Prologue

Man, he was good.

It was impossible not to notice him, and not just because shortstop was a very visible position. He was fast on his feet, had a good, strong throw and a decent bat, and he clearly loved to play.

She knew who he was—he was a good friend of her cousin's—but as she'd never met him, she preferred to think of him by his position.

She could only vaguely make out his face from her spot in the stands, but she imagined he was handsome. She never got close enough to find out. She only came to the games to watch her cousin; she wasn't interested in meeting any of his teammates.

Or so she told herself.

It had nothing to do with the possibly handsome guy at shortstop, and everything to do with familial support and her own love of the game.

Even as she reminded herself of this, the batter for the opposing team cracked a liner right up the middle, in short's direction. Her heart leapt into her throat, anticipation and pride mixing as Shortstop pivoted, feet a blur as his arm darted out, snagging the ball in his glove even as he reached into it. In a flash, the ball was in his hand, and he whipped it to first in time to throw out the runner who'd made it halfway to second before halting and backtracking.

Double play!—and that made three outs.

"Yeah!"

The cheer ripped out of her, pure adrenaline, and she found herself on her feet along with some other members of the crowd, her hands clasping together of their own volition.

Then in a rush, the adrenaline left her when both her cousin and Shortstop turned their heads in her direction as they made their way back to the dugout.

Embarrassed, she plopped her butt back on the bleachers and hoped she blended in enough that he hadn't noticed her.

He noticed her. He always noticed her.

She'd come to a lot of their games over the past year, sitting up high in the corner of the stands where she would have a good view of the field, but where she could blend in to the background.

He knew who she was, of course. Her cousin Ryder, their pitcher, talked about her all the time, and had pointed her out. He knew she was a good catcher, and played softball at a private university.

He also surmised, from observation, that she did her best not to draw attention to herself. This wasn't terribly surprising, as Ry's own testimony was she was rather reserved and quiet.

But he noticed her anyway.

And he couldn't shake the mild annoyance that she always left at the very end of the game, after the last out, but before they'd packed up their gear—which meant Ryder couldn't call her down and introduce her to the team.

It was actually pretty sneaky, and he both admired and resented it.

He couldn't put his finger on why he wanted to meet her so badly—maybe it was simply because Ryder talked about her so much. And though he could imagine her features—he knew she was gorgeous because he'd seen Ryder's pictures—it would be nice to put an in-person face to the woman he'd heard so much about, who was even now only a dark-haired figure in the stands.

And who appeared to be looking in his direction. Maybe it was ridiculous, but his skin pricked a little under her scrutiny, as it always did whenever he noticed her looking his way. He knew she didn't necessarily disapprove; she'd just been applauding the play he made, after all. And maybe she wasn't staring at him at all, but somehow he just knew she was—and it both amused and irked him she stared at him, but made no effort to interact with him.

To tease her, he looked right at her, kept his eyes on her as he tipped his ball cap in salutation. Even from a distance he could see her straighten. He smirked, wishing he could see her expression.

Then he took a few long gulps from his water bottle, turning to sit on the bench as the batting commenced. When he glanced back a few minutes later, she was gone.

It wasn't the last time he'd see her; she came back for other games, and was there for the last game of their college career, cheering and smiling as they brought home a championship. He hadn't acknowledged her presence after that one time, but this time he did.

She was still gone by the time they'd packed up, but his mood was secure in their win, and the memory that this time, when he'd tipped his hat in her direction, she'd nodded back.