Love Between Innings (Waves Baseball #1)

Chapter 1

Alex

There’s only one logical response when your skeezball ex shows up with your former best friend on his arm—kiss the hot stranger you’ve been talking to.

I’ll give credit to the baseball player I’d marked as my interview subject—he sold that kiss.

So much so that Courtney, the one who cheated with my then-boyfriend and ruined our three-year friendship, did a crisp about-face and hauled my ex out of the house.

To do it justice, I should probably back up a bit.

Let’s rewind the footage and start from the beginning…

Following my roommate, I push through the crowd on the lawn toward the front door. When pulsing music tumbles out to greet us, Blaire glances back at me with a beaming smile. I try to wrangle my lips into a grin, but don’t quite land it.

“This will be fun. I promise,” she tells me.

Fun would be counting dolphins in my head on my way to a blissful night’s sleep since my flight leaves at six tomorrow morning. Fun would be leaving this cruddy junior year behind me as quickly as possible.

My noncommittal hum makes Blaire stop so suddenly that I slam into her. She gathers my hands, tucking them against her chest and pinning me with those big doe-eyes.

“Have I told you recently that you’re the best roommate ever?”

I roll my eyes, finally cracking a genuine smile. “You mentioned it a few dozen times while begging me to come out tonight.”

“And I meant it—each and every time.” She gives my fingers a squeeze. “We won’t stay that long. I promise. I just want a chance to talk to Logan outside of class.”

Blaire has been crushing on UCSD’s shortstop ever since they were partnered in organic chemistry lab. Apparently, the baseball team won some sort of conference tournament, and this house party is their celebration.

I dip my head, so we’re eye to eye. “We can stay as long as you like.”

Even though my love life is a raging dumpster fire, I want Blaire to have a chance with her dream guy.

“Really?” Blaire practically cuts off my circulation, she clenches my hands so tight.

I laugh. “Really.”

The second we’re through the door, a guy in a backwards baseball hat and a tournament champion shirt tucks Blaire under his arm and leads her to a cozy corner. She gives me a jubilant thumbs up when he isn’t looking, making me chuckle.

I open Instagram, planning on doomscrolling until Blaire’s ready to leave, but then remember the challenge my journalism professor gave us before dismissing us for the summer.

“You don’t find stories. You notice people. The stories will follow.” She pauses just long enough to flash us her iconic, red-lipsticked smirk. “But only if you ask better questions.”

I shove my phone into the back pocket of my denim cutoffs and scan the room.

The baseball players stand out because they’re all wearing the same shirt.

Otherwise, it’s a varied mix of students, most of whom are already stumbling like inebriated idiots.

A heavy exhale leaves my nose. I don’t think my professor had tipsy co-eds in mind when she encouraged us to dig deeper.

When I started my journalism classes, my dad lectured me about taking my college education seriously and not just focusing on the UCSD surf team.

Though I might have occasionally showed up late to morning lectures after getting barreled at Blacks, I took his advice to heart and stayed in the top twenty percent of my class.

In my perfect future, I won’t need my degree until after several Olympic gold medals and a prosperous surf career.

I just missed the cutoff last time, but tomorrow I leave to spend my summer in Hawaii, further honing my skills for the next qualifier.

Without anyone to interview, I wander into the kitchen on my way to the back patio. Blaire knows that I won’t leave without her, so I might as well doomscroll in the crisp evening air.

There’s nothing better than early summer in San Diego. The air is never quite warm, making it perfect for tucking your fingertips into the cuffs of an oversized sweatshirt. The humid breeze always carries the comforting scent of the sea with a hint of eucalyptus.

It’s something I wish perfumeries would bottle, but no one can accurately capture the smell of the ocean. Fortunately, they’ve nailed eucalyptus. I never leave the house without a calming spritz.

As I push my way through the throng, a guy with a cropped baseball mullet fills an empty Solo cup with Sprite.

Normally, the mullet would give me the ick, but there’s something about his chestnut locks that makes my fingers itch.

Pair that with the stubble beard on his sharp jaw and how his ice-blue eyes twinkle as he laughs at his friend’s antics, and I nearly slow my stride.

It’s when he doesn’t add anything from the plethora of alcohol bottles littering the countertop that finally makes me pause. This guy might be coherent enough to talk to. Changing directions, I step beside him to grab my own cup.

“Hey,” I say, focusing on filling my cup to the brim with fizzy Dr. Pepper.

