Page 16 of Fielder's Choice

I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman with baggage who is just getting back into the world after shutting myself out. He’s a thirty-two-year-old professional baseball player who has the world’s cutest daughter.

So, if we’re so different, why do I still feel a pull toward him? Why do I want to know more about him?

This feels dangerous to me. The last time I truly got to know someone and let my guard down, I spent the next six years trying to find myself again.

I can’t put myself through that. I can’t do that to my family. That time was obviously hard on me, but it was really hard on them, too.

Lane seems sweet, and he’s undeniably attractive, but despite what Corinne said at my appointment yesterday, I’m not sure I can let myself get any closer to him.

I was a bit nervous about today’s lesson, but it’s thankfully not been as awkward as I anticipated. I believe that’s solely because Rory is back from her honeymoon, so she’s here right now, though Lane did decide to join again.

Regardless, it’s giving me somebody else to talk to so I don’t make a fool of myself in front of Lane.

Those two are watching as I crouch down in front of Sage, taking her hands in mine as the lesson is almost over.

“You’ve done a wonderful job today, Sage!” I say happily, and Sage gives me a toothy grin. “Let’s see if you can put these moves together now.”

“Otay!” she says brightly, and I swear I melt from how fucking cute she is.

“Plié.”

Sage lowers herself, bending her knees not quite outward but a close enough attempt for a child that’s not even three.

“Relevé.”

She rises up onto the balls of her feet, awaiting her next instructions.

“And sauté.”

Sage springs herself up into the air, pride clear on her face when she sees my smile. Her dad, though, looks at me in confusion.

“Sauté? She’s not a piece of chicken.”

Rory and I both double over in laughter.

“Sauté is more than just a method of cooking,” I chuckle, standing up and straightening out my skirt. “It’s a French word that means ‘to jump.’ It’s also the ballet move your daughter just demonstrated by jumping into the air.”

“I can’t believe you just compared your daughter to a piece of chicken,” Rory laughs, shaking her head as she does.

Lane scoffs. “I said she’snota piece of chicken, thank you.”

Sage runs ahead of me, jumping into Rory’s arms as I walk over to stand in front of her and Lane.

“If you keep coming around here, Hotshot, you’re going to learn a bit of French.”

Rory bites down a smile as Lane raises his eyebrow and shoots me his signature grin. “Hotshot?”

I immediately heat all over, no doubt blushing a deep shade of scarlet. “Oh! I-I just—”

“Baseball hotshot,” he replies smugly. “I get it.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe that just slipped out.”

“Not into nicknames, huh? That’s gonna be a problem for me, Ballerina.”

I lower my hands and catch his eyes, and all I can feel is that same pull I felt at Urban Grind.

What is it about Lane Brooks that has me acting this way?

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