Free Hard Luck by Liv Morris Page B

am.” He slowly nods his head in agreement and wiggles his brows.
    “You have no shame.”
    “No, it’s never been a problem for me.”
    “And here I thought your mother raised you Catholic.”
    “You seem to know a lot about me.” His smile shines even brighter and I cringe. Kill me.
    “Lucky guess,” I deflect.
    “Why don’t you go out with me tonight?” Brady walks closer to me, invading my personal space, but I stand my ground…barely. He’s so close, I can inhale a whiff of his cologne. I take a short breath to take in more of it. Maybe I have no shame either. But I do, along with self-respect, even if my traitorous body wants to jump his big bone.
    “You mean sleep with you?” I whisper, not wanting to bring the saleslady into this conversation and give her more fuel for our not-in-love fire.
    “I’d be okay with that,” he says with that adorable lopsided grin. He’s cocky through and through.
    “I’m going to have to decline.” I pull away from him and turn to head toward the escalator to make my escape, but it takes effort. The force is strong with this one.
    “What? You’re turning me down?”
    “Down and out of here. Bye, Brady.” I raise my hand and wave toward the back of me where I hope he’s standing. He can’t follow me, or shouldn’t, but will I be disappointed if he throws in the towel?
    I make it to the opening of the escalator and take a step onto the first moving piece. As I begin to descend, I lose my fight to turn around to see if Brady’s there after all. I gasp at what I see by the counter where I bought the baby gift.
    Brady is standing where I left him with his hands in his pockets and his head down, but the saleslady is now in front of him with a finger pointed in his face. The scene reminds me of a mother giving her errant child a scolding. I wonder how much she overheard, likely enough to take his sweet ass to the woodshed.
    I smile as I exit Nordstrom’s a Brady-free woman. I saved my heart from likely getting broken by another stuck up, sex-crazed baseball player. Now, if only I could convince my body sex with Brady is a bad idea.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    Brady
     
     
    “What the hell happened today?” I say out loud to break the silence in my empty high-rise penthouse.
    I look out the wall of glass windows and see nothing but the late evening sky as the sun sets in the West. I’m so high above Chicago, it’s like I’m sitting alone in the clouds, and I fucking hate it. My only friend tonight is my favorite bottle of Kentucky bourbon sitting on the coffee table in front of me. At least it doesn’t talk back to me.
    I pour another three fingers of the good stuff into my empty glass, lift it to my lips, and throw it back, hoping it helps me forget the fact that Cali Jones totally dissed me today. And I needed her. Dammit.
    I don’t get it. A woman not wanting a piece of me? That shit never happens. I usually have to shake the chicks off.
    I run my fingers through my hair for the millionth time since the Nordstrom’s army sergeant berated me. She got off on calling me a jerk for only wanting sex with Cali.
    Whatever. I’m young and looking for some fun and dick assistance. And every time I see or speak with Cali, I’m as hard as stone. I’d be losing my shit right about now if that weren’t the case.
    I refill my glass and check the time on my phone. Coach wanted me to call him at nine. It’s a couple till, so I pull up his number and hit call. He answers on the first ring.
    “Luck, how’s your evening been?” he asks.
    “Not so good,” I confess. I spoke to him before I saw Cali at the coffee place when I was in a better mood, hopeful she’d give me a fun night, but she shot that idea to hell.
    “What’s up? Did practice go shitty?” He has me on a tight schedule of morning and afternoon sessions with a hitting coach. The guy works as a shrink too, asking me what I’m thinking about when I hit. The thing is, I never think, I just do it.
    “My