“Hey.”

I can practically feel the warmth infused in that single-syllable word. He says it like we’ve been friends for ages, like I already know his middle name and which elementary school teacher was his favorite. My lips quirk before I press them together to maintain a neutral facade.

“Do you live here?”

He laughs, deep and rumbly. “No, I live in a tiny apartment with three other guys.”

“That sounds like a lot of man-stink per square foot. Are your noses for decoration only, or is Febreze more of a lifestyle?” Sneaking a sip of soda, I glance up.

His mirthful gaze has no right being this mesmerizing. The corners of his mouth lift to a dazzling degree, and is that? Yup. He has a dimple. But only on his left side, which weirdly makes him more attractive? Must be something about the asymmetry.

Okay, so this guy is crazy hot. Big deal. Ask him some questions.

“Where are you from?”

I follow my question with another deep draw from my cup. Is there anything better than fresh Dr. Pepper?

That dimple winks at me. “How do you know I’m not from here?”

“You’re not.”

I’ve been around Californians my whole life. There’s something about him that’s off, like he doesn’t quite fit in.

“I’m not really from anywhere,” he admits. “We moved around a lot.”

“Navy brat?”

When his jaw twitches, just slightly, an electric sensation tingles down my spine. I’m close to something; I just don’t know what.

“No.” He shakes his head, glancing into his cup. “Are you a local?”

I ignore his question, replacing it with my own. “Where did you live the longest?”

His blue eyes return to mine. Wow. They are crystal clear.

“Arizona.”

“I’ve never been,” I offer to soften him. If I want to get to the bottom of that jaw twitch, I need to be less obvious that I’m digging.

“Too busy surfing?” There’s an almost flirty tilt to his lips before he takes a sip of Sprite.

A flush of heat spreads over my collarbones. I shouldn’t be so thrown by his astute observation. My hair is still tumbled from this afternoon’s paddle out, flowing halfway down my back in messy waves. I’m wearing my trusted glitter Vans with a half-dozen rope bracelets on my left wrist.

I look like the quintessential surfer girl.

It’s just…in my experience, most men don’t pay attention to what you’re saying, let alone what you’re wearing.

I lick my lips to keep from smiling. “What gave it away?”

“The wave tattoo just below your leash tan line.” He nods to my right ankle.

This time of year, I’ll usually wear a full wetsuit, but the water had been so unseasonably warm last weekend that I’d worn my shorty.

After a week of sitting in the library, studying for finals, the tan line has faded considerably.

The fact that he spotted it, that he even noticed my tiny tattoo behind my ankle bone…

Tilting my head, I reassess him with fresh eyes. “Interesting.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

This time, the zing of electricity doesn’t have anything to do with getting to the bottom of a story.

“When you lived in—” My words die mid-sentence when I catch sight of my ex, Cal, crossing the open-concept living room with his arm draped around Courtney’s neck.

What are they doing here?

This isn’t really Cal or Courtney’s scene. It’s not mine either, but I wasn’t about to leave Blaire out to dry.

My stomach pitches to the floor at the same time a memory wriggles forward.

Courtney and I had been relaxing on her couch as she gushed over the idea of her and her boyfriend having name alliteration.

She’d been excited about the potential of naming their future children with the same starting letter.

Of course, I hadn’t realized that Courtney had meant my boyfriend.

When Cal kisses Courtney’s temple, I duck my chin, shielding my face with my hand.

“Why don’t we like them?”

The way the baseball player crowds forward, protecting me with his tall, toned body, the way he uses ‘we’ as if we’re on the same team is the only thing keeping me from bolting out the back door.

All my muscles twitch in anticipation, and my blood zips in my veins.

I glance up to find his brows drawn, twin lines of concern creased between them.

With him this close, the miniscule difference between our heights becomes glaringly apparent.

I’m six-foot-even barefoot. This baseball player has four—maybe five—inches on me.

If I tilted my chin up, I could easily capture his lips with my own.

Unconsciously, my gaze flicks to his mouth before I force it away.

Where it crashes right into my ex’s.

Shoot.

Cal’s eyes widen before determination settles over his dark irises. I used to love how deep brown they were, but now I just see pits of deceit. When he tugs Courtney in my direction, I flinch.

Double shoot.

Right after I found out about them, Cal hounded me with text messages saying that we should all be friends, that there was no reason I should be upset.

Like, really, Cal? No reason at all?

After that, I blocked him, but apparently he’s just found his window to chat.

