either side of me were empty and I hoped they stayed that way. The seats were really close together and I was not at the end of the row; I didn’t want to get boxed in.

I had to squint into the sun—definitely needed to bring a hat next time—and was finally able to bring the field into focus. My eyes swept the entire area looking for him, and I almost missed him doing high-knees on the backside of the dugout. He was by himself and seemed to be doing a lot of warm-ups that worked his knee, making me think of his injury.

I remember when Clay had called and told me about it after it happened, and I prayed that he wouldn’t get hurt like that again. We still hadn’t been talking to each other at the time, but it broke my heart to hear about it nonetheless. I knew how much baseball meant to him and regardless of how things happened with us, it pained me to think that all of his dreams might have been crushed.

And I couldn’t have been more proud of him for coming back from it the way he had.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever told him that.
I probably should.

Watching him, it was clear to see that he was already focused, had his head in the game even though it hadn’t started yet. He wasn’t looking up into the stands or messing around with his teammates.

The sense of pride that washed over me, consuming me, as I watched him didn’t surprise me. That was how I always felt when I watched him play, even when I was a kid and first developed my crush on him. I screamed my head off for him at his games when I was a kid, then tried to play it cool when I hit puberty and acted like I didn’t care about his games, and then attempted to play the role of supportive would-be girlfriend whenever I went to his college games.

But this was different.

For the first time since knowing Parker, I finally felt like I had the right to be here and cheer for him. Like I wasn’t just some silly girl with a crush, following after him like a puppy. I finally felt like I had a place reserved in these stands for me, Parker’s girl.

Was I Parker’s girl? Did he see me that way?

We’d agreed to be exclusive even though we hadn’t made anything really official between us, so I wasn’t sure if he was interpreting things in “boyfriend-girlfriend” terms.

I saw him go over to a group of his teammates and talk for a few seconds. I hadn’t even noticed the other guys before, but I suddenly felt like they were watching me and I squirmed a little in my seat. My eyes flickered over to the other players for only a second and yes, it most definitely seemed like they were looking at me.

Did they know about me and Parker? Had he told them?

A little voice inside my head squealed at the thought of him telling his friends about me, like I was important enough for him to talk about with his teammates.

Then, Parker’s head whipped around in my direction.

And he looked right at me, eyes zoning in almost immediately.

Everything around me ceased to exist in that moment. It didn’t matter how many people were around us or how loud the PA system was blaring through the speakers. Because when Parker looked at me and that smile slowly crept over his face, we were the only two people in the world.

He said something else to his teammates and then started jogging in my direction.

Holy shit, he’s coming over to me.
I honestly didn’t think he would, not until after the game anyway. He didn’t look away from me for even a second as he made his way over, stealing a piece of my heart with every step he took. That’s what it felt like. As if he were slowly and methodically transferring my heart, piece by piece, into his care until he captured the entire thing so he could hold it in his hands.

I just hoped he wouldn’t drop it once that happened.

He was about to the stadium wall when the corner of his mouth quirked up and he crooked his finger at me.
Come here
he mouthed. My brain was suddenly robbed of the ability to think, so I just let my legs robotically lead me through the seats and down the steps to him.

Then, I stood in front of him.

Parker Cruz, in all of his baseball uniformed glory, standing in front of me, smiling just for me. Just like I’d always wanted.

Is this a dream?

“You made it,” he said, the smile still plastered on his tanned, stubbled face.

“I was able to squeeze you in.”

His eyes darkened slightly and his smile changed, turning lecherous. That look always had the ability to turn me inside-out. “I’m exercising significant strength to restrain myself from making a dirty comment. See how good I’m being for you?”

I laughed. “But you know you already said it in your head.”

“But don’t I get points for keeping it to myself?”

“I suppose you do.”

His eyes then softened and his hand reached for mine, squeezing it. “I’m really glad you came.”

Oh, the things this man did to me. It shouldn’t be so natural for him to affect me like this. “Me, too.”

“I’m going to be playing for you, you know,” he said as his fingers caressed the back of my hand.

I scrunched my nose up at him, trying to act bothered by that but I wasn’t in the least. “Corny, but I still like the sound of it.”

