Page 3 of Force Play
“The NDA you signed says you can’t.” I snag my jacket off the chair in the corner and finally open the door to the tiny studio apartment in SoHo. “Thanks for a good night, but don’t forget that’s legally binding. Wouldn’t want to tie you up in court just because you’re unhappy about a quick fuck.”
I hear Taylor grumble as I let the door fall shut behind me, and then I’m off to the stairwell, heading out into the cool November evening.
Thankfully, the bar I’m meeting the guys at is just a few blocks away.
It may be dark outside now, but I still pull my hood over my head so I don’t attract attention.
New York City has eight million people, and I’m a very well-known face.
I’m the first baseman for the New York Stars, our professional baseball team. My friends and I all play for the team, so we’re recognized everywhere we go.
The Stars are beloved in this city, especially after the team brought home the World Series pennant two years ago.
Fuckers did that without me, though, because I was still playing in Atlanta at the time.
And I’ll give you one guess as to what team the Stars beat to take the championship.
I signed with the team a couple of months after that, wanting to leave Atlanta and play with my old teammate, Cole Pierce.
He and I played together on the Kansas Huskers and their triple-A team for a couple of seasons before we went to other teams, and it’s been great to play with him again.
As the shortstop and the first baseman, Cole and I have a good relationship on the field. On first base, I have to be ready to catch every ball lobbed at me when the batter hits it onto the field. Since the shortstop is the one who fields a lot of those balls, I have to be ready for every ball Cole throws my way.
And he’s got one hell of an arm.
I work with the rest of the team, too, obviously, but it’s Cole I work most often with on the field.
I round the corner and finally make it to the bar.
Nearly thirty minutes late, but hey, at least I’m here.
I spot the guys at a booth in the back, so after I grab a beer from the bartender, I walk back to join them.
“He’s alive!” Lane laughs as I slide in beside Cole.
Lane Brooks is our center fielder and probably the best girl dad there’s ever been. He was a single father to his daughter, Sage, for years when he met her ballet teacher, Olive, last fall. Man fell head over heels so fast. But he finally found the mother his daughter always deserved, and he’s been so damn happy.
Sage’s nanny is one of our other friends, Rory. She ended up marrying Cole a couple of years ago. The fallout after that was a shitshow because Rory is our Field Manager Paul Fisher’s daughter, but he came around.
“Fuck off,” I chide, taking a sip of my beer.
“Whose bed were you in this time?” That comes from Josh Garro, our third baseman. He married his wife, Ella, right before I signed with the team.
“Taylor,” I shrug, not giving any more information than that. Cole looks at me curiously because he knows what it means when I don’t say anything else.
He’s theonlyone who knows.
“It’s a wonder your dick doesn’t fall off with how often you use it,” Knox chuckles.
Knox Spencer is our ace pitcher and one of the best starting pitchers in the entire league. Also, one of the only ones that throws a knuckleball. He apparently used to be a grumpy fucker, but then he started fake dating Cole’s sister, Harlow, of all people. The Pierce siblings are sunshine incarnate, so it’s not surprising that she softened him, and that relationship turned real. Now they’re getting married in a couple of months.
I’m the last single one of us.
And since I don’t do relationships at all, that’s the way it’s going to stay.
“You use your dick just as often when you fuck Cole’s sister.”
Cole throws his head back and groans. “Ari, what the fuck?”