“What happened?” The baseball player’s gaze is unyielding as it locks on mine.

“He’s my ex. She’s my best friend—former best friend.” Swallowing hard, I tamp down the bile rising in the back of my throat.

“And they got together while you were still with him.” He practically growls. “What a complete scumbag—both of them.”

Pain rockets through my ribs as I hunch until my forehead almost touches his shoulder. “I just don’t want to talk to them tonight.”

Or ever.

I’d barely made it through finals. The only thing keeping me going these last two weeks has been not failing my classes and my ticket to O?ahu. I’ll have all summer to get over this heartbreak and focus on what really matters—Olympic trials.

“What can I do?”

The craziest answer pops into my head, and I almost don’t say it aloud. But with my ex getting closer with each passing second, a pressure builds in my chest until I blurt, “Kiss me.”

“What?” He blinks, incredulous.

I tear my gaze from my nearing ex to focus on the man in front of me. “It won’t mean anything.”

His lips press into a frown. “Like a stage kiss?”

“What?” My panicked gaze flits between him and Cal again. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

I’m almost certain he’ll refuse before one possessive hand grips my waist as the other slides beneath my hair, his thumb resting lightly on the corner of my jaw.

Instantly, the anxiety spiking through my veins drops into lulling white noise.

It feels like slipping underwater, but instead of being rag-dolled by a wave, there’s only supportive warmth.

An exhale pops from my parted lips as my muscles slacken.

All I can see is blue. All I can feel is his breath washing over my lips. All I can hear is the slight hum in the back of his throat as he inches forward at a pace that’s almost painful.

My eyelashes flutter when our noses brush, but I force them back open to watch him because…have I ever seen someone look this enraptured while leaning in to kiss me? This man doesn’t even know me, yet I’m convinced that I’m all he’s ever wanted.

When his mouth finally softens over mine, it’s such a relief that a tiny sound escapes me. I feel rather than see his smile before the hand on my jaw tilts my head expertly. Then he comes at me from another angle, still softly but with an intensity I’ve never experienced before.

My mind short circuits for a minute as everything I’ve ever known recalibrates. Light and sound seem to bend around us. Time crawls…or speeds up? I’m honestly not sure. All I know is that leaving my hands at my sides feels like a complete waste.

My fingers race up his torso, his chest, until I band them around his neck, plunging one hand into his velvety hair.

A surprised puff of breath washes over me before he deepens the kiss, matching my fervor touch for touch.

There’s a desperate edge to each brush of lips, almost as if we both know how fleeting something this good can be.

I would have happily kissed him for the rest of the night, but Blaire’s watery voice brings me back to the room. I’m aware of her coming closer as I break the kiss, never taking my gaze off the man in front of me. His pupils are blown wide, only an icy ring remaining.

“Can we go?”

I blink, trying to notice anything other than his swollen lips.

When Blaire tugs on my wrist, I snap into focus. “What did you say?”

“I need to leave.” It’s only then that I see the trails of mascara running down my sweet roommate’s face.

“What happened?” My hands frame her upper arms as I catch Courtney dragging Cal out the front door.

“Can I help?” the baseball player asks, and a blush of warmth ribbons through me at his genuine concern.

“No. I don’t think—” Blaire looks at her hands, her chin wobbling before glancing at me with pleading eyes. “Can we leave? I just want to go home.”

“Yes,” I tell her, tone reassuring, before glancing up to catch the baseball player’s eyes over her shoulder.

“Will I see you again?” he asks, and his broad chest stills as if he’s holding his breath.

“I’m flying out early tomorrow, and I won’t be back until next semester.”

I bite my lip, realizing how much it sounds like a lie but also aware I don’t have time to explain everything, not with Blaire looking like she’s half a second from a full breakdown. A part of me also knows that jumping into anything with someone new is not a good idea right now.

“So you’ll be back next year?”

I nod. “Yes. I have one more year.”

That dimpled grin breaks over his mouth. “Me too.”

My smile suddenly feels wild.

There’s a spark of potential between us, crackling like it’s a tangible thing. I’ll need to focus on surfing this summer, but this could be worth exploring when I get back.

“I’m on the team’s roster—first baseman. Look me up when you get back.”

When Blaire starts sniffling again, I sling one arm around her shoulders, tugging her toward the back door.

“I will,” I tell him, feeling every growing inch between us like a physical tether. “Next semester, I’ll find you.”