Title: Night Games by Collette West
Publisher: Collette West
Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Sports
Length: 252 pages
The moment Grey Kelleher locks eyes with All-Star shortstop Chase Whitfield, she’s a goner. For years, she’s watched him play on TV, and now she’s gazing at his hard, lean body across a bar in her hometown.
Grey’s crush on Chase goes all the way back to his rookie season. So when she approaches him for an autograph, she’s startled by what a jerk he can be.
Chase is no mood to humor his fans, even one as alluring as Grey. He’s in the last year of his contract and stuck having to prove himself on a minor league team. He’s only there to rehab an injury, nothing more.
But when Grey tells him off, Chase realizes her fiery spirit may be just the distraction he needs to take his mind off not being in the majors. His heart is safe. No one’s going to break his streak as baseball’s most eligible bachelor. Not even someone as irresistible as Grey.
His blue eyes return to the scene of the crime, instantly locking with mine. They’re dark with a pent-up rage simmering beneath the surface. No one’s ever looked at me with like that before. Like I’m the one who caused all this. Like I’m the reason he’s going to take a beating in the press. Like I’m to blame for his lousy performance tonight. Grey Kelleher, the source of his every torment.
I want to break the silent battle that’s brewing between us, but I refuse to be the first to look away. I’m not backing down. I had nothing to do with his failure to deliver on the field. He doesn’t even know me. I raise my chin and challenge him head on. Bring it, Whitfield.
My heart starts to pound as he gets closer and closer to the stands, never taking his eyes off me. What is he doing? Is he coming over to chew me out or something? Oh God, what if he does? I don’t like fighting with people. I can’t remember the last time I got into a screaming match with anyone. I’ll probably shrink into a ball and let him say whatever he wants to say. Have him vent and get it over with.
He walks all the way to the backstop. The only thing separating us now is the thin layer of mesh that makes up the net. His eyes are even more breathtaking up close, swirling in a storm of blues and greens. They pierce like a laser through my heart. I can’t tell if he wants to rip my head off or devour me with his mouth. There’s something there that I wasn’t expecting. Like he’s letting me see the real him, something he doesn’t allow a lot of people to see.
He’s furious, and he’s outwardly showing it. It is unusual behavior for him since he’s so revered for his composure. Chase Whitfield never cracks under pressure or says the wrong thing. He swallows his emotions and smiles for the camera. But not this time… This time he’s pissed.
He’s just about to say something, ready to unleash a tirade on my ass, when he stops and bends down. His mouth is hidden from view, but I can still hear him as he levels a warning at me.
“Don’t even think about coming back here this week. You got that?”
He stands up, holding his discarded Louisville Slugger in his hands. It’s usually the ball boy’s job to retrieve the players’ bats, but he came to get it personally in order to deliver a message to me. I don’t know whether I’m flattered, mortified or both.
When I don’t acknowledge his request, his eyes find mine again, daring me to contradict him. It’s obvious he’s used to getting what he wants. No one ever says no to him. His arrogance is making my stubborn side rear its ugly head. He’s expecting me to nod and dutifully comply. But I’m not going to do it. He can kiss my ass.
I stare him down as he backs away. It’s like we’re battling each other for dominance over something I don’t quite understand. He’s used to being the victor and willing people into submission, but he’s mistaken if he thinks I’m just like everyone else. Because I’m not… I don’t care who he is. He’s not going to intimidate me.
It kills him to have to break eye contact when a reporter shoves a microphone in his face. But this isn’t over—not by a long shot. If he wants a fight, then that’s what he’s gonna get. I’ll hunt him down all night long if I have to. There’s no way in hell he’s getting away with this.
Let the stalking commence. I’m not going to rest until I have him down on his injured knee, begging for mercy.
Collette West grew up as somewhat of a jock-nerd hybrid. Entering the world three weeks premature, her dad nearly missed her birth because he had seats behind the dugout for a sold-out, highly-anticipated match-up between two of baseball’s biggest rivals. Not to be outdone, her book-loving mom taught her how to read by the time she was three. A love of the game coupled with an appreciation for the written word were instilled in Collette’s impressionable brain from a young age. No wonder her characters believe in the philosophy: sports + romance = a little slice of heaven.
Splitting her time between the Pocono Mountains and Manhattan, Collette indulges her inner fangirl by going to as many games as she can from hockey to baseball and downloading every sports romance novel in existence onto her iPad. When she’s not clicking away on her laptop, she enjoys walking her dog in Central Park, satisfying her caffeine craving at the Starbucks on Broadway and keeping an eye out for Mr. Right. But above all, she loves dishing with her readers. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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