Grand Slam

Book 3: The Boys of Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin

Genres: Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

Win the game. Lose your heart.
Everyone knows who I am and that I could have any female fan I want. That's supposed to be the "perk" of playing left field for the Boston Renegades. But I don't want just any woman; I want her.

She should be just another face in the crowd, but I can't stop thinking about the one night we spent together-and her look of regret the morning after.

Because Saylor Blackwell is the kind of woman who haunts a man. Smart, sexy as hell, and one of the best managers in the business. She's every ballplayer's dream woman. And I'd do anything to make things right with her.

I'm done sitting on the bench when it comes to Saylor Blackwell. Time to swing for the fences.

Release date: May 23, 2017

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 320

Sample

One

The one I’m eyeing for the night bends at her waist and lines her pool stick up with the cue ball. She slowly pulls the wooden rod through her fingers until the felt top finally connects. The hard, white plastic ball rolls toward her target, hitting it perfectly and stalling as the blue-striped ball rolls into the pocket. I let out a massive sigh and lean on my stick, waiting my turn. I should’ve known better when she approached me, asking if I wanted to play a game or two of billiards with her. I know better than to let a good-looking woman hustle me out of money, but I wasn’t thinking with my right head. I never am, and once again I’m getting my balls busted, no pun intended, by a pool shark.

“Sweetheart, are you going to let me play? My balls are getting lonely.” If she thinks I’m crude, she doesn’t say anything. In fact, she looks at me from over her shoulder and winks before shimmying her ass toward my crotch. My internal groan is epic. For almost an hour, she’s been leaning over, licking her lips, showing her ample cleavage, and shaking her ass. Not to mention, she brushes against me each time she passes me. And the touching isn’t subtle. I can read her loud and clear, all the way from her tight-as-sin jeans to her plunging neckline.

“I can’t help it if you suck.”

“Do you?” I ask, stepping in behind her. My crotch is lined up perfectly with her backside, earning me another hair-tossing look over her shoulder.

She stands and turns to face me, sitting her ass on the edge of the table. “What do you have in mind?” Her finger trails down the front of my shirt until she reaches the buckle of my belt. The tug is slight, but definitely felt. Message received loud and clear.

“What’s your name?”

“Are names important?”

“Of course. When I demand that you come for me, I need to know what to call you.”

“Demand?” she questions.

“I’m greedy like that,” I tell her, placing my cue stick against the table as I step closer to her. I lean in and try to get a whiff of her perfume, but a mix between the stale air from the bar and the beer on her breath makes it hard to tell what she’s wearing. I do love a woman who takes the time to add the perfect scent on her skin, though.

“Blue.”

“My balls aren’t blue, darling, and haven’t been in years.”

“No, my name is Blue.”

“That’s a very unique name,” I say as my hand rests on her hip.

“What can I say? I’m a unique woman, Travis.”

Ah, she knows my name. That’s usually how things go for me. Rarely am I given the opportunity to introduce myself. Everyone knows who I am, and while I enjoy the fruits of my labor, sometimes anonymity would be nice. One day, I’d like to talk to a woman who doesn’t know that I’m Travis Kidd, left fielder for the Boston Renegades and one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. “You know who I am?”

“Doesn’t everyone? I’m a Boston girl; I know my Renegades.”

I nod and reach for my beer. It’s the off-season, and technically I shouldn’t be here. I usually head south for the winter but opted to stay home this time. After a long season, one that saw my former manager die and one of my closest friends on the team become a dad to twins, I thought I’d stay around and see what the winter had to offer. Aside from the cold, I haven’t found much, except Bruins hockey and Celtics basketball. Those games have been the highlight of my time off.

The pickings for women have been slim. Without trying to bag on the female population, it’s evident that they’re seasonal as well. Right now, the puck bunnies, gridiron groupies, and court whores are in full effect, and the cleat-chasers are resting like the rest of the baseball world. Maybe I should’ve been a dual-sport athlete. That way I would’ve had the best of both worlds.

“Travis?”

“What?” I ask, mentally shaking the cobwebs out.

“Where’d you go? It’s your turn.” Blue nods toward the table, and I look over her shoulder to see the cue ball sitting there.

