Bad Run (Bad Boys of Baseball #2)

Prologue

Gwen

“Holy hot guys in baseball pants. That was amazing.” My best friend, Jenna—ever the dramatic actress—exhales as she collapses into the leather seat beside me, with her arms over her eyes.

“J, you act as if you haven’t been to a baseball game before.” I bite back a grin and roll my eyes at her. Jenna has been my best friend since the moment we met. She was decorating our dorm room with pictures of Chris Evans and Helen Miran when I walked in with my suitcases.

Let’s just say, she had me at Captain America, who is gorgeous and looks like my long-time crush.

Jenna squeals as she sits up and shimmies. “G, this wasn’t just any baseball game. It was the World-freaking-Series, and the Evaders won.”

“True,” I admit with a chuckle.

Before me, she knew nothing about baseball. Now she’s a huge fan and rocking a brand-new Evaders jersey, bouncing in her seat like a kid on Christmas morning.

After thirty years, the Los Angeles Evaders have finally won the World Series. And it was one hell of a game.

Cameron Miller pitched seven hitless innings, breaking the league record with eighteen strikeouts in a single World Series game.

Nico Romero, the catcher, hit a three-run homer during the ninth inning.

And to put the cherry on top of the sundae, our first baseman, Lance Taylor, made a crazy, super-stretch catch to nab the final out, clinching the win.

If my grandfather, good old Ted Montgomery Sr., were here, he’d be ecstatic. Being the owner of the Evaders was his greatest accomplishment in life. He put his job above all else, even his family.

My dad, Ted Montgomery Jr., is like my grandfather when it comes to his pride for his baseball team, but not his family. Ted Jr. adores his family. Even after my grandfather passed and Dad took controlling ownership of the team, he prioritized us as much as he could.

Although I prefer Evaders Stadium, the view from the opposing team’s luxury suite is amazing. I lean back in my chair and watch the fireworks shoot across the sky as the team goes wild celebrating their win. It’s a shame they won here in New York and not at home in LA.

Jenna bumps me with her shoulder. “Did you see that last play? I didn’t know men could stretch like that. Taylor practically did the splits. No wonder you’ve got a crush on him. Can you imagine what else that man could stretch? Hell, I’d let him stretch me out if he wanted to,” Jenna teases.

I can feel my cheeks heat as I picture Lance stretching me out. Legs wide, his face only millimeters from my aching core …

“Ha! You’re totally thinking about it right now.” She shoves me in the shoulder again, popping my dirty daydream bubble.

“Stop,” I hiss as her shoulders shake with stifled laughter.

“What? All I’m saying is, I see the appeal.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“I am never telling you anything again,” I whisper-yell at her, looking around to make sure no one else is listening.

Jenna barks a laugh. I shrink into my chair, with my cheeks pink and heart racing.

My best friend is the worst.

She knows way too much private information and at any time can use it against me.

“Relax. No one heard me. Your secret is in the vault, bestie.” Jenna drops the subject, and we both return our attention to the field celebration.

The stadium lights shine brightly and victoriously as the confetti cannons go off and shoot blue and silver glitter into the sky.

I can’t help but feel bad for some players on the New York Hawks as they sit in their dugout, eyes glassy and full of dejection, while their field crew arranges the platform in the middle of the infield for the trophy ceremony for the other team to celebrate.

As usual, my eyes scan the crowd, looking for him. I watch a group of Evaders players lift a jug full of yellow sports drink and pour it over Coach Anson’s head, while another talks to cameras, and then I see him.

Lance Taylor.

My stupid, silly heart leaps in my chest when Lance turns around with a wide grin on his face.

He’s devastatingly handsome.

Without his hat on, I have a clear view of his chiseled jawline, blue eyes, and dark blond hair that shimmers under the lights like the confetti falling onto the baseball field.

Lance rushes his friend Cameron and lifts him as the entire team cheers, throwing their hands into the air and jumping up and down.

An image of Lance lifting me into his arms and kissing me flutters through my brain.

“Pfff.” I blow a nearly silent raspberry at the errant thought.

I really need to get over my stupid crush on him. Lance doesn’t even know I exist, so the chances of him kissing me in celebration are slim to none.

Not that it matters. Dating any of my father’s players is out of the question.

But a girl can dream. Which is why I usually leave visions like this for nights when I’m alone in bed with my BOB.

“Yo, ladies!”

I turn to find Tristan on his way over to me and Jenna. “Hey, big brother.”

Tristan struts toward us, flipping his curly hair off his forehead. Like me, he inherited our mother’s curly blonde locks.

I can practically see the drool dripping from the corner of Jenna’s mouth as Tristan smiles at her. Talk about crushes. She’s been crushing on Tristan since seeing the family portrait my mom had framed for my dorm room.

“You’ve got something on your chin,” I whisper in her ear. I give my bestie a good revenge shove to break her from the thirst trap that is my brother.

I’m not an idiot; I get it. Tristan is good-looking, but he’s also my brother, so … gross.

Tristan knows exactly what Jenna’s thinking, and he lays it on thick, flashing her a smoldering smile as he purrs, “Hey, Jenna.”

“Hey, Triss,” she says, her voice dipping into a flirty lilt.

“Yeah, no. Not happening,” I grumble.

“Spoilsport,” Jenna teases.

“Are you two coming onto the field with us for the trophy ceremony?” Tristan asks.

“Um.” I bite my inner cheek.

I really want to go down, but I’m not sure if my father would approve. He’s been extra hard on me since I moved back to Los Angeles to work for him and the team.

He wants me to wait until the new season begins before I work with the team. My position will be under the current chief marketing officer, Maryse Hanover-Diaz.

