Over the Fence: Lyssa Layne's Baseball Romances (2 page)

“Life will always throw you curves, just keep fouling them off ... the right pitch will come, but when it does, be prepared to run the bases.”

-Rick Maksian

CHAPTER 1

My fingers slowly wrap around his calf while my right hand slides down his muscular thigh. Electrified by his warm skin touching mine, I lean against him with all my weight until I hear him moan. Smiling to myself, I push just an inch further, my charm bracelet jingling as I squeeze his leg.

“Mmm, Colie…,” he mumbles, his face relaxed in pure pleasure.

I hold my position just a few more seconds before I step back slowly, relieving the pressure.  I grab his hand and help him sit up. Grunting, pitcher Grant Adamson says, “Ten years pitching, the cramps just never get easier.” 

“It’s potassium deficiency. I put a banana in your locker every morning, Grant. If you’d just eat one once in a while, then the cramps wouldn’t be that bad.” 

“And miss out on one of your massages? No way, this feels amazing,” he says as he stands and bends forward, his athletic shorts stretching over his well-defined backside. I chew on my bottom lip as I take in the Zeus-like statue in front of me. I may be his athletic trainer, but I’m still allowed to enjoy the view. He lets out a low grumble as his hands dangle to his toes and I press lightly on his back.

I grin at his answer, knowing I’ve done my job. It’s my second year working with the New York Aces baseball team. Last season was my big break, I finally moved from the rookies to the actual starting line-up. When one of the assistant trainers had a family emergency, I was asked to step in and help out. Luckily, I showcased my skills and was able to work with the starting players for the rest of the season. I’m not sure how this year will play out. I’m hoping my boss will ask me to go to spring training, but the pitchers leave this week and I still haven’t heard anything.

“Colie working her magic again?” Benny Martinez, the team’s best closing pitcher asks.

Grant stands up and nods at Benny’s comment. “You know it! Colie has that special touch,” Grant answers and gives me a wink.

My pulse races briefly but I shake it off and roll my eyes. “You two make my job sound so dirty.”

In all honesty, I’m used to it. I’m surrounded by men sometimes eighty plus hours a week. I hear them discuss jock itch, female anatomy, and more often than not their latest sexual conquests. I can cuss in multiple languages which is something I wish I could add to my resume. Female athletic trainers in Major League Baseball are few and far between, so you have to take the good with the bad. In their defense, they try to tone it down when I’m around.

The two men laugh in unison as Benny grabs an exercise band, snapping it in my direction while Grant continues to stretch. I swear, some days I feel like I work with a bunch of junior high boys. Well, a bunch of junior high millionaires, but that’s beside the point.

I lift my chin in Grant’s direction and ask, “How’s the elbow?”

He rotates his right pitching arm and nods. “It feels really good. I’m ready for spring training thanks to you.”

Grant flashes me his epic, heartthrob smile, the one where his left eyebrow rises ever so slightly. The one he rarely shows except after a big win. I take in his features. His square face with its chiseled jawline. His deep-set grey eyes with just a hint of green. His eyebrows where the inner half of each brow slants sharply downward, the left one with a scar from being nailed by a line drive. His wide mouth with those full lips. His thick brown hair with just a hint of gray teasing at his temples.
Mmm
...

I smile and shake my head. “Nuh-uh, don’t even think about it. Sit down.”

I’ve worked with Grant long enough to know he’s lying to me. When I got my big shot, he was the first player I worked with. In fact, most of the other guys didn’t want a chick around them. Once they saw how quickly I got Grant’s shoulder feeling better and he earned back his starting spot in the rotation, they soon changed their minds. Unfortunately, his elbow started acting up at the end of last season and we’ve been trying to rehabilitate it in the off-season.

He sighs. “Colie, I’m fine, really.”

I nod as I slowly pull his forearm toward me. I ask as I look up into his steely grey eyes, “Have you been icing and doing the exercises I showed you?”

“Of course I have! I’m not some overweight, middle-aged guy trying to get out of work.” He clenches his teeth and lowers his voice as he continues, “Sorry. I’ve been doing everything you told me, it’s just frustrating. I need one more good season. After this year, I’ll be okay with pitching relief, but I need to be in the rotation one last time.”

I place my hand on his thigh and give it a light squeeze. “I’m going to keep you on the field, Grant. I won’t let you down.”

His brows unfurrow and his face softens. He places his hand on mine and presses gently to show his appreciation.

“Take it easy tonight and I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

Standing up, he smiles and gives me a quick salute. “Yes, boss.”

Throwing a towel at his six-two frame as he leaves the training room, I shake my head laughing. I’m thankful Grant and I clicked from the beginning. I know he helped get the guys on board with having a female trainer. He took me under his wing and has continued to watch out for me, as have the rest of the guys. Now, it’s like I have twenty-five big brothers looking over my shoulder. I guess it’s the reason I can never get a date in this city, especially with a baseball player.

***

The sun isn’t even up when my iPhone alarm goes off singing
Put Me in Coach
. I groan into the pillow, pressing it tight against my face. I was in the middle of a wonderful, glorious dream. It’s a recurring dream where Jace Richards is carrying me on the beach. We’re laughing, the sun is shining, and he lays me down in the sand when the damn alarm goes off.

