Free Switch Hitter by Roz Lee Page A

I’m sure you’ll win the next one.”
    The conversation wasn’t helping. He didn’t need or want platitudes. He wanted…to hit something. No. Not something. Someone. Sean Flannery. The fuck up.
    “We won’t win if people like Flannery don’t get their shit together.” He held the phone to his ear with one hand, clenching and unclenching the other into a fist at his side. Unable to keep still, he paced the short hallway leading to the restrooms.
    “Hey, what’s the matter?” Concern laced her voice. “You’re upset.”
    “It’s nothing,” he lied. “I’m just tired, I guess. We’ve got a fucking dinner tonight, and I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking my lousy mood out on you.”
    “I don’t mind.” He could hear the smile in her soft words. “I’m glad you called me to vent. It means you trust me.” She paused. “I miss you.” Her voice had dropped to a low, seductive whisper guaranteed to make his cock throb.
    “I miss you, too. I need you, babe. I wish you were here.”
    “I know. But I can’t follow you around the country. However, I’m just a phone call away.”
    The playfulness in her tone clued him to her meaning. There was something to be said for good phone sex. “Maybe I’ll call you again when I get back to the hotel. If I don’t fall asleep first.”
    “I’d like nothing more, but please get some sleep tonight, Bent.”
    “I will. I promise. Talk to you tomorrow, then?”
    “Tomorrow. I love you.”
    “I love you, too.”
    After a trip to the men’s room, he rejoined the team. They’d already moved to the private room set up for their dinner. Stopping inside the door, he scanned the room, finding the last open seat—directly across from Sean Flannery.
    Well, shit.
     

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Sean looked up from the roll he was buttering to see who’d pulled out the chair across from him and almost cut himself. Would have if the blade had been any sharper. Putting the knife down, he squashed the roll between both his hands before tossing it down on his bread plate. At least, he thought that’s what they called the small dish at the top of his place setting. He wasn’t much for formalities, but he’d picked up enough knowledge to keep from looking like an ass at all but the most formal of occasions. Thank God, the barbeque place they’d chosen was a paper towels-for-napkins kind of place. He felt right at home.
    But at home, he chose who sat at his dinner table.
    A quick glance told him the newcomer wasn’t any happier about the seating arrangements than he was, but what could either of them do? Not a damned thing. He turned his attention to Tony Ramirez, seated to his right. The center fielder joined the team in the off-season, so he was still sort of a newbie himself.
    “How are you liking Dallas?” he asked.
    “Best move of my life.” His dinner companion smiled wide. “I’m getting married during the All-Star break.”
    What was with the Mustangs? Two players getting married? Not that it didn’t happen, but what were the odds he’d hear the same line from two players on the same team in as many days?
    “No shit? Congratulations. Who’s the lucky woman?”
    “Clare Kincaid. She plays the organ at the stadium on game days.” His smile grew wider. “I’m the lucky one. Convincing her to have me took some doing.”
    Sean chuckled. He couldn’t help but be happy for the guy because he was so damned happy for himself. “Sounds like a smart woman,” he joked. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
    “I’ll introduce you sometime. You’ll love her, but hey, keep your hands to yourself. She’s mine.”
    Holding his hands up, he replied, “No problem. Hands off the merchandise.”
    “Hey,” Tony called across the table, “Randolph. Did I hear you’re getting married, too?”
    Bent looked up from the menu. His eyes went to Tony then to Sean then back to Tony. “Yeah. You’ve met Ashley. I finally manned up and