Page 12 of Home Run

Wes whistled low. “They all grew up together. Started winning races at age fourteen and haven’t stopped since. Hope’s on a hot streak right now, but the other two ladies are also very accomplished.”

Here I was worried about being recognized and used for my fame, while Hope was her own kind of famous.

“Damn…” Wes drawled with a whine at the end. “She has five-hundred-thousand followers on Instagram. And I didn’t even know who she was until a minute ago.”

Wes was also Instagram famous. Some followed him for the behind-the-scenes baseball and Wes’s signature antics, but a lot followed him for all of his shirtless content.

“Is that good?”

“Yes,” Wes said. “Especially for a sport like cycling. I mean, I’m closing in on a million, but my ugly mug is on television almost every night and you can’t miss my underwear billboards, so for her to have that many followers means she’s famous in some circles.”

“Oh…” Erik murmured behind him. Seth looked over his shoulder, eyes bugging.

“What?”

Erik just looked at me, then back at his phone. “Nothing.”

“It’s not fucking nothing. What is it?”

Seth rolled his eyes. “She’s the new spokesperson for Crash.”

I blinked a few times. “The clothing line?”

He nodded, his eyes moving back to the phone. He smiled.

I wanted to punch the smile off his face.

“No!” Wes said, moving over to look at Erik’s phone. “That’s the line I’ve been trying to land! Damn it!”

“What’s the big deal about Crash Clothing and why do you all look like that?” The only thing I knew about clothes was that I looked good in Hugo Boss and I would never wear anything Wes modeled.

Wes whimpered some more. “It’s that new line with the sexy swimsuits and formal wear.” When I kept staring at him he sighed. “It’s a lifestyle brand. All about living life to the fullest from the bedroom to the boardroom.” He took Erik’s phone and held it up.

On the screen was a black and white image of Hope. Her sexy, muscular lines highlighted by shadows and light, featuring every single one of my favorite parts of her. All she wore was a white bikini as a gauzy white curtain blew around her in an imaginary wind. Her hair was down and long, also caught in the breeze. That mischievous glint in her eyes caught by a fucking brilliant photographer.

I wanted her again. Right now.

And so did everyone else in the locker room. In a matter of seconds I was jealous, angry, regretful, lusting, anxious, and possessive. The countdown clock in the back of my head that already glowed constantly with 106 Days now lit up like a neon sign surrounded by fireworks.

I had no way of contacting Hope. No idea what she was thinking. And 106 days to stew on it all.

Fuck!

Part II

Hope

6

Hope

I’d been staring at my iPad for the entire flight. Staring at Rhett Ryan. After our night in Miami, Daphne looked him up and told me all about him. For a whole week Daphne and Marissa were obsessed with him. I tried to ignore it and focus on race prep, but some of their yammering got through and in quiet moments—usually on planes—I couldn’t help myself.

Especially not today.

Would he show? Or was his mild obsession with me fleeting? Had he forgotten me entirely? I’d know soon enough.

But unlike our first night, I was going into this one full of information. Rhett Ryan and his Mantas teammates had just won the World Series. I was so close to sending him a congratulatory message, even wrote a few out before deleting them. I had races to focus on, not baseball players.

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