My phone beeps with a text message. I throw the pillow across the room, irritated more at the dream than the alarm. It’s been almost five years since I’ve seen Jace. He was a senior baseball player with a torn ACL, and we were best friends. I always wanted more, yet I never acted on my feelings for him until it was too late. After the game when he tore his ACL, I stayed with him all night. In the morning, he told me he’d given up, he was never going to play baseball again, so he was leaving school. I begged him not to, did everything I could short of professing my love, but he went home the next day and I haven’t seen him since.

Much to my surprise, less than a year later, he signed with a minor league team and two years ago joined the starting pitching rotation for the Washington Diplomats. Ever since I saw his picture on ESPN, I’ve been having these dreams. Two years of these and the sexless life I lead is really starting to take its toll on me.

Some nights we’re on the beach, other times we’re back in college, but lately we’ve been in a dugout. In the dream, we never talk, only kiss. When his lips touch my neck, I feel the tingle in the same spot. The same feeling occurs when he kisses my shoulder, my breasts, and everywhere else. I glance in the mirror as I brush my teeth and my cheeks are red just at the thought of the dream.

I spit out toothpaste, pausing to look at myself again in the mirror.  My cheeks are still flushed from the dream. “Get it together, Colie. Jace doesn’t even remember you.”

It’s hard to forget your first love when he’s constantly in the news. If he hasn’t earned another win for his team, he’s flaunting his latest girlfriend. I’m sure it’s better the way things are now. I just pray my career as a personal trainer doesn’t lead to us crossing paths. It’s part of the reason I’m hoping in the long run to switch to a team not in the same division as Jace Richards.

My phone beeps again as I walk into my bedroom. Pulling off the tank top I slept in, my fingers search for my phone on the dresser. Since I don’t have my contacts in yet, I skim the text with one eye shut, although I can already tell it’s from Grant. He knows I’m not a morning person and always texts me five minutes after my alarm goes off. Typing a quick reply, I hit send as I rummage through my drawers looking for a sports bra. A neon pink one should do the trick and I pull it over my B-cups. My small boobs are the price I pay for staying in shape. I stumble into the bathroom to put my contacts in.

Grant and I meet every morning for a quick run at the gym followed by a good stretching session. And yes, I wear make-up to the gym. I’ve been in a few too many paparazzi pictures with the guys to know that I always need to be ready. I blink my contacts into place. Everyone always asks if I use colored ones because my eyes are bright blue, but I swear that I don’t. I pull my long, blonde hair back into a ponytail and sigh. No matter my age, I have a total baby face. That, combined with the fact that I’m only five feet five inches tall means I will forever be carded when I buy alcohol.

Scrunching my square nose and pursing my thin lips, I take a final look in the mirror. I practice the most awkward face in the mirror so I can to see how I’ll look when the paparazzi snap my photo. They always get the worst pictures. Luckily, I’m usually in the background, blurry and out of focus.

A sharp knock on the door startles me, and I glance at the clock. I still have five minutes before I have to meet Grant. Grabbing a pair of running shorts and a tank top that I’m still pulling down, I open the door.

“Still waking up?” he says, as his eyes drift down to my still-exposed belly. I tug my shirt down quickly while my cheeks flush. I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Just getting my shoes on.”

“Got a caffeine boost for you.  Single shot of espresso, right?” he says, holding out a cup in his right hand.

“Double.”

“Double, that’s what I meant.” he says, handing me the left cup instead. I take it hesitantly, feeling the warmth of the coffee seep into my hands through the cheap cardboard cup. He squeezes past me, stepping into my apartment.

I notice him checking out my place as I close the door behind him. I’m too busy enjoying the velvety latte at the moment to ask why he’s here instead of meeting me at the gym like normal.

A few sips later and the caffeine kicks in. I see Grant standing by the fire escape. I tear myself away from the only thing motivating me to keep moving, raising a questioning eyebrow.

He points out the window. “Is this thing up to code?”

I shrug. “Who knows?”

I sit down to put on my running shoes.

“Colie!” he says, exasperated.

“What?” I glance up at him.

“You live on the tenth floor. You need a fire escape that works.” He points to a dangling light fixture. “How long has that been broken?”

This isn’t the first time Grant’s been to my place. My apartment is definitely much smaller and more out-of-date than his house on the other side of town. I find it to be cozy and vintage, which my older sister Meg says is another way of saying tiny and old. Grant is never insulting when he comes over, but he always questions the safety of my building. I’ll admit it’s a little worn down, but I’m hardly ever home, so what’s it really matter? Grant’s interest always makes me wonder whether he could have been a building inspector if the whole baseball thing hadn’t worked out for him.

I tie my shoe and put my foot on the ground, and then stand up, taking another sip of caffeine as I shrug again.

“A couple months?”

“That could be a fire hazard and you don’t even have a safe escape route!”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” I say, holding up my hands in mock-surrender. “I’ll call my landlord again. He’ll get around to it eventually.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ll call a friend of mine at City Hall and have the whole building inspected.”

Grant is always like this. He thinks he’s my protector, always having to take care of me. In my professional opinion, he needs to get laid as much as I do. Well, I assume he does. We may be close friends, but we’ve never actually discussed our personal relationships. I know he’s divorced, but that’s about it.

I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Grant? You’re overreacting… again.”

His eyes narrow into a glare that could easily shut someone up. Well, someone other than me. I return the look and mutter, “Well, you are… ”

“Colie, I never overreact. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

I ignore his comment. “What are you doing here instead of meeting me at the gym?”

“There’s photographers outside the gym. I thought we could go around the corner to Tank’s Training Facility… Why are you laughing?”

“You sure you aren’t overreacting?” I tease.