Excerpt from Nuts About You

Gunner Nix is God's gift to baseball, which naturally turns me into Satan's gift to awkwardness.

My feet tend to spend way too much time in my mouth, so my only Christmas wish this year is to get through this charity gig without running into my longtime crush and favorite ball player.

Too bad the fates—and my bestie—have other plans.

A valuable auction prize has gone missing, and now it's up to me and the father of my fantasy babies to save the day. But it'll take a Christmas miracle to find the prize without my big mouth sending this hottie running.

Gunner Nix would have to be nuts to fall for a girl like me, but sometimes the craziest ideas are the best kind a girl can get.

* * *

ELIZABETH

"Everyone is nuts about this party."

Skye releases an impatient groan at my observation while I scan the room full of guests.

"You're not having fun?" My smile threatens over the rim of my champagne glass. "I'm having a ball."

"Enough, okay, Lizzie?" Her lips quirk despite her tone. "It is pretty, though. I'll give you that."

Our eyes skip around the ballroom, taking in the festive atmosphere and elaborate decorations adorning every possible surface. It's a giant holiday glitter explosion—all for the sake of balls everywhere. Or, more specifically, the Testicular Cancer Awareness Foundation.

"Oh, come on. I have like twenty more all stored up." Testicle puns are way too irresistible to waste.

Skye chokes on the mouthful of champagne she just sipped and shoots me a glare as she brings a napkin to her lips. "Tell me, why didn't I anticipate this?"

"I think that's a question we're all asking ourselves." I nod gravely in her direction before gulping down more champagne. Damn, this stuff is good. I'd ask what kind it is, but my bank account mostly favors alcoholic beverages in cans—or boxes.

Skye's head drops back, exposing the length of her neck and drawing my eyes to the ruby choker resting there. "I might have to fire you if you keep this up."

"Is that real?" Completely ignoring her comment, I extend my fingers to stroke—and possibly steal—the red stones. They'd match my dress perfectly, and I forgot to put on jewelry tonight. Skye smacks my arm away with surprising speed. "Ow." I snatch my hand back like wounded prey. "Watch the nails, Cardi B."

"Hands off the merchandise." Skye's crystal-embellished fingernail threatens to impale my chest. "Bronte gave it to me, and his hands are the only ones allowed near any of this." She circles her décolletage with a graceful hand, making it impossible for me to avoid looking her over and drawing comparisons between myself and the goddess that is Skye.

It's no surprise that she's managed to steal the heart of the owner of Asheville's own Arrows baseball team. Bronte adores how extra Skye is, and the two of them are a match made in diamond-encrusted heaven. Meanwhile, I linger down here in cubic zirconium land with my frizzy hair and closet full of paint-splattered overalls. Despite the number of times Skye has attempted to drag my ass to her "sorcerer of beauty" to spruce up my dirty blond locks and teach me how to wield an eyelash curler, I know a makeover won't do the trick.

"Well, pardon me, your royal highness." I fake a curtsey as well as one can without spilling bubbly everywhere. "And, by the way, you can't fire a volunteer."

"Watch me."

I gesture to the guests tipping back glasses and sampling goodies from the trays being passed around by uniformed waitstaff. "Who's going to clean this mess up at the end of the night if you kick me out?" Truthfully, I don't mind helping Skye and Bronte out at all. It's for a good cause, and there's enough Arrows-player eye candy to occupy me well into the night. My plan is to find a comfy corner and a bottle of champagne while I take in the view and wait for my instructions.

"Hmm. Good point. You may stay." She shoots me a sly grin. "But I might not introduce you to Gunner if you keep this up."

It's my turn to choke on my champagne. "He's here?" The room threatens to spin as all the blood in my body rushes to my head, and the sudden need for more oxygen has me sucking air as if I've just surfaced from a ten-minute free dive.

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you sooner." I don't have to focus to know that Skye is shaking her head in exasperation. "He's just a man."

My responding laugh is just this side of hysterical. Gunner Nix isn't "just" anything. He's scruffily handsome, infinitely sexy in an unassuming kind of way, and one of the only people in this world who can tear me from my studio on a summer evening. Watching the man field balls with his tight pants and tall frame has become something of an addiction in recent months. But I never—not once in all the evenings I've watched him play from my couch or even from Bronte's owner's box at the Arrows' stadium—intended to actually meet the man in person! Uh, uh. No way. He belongs right where he lives in my lustful fantasies, not in reality.