Maryse is the wife of a former Evaders player, and ten years my senior. She is amazing at her job and has changed the way the team’s brand is valued, so I am going to learn a lot from her.

Although, I will admit that waiting for my dream job is annoying. When my three older brothers wanted to work for the Evaders, Dad replaced employees with a snap of his fingers.

It doesn’t make sense.

Aside from being a Montgomery, I’m qualified. I have bachelor’s and master’s degrees in marketing and communications from UNY, the University of New York.

During college, I interned at a prestigious public relations company in town. After graduation, I took a job in New York as a social media manager in brand strategy, laying the foundation for my dream career—working for the Evaders, and with my family.

I love baseball. It’s in my blood.

I thought spending almost ten years away would help my father see me differently. No such luck. In the meantime, thanks to Sylvie—the Evaders’ front office manager—I’m the assistant and social media manager for Cameron Miller, or Cam as everyone affectionately calls him.

Being a PA isn’t what I want to do, but it works for now. Besides, being Cam’s PA is great. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Even when he was a rookie and I was an awkward teenager, he was always kind to me.

“Well?” Tristan asks, his patience running short. He’s desperate to get onto the field for the trophy ceremony.

I give my brother’s arm a reassuring pat. “No, I’m good. I think we are going to head out in a bit and change for the after-party. But you have fun, and make sure you take a picture with the trophy for me.”

“Alright. But you better not ditch out. It’s going to be an amazing night.”

“We’ll be there,” I promise.

“Better not be lying.” He raises a thick eyebrow at me. He’s right to question me. Lately, I’ve been avoiding events my father attends.

“You can bet your sweet, biteable ass we will be there,” Jenna interjects, making Tristan chuckle.

“Good. I’ll see you two troublemakers later.” Tristan leaves us to continue watching the celebrations and follows the rest of the staff out of the luxury box suite.

Jenna and I stay until the end to watch Cam named MVP and the commissioner hand over the trophy to my father.

Dad makes a speech thanking the entire Evaders’ organization, the players, my brothers, and of course my grandfather.

I barely listen. My eyes have only one mission. I watch the one man I shouldn’t as he stands on the stage celebrating with his team. His megawatt smile lights up his entire face and makes my heart flutter.

As directed, the cab pulls up a good five hundred feet from the front of the club and the sea of flashing lights and screaming fans. My anxiety jumps, and my palms sweat at the spectacle before me.

Shoving my nerves aside, I pay the cab driver and push open the cab door. I slide out of the cab with my legs crossed and place them on the asphalt, standing tall. Shoulders back, I adjust my skirt and ready myself to enter the party.

It’s November in New York, so that means it’s cold but not freezing.

I’m wearing a black leather miniskirt with sheer, shiny black tights underneath, knee-high black leather boots, and a gorgeous blush-pink cashmere cropped sweater that buttons down my front and hangs off my shoulder.

Sensible and sexy.

Jenna steps beside me on the sidewalk, fluffing her wavy brunette hair. She looks hot tonight in a black and white color-block dress that accentuates her hourglass figure, and a pair of four-inch heels. Like me, she opted for a smoky eye, but instead of pink-stained lips, she went with red.

The crowd erupts, grabbing our attention.

Jenna and I watch as a limo pulls up, and the rear passenger door flies open to a roar of cheers and flashes.

“Hot damn. Those men are gorgeous,” Jenna mumbles.

Reed McKay and Blake Jensen step out of the limo in perfectly tailored suits, looking hot as hell. They are flanked by their teammates, Heath Erikson and Nico Romero—both of whom have two of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen on their arms—followed by Cameron Miller and Lance Taylor.

My heart somersaults in my chest, like it does every time I see him. He’s wearing dark slacks, a gray button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a matching charcoal jacket draped over the crease of his arm.

Damn, he looks fine.

I don’t know which is hotter: Lance in a suit or Lance in his baseball uniform.

Both.

“Whoa, people are crazy,” Jenna hisses as a group of women rush the red ropes and reach out to touch Lance’s arm as he passes.

I don’t blame them; Lance is gorgeous. He’s a superhero come to life, but hotter, with his roguish good looks—tall, broad body, dark-blond hair, sharp jawline, and piercing cornflower-blue eyes.

“A little too crazy,” I grumble. I watch as a woman hands him a marker and sticks her watermelon-sized boobs out for him to sign her chest. Dammit, why must all the women who throw themselves at him be so sexy?

Something that feels an awful lot like jealousy swirls through me. It would be so much easier if Lance weren’t so hot and I didn’t have a giant teenage crush on him.

“True, but the guys did just win the World Series for the first time in decades,” Jenna muses.

“I know.” I still don’t like it.

I can’t help scrunching my nose at the way the woman’s boobs jiggle as Lance signs his name and winks.

Ugh.

Maybe the gossip magazines are right and Lance is one of the LA Evader bad boys who sleep around town, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind them.

They used to say that about Cam. Now look at him. He’s a huge softie for his girlfriend.

Cam recently went public with his girlfriend, Talia, who is also Nico Romero’s little sister. Based on the package I picked up from the jeweler for him, I’m guessing he’s going to be calling her more than a girlfriend soon enough.

Exhaling a breath, I continue down the street toward the entrance, with my bestie on my arm. As we approach the security guard at the front of the building, I reach into my purse, grab the guest passes for us to get into the party, and hand one to Jenna.

“Ready for the night of your life?” she asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I’ve had this strange feeling hanging over me all day. I can’t put my finger on what it is or what it means. I thought it was just about the game, but now I’m not sure. I’m anxious and excited, and my body is buzzing.

“Come on.” My bestie loops her arm through mine and drags me past security into the bass-booming club crowded with partygoers. She takes one look around and whispers in my ear, “I have a feeling tonight’s going to be life changing.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.