Hometown Home Run (Hearts on the Sidelines #2)

Prologue

Kate

Three months ago

Gordy’s is a mess of streamers, glitter, and too-loud laughter.

Just the kind of chaotic celebration this town lives for.

Knox is holding court at the bar, Brynn’s at his side looking smug and soft and loved, and someone has stuck a paper crown on my head that keeps slipping every time I tip back my drink.

My mom has Evie for the night, so I’m here at Brynn’s birthday party.

I have lipstick that won’t quit, legs I shaved all the way to my soul, and a thrum under my skin that says I didn’t come out to behave.

“Need rescuing, librarian?” The voice is warm, a smile contained in a sound.

I don’t have to turn to know it’s Cam, but I look anyway, because denying myself the joy of taking in his face and muscles would be sacrilege.

“You offering, Wells?” I ask.

His mouth does that slow, unfair curve that makes my knees consider treason. “Depends what you need rescuing from.”

“Shots,” I say, because the tray our waitress just dropped on our high-top could sink a ship.

“I don’t know about that,” he counters, eyes skimming my face in a way that feels indecent for a room this crowded. “I’m told tequila solves most problems.”

“It also causes them.”

“We’re not in the problem business tonight, Katie.”

He started calling me ‘Katie’ a few weeks ago and every time he uses that nickname, I have to remember to breathe. His fingers brush the crown back into place, a barely-there touch that sends heat down my spine.

“We’re in the celebration business tonight.”

Across the table, Brynn catches my eye, wiggles her brows, and lifts her phone like she wants to memorialize my downfall. I flash her a don’t-you-dare glare and grab two shot glasses.

“To celebrations,” I say, handing one to Cam.

“Cheers,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

We knock them back. The burn hits and my whole body says yes.

Music swells—something with a drumline that makes the floor vibrate—and the party shifts to dancing.

Knox pulls Brynn into a spin, the room whooping as he dips her.

I should be watching my friends get everything they deserve—joy, redemption, love—but all I can see is the way Cam’s forearms look with the sleeves of his black button-down rolled up.

The way his collar is opened one button too far, revealing the gold chain that slinks around his neck.

The clean line of his throat when he laughs.

“It’s a crime to have arms like that,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Arms like what?” He glances down, genuinely confused, which only makes it worse.

I cringe, shaking my head. “Nothing.” I bite into a lime slice, and his gaze drops to my mouth in a way that makes the world tilt.

He leans in a little closer. “Are you sure that was nothing?”

I sigh, tossing the lime onto a napkin, looking back up at him. “You know that thing where a man turns a wrench and women consider throwing away their moral codes?”

“Is that a thing?” he asks, fighting a smile.

“Yes.”

“Good to know.” His voice drops a fraction and he leans even closer. He smells like cedar and lime. “You need anything fixed, Katie?”

My heart stumbles. My brain backfires. I know we’re friends, but sometimes my body has delinquent thoughts when I’m around him. I’ve done a good job of stuffing those thoughts down, but the tequila might open the flood gates tonight.

“Is that your pitch, Wells? ‘Let me come over and tighten your bolts?’”

“Would it work?”

“I’m not that easy,” I say, teasing.

He tips his head toward the dance floor. “Dance with me, Katie.”

“I don’t dance.” It’s a lie.

“You do tonight. Come on, I’ll lead, all you have to do is follow.”

I take his hand—callused palm, warm grip—and follow him onto the dance floor.

His body slots in close behind me, not crowding, just moving against me, leading through the rhythm.

The song is a pulse through the soles of my shoes; his chest is a solid heat against my shoulder blades.

Our hips move together in a way that has nothing to do with choreography and everything to do with the way his breath feathers my ear.

I turn to face him, and we’re too close for the crowd we’re in. My crown slips again and before I lift my hand, he steadies it, steadying me with it. The sweep of his thumb at my temple isn’t sexual. My body doesn’t seem to care about motives at the moment.

“Cam,” I warn, breathless. “I kinda like dancing with you.”

“I think we fit together pretty well,” he says, mouth inches from mine.

“That sounded dirty,” I tease.

“Good.” His gaze slowly drops to my lips, then lifts to my eyes. “I have lots of dirty thoughts I can tell you about,” he adds quietly, and the room falls away, the music a distant heartbeat. “But I’ll only tell you if you want to hear them.”

His hand slips lower on my hip and I don’t think I can hold back any longer.