"We've already been over this, Skye. Everybody knows fantasy is better than reality." I raise a quick finger in triumph as I continue, "It's like the time I walked into the unisex bathroom at One World Brewing right after Liam Hemsworth used it, and I found a turd floating in the toilet bowl. I haven't been able to look at him the same way since."

"That wasn't Liam Hemsworth." Skye blinks at me in disbelief. "It was Greg the bouncer."

"Says you. I know what I saw." We both know that all my arguing is just a front, but I still believe in what I'm saying—just like Skye believes if she keeps trying, I'll eventually get over my lying, cheating ex-boyfriend, Evan, and give dating a chance again. But choosing Gunner Nix to break the seal? She's got to be smoking some strong stuff. The guy dates glamorous models and famous actresses, not local painters who hold Bugs Bunny in higher esteem than the pope and sometimes go grocery shopping in their pajamas.

"I can't believe we're having this conversation." Skye's head shakes in frustration. "Just meet the guy, for pity's sake. I promise he's just a normal person, and there will be no bodily functions involved."

"Except my vomit that'll probably land on his shoes when he speaks to me. You know I have a nervous stomach." I cover my belly with a protective hand.

Skye eyes me with impatience. "Again, tossing your cookies at your eighth-grade talent show had very little to do with a nervous stomach and very much to do with the four cheese dogs you ate before going on stage." Damn! I always forget how sharp Skye's memory is.

"Whatever. I know myself, and I know I don't need to meet Gunner Nix to live a perfectly happy life. End of discussion." I swipe a hand through the air and down some more champagne while Skye shakes her head again in what resembles pity.

I expect her to argue, but she narrows her eyes at something over my shoulder instead. "Speaking of fantasy, someone is living in a fantasy land of her own if she thinks this is happening." At her strangely intense tone, I glance behind me to see Bronte being chatted up by a tall, leggy brunette. "This will only take a moment." Skye sets down her glass and glides past me in her size eleven heels like she's preparing to take her turn on a runway.

"Hey!" I halt her with a hand to her elbow. "Before you go stick your flag in Bronte, you never told me what you think of the painting?"

She turns, giving me only half of her attention. "Honey, I haven't seen it yet. Which reminds me, you'd better set it out soon. The fundraising auction starts in an hour."

My head jerks back at that. "What do you mean? I set it up first thing when I got here."

This snaps her attention back to me. "That can't be. I came straight from the auction room before talking to you just now, and it wasn't there."

A prickling sensation starts beneath my scalp. "But…" This can't be happening. The painting is irreplaceable. Not only that, my students will be absolutely crushed if they find out our collaborative piece never made it to the auction. They worked so hard on it all month and were so damn proud. I was so damn proud. "There must be some mistake."

Without another word, I turn and weave my way between party guests and testicle-adorned holiday trees to the anteroom where all the auction items are on display. Row upon row of gift baskets, jewelry, sports memorabilia, artwork, and gift certificates lie before me on long, white-clothed tables. But I find myself grabbing the edge of the nearest one to catch my balance when I see the empty spot where our painting was sitting less than thirty minutes ago.

"Elizabeth!" A deep voice penetrates my stress haze, and I look over to see Bronte striding into the room, looking like a perfect half of a wedding cake topper come to life. "Skye said your painting is missing too." He stops in front of me and runs an uneasy hand over his silver-tipped hair.

I manage to nod. "Yes. I don't know where it could have gone. It was just here." I throw a hand out toward the table with the painting-sized gap, realizing too late that it's the same hand that still holds my champagne glass. Thankfully, it was mostly empty.

Like the dreamboat he is, Bronte doesn't even flinch before removing a crisp white handkerchief from his breast pocket and extending it to me. "This is very concerning. Who would steal from a charity auction?"

Skye's voice sounds from behind us. "Bronte!" We both turn to see her rushing into the room, hair and hips swinging like she's on a mission from Heidi Klum.

But she's not alone. Her arm is tucked into none other than Gunner Nix's suited one.

My gulp is audible, spurring Bronte to extract yet another clean handkerchief from his seemingly magic pocket and place it in my hand. "Just in case," he murmurs before moving to hold his hand out toward the new arrival.

* * *