Page 29 of Knox
12
CREW
It wasour first spring training game, and we were playing the Angels in front of a decent-sized crowd. Tracking a popup near the first-base line, I was already peeling off my mask when Knox came barreling in from first. He was calling it—late—but by then we were both underneath it, and neither one of us backed off.
I adjusted to make the catch, but before I could settle, he clipped my side and knocked me straight into the dirt.
Next thing I knew, six-foot-three and one hundred eighty-five pounds landed right on top of me.
Hard.
“Jesus Christ,” I grunted, face pressed to the chalk line, Knox’s whole body on top of mine.
He didn’t move right away, and neither did I. His knee caught me near the ribs, one of his hands was braced in the dirt by my head, and the ball rolling away.
“Hey, baby,” he rasped next to my ear.
I huffed. “You weigh a damn ton.”
He shifted, probably trying to get up, but all he managed to do was grind down harder, and all I could think about was that morning when we were in the same position but with no clothes on.
“You okay down there?” he asked.
“You’re lucky I don’t elbow you in the gut.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you got me breathless.”
“Knox,” I warned, and peeked to see everyone on the field staring. Probably the fans in the stands too.
He finally rolled off me and stood, offering a hand. I took it.
“We making plays or filming porn?” Costa, the Angels’ batter, chirped.
A few guys laughed. So did the first few rows of fans.
“Could’ve at least bought me dinner first.” I smirked at Knox, which earned even more noise.
Knox’s shoulder bumped mine as he grinned, then turned and walked toward first.
We got back into position. The next pitch came right down the pipe for strike three, but I was still thinking about Knox on top of me and still thinking about his voice in my ear. Still seeing that slow fucking grin and knowing it wasn’t just for show.
I peeledoff my chest protector and let it drop onto the floor beside my chair in the clubhouse. The game was over, and I needed a shower and food ASAP. We’d won, but it didn’t really matter since it was preseason and games didn’t count on our record for the season. Still felt good to have a win out of the gate.
I grabbed my phone from my locker, seeing several notifications and my phone vibrating with more in my hand. I clicked on the ESPN notification that read:
SEAWOLVES’ CREW STRATTON AND KNOX SINGLETON GO VIRAL FOR SPRING TRAINING COLLISION
The thumbnail was a still from the second inning. Me flat on the dirt. Knox stretched over me. The headline made it sound like a typical play that got lucky attention, but the image said something else.
I tapped the video. It showed the play in foul territory as we ran for the same ball. I watched Knox crash into me then drop his mouth near my ear.
Hey, baby.
The mic wasn’t close, but it caught it anyway. Enough to be heard. Enough for every reposted clip to slap the words across the screen.
I didn’t scroll to the comments. Didn’t need to. The numbers were climbing fast with over a million views and counting. My eyes widened, and my gaze snapped to Knox’s across the room.
“Oh shit,” he muttered.
