Read Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) for Free Online

our truce prohibit the use of words like ‘squeeze.’ That’s an automatic foul.”
    Shelby tosses her hair behind her shoulder and bats her eyelashes at me. “Are you going to bench me now?”
    “Oh sure, now you like the baseball talk.” I smirk at her. “One more infraction and you’ll be in the dugout for the rest of the season, slugger.” In reality I’d be more likely to take her behind the dugout, so the two of us could have some privacy.
    She smiles and leans back on the couch, crossing her arms, not swinging for that last pitch. “Fine by me. If you’re on the mound, the view’s better from the dugout anyway.”
    My fingers itch to reach for her. We’re both playing this game right up to the hilt, then backing away before we get ourselves into trouble.
    The realtor comes back out with her laptop in her hand and a huge grin on her face. “You’re a pitcher with the Braves!”
    “Guilty as charged.”
    “Well, needless to say, everything checked out. We should be able to get you the keys by morning. Welcome back to Atlanta, Mr. Knox!”
    “Thanks, it’s been a very warm homecoming so far.”
    Shelby arches an eyebrow back at me. There might be a cold shower in my very near future.
    “You know, the owners may be interested in selling the place down the line. If you think you might be looking to buy, I can put in a word for you.”
    “I’m gonna keep things simple for now, but good to know,” I respond. I’ve still got an apartment to sell in New York, and who knows how well this trade is going to work out.
    An autograph and a handshake later, we’re done for the night. Cooper Knox has established residence in Atlanta, Georgia. Mission accomplished.
    “Thanks, Shelby, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say, forcing myself to keep it light as we get back in the car.
    “No problem. As long as you’re still planning on paying up in the form of a double burger with cheese. And a large fries. And a milkshake.”
    A girl who can handle her junk food.
    Now that’s fucking sexy.

5
    Knox
    S ix a.m .
    I groan as the alarm on my phone goes off. I was up way too late last night, replaying just about every word Shelby said to me over the last week. And adding a lot more I wish I’d heard in between. I can’t take it anymore. Fuck me, Knox.
    Yeah. That didn’t help with sleeping.
    But there’s no more time to waste. I’ve got to get back in the saddle.
    Off-season training is some of the most critical work a ball player will do all year. When you’re pitching two to three games a week for twenty-six weeks straight, your pitching arm stays strong, your stride stays long, and your reflexes are primed for maximum velocity. But take even three days off and your fast-twitch muscles start to degrade. A lazy off-season can inflict a lot of damage on your game if you’re not careful.
    I pound down a protein shake, hop in the shower, and head over to Turner Field. Time to acquaint myself with the Braves’ facilities.
    “Looks like you’re going to have the place to yourself,” the clubhouse manager says as he lets me in.
    “That suits me just fine,” I tell him. “Wouldn’t want any of my new teammates ripping off the famous Cooper Knox workout,” I say with a laugh.
    I start by alternating a series of outfield sprints and stair runs with reps of burpees, squats, lunges, and step-ups on the bleachers. Distance running isn’t useful to ball players, so we tend to focus on quick bursts of energy that mirror the pace of an actual game. I’m stiff as hell from the move and the last few days of unpacking, so I’m feeling the pain.
    After a couple of hours of training, I must be looking pretty rough, too.
    “Might want to take it down a notch, Yankee,” says Hunter Erickson, the team’s center fielder and resident pretty boy as he tosses me a towel. “Wouldn’t want you tearing any ligaments before we even get a game out of you.”
    “We can’t all be supermodels,” I say, going in