Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

openly declared war against any of my dating choices. Braden was my first long-term relationship since college, so surely they would realize it was serious.
    I tapped my index finger on my thigh. Come to think of it, I had failed to mention we were living together. And by ‘failed to mention,’ I meant ‘intentionally did not mention.’ Not that I was ashamed of Braden, but I didn’t want to rock the boat with my parents. They wouldn’t be too pleased about me shacking up with a baseball player they’d never met. But I hadn’t lied to them or anything. I just hadn’t mentioned it. That was different, wasn’t it?
    Kyrie put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, drawing me from my thoughts. “I’m sure everything will be fine. It has to be, right?”
    “Right.” I nodded, though I wasn’t quite so sure anymore.
    She stood and smoothed down her plum skirt. “Now, let’s get to work. When are you going to start on the waxing article?”
    I shook off the worrisome thoughts and grinned at her. “No time like the present. So, when was the last time you had your cooter waxed?”
     

B RADEN
     
     
     
    R AUCOUS CHEERS MORPHED into a steady roar from the crowd as Cox slid into third. I swung my bat in the on-deck circle to the right of home plate.
    “Hell yeah, kid!” I yelled.
    Cox popped up on third and fist-bumped our assistant coach before brushing the dirt from his uniform. The frenzy continued in the stands. I turned my gaze out to second base where Hamilton stood after driving a double to the right centerfield wall. “Atta boy, Ham Chops!”
    He stared at me with a bright-white, toothy smile and pounded his chest twice with his fist. I returned the gesture.
    I strode up to the plate from the on-deck circle, and the thunderous applause grew louder as my name rang out over the speakers. Pendleton had struck out to start off the inning, but now we had two runners in scoring position with one out. Momentum was on our side. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I looked up to the scoreboard—a giant picture of my face covered half of it—to verify the scenario. We were down three to two in the bottom of the ninth.
    I couldn’t help but notice my batting average taunting me underneath my pretty face.
    .247
    It was fifty points lower than the numbers I usually put up each year. The breaks hadn’t gone my way at all this season, and those three little numbers were all that the people in the front office cared about. Not leadership, or heart. Fucking numbers.
    Focus, goddamn it.
    I slapped the hard lumber into my palm, and inhaled a huge breath through my nose. Hot dogs, beer, and fresh cut bermuda flooded my nostrils. The smell of the ballpark was heaven.
    I propped the bat between my legs and scooped a pile of fresh dirt into my hands, before rubbing them together. I clapped a couple of times, sending a cloud of dirt swirling out toward the mound, and grabbed the handle of my bat. Gripping it hard, I squeezed the wood tight in my palms, gaining the necessary friction to go to work.
    Fuck the numbers. Get your teammates a win.
    “Let’s go, B. Light his ass up,” hollered Easton.
    E and the others were in my peripheral vision, leaning on the barrier in front of the dugout. I kept my focus on the mound. Glaring at the pitcher, I dug in with my right foot as the cheers of the stadium turned to pandemonium.
    “Time!” The ump threw up his hands, cutting off all the energy that had built inside of me moments before.
    What the fuck?
    I shot a glance to the opposing dugout as their fat fuck manager waddled his ass onto the field. Cunt.
    I stepped out of the box, my concentration now broken, and walked toward our dugout. I headed right for Coach.
    “Fucker is going to bring in Martinez. He’s trying to ice me.” I glared at the old man.
    “Looks like it’s working. Get your fucking head in it.” His eyes bore into my skull.
    He was right.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Use your brain, son. It’s how you’ve always