“Why don’t you help me?” I know how to play the game of pool, but since she seems to be a pro, why shouldn’t she show me? I would’ve happily slid up behind her and taught her how to handle her stick, but she took the fun out of it.

Instead, she’s off to my side and leaning into me, giving me a perfect sideways glance down her shirt. I smirk, ignoring everything she tells me, and watch as her mounds of flesh move each time her hand does. They’re real, that’s for sure. None of that fake silicone shit on this chick.

“And that’s how it’s done,” she says, righting herself. She continues to slightly lean over the table, though, jutting her chest out for me to ogle. I cock my head to the side and wink before taking aim at the cue on the table.

My first shot goes in, and the second quickly follows. I line up the third and fire, and that is when I see a raven-haired beauty nursing a drink at the bar.

Saylor Blackwell is off-limits to anyone her agency represents. That includes me. Although I wish it didn’t. I would have switched managers to be with her if she asked me to, but I fucked that up. When she needed me, I wasn’t there. And I haven’t spoken to her since.

It’s my dumb luck that she’s sitting at the bar with her long, slender legs crossed. She’s dressed like she recently got off work, and her eyes are set on the television, ignoring the gaggle of men staring at her. I remember that she was a hard nut to crack back when I wanted to know her better. I can’t imagine what she’s like now that she’s even more successful.

My last shot is sunk into the corner pocket. “Eight ball, right side,” I say, nodding in the same direction I plan to send the black ball in order to finish this game. I’m in a rush now, eager to speak with Saylor. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself.

“Where ya going?” Blue calls out.

“To the bar. Rack ’em,” I tell her. It’s not a lie. I am going to the bar, but with the intention of speaking to another woman. I’m smooth, though, and I can easily play it off while I order another round of drinks.

“Two, please.” I put up two fingers as I motion toward the bartender. Leaning in, I know I’m blocking Saylor’s view of the television, which is all in my game plan. “Hey, Saylor.”

“Travis,” she says coldly. I often remember the night we spent together and the regret that was on her face when we were done. Even though we were at my house, I wanted to leave. I had never felt so uncomfortable after getting laid. Everything was awkward, from the way she spoke to how fast she dressed and ran out of my place. Rarely do I bring women home, opting for theirs so I can bail, but Saylor was different. I still can’t get that night out of my mind, and it’s been almost two years. With Saylor, everything was backward. It’s like she used me to scratch an itch, and once I took care of that, she didn’t need me anymore. “What brings you in?”

She looks everywhere but at me. “I’m meeting a client.”

“And nursing your what?” I take her drink from her hand and sniff. “Scotch? When did you start drinking the hard shit?”

That gets her to look at me. Her glare is deadly as it penetrates mine. “As if you know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

“You don’t know shit, Travis Kidd. Go back to your booty call. She’s looking at me like she’s ready for a catfight, and I assure you, you’re not worth fighting for.”

Saylor turns, giving me the cold shoulder. If I weren’t so stunned by her outburst, which I did not deserve, I’d tease her. But there’s obviously something bothering her, and I’m the last person she needs making shit worse.

With the bottles of beer dangling between my fingers, I go back to the pool table where Blue is indeed throwing daggers at Saylor’s back.

“Down, kitty. She works for my manager.” I run my hand down her arm, trying to defuse the situation. Jealous women usually turn me off, and this should be my sign to hit the road, except I’m an idiot and want to stay mostly so I can watch Saylor.

Taking Blue by her hand, I lead us over to the stools, and I sit down, pulling her between my legs. My hand is planted firmly on her leg right under her butt cheek. It’s a risky move, given all the nosey Renegades fans who are always around, but I don’t care right now. It’s the off-season. I’m allowed to have a little bit of fun.

“You have nothing to be jealous over,” I tell her.

“Okay.”

“We good? Wanna go back to kicking my ass at pool?”

She looks over at the table and nods. “You rack, and I’ll break.” Blue saunters away, giving me space to watch Saylor, who turns and makes eye contact with me. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking. Is she second-guessing her harsh words? I am. I want to go back over and offer to pick up her tab. Or ask how she’s getting home. It’s late, and the roads are shit. If she’s driving, she shouldn’t be drinking. She has a kid that depends on her.

