The Long Ball Read online

  The Long Ball

  Aria Cole

  Aria Cole

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  First Epilogue

  Second Epilogue

  Third Epilogue

  Fourth Epilogue

  Fifth Epilogue

  First Two Chapter’s From Rock Hard by Kat Austen

  Bonus Book: Bending Bethany

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Aria Cole

  THE LONG BALL

  BY

  ARIA COLE

  Copyright © 2016 by Aria Cole

  Cover Design: Sybil at PopKitty Reviews

  Editing: Aquila Editing

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  To Sybil,

  Thank you for always helping me nail it. I would be naked without you.

  All my love,

  Aria

  Introduction

  The star player with a troubled past…

  Cash Greenwood escaped a difficult past by becoming a star baseball player. Now, one of the major league’s rare double threats, all his effort is thrown into the sport. He's never had any interest in women, until he meets the one woman who wants nothing to do with him.

  The daughter of baseball royalty…

  Delilah Gray’s life revolves around numbers, research, and data. She has no time for anything messy like emotions or relationships. Especially not when they come in the sexy guise of a baseball player. She's seen first-hand the devastation caused by dating a man obsessed with the sport, and that's one risk she's not willing to take.

  She is one curveball he never saw coming…

  But this is one pitch Cash is determined to hit out of the park. Sexual tensions run high and feelings start to develop, but will Delilah ever see that they could have a solid future together? Determined to make her his, she may just prove to be the hardest game of Cash’s life.

  WARNING: The Long Ball features an obsessed jock with six-pack abs in tight pants determined to get his girl. If syrupy sweet romance and fiery passions appeal to you, then hold onto your panties because this one may just hit them out of the park.

  Prologue

  Cash

  I always get asked the question, what's the best part about playing baseball? How do you explain the feeling of flying? People associate flying with freedom, so that’s an easy answer, but it’s so much more than that. Flying makes it seem like nothing matters; the world just slips away and the only feeling that remains is the euphoria from spreading your wings.

  When I’m on the mound and waiting for that ball to whip by and connect with my bat, I’m the ruler of my universe. I’m in control. I’m in the driver’s seat. A stadium packed with sixty-thousand fans, watching, waiting. Normally loud, boisterous, full of gumption and occasionally way too much testosterone, but suddenly they are all silent, waiting with bated breath—waiting on me. And that anticipation…oh, that anticipation is sweeter than anything else.

  My heart races, exhilarates, then explodes. I feel my body both bunch with nerves and stand tall in pride as that ball comes and connects with the bat, now an extension of myself.

  The fans yell in abandon.

  They see it, the long ball…

  1

  Cash

  “Stop being a whiny bitch, Greenwood! Bottoms up!”

  My best friend and resident troublemaker of the team smacked me on the back. His boisterous laugh and booming voice took up all the space around him. I loved many things about the man, but the thing I loved the most was that in his presence, I became invisible. Since the age of 16 I’ve been recognizable. Once you were a star athlete with a future and the hope of winning a championship, you became a commodity, something shiny. And being simultaneously a slugger and a pitcher was a combination so rare that those with it, like myself, were priceless.

  It hadn’t taken me long to learn that being invisible keeps you safe.

  “We have to meet that analytics chick in an hour. I don’t want to reek of alcohol. Coach will kick our asses.” I didn’t like to drink. Most days I couldn’t even stomach the smell of it, but for the sake of keeping up appearances I usually nursed a glass in my hand and always offered to be the designated driver so no one suspected anything. Rod was really good about covering for me when needed, chugging back the drinks people often bought for me, acting like the cocky best friend he was.

  “It’s still technically the off-season. Another one won’t hurt.”

  “Another always hurts, particularly in the form of a hangover the next morning,” I replied.

  “You sound like a dodgy old fuck. Where’s the guy who used to party with me all night long? I want him back.”

  I chuckled, thinking about all the times we’d been in trouble. I prided myself on how well I blended into the crowd and let him take the attention. Rodriguez and I had been buddies since our rookie year. We’d grown up together on this team, cut our teeth on the ins and outs of playing professional ball, but as time passed I found that faking it seemed to exhaust me more and more each day. I was tired of it all, and the only thing that still made me feel something was the game. Everything else was endless noise that passed by with no true meaning or intention. I felt like I was walking in a blur, just waiting for time to pass.

  “I’m not twenty-one anymore. Coach said any more stunts like that one you pulled at warm-ups and we’re both benched. And you, motherfucker, are not getting me benched.” The idea of sitting out a game was unbearable. Rod and I were thick as thieves, and Coach knew that if anyone could reel him in, it would be me. But what the coach didn’t know was that the idea of losing baseball in any way was like a noose around my neck, tightening until all the oxygen was ripped from me.

