Page 5 of Sweet Spot

He had the most stunning gaze. And lips. And throat. And dear god, all of him was just so amazing.

“So what did he say?” Mei prompted.

“I don’t know. I can’t hear him from here.” But I sure could feel him. Everywhere. It was the most stunning connection.

Mei touched my hand. “I meant your date. In the car.”

When I turned, Mei was looking from me to the man at the bar and back again. I was totally busted and I could not hide the blush that hit me when I realized I’d been swept away by a man who was not my type while describing a man who was very much my type, but turned out to be a jerk.

Maybe you should start rethinking your type.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, he was talking to a man about increasing their masculinity and leadership.”

“No!” Nan gagged. “I really hate men, no offense,” she said to the men at the table, “but that toxic masculinity shit is why I don’t play with men. I totally could. I think having separate men’s and women’s teams is dumb, but then again, it means I don’t have to deal with their fragile male egos, so,” she shrugged.

The conversation twisted around the subject of Garrett, the mystery man on the phone, and the Ralph Index podcast, while I found myself stealing glances at the man at the bar again. He seemed to have a good relationship with Mark, which meant he was probably local. It wasn’t like it was cheap to live around here. Despite his unkempt appearance he had to have at least some of his life together.

And damn he was gorgeous. I didn’t think I’d ever been this attracted to any man I just saw for the first time, especially not someone in flip flops. He laughed again and my body had the same reaction, only this time the tips of my ears burned too.

Maybe it was time to throw out my rule book and consider, after a decade and half in the dating pool with no success, I had no idea what I was actually looking for in a man.

2

Isaac

“You know this disguise won’t work next week,” Mark said as he pulled another beer from the tap and set it on the counter for Ruth to take to whatever table had ordered it.

“It’s not a disguise,” I grumbled. “This is just who I am when I’m not working. And I know very well I’ll be much more recognizable a week from now.” Tomorrow I had a haircut and shave ahead of my first press conference since I signed my contract two months ago. The day after that I would spend one last day back home. The day after that my life would be consumed by baseball until the Mantas’ season was done.

“You ready?” Mark was tall and broad. The kind of shoulders you expected on a former defensive tackle, except Mark swore he never played a game of serious football in his life.

“Thanks Mark!” Ruth waved as she picked up the beer. It was not lost on me that her eyes traveled over my body before she turned away.

Normally I’d take a moment to enjoy that possibility. Flirt a little. Have whatever fun there was to be had in pursuing a potential fling. But I swore off women two months ago, giving my total focus to this job for the first year. My brother, Everett, did the same. Ansons had a problem with focus and balance so we decided if we were really doing this—giving a career in professional baseball a shot—we were giving it our all.

If there was anything I would not do, it was let my job ruin my life. It was a vow I made the day I found out Rosie existed and I had no intentions of dropping the ball now.

Mark waited for my answer. Was I ready? The real answer was no. I was definitely not ready to manage a baseball team, but no one wanted to hear that. “As ready as I can be with a new owner making everything complicated.”

Mark shook his head. “I still can’t believe they sold. Who sells a team right after they win a championship?” He whistled at the very expensive price tag that Eli Stirling paid for the Mantas.

“The better question is who pays for a team that just won a championship. You’ve got to desperately want that team.” Which was why I didn’t understand Eli Stirling. He paid a fortune for a team that was already winning. Why screw it up?

“Yeah well, if you figure it out, let me know. All of Tampa Bay is curious about that one.” He turned to deal with other customers, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my beer.

I liked The Red Tourist for a number of reasons. One, I could walk to it from my new house if I wanted. It was a little on the far side for a walk, but not terrible. Two, I’d been eating at the original Red Tourist on Calusa Key my whole life. Clint Bolton now had eight locations between this one and Sanibel to the south. Each one was a little different, but they all felt the same, which was like having a little piece of home at the end of my block. The third reason I liked it here was that no one recognized me. Yet. The true test would be a few weeks from now after everyone got used to seeing my ugly mug on their television sets. My hope was that they were so busy staring at my players they didn’t even glance at the screen when the cameras focused on me.

A guy could dream.

“Are we ready to party?” Everett asked, drumming the bar before he sat down on the stool beside me.

It was our last night of freedom before spring training and we decided to spend it together. Rosie was with my parents so I didn’t have any responsibilities to anyone but myself.

“Already started.” I held up my half-drunk mug of beer.

“Where’s the food?”

“I waited for you. I know how you hate cold wings.” Reds had the hottest wings I had ever had in my life.

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