“I’m ready,” Blue says seductively. The tone of her words catches me off guard. It’s hard to decipher if she’s ready to play another game or two of pool. I hope that’s what she means because I have no intention of leaving as long as Saylor is at the bar. Or is Blue ready for me to fuck her and never ask for her number? Because that is bound to happen as well.

I break, sending the balls off in every direction. Four drop. Two of each, giving me the choice of what I want to be. Blue is yammering in my ear about the setup and which would be the best. Her angles only work for her, though, and I see that I can run the table on her if I line up correctly.

“We should’ve bet,” I tell her as I walk around the table.

“I’d hate to hustle you out of your money, Travis.”

I laugh off her comment and proceed to clear the table. She huffs when the eight ball falls into the designated pocket.

“Well, would you look at that,” I say, taking a bow. Blue pushes me lightly and falls into my arms. Her lips are on mine before I can push her away, and doing so now would be embarrassing for her, so I kiss her back and find myself opening my eyes to watch Saylor watch me.

As soon as I pull away, Saylor is sliding off the bar stool and heading toward the door.

“Be right back. I need some fresh air.” A true gentleman would’ve invited his lady friend outside, but that is not who I am.

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask as soon as I see Saylor standing near the curb. “And what happened to your client?”

“He canceled.”

It didn’t strike me as odd earlier when she said she was meeting a client, but it does now. I’ve never met anyone from the agency at a bar, let alone this late at night.

“How about that ride home?”

“Travis.” She draws out my name and then drops her head into her hands. Without thinking, I pull her into my side. “Come on, Saylor. It’s a ride. Nothing else.”

“What the hell is going on? I thought you were taking me home.” Blue speaks loud enough for everyone on the block to hear.

My arm drops, and Saylor steps away from me. I turn at the sound of Blue’s voice behind me.

“I’ll be in. Give me a minute.” I smile, hoping to placate Blue, but it doesn’t work.

“I see some things never change,” Saylor says as she steps off the curb and waves at a cab, only to be passed by.

Shaking my head, I push my hands into my pockets for a bit of warmth. If I knew Saylor would be out here when I returned, I’d run in and grab my jacket. “It’s not like that.”

“What, do you like her or something?” The sound of Blue’s voice grates on my nerves.

Saylor looks over my shoulder and rolls her eyes.

“Or something,” I say, without taking my eyes off Saylor.

As soon as a taxi pulls up to the curb, Saylor is sliding in.

I make a split-second decision to get in with her, but not before Blue yells at me. “Where the fuck are you going?”

I answer her by slamming the door shut. I have Blue on the outside screaming and Saylor looking at me like she’s going to kill me. Saylor opens the door, and I hear Blue say, “Fuck you, Travis Kidd. You’ll pay for this.” And before I realize what’s happening, Saylor is standing outside the cab. When we drive off, my tongue is tied, and I watch through the back window as Saylor disappears the farther I get down the road.

Two

My phone vibrates repeatedly on my kitchen counter, causing it to move as if there were an army of ants underneath it. I glance at the clock on my microwave before picking it up. The motto at work is that it’s never too early to start working. Unfortunately, being a single mom, that isn’t how I can function. My daughter comes first, and my employer is very aware of this fact.

Except this morning seems to be different. A quick swipe and his text message, along with numerous others from my co-workers, appears on my screen. The message is simple: Get to work ASAP. That’s code for something, and likely something has happened to one of our clients. It could be anything from a Good Samaritan deed, the birth of a child, a divorce, or the type of publicity I don’t like to deal with, accusations for rape, murder, and the like.

Being a public relations specialist has its perks. If I want to attend a sporting event, I call my client. If I need to woo the pants off a prospective client, I set them up with a luxury suite at whatever game they want to attend. And as with any job, it also has a downside. My hours are long, the job is never ending, and sometimes I feel like a babysitter. But I wouldn’t trade what I do for anything. My clients and co-workers have become my family.

Lucy, my five-year-old daughter, comes sashaying into the room, dressed as her favorite princess for her school’s character festival today. Her blue Cinderella dress is one that we bought last year from Disneyland, along with her matching tiara.