  “You're my wingman, buddy, and ya gotta admit, spiking the water cooler was pretty genius.”

  “And landed us in a shit load of trouble. Frankly, I’m just too old for this shit anymore. Let the rookies have at it. We had our fun.”

  “You make thirty sound like a death sentence. Not for me. When I turn the big 3-0 next year I’m going big. I want my feet in the sand with a drink in my hand and a pussy on each arm. Fuck it, a limo full of pussy. I am gonna get more ass that night than a toilet seat.”

  “Yeah, I bet you do.” I’d never liked how Rodriguez embraced the cliché ball player persona. He played ball hard—out on the field he was a beast. But he partied even harder, a revolving door of girls after every game. I was always up for
a few drinks, but the groupies that surrounded Rodriguez always made my stomach turn. It was so obvious they wanted him for his status and money—his staggering salary was very appealing to bunt bunnies. I had absolutely zero interest in them.

  All the women around ball players didn’t have much to offer, and my life was so messed up that I doubt any woman wanted anything to do with it when she found out. The only kind that would stay would be one that would hope for a staggering payday at the end. I had enough people standing by with their hand out, so I wasn’t interested in a woman who wanted that, too. Besides, I only had a few more years to play this game, and I wasn’t going to squander them for some chick. These women didn’t care about the men. They cared about the limos, the big ticket items the ball players paid for, and the thousand-dollar dinners. Rodriguez made hundreds of millions, just like so many of my buddies, and just like the other ball players, he had no issue living like a king. But that lifestyle didn’t interest me in the least.

  This life wasn’t for everyone, I wasn’t even sure it was for me sometimes. I rarely liked to go out, and the women did nothing for me. I lived and breathed the game, so much so that I couldn’t imagine what else I would be doing if it wasn’t this. I had one single focus and that was to win the World Series. I had been playing ball for eleven years with the MLB, and that was the only thing that eluded me. I was known as the best player in the entire league and yet I didn’t have that World Series title under my belt. My years left playing ball were dwindling—a ball player was gettin’ some age by thirty—but it was the one dream I hadn’t yet attained.

  “Let’s head over, man. Don’t want to piss off Coach.”

  Rod slammed his shot glass down on the counter, his eyes shining with excitement. “Wanna place bets on how fast I can get up the analytic girl’s skirt?”

  “You haven’t even seen her yet.” We walked out the doors of the corner bar, afternoon light heating my skin as we walked the short block to the stadium. Today we had a meeting with what would be the new official star analytics firm for the club, before opening day tomorrow. I’d been waiting months for this day, the time between playoffs and opening season always left a pit of dread in my stomach. If I could play twelve months of the year I would.

  We pushed through the stadium doors and made our way down the dim hallway, headed for the conference room next to the locker room. I nodded at Coach when we walked in and greeted a few of the other guys as the entire team settled on benches around the center of the room.

  “I don’t want to take up much of your time, so I’ll cut right to the chase.” Coach looked around the room. “A few of you have been fucking off, so we need focus if we’re going to have a good season. I don’t expect miracles, but I do expect you to listen. No more antics. Stay focused. I expect each of you to improve your averages by the end of the season. “

  “Like it or not, stats are down, guys. We need all heads in the game if we’re gonna improve and have a shot at going all the way this year. Delilah Grey from Lionsgate Analytics is here to help us do that. She’ll be with us—every game, every day—all season. She’ll be sending me the stats throughout the game, and I want you guys tuned in to your averages. Push yourselves every night.” He glanced around the room, pausing for a moment on Rod. “And please treat Delilah with respect. She knows we need some help, but she doesn't need to know you’re all a bunch of animals.” God, I loved Coach. So steady and calm. He was the reason this team was great. Without him we’d all be a bunch of animals on the field.

  Coach swung open the locker room door and in walked a fucking vision.

  I noticed the heels first. Sexy stilettos with leather cutouts that made me want to get down on my knees and slip them off her feet one at a time. My eyes devoured her creamy, toned calves, and not even the conservative pencil skirt could hide the full curves of her hips.

  “Jesus,” Rod said under his breath.

  I nudged him, for the first time in my life irritated by his overt appreciation of a woman. Looking at Delilah, the hairs on my arms stood to attention. As did something else. Damn, she was stunning, I’d never seen a woman so radiant in my entire life. She had dark silky hair cascading down her back in loose curls, so damn soft-looking that my hand itched to brush up against them. I, Cash Greenwood, for the first time in my life, had a desire to brush up against a woman’s hair.

  “Hey guys, I’m Delilah Grey.” She nodded, her spine rigid as she leafed through a handful of papers in her arms. “If you could pass these around, I’ll tell you a little about me, then we can chat individually.”