He chuckled lightly and pulled his hand away. “Cheer loudly for me.”

“I will.”

With one more smile, he turned around and took off.

I won’t lie, I totally checked out his ass the entire time. Nobody would blame me. The man had the best ass in the major leagues and he was wearing tight baseball pants. I was pretty sure there wasn’t a woman in this entire stadium who wasn’t ogling him.

I could feel eyes on me as I went back to my seat, could practically hear the whispers of speculation as to who I was, whether or not I was Parker Cruz’s girlfriend. I didn’t hear them, though, nor did I care.

I made the decision right then to forget about the past and our complicated history and just enjoy watching Parker play.

Because in that moment, none of the rest of it mattered anyway.

##

The game was tied in the bottom of the ninth inning and, of course, Parker was up to bat. It was only spring training—not even regular season—so it wasn’t as if these games made a huge impact on the team’s record or anything. But I had been a ball of nerves the entire game and I wasn’t sure why.

I just loved to watch him play.

Every time he swung the bat or dove for the ball, my breath was lodging in my throat and I was gripping the crap out of my seat. He’d had an amazing game, too. He was four for five and had made two defensive plays at third that left little to the imagination as to why he’d been named the American League’s defensive player of the year last season.

But now, the game was on the line and it might as well have been the World Series championship hanging in the balance with how much I was freaking out.

Parker stepped up to the bat and everyone in the stands got to their feet. There were two outs so Parker had the chance to be a hero if he could get his guy on first base in to home. The crowd started to clap loudly—there was a surprising number of Boston fans here considering where we were—but I couldn’t do anything except stare at Parker’s powerful form hovering over the plate.

The first pitch was a ball, low and outside, which he let go. He swung at the next and chipped the ball, sending it careening into the stands by the first baseline. The next pitch was high and inside, causing him to raise his arms and quickly shift his body to avoid being hit.

I had to force myself to breathe again when I noticed I was getting lightheaded from holding my breath.

On the fourth pitch, his bat connected with the ball, sending it soaring into left field as a collective gasp filled the stadium. Every person in the stands watched with bated breath as it flew through the air, close to the foul line.
Too
close to the foul line.

The ball dropped into the stands, barely a foot to the left of the foul pole.
Straighten it out.

I watched closely as Parker stepped back from the plate to shake out his shoulders a little and to glance at his third base coach. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head. What was he saying to himself? Was he nervous?

He stepped back into the batter’s box and slowly swung his bat around, taking his stance and giving the pitcher the signal he was ready. I had to admit that he sure looked calm but I could never tell with him. He’d always been hard to read, especially when he played. He always had a mask of concentration on so you never knew if he was happy or pissed.

The next pitch sailed into the catcher’s hands and I sucked in a breath because Parker almost swung at it. His bat moved forward but he stopped himself at the last second before it could make a full rotation. It was a good thing, too, because it ended up dropping below his knees, but it definitely fooled him for a second. I’d grown up enough around baseball—plus, I lived with a star pitcher older brother—that I recognized the pitch as a change-up, delivered at a much slower speed to screw the batter up.

Parker had almost fallen for it.

He didn’t waste any time by stepping out of the box this time, though. He stood his ground and practically dared the pitcher to throw him another one just like that. I had a feeling that he was going to swing at the next pitch no matter where it went.

Too bad the pitcher didn’t take advantage of that because as soon as I heard the crack of the wooden bat on the ball, I knew it was gone.

It went straight over the center field wall and the whole crowd went nuts. Hell, I went nuts. I probably looked out of my mind with my hands in the air, jumping up and down, screaming. Parker and the guy on first ran the bases, Parker thrusting his fist in the air as he rounded third, much to the delight of the Red Sox fans.

And much to my delight, as soon as his foot touched home plate, he looked up at me, finding me in the sea of shouting fans.

When his eyes connected with mine, he pointed directly at me and smiled.

That was when I knew. Or rather, that was when I finally admitted it to myself and accepted it as truth.

I was still in love with Parker.

Just like he had when I was seventeen years old, he was once again turning my life completely upside down.

And right then, I didn’t mind one damn bit.