“Well, don’t you look like a pretty princess?” Crouching down so we’re eye level, I push a lock of hair back up into the bun she attempted to do on her own.

“Cinderella doesn’t have brown hair,” Lucy tells me.

“No, I suppose she doesn’t, but that’s the best part about make-believe. You can make her look like anything you want.”

The smile she gives me feels like I’ve won Mother of the Year, even though I feel far from it. I struggle emotionally when it comes to Lucy. Her father, my ex, has wanted nothing to do with her until yesterday. I haven’t heard a peep from him since the day I told him I was pregnant, and now he’s asking to see her. It would be easy to say yes and give Lucy the answers to all her questions. Hell, I want answers, too. I’m like her. I want to know why her father hasn’t wanted to see her. But I don’t trust him. If he could so easily dismiss her before she was born, what’s to say he won’t do the same after he meets her?

Deep down, I feel it has to do with his wife and the family they’ve started. Some of my clients are in constant battles with their exes, and it’s never pretty. Most importantly, I want to know why now, after all this time, he’s interested in Lucy.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” Lucy nods. “Okay, let’s get ready to go.” I kiss her on her nose before she runs off. I can hear her singing “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” and getting only a few of the words right.

Slipping my phone into my messenger bag, my hand brushes against the envelope that brought me to my knees yesterday. I intercepted the handwritten letter about Lucy that has the power to ruin everything I’ve built. I thought I could go to the bar and seek comfort in an old friend, but I was mistaken. Holding the glass with two fingers of Scotch only reminded me of the hell I’ve been through. I purposely ordered liquor that I can’t stomach, hoping that it’d curb my desire to drink. It didn’t. A man in the bar did.

Once I saw Travis Kidd standing next to me, I knew I had to get out of there. He’s trouble—he knows it, and I know it. I’ve been down this road with him before, and I’ve determined that he’s not worth my career. One mistake with him led to a long line of legal troubles for me. My employment agreement states that I will stay away from the athletes, despite how appealing they can be, and the indiscretion with Travis nearly cost me everything.

Lucy comes out of her room, ready to go. Her tiara has been replaced with a knit cap to keep her head warm, and her fingers are covered in mittens. It’s chilly, but not overly cold at the moment. Although the cold weather is right around the corner, and that isn’t something I’m looking forward to. Winters in Boston can be brutal.

Walking hand in hand, Lucy and I make our way to her school. It’s only a few blocks from our apartment and close to the subway, which makes it easy for me to get to work, because my office is only two stops away. I remind Lucy that her grandmother will pick her up from school today and tell her to be good before I make sure she’s in the hands of her teacher.

Now that she’s in school, my mode switches to work. With my phone in hand, I’ve quickly become one of those people who walk and text at the same time. I look up periodically to make sure I’m not about to be run over or, better yet, crash into someone while I answer what feels like a hundred messages.

As soon as I step into the office, the assistant I share with my boss takes my coat and bag and tells me that my boss is waiting. Stepping into Jeffrey Tay’s office is like walking into a sports museum. His walls are covered with pictures of him and most of his clients. Jeffrey motions for me to sit down as he continues his phone call. He pinches the bridge of his nose while pacing back and forth, agreeing to whatever is being said on the other line.

“Fuck,” he roars, throwing his headset across the room. The somewhat flimsy product lands with a loud thump against the wall, causing me to jump. Jeffrey faces the large window that overlooks the Boston Harbor and laces his fingers behind his head. By the shudder in his shoulders, I can tell he’s let out a sigh or maybe even two. “Travis Kidd needs our help.”

The mere mention of Travis’s name has me feeling uneasy and uncrossing and crossing my legs to find a bit of comfort. While Jeffrey continues to stare out the window, last night’s encounter runs through my mind. Nothing I said last night, or any actions on my part, could be construed as a violation of my employment contract. Only my actions years earlier, but I’ve kept those under wraps.

Then I remember what Jeffrey said, and that Travis Kidd needs our help, and that seems to quell a bit of the building anxiety. He’s done something that has Jeff visibly upset, which means it’s going to be a lot of work for me. But it means that my secret is still safe.

