Free Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance) by A.M. Hargrove, Terri E. Laine

morning after, acting like you gave the game away.”
    There has to be a way to get her off this topic, so I examine my hand, pretending it hurts, even though it’s fine.
    She doesn’t buy it. Grabbing my hand, she says, “Hey, I’m here. Talk to me.”
    “Okay. Fine. It’s Gina.”
    “Gina? What happened? Did you do something?”
    “Yeah, I sent her flowers, and now I haven’t heard from her.”
    “When did you send them?”
    “Yesterday.”
    She busts out laughing. “Oh my God. It’s been a day, dude. Calm your testicles down.”
    “And this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
    “Damn, you’re serious, yeah?”
    Since I am, I don’t answer.
    “So tell me everything.”
    Like hell. There is no way that shit will pass through my lips. “Not much to say. I saw her last weekend. We had fun. I sent flowers.”
    “And you’re this trippy over her. Huh-uh. There’s more to it, Ryder Wilde.”
    “And if there is, it’s none of your business, Riley. You may be my sister, but that doesn’t entitle you to everything in my personal life.”
    “Well, I’ll be. You like her. More than you usually like a woman.”
    “Again, my business.”
    “Just remember, bro, she’s my friend, too, so don’t put me in the middle of anything.”
    “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
    “My advice, send her a spa gift certificate. There’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t love one of those.”
    A spa gift certificate. If I were a betting man, I’d wager Gina has never received one of those from any of her previous boyfriends … no, that’s not exactly right. She claims not to have those. Or whatever she would refer to them as.
    “Nice idea, sis. I think I’ll do that.”
    “Asheville. The Grove Park Inn Spa. Very chic. Fletcher’s mom always goes on and on about it.”
    “Thanks.” I hug her and go do the order up. There are all sorts of things, but I go all out and get her the day package. She will be pampered like she’s never been—or that’s my hope anyway.
    The rest of the day is consumed with me obsessively checking my phone like a girl to see if I got a text from Gina and then heading to the stadium to prepare for the game.
    The team is jacked up with adrenaline when I walk in. Cheers nearly crack my eardrum, but it’s an awesome feeling. One thing I’ll never do is take credit for a win, so I shout out, “You guys did an unbelievable job last night!”
    Guys bang the inside of lockers with fists and kick their feet against them, too. The noise level is stupid crazy.
    “Are we gonna do a repeat tonight?” I yell.
    That question brings down the house. Coach Martin walks in with Ms. Whitestone, the owner of the team, and they both congratulate the team on our bang up job last night. Then Ms. Whitestone goes on to give us her little talk. She comes in once a week or so, and a lot of the guys ogle her. They all talk about what a MILF she is. She is an attractive older woman, maybe mid-forties, with black hair, but I’m into women my own age.
    After she leaves, the rest of the players dress for the game. I head to the trainers’ office to get therapy on my arm because it’s dead after last night. Gina enters my thoughts, but I shove her out because I need to be laser-focused right now.
    Down the hall, I run into my pitching coach.
    “Are you going to be ready in a few days, Wilde? They’re gonna be wanting revenge after those final pitches you threw last night.”
    “Got it covered, Coach.”
    He pats me on the back, saying, “I know you do. Just making sure. Old lady Whitestone is anxious.”
    “Aren’t we all being this close to the playoffs? I don’t need reminding.”
    After therapy, I watch the start of the game from the monitor in the dugout. The first four innings are in the bag for us. Four no-hitters and we’re up three zip. But then there’s a turn around. As the pitcher throws the ball, his grip eases too soon, and the ball doesn’t do exactly as he’d planned. The batter takes a