Page 41 of The Strike Zone

“He’s not waggling.” My eyes darted around to all the occupied desks in earshot, though thankfully that wasn’t many, given it was nearly lunchtime and people were already starting to head out into the sunshine. But there were still ears around to pay attention to what Alice had to say. “And will you keep your voice down?”

Her focus went back to the field. “I’d say that was waggling.”

“Alice…”

“What? If you’re not staring out the window at Parker King and his cute butt, wondering what it would be like to date him, then what does it matter who hears?”

“I don’t know why I tell you anything.” I huffed and focused back on my laptop.

“Hey, when a hot major league ball player asks you out, not once, but twice, it’s only normal to wonder what dating him would be like.”

“I wasn’t wondering.”

She spun around and pinned me with her big brown eyes. Alice was kind of intimidating when she wanted to be, especially when she didn’t blink.

“I wasn’t, I was thinking about the new job.”

It was half true.

I hadn’t yet had the job description, so I’d been wondering when it would arrive. That’s what I’d been thinking about. She didn’t need to know I was also thinking about Parker because, yeah, I’d been watching him practice.

And I hadn’t been thinking about dating him. I’d done that already.

I’d been thinking about the way my belly did that little flip whenever he smiled at me.

Or how big his smile grew when I caught him looking at me—which was way more than I should have.

Or maybe Parker was catchingmelooking athim. Because however you viewed it, the pair of us spent a lot of time staring at each other.

“You could do it for me, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Find out what that cute little butt is like.” She laughed.

I pushed her chair to the side, making room for me to roll in next to her, and resumed my staring at what I’d been staring at for far too long before Alice rudely interrupted me.

Not much had changed.

Grounds staff were prepping the stadium for the game later—picking up any trash left from last night’s game, followed with hosing down the stands and bleacher seats. On the field, the lawnmowers trimming the grass had left behind thick green stripes. More staff were cleaning the bases, tidying the wide fan of terracotta that ran around the diamond, and brightening up the Lions logo in the center.

But it was in the corner, behind the Lions’ dugout, where my attention had been, and was once more.

Parker was in the batting cages, running drills with the coaches and a couple of the relief catchers.

While I couldn’t tell who was pitching to him from this distance, I knew without doubt that the guy crouching behind the plate was Parker, even with his ball cap and cage mask. It was the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his thighs, the way he was rocking ever so slightly on the balls of his feet from side to side. Something I’d noticed he did every time he got into position.

I guess it could be interpreted as waggling.

I leaned into Alice so only she could hear. “I agree it’s a cute butt.”

“Hmm,” was her only reply, before she side-eyed me. “Have you heard any more from Shit Head?”

“Not since I blocked him.”

She reached behind and picked up a pot of lip balm from my desk, twisting the top off to sniff before putting it back down. Her eyes barely left the batting cages however. “Sure you don’t want to get back on the horse?”

“I’m sure,” I replied firmly, though even as I said it I wasn’t quite sure I meant it.

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