Chapter 9

Brooks

I'm so screwed.

It's been ten days, and the Fireballs are mediocre, which might as well mean they still suck, and while I'm not exactly in a slump—I've been on base in more games than not, even if it took me a few games to get there after the party incident—I'm also not getting laid.

Not winning. Not scoring. Not banging.

With catching up on all the team photos and videos and promo spots that need to be filmed for between-inning entertainment, plus having one-on-ones with the coaching staff—all the things that are normally done before the games start in spring training—I haven't had the kind of free time we usually get in the build-up to the season.

Then there are all the media calls.

So damn many media calls, because the Fireballs is the team everyone is watching this year, thanks to management's massive, unrelenting public relations campaign, which is also eating into the free time that usually comes with spring training. And in all of my interviews, I put on my happy face and talk about opportunities and playing good ball and not believing in curses, because that's what the job requires.

Baseball's been a job for a lot of years now, but this year, it's wearing on me.

It's wearing on me so bad, the two nights I could've gone out to a real club, I crashed early instead and jacked off while thinking about blond hair and blue eyes and pink lips.

Don't ask about the nights I went back to the other club.

So far, that's not doing anything for the team either.

It's spring training, Rock keeps saying to anyone who'll listen.

Any other year, I'd agree with him. Spring training is when the coaches open the doors to guys from the minors to show what they've got and try to score a spot in the show. It's when we test up-and-coming talent, and it's when it's normal to blow out one team one day, and then get blown out yourself the next.

But it's the Fireballs.

The worst team in baseball.

Even with all the changes in the off-season, we've only won three of the last ten games.

It's keeping me up at night—along with my lack of interest in sex with a woman at the moment, which is the one thing I should be able to go out and enjoy right now, for fuck's sake, and I don't like it.

But tonight, I'm putting it all behind me.

All of it.

Tonight, I'm on my way to the beach house that Tripp Wilson and Lila Valentine, team co-owners and soon-to-be husband and wife, have rented for the season. They're hosting a cookout and the air outside their little villa is filled with the scent of grilling meat and the sounds of laughter.

Family's invited, and some of mine arrived in town today. They beat me to the cookout, because they didn't have to have a heart-to-heart with half the coaching staff after the game to discuss why I'm not hitting the ball better.

Long before Lila got involved with the Fireballs, she was friends with my sister and brother-in-law, Parker and Knox. She was at their wedding. All of my brothers hit on her, naturally, because she's a redheaded bombshell. I keep texting to ask Parker if she's here more for Lila than she is for me, which keeps getting me hilarious autocorrected messages that are probably meant to question everything from my manhood to my family loyalty, but actually suggest Parker's incubating a family of turtle-squirrels in her ear.

Life would be dull without Parker's phone.

Also in town from my family?

Trouble.

Of the best kind.

My brother Rhett's a former SEAL. He hung up his night vision goggles to marry Parker's friend Eloise, who's a tatted-up punk chipmunk crossed with a nymphomaniac. The two of them made a side-trip to Copper Valley on the way down, since they're both sort of self-employed these days and could juggle their calendars to find me an apartment up in Virginia for the regular season.

Both Parker and Eloise are pregnant, much to my mother's utter joy, though I have my doubts about how thrilled she'll be once Rhett's kid starts talking like Eloise.

But Eloise isn't the first person I hear when I reach the crowded tropical veranda.

No, that's a voice that niggles at the deepest recesses of my mind and makes me stop short, because I know that voice. Swear I do. And not from pulling her out of my closet and getting yelled at by her on a beach ten days ago.

That voice sets my nerves on fire and makes my pulse buzz, and I shoot a look at Cooper Rock, who's hovering near her.

Fucking Cooper Rock.

Guy gets more action off the field than half the rest of the team put together.

"You need to remove that echidna from voting right now." Mackenzie's voice is stronger than I've ever heard it, and I wonder if she talks to all baseball owners like this. She's definitely not shy with an audience of players now, which makes my blood pressure spike as I wonder if she's one of the women Cooper's been banging in his off-hours, and how much she's been around the team for all the progress she's made.

"Right now?" Lila asks with a smile. She's clearly undisturbed, but then, since she hit the team like a hurricane a few months back, ticket sales and press coverage are way up.

"How is a thing with a four-headed penis family-friendly?" Mackenzie's in a vintage Fireballs T-shirt with Fiery the Dragon plastered to her chest. She points to the muscled beast on her breasts, even though she could point to the buttons on both her hat and her shirt now, and hello, cock twitch. "Fiery's family-friendly. He doesn't even have a penis because he's not real. But this echidna? A four-headed penis. This is the sort of thing you research before you declare it a finalist in a mascot contest."