“Hallway,” I say, tipping my chin toward the corridor that leads to Gordy’s office, the walk-in, the staff bathroom—every nook I’ve sworn I’d never get caught in like some messy teenager. But the thought of being messy in this exact moment has my pulse climbing into a reckless pace.

Cam and I have been hanging out and awkwardly flirting for months and I’m about to test that line.

He doesn’t pretend not to understand. He threads our fingers and guides me through the crowd with an ease that reflects the way this man moves through the world: calm, capable, confident.

The hallway is dim and blessedly empty. I shove him back against the paneled wall with a light thump, laughter caught in my throat, adrenaline flashing bright.

His hands land on my hips, a warning and a welcome.

“Katie...”

“Don’t overthink it,” I say, and then I kiss him.

Heat. That’s all I feel when my lips meet his.

Heat and the taste of tequila and the soft curse that slides from his mouth into mine when I press closer.

He kisses like he coaches: attention to every angle, every adjustment, praise worth the effort.

His tongue coaxes, his hand moves up my back and curves around the base of my hair, and I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Want. Feminine, feral want.

From somewhere in the bar, a cheer erupts. We break apart, breathing hard. He’s smiling, blue eyes stormy, dark hair mussed where I had my fingers in it like a woman who forgot she has any sense of self-control.

“This is a bad idea,” I say, not moving.

He licks his bottom lip. “The worst.”

“We’re friends.”

“We can be friends,” he says, and his thumb strokes my jaw in a way that dissolves all my resolve. “But it would be a lot more fun if we did that again.”

My eyes scan his face as my shoulder lifts. “Friends can kiss, right?”

He slowly nods. “Yeah, friends can definitely kiss.”

I glance around us and when I confirm the coast is clear, I rise up and my lips meet his again. Damn it, this man knows how to kiss. It’s slow and deep and hungry. My mind is just a series of chants and cheers.

Go Coach Wells. Go Coach Wells.

Fuck Coach Wells. Fuck Coach Wells.

Shit.

Damn this tequila and damn this beautiful man. My panties are ruined and I can’t catch my breath.

“Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you’re not drunk.”

“I’m tipsy, not drunk.”

“So if I asked you to leave with me, you won’t regret it tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “No regrets. Just promise we’ll still be friends. Our friends are getting married, we can’t make this weird.”

“Of course.” He swallows, and I watch the line of his throat, the flex of self-control it takes not to push.

“I’m not asking for a future, Kate. I’m asking for tonight.

And if you want more nights, we’ll negotiate.

If you want nothing, I’ll walk you to your car later, and everything will be normal tomorrow. ”

The honesty is the thing that undoes me. Not promises, not lines. Plain truth.

“I don’t want to forget it,” I manage, though my hands have already found the buttons of his shirt. I push one open just to see if his skin is as warm as it looks. It is.

“Your place?”

He breathes out, a rough sound he bites back into a smile. “Finish your drink. Tell Brynn you’re calling it early. I’ll get the truck. But first, do something for me, Katie.”

“What?”

His eyes move to the door across the hall. “Go into the ladies' room, take your panties off, and bring them to me.”

My laugh shivers through me. “God, that’s hot.”

“I have more where that came from.”

I slide my palm down his chest, counting the ridges of muscle with a greed I haven’t felt in years. “Prove it.”

“I will. Now go.”

I scurry toward the door and step inside.

“Anyone in here?” Silence. I exhale and lean against the wall, my chest chasing my breath.

Fuck, Cam has always been cute, but tonight he’s something entirely different.

I reach under the skirt of my dress and grab the band of my panties and shimmy them down my legs, stepping out of them.

Purple cotton. Not a sexy thong, full back granny-panty-underwear.

That’s my life, though. I don’t do this. I’m the sweet little librarian. I don’t own much lingerie or fancy underwear. My life is about practicality. But he wants them, and tonight I want to see this new side of Cam. So, I wad them up in my hand and suck in a deep breath, smoothing down my skirt.

I swing the door open and see him standing against the wall where I left him. All six-foot-three of him leaning casually like he hasn’t lit a match in my dormant skin.

He looks up and grins.

I wonder if he’d let me ride his face.

I wonder if his cock is as gorgeous as his face.

Fuck, I need to play it cool, or I’ll never find out either of those things.

I shake it off and step toward him. He reaches out his open hand and I place my panties in his palm and he grins, slipping them into his pocket.

“You’ll get these back, I just wanted to know you’d be bare when you sit in the front seat of my truck.”

“I had no clue you had such a mouth on you, Wells.”