Vegas Heat: Bases Loaded Complete Series

CHAPTER 1 DANNY

I reach over toward my nightstand and slam on it to try to quiet the loud clanging without opening my eyes.

It doesn’t stop. Apparently it’s not some alarm clock from the late nineteen hundreds.

I reach over to bang out the noise again, but this time I realize it’s my phone. I pick it up and click the side button to send the piercing sound to voicemail.

But it doesn’t stop the roaring thunder in my head.

Exactly how much did I celebrate last night?

I can’t quite remember, nor can I recall how I got home. I glance down and see that while I’m naked, I’m definitely in my own bed, and the next thought is whether I’m in it alone or not.

That question is answered as the bed shifts beside me.

Fuck.

What the hell did I do last night?

My phone starts ringing again, and that’s when long-ass fingernails scratch their way down my shoulder to my elbow.

I’m pretty much always in the mood…but hungover after the epic sort of night I had last night while someone won’t give up trying to reach me far too early in the morning is one of the rare times I’ll take a raincheck.

I glance at the screen and see it’s my agent calling, and I sigh as I finally pick it up.

“The fuck you thinking calling me so goddamn early?” I answer.

Brad laughs. “It’s ten-thirty, dude. And I made sure you got home last night, but considering the state you were in, I’m not shocked you don’t remember.”

Ah, so it was Brad who made sure I got home. Does he know about fingernails over here?

I turn a bit so I’m lying on my back, and I glance at the woman beside me.

She rears back on all fours as if she’s about to pounce like a jungle cat, and then she asks, “You ready for round three?”

This should be a wake-up call. A huge red flag. Danny Brewer, it’s time to start living your life differently. You can’t take women home to your bed and not even remember it. The end of the off-season and the start of all the prospects in front of me are no excuse.

And did she just say round three? I was lucid enough to fuck her twice last night?

I mean, the big boy downstairs is glad to work rain or shine, but it couldn’t have been great considering I don’t remember much of anything from last night.

“Excuse me,” I say to her, ignoring the whole jungle cat thing she’s got going on—long nails included—and I practically leap out of bed to head to the kitchen to take this call in private.

“What do you want?” I hiss at Brad on my way to the kitchen.

“I wanted to read you today’s headlines hot off the press. Baseball’s Bad Boy Caught with His Pants Down,” he reads to me.

I laugh. “I’m baseball’s bad boy? I gotta admit, I kinda like the title.”

“There’s a photo, too, you jackass.”

“Doing what?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Taking a piss behind the nightclub where you were having the kind of good time that you shouldn’t have been having a few days before the start of a new season.”

“Oops.”

“Yeah. Oops. You may want to issue a public apology.”

“What if I’m not sorry?” I ask.

“Fake it.”

I sigh. “Fine. What else you got for me?”

“You have a podcast interview today at noon. I emailed you the link for the call. Try not to say anything stupid. I’ve got a few endorsements on the table but I’m guessing some will pull after last night’s stunt.”

“Oops,” I say again.

“We need to get you some good press for a change. Talk to your publicist and see what you come up with.”

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. My least favorite thing is being told what to do—even if he’s right. “You take care of it. Anything else, boss?”

“That’s it for today, but lay off the scandals the next few days. Please?”

“Fat chance, pal.” I hang up the phone, grateful for a friend like him even though I wasn’t exactly nice to him, and I guess I need to head back upstairs to the woman I brought home last night.

She’s just about dressed, and she looks angry. I should feel worse about that than I do.

“Sorry about that,” I say quietly. “It was my agent. Listen, I have to get ready for a podcast in a bit, so I’ll walk you out.” It’s the gentlemanly way of saying thanks for the fun ride I don’t remember, but you can go now.

She sets her hands on her hips. “Do you even remember last night?”

I press my lips together as I decide to be honest with her.

“I’m sorry. I had way too much to drink, and it’s all a little fuzzy.

But I remember having a great time with you.

” Okay, so I’m mostly honest. The last part is just one of those little white lies people tell in an attempt to make someone else feel good.

Except she calls me out on it as she glares at me. “Really? You had a great time?”

I shrug. “I think so,” I admit.

She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I thought you were different.”

“I wish I was,” I admit. And I wish she was, too. Unfortunately, the woman in the leopard print dress standing across from me isn’t the one who’s going to change me.

I’m not sure a woman who can change me actually exists, to be honest.

In order to change, you have to want to change. And I don’t. Life’s pretty damn good just the way it is.

I walk the leopard out. Thankfully she never calls me out on forgetting her name, and I shower ahead of my podcast call. It’s with a couple of former baseball players, and I’m certain we’ll just be shooting the shit about the upcoming season.

And normally I love to shoot the shit, but my head’s still pounding and I feel the full weight of my twenty-eight years. So just before I connect to the call, I take a few hits off my dab pen to ease the pain and relax a bit.

And wouldn’t you know it? After they introduce me and congratulate me on my starting position at first base for the brand-new Vegas Heat expansion team, the next question has nothing to do with baseball at all and everything to do with the piss apparently seen round the world.

“So who caught you with your pants down?” Carl asks me.

Ahh fuck. This is going to be a long interview.