Throwing Heat: A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel

Read Throwing Heat: A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel for Free Online

Book: Read Throwing Heat: A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel for Free Online
Authors: Jennifer Seasons
if she could actually buy it with the money she’d earn by keeping her hands to herself? Well, then life would be perfect.
    Sure they had a history. And she’d admit it. Yes, they had chemistry. But it’s not like she was in any real trouble of sleeping with him. Right?
    Her stomach quivered. “You’re on.”

 
    Chapter Three
----
    P ETER DUG HIS cleat into the pitcher’s mound and signaled to Mark Cutter, who crouched behind home plate. Winding up for a slider, he pulled back his elbow and zeroed in on the catcher’s mitt. Tension coiled inside him, ready to unwind like an overtightened spring. Blood coursed through his veins, making him feel alive and hyper-focused.
    Pitching in the Major Leagues was such a rush. Pure adrenaline all the way.
    Peter was all about the rush.
    It was his life. From his team’s name to the way he threw himself into everything full throttle, balls blazing. That was just how he was built. And it had given him a life of few regrets.
    His only one was currently in the process of getting a do-over.
    Leslie had no idea what she was in for. But she would, starting just as soon as he finished this game. With the little plan he’d put in place about her apartment, the next few weeks were stacked in his favor. A sly smile crept over his face at that. He was so going to win this bet.
    No matter what it took. Snapping back to the present moment, Peter took a deep breath, blinked hard as his left eye went temporarily fuzzy, and mentally swore.
    He blinked again and his vision cleared enough to continue. Relieved, he inhaled deep and let the ball fly. His arm slung forward like a rocket and the ball flew toward home plate, breaking over and down as it confused the New York Mets batter. The player swung and missed the ball as it slipped under his bat by a good six inches.
    Cursing a blue streak, the player slammed his bat into the dirt as the umpire pumped a fist and yelled, “ Strike !”
    Yes.
    The batter stomped off, and Peter earned the last out of the inning for his team. The cheering from the crowd only grew with the guy’s agitation. It was one of the best aspects of playing at Coors Field. The fans were involved and rowdy. They were his kind of people.
    Tossing them a salute and a grin, Peter loped off the field with the rest of his team toward the dugout as the Jumbotron followed his movement. He glanced up to see himself on the big screen in his green and yellow jersey and white pants, feeling the joy of it all. Even after all these years it was still one helluva thrill.
    He was damn sure going to miss it when it was all said and done.
    For now he had his fans and his team, and his arm was firing like it had twelve cylinders. And Leslie was sitting in the bleachers along the first base line, gorgeous as always, cheering her boys on with her sister-in-law Lorelei.
    Today, that was enough.
    Entering the dugout, Peter slapped Drake Paulson’s ass and said, “Show ’em your stuff, killer,” as the first baseman crammed on his batting helmet and grabbed for a bat. He was up in the rotation and ready to slam one home.
    “If I hit a homer you got to buy me dinner, brother,” the veteran shot over his shoulder with a lopsided grin, the smile making him look a little less ugly. How the dude got laid as much as he did was beyond Peter’s comprehension. It simply defied the laws of physics.
    “Whatever, Snuffy.” The team had taken to calling Drake that lately because the brown afro on his head and thick chest hair made him look like Snuffleupagus from Sesame Street .
    The player pointed a finger at him and added gruffly, “I don’t mean Taco Bell’s ninety-nine-cent menu, either. You’re taking me out somewhere real nice like a proper girlfriend.”
    Peter pushed up the bill of his hat with a thumb to get some air on his damp skin. “Any other requests? A corsage maybe?”
    Drake made a face and tugged at his batting glove. “Shit. This ain’t the prom, Pete. Keep it in

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