"Wait, a four-headed penis?" Ah, there's my sister-in-law. Eloise naturally has the voice of a six-pack-a-day smoker. She leaps into the conversation as she normally does, which is to say with all the energy of a squirrel on a five-hour energy shot. "Can a person get surgery to get a four-headed penis? Don't get me wrong, Rhett's thunder stick is my favorite toy, and it puts mortal willies to shame, but a four-headed dick? Dude. Wow."

I catch sight of Parker, my awkward strawberry blond sister, squeezing her eyes shut and muttering something to herself. Knox is wincing beside her, and there's Rhett with them too, smiling proudly under the military buzz cut he's kept despite being officially done with SEAL life.

Mackenzie points at my sister-in-law while she turns a triumphant look to Lila. "See? That's what people will be talking about all season if you insist on keeping that awful mascot option."

Only Tripp Wilson appears horrified.

Poor guy's obviously never had the Eloise experience before.

"You're the drummer," he mutters to her, which cracks me up as I approach their group. Parker and Eloise are half of a girl band that plays the juice bar scene in New York, and apparently Eloise's reputation precedes her.

"I bang a lot," she confirms. "A. Lot. Wanna watch? Your brother did."

"Eloise. He did not." Parker gives Rhett a glare that's either demanding he shut his wife up, or at least quit enjoying listening to her talk about banging so much. "Also, children are present."

Eloise points to her stomach, where her baby bump isn't showing as much as Parker's is yet. "Duh."

"I mean children of normal parents who would prefer not to have their kids' vocabulary full of the world's worst innuendos and euphemisms before they head to kindergarten."

Eloise frowns like Parker's words don't compute. She has short spiky hair, more tattoos than the Fireballs team combined, and more piercings every time I see her.

She's also a top-notch hacker who can do some crazy-scary things, but practices her skills exclusively in the name of social justice and only does illegal shit when it's for a good cause.

She fits Rhett.

I'm happy for him, and also insanely jealous that he's getting some every night.

And some freaky some at that.

"We're not canceling the mascot contest," Lila says to Mackenzie. "Those videos Meaty keeps sending of his adventures after running away are solid gold."

Mackenzie frowns.

"And the work of someone unhinged," Tripp chimes in. "We should've called the police."

Now Mackenzie's eyeballing him with something dawning, and not something good, but Lila waves away his concern. "Replacing that costume is worth every penny. No publicity is bad publicity, and Meaty's up in the standings since he disappeared. I'm thinking the duck needs to go next. You think echidna penises are bad? Google duckpenis sometime."

Tripp chokes on his drink, and the two owners share a secret look.

Dammit.

I want a secret look-sharer. Is that too much to ask?

"I know about duck penises. That's why I'm wearing this." Eloise rips her shirt open.

"Not in front of the children." I avert my eyes, because she's flashed me one too many times. Usually on purpose.

Rhett shoves me in the arm. "She's dressed, dumbass. Also, good to see you, baby brother."

I risk a glance with one eye, and phew.

She's wearing a shirt with the duck mascot on it under her button-down. "Firequacker will win."

Parker pulls open her button-down. "Meaty the Meatball's better. And Lila knows about your hacking problem, so don't even try to rig the voting. She'll know it's you, and she'll disqualify your favorite mascot if she senses cheating."

"None of it matters. Fiery's coming back." Mackenzie pushes her breasts up, and I can't look away.

I need to so I can pummel every one of my teammates who have also turned to stare, but god, she has great breasts.

"Mac's right," Cooper says. He unbuttons his jersey—our invitations dictated jerseys over mascot shirts and jeans tonight for all the camera crews grabbing PR footage around the backyard—and he, too, is wearing a Fiery T-shirt.

Along with a Fiery Forever button.

It's like they planned this.

My temper is rising in direct proportion to my dick's interest in Mackenzie.

Maybe that fucking meatball was right, and the problem isn't sex, but sex with the wrong person. I should kiss Mackenzie and see if that helps.

Yeah.

I like this plan.

"Meatballs," Rhett says. He rips his shirt off to display two giant flaming meatballs tattooed to his chest in the middle of the rest of his ink. It doesn't fit. At all.

So it's probably temporary, but it's still horrifying.

Eloise strokes him. "Your balls give me a lady boner."

"This is exactly what's going to happen if you let that meatball win," Mackenzie says. "Ball jokes all the time."

"And she can get worse," I offer.

"So much worse." Without warning, Eloise tackles me with a full-body hug, which means she climbs me like she's a spider monkey. "Wait till you see the sweet pad we found you in Copper Valley. Start growing your porn 'stache now. I already ordered a collection of lava lamps to match the bedroom."

Rhett gives me the stink-eye like it's my fault his wife likes to climb men.

I hold my hands up in plain sight, only smirking because I know there's no fucking way he let her get away with hooking me up with a place that requires lava lamps, and even if he did, it's not like I'll be there that much.