  “Individually?” Rod chimed, his horny grin sending anger racing through my stomach.

  “Yes, that’s how I prefer to work. Deal with each player’s specific issues before we bring the whole team together.”

  “I’ve only got one issue.” Rod shifted in his seat, his hand brushing over his crotch. My nostrils flared. Why was he such a dick? At that moment I hated my best friend so much I wanted to pound his face into the ground. The thought made me feel ashamed and idiotic. I knew Rod, he was a joker, more talk than action on most days, but the fact that he was being crass to this woman upset me beyond all reason. I didn’t have an explanation, but I did not enjoy the idea of Rod looking at her like she was a piece of meat. Not one bit.

  Delilah’s deep chocolate eyes narrowed in a flare of anger for a moment before she turned back to her paperwork. If one paid close attention to her, as I was doing, one could see the patch of red forming on the back of her neck. “I started Lionsgate Analytics nearly three years ago. I want you to be the best players, on and off the field, and excelling in this world isn’t just about home runs and fly balls. It’s also about measuring speed, distance, velocity.” Her eyes flicked over the team again. “I’ll be hanging out at all the games, laptop open and watching just how consistent everyone is, and hopefully it won’t take us long to get an average. Anyone have questions for me?”

  “Yeah, got plans tonight, sweetheart?” That was Rod, and I nearly shoved my fist in his gut for that one. I watched as Delilah’s jaw ticked. She was tough, I could tell. I liked that. I liked that she wouldn’t take anything sitting down. I had had enough of women taking things sitting down, so the fighter in me was drawn to the fire in her.

  “Let me make one other thing clear: if anyone calls me sweetheart, toots, doll, baby, or any other demeaning term of endearment again, I can’t promise you won’t feel my high heel in your balls. I don’t play well with men who act like animals. We’re here for one thing and one thing only—to get this team in shape to win this year. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make an ass out of yourself in the process. Have I made myself clear?”

  Fire blazed through my veins when she spun and exited the very door she’d come from. Well damn, after thirty years I finally found a woman who could make me take notice, make me want to chase. And not only chase, but tie her up and hold her against me, bind her to me in every way possible.

  “Well, glad that went well.” Coach pushed a hand through his graying hair. “Cash, you go first.”

  I followed her out of the room and into the smaller suite next door. When I entered she was already seated at the small desk, a few papers spread out before her, arms crossed over her chest as she waited. I licked my lips when I saw her. God, she was something else, all hard and edgy but yet so soft and delicate at the same time. She was wearing a crisp, white, button-down shirt under her blazer, and although she wasn’t showing any skin, I knew that the pretty packaging was nothing compared to the delectable gift of her flesh. She had her shirt buttoned almost to her chin, but that only made me want to pop those buttons with my teeth and peel the fabric off her body, exploring every inch of her with my tongue as I went.

  I shook my head to clear the images of her naked body displayed before me, a wonderland waiting for me to enter, and I sat down, rather uncomfortably, in the seat across from her.

  “Cash Greenwood?” She held up a sheet of paper, my black-and-white te
am photo printed across the top.

  “That’s me.” I crossed my arms, relaxing back into my chair as I watched her with an interested eye.

  “Why do you think Coach asked me to sit down with you?”

  “Because he asked everyone to?”

  Her eyes flickered at my smart reply. She sucked in a quick breath, her chest heaving with the movement and stretching the fabric across her round, sexy tits. I wondered if she was wearing a push-up bra, but then figured there was no way tits that beautiful could be a slight of hand.

  “Because you’re the pitcher. The pitcher tends to be the natural-born leader, and according to these stats…” She glanced down at the sheet of paper. “You’re the star hitter, too. You have any idea how rare your talent is?” She arched an eyebrow. “So is there anything you want to start with, beyond a smart-ass remark?”

  A deep grin pulled at my cheeks as I held her eyes, letting the silence stretch between us until she started squirming in her chair. I made her nervous. I bit down on my bottom lip as my eyes flicked up and down her body before I finally spoke. “Maybe I was hoping you could teach me a thing or two.”

  Why the fuck did I just do that?

  I wanted to kick my own ass. I sounded like a waste-of-space asshole jock, one who thinks he can do whatever and act however just because he plays baseball. Like some instinct kicked in, I’d wanted to protect myself, and acting like a dick meant that no one would try to penetrate the shell I had set into place so very long ago.

  Delilah’s cheeks flamed, the crimson crawling right up her neck and making me wish I could see what the rest of her looked like when she blushed. I liked the idea of her being flushed red based on something I’d said. I wondered if her nipples were the same shade as her petal-pink lips, and what the weight of her heavy tits in my hands would feel like. Jesus, I sounded like Rod, because this kind of thinking sure as hell wasn’t me.