I’m afraid to ask what he’s done. The list running through my mind right now is a mile long. It could be drinking and driving, although I saw him get into the cab last night and watched it leave. Assault is always a possibility. Or maybe he was drunker than I thought and he wound up walking into the wrong house. It’s bound to happen and, unfortunately, is an action we, in the business of sports management, have had to deal with, especially in the off-season.

Regardless of the situation or how I feel about this particular client, I have a job, and I take immense pride in it.

“What’s he done?” I almost add “this time” to the end of my question but that would be unfair to Travis. Yes, he’s wild and a publicity nightmare but he’s rarely in trouble. I can usually put a positive spin on his actions, and while some may be questionable, I make him look like a saint. I was able to turn one of his dumbest ideas—of opening a kissing booth outside of Faneuil Hall and charging five dollars—into a massive fund-raiser for the children’s hospital. Even though he gave me little warning, one phone call to the local radio station had women lining up for hours. The donations poured in, and at the end of the night, he was the town’s hero again.

Jeffrey turns, and the turmoil on his face tells me that it’s something bad. Reaching for the pad of paper and a pen that I see on his desk, I prepare to take notes.

“That was Irvin Abbott on the phone.”

“Travis’s lawyer?” I ask, interrupting Jeffrey.

Jeffrey makes eye contact quickly, telling me that he doesn’t appreciate the interruption. “He called to let me know that Kidd voluntarily went to the police station after being visited this morning. It seems that he’s being accused of rape.”

I swallow hard as I listen to Jeffrey’s words. That means that Travis went somewhere else last night. The woman he was with at the bar seemed rather put off that he was speaking to me. I can’t imagine she would have given him the time of day after the way he brushed her off.

Jeffrey sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down and resting his face in his hands.

“This isn’t our first accusation of rape,” I remind him, although it’s the first for Travis.

“No, it’s not, but this is Travis Kidd. His antics alone, his habits and the lifestyle he leads, have made him a prime suspect, and according to Abbott, the district attorney is ready to throw the book at him. You can bet that the media will be all over this. The DA is always looking to have his face in front of the cameras.”

“Was he arrested?”

Jeffrey shakes his head. “Not yet, according to Abbott. He got the call from Kidd and went right there. He called me on the way, telling me what he knew. Kidd is saying he’s innocent and has an alibi who can testify that he left the bar by himself.”

My throat swells, and my palms begin to sweat. “Did he say who?” I croak through my question. Relief washes over me as Jeffrey shakes his head. I may have been in the cab with Travis but didn’t stay, and the woman at the bar got into a car before I walked off. That doesn’t mean he didn’t circle back, though. And that doesn’t mean I’m his alibi.

“Abbott indicated that Kidd wants to speak to this person before he gives the police their name.”

“And I gather the police aren’t that easily swayed?”

Jeffrey’s lips go into a fine line as he shakes his head. “Unfortunately no.” He stands and moves to the far wall, looking at the framed images. “I need you to go down there for the press conferences. The DA is hungry. It’s an election year, and Kidd handed him the case of the decade. Abbott is planning his own press conference to plead Kidd’s case to the public. The people of Boston love him, and we need the fan support. Stand with Abbott and protect Kidd.”

As much as I want to tell Jeffrey no, I can’t, it’s my job, despite how I feel about this particular client. What Travis and I shared was a mistake, and I vowed to never let anything like that happen again. I’ve made good on my promise, and I refuse to let anything come between my job and me.

I’m excused from Jeffrey’s office and head to my own. I don’t have much time to do anything except ask my assistant to clear my schedule for the day. A quick glance at my calendar tells me that it’s five meetings that she’ll have to move, three of which are new clients. I ask her to reschedule them for tomorrow and make the necessary travel arrangements for those who aren’t local.

Jeffrey was right. By the time I reach the police station, the media is lingering around, waiting for someone to come out and talk to them. My name is called out, asking for a comment as I pass by, and I ignore each and every reporter. They know better than to ask, but they wouldn’t be doing their job if they didn’t. I run smack into Paul Boyd from ESPN, falling off-balance until he catches me.

“Thanks, Paul,” I say, straightening my clothes. I offer him a soft smile and sidestep to go by him.

“Hold up, Saylor. . .