We travel half the season, and despite what my agent says, I give New York two months before they're negotiating to get me back. "Not my fault I'm hot and climbable. Getting soft, Mr. Retired."

Yeah, I'm gonna end up with eels in my bed for that.

Worth it.

His eyes turn into nuclear missiles that he aims at my crotch. "You're lucky you're her least favorite."

Parker smacks him behind the head. "Shush. You be nice. Brooks needs to get his bat back, not get picked on."

"Oh, is it beatings time?" Eloise pats my head and leaps off me.

"No. No beatings." We all say it.

"Of any kind. And not in public this time," Parker quickly adds, because it's necessary with Eloise.

My sister steps around her friends to greet me with a hug that she has to go up on tiptoes for. "Miss you, you little pain in the ass."

"Miss you more, old lady. How's my first niece?"

"Niece or nephew. We're not telling. Have you met Mackenzie? She's awesome. We spent some time together in Copper Valley back when Lila was dealing with her uncle's estate last fall. Oh my god, it's the echidna!"

We all look as she points at the landscaped yard. Tripp's two little kids are dashing around with their shaggy brown mutt, and now the three remaining mascots are traipsing in through the back gate.

But the mascots aren't alone.

"Puppies!" Cooper says.

A collective Awww goes up among all my teammates as puppy after puppy dashes into the yard too.

Lila smiles, and she and Tripp clink glasses while the four cameramen turn their view to the baseball players abandoning the veranda to check out the puppies.

And no, I am not immune.

It's puppies.

Fluffy puppies and big puppies and little puppies. Brown puppies and black puppies and spotted puppies.

A dozen freaking roly-poly, floppy-eared, adorable-as-fuck puppies.

I never had a dog—I was the youngest, so I basically was the dog.

"Smile for the cameras. And jerseys off in ten for mascot shirt photos," Lila calls.

"Puppies are the fucking bomb," Eloise declares.

Lila shakes a finger at Rhett as he starts to follow Eloise to the puppies. "Shirt back on, Mr. Elliott."

"Aw, Lila, let him pose with the echidna first." Parker grins at all of us. "It would mean so much to Eloise to be near all her favorite penises at once."

"And now I'm weirdly sad that the new Meaty costume isn't ready yet," Lila murmurs.

Mackenzie props a fist on her hip. "Fiery. Forever."

"Keep it up, Mac. Never give up hope." Tripp holds out a palm, and she slaps it.

"You can't use Meaty," she tells Lila. "The Fireballs are almost winning without him."

And that much is true.

The team hasn't been blown out by as many runs this year as they were last year. At least, not in every game. And technically, we've even won a game or two more than the Fireballs usually do.

"Dada! Doggy!" Tripp's little girl launches herself at him, all blond curls and smiles. As soon as he scoops her up, she lunges for Lila, who catches her with a laugh. "Doggy!"

Fuck, I want a family. Something to live for off the field. And it's not about getting laid.

It's about needing more.

Nothing like getting traded to the worst team in baseball to remind you how much you don't even love the game anymore.

It's a job.

The thing I do because I don't know what the fuck I'd do if I wasn't doing it, and also the thing I do because I'm usually damn good at it.

Or maybe that's the sexual frustration and lack of team spirit talking.

Out in the sandy yard, Cooper's rolling around with a golden retriever puppy. Trevor Stafford is tossing a baseball to a puppy that's barely bigger than the ball. Robinson's making a wiggly thing with floppy ears kiss Glow the Firefly, who gets so excited he shakes his ass and knocks over Francisco Lopez, who's probably hamming it up for the camera crew that's capturing everything.

But Mackenzie's sticking to the veranda.

"You don't like dogs?" I ask her.

Her brows knit together. She slides me a quick look, then glances away like I'm still not one of the players she can talk to.

And that pisses me off too.

She is sleeping with Cooper. He talked her out of her pants, and now he's talked her into talking to him and only him.

Three billion women in the world, and I'm seeing green over one who's quirkier than half my family put together.

I have issues. And it's not only that I can't hit a damn baseball.

I shake my head and turn to join the rest of the team, hoping the puppies can lift some of my funk, when she inhales softly.

"I used to foster puppies. But it got hard having to let them go when they found their forever homes, and even harder when I couldn't foster them all, and I had to give it up. You should go play with them. Maybe they'll pull you out of your slump."

Rhett slips to my side. I thought he was out in the yard with Eloise, but he still has those stealthy SEAL moves. Dude can climb buildings. Used to climb into Parker's apartment whenever we thought she had a guy over to scare the piss out of him.

Still does sometimes, because we like to keep Knox on his toes. Just because he's married to Parker now doesn't mean we're not checking in to make sure he keeps being good enough for her.

"This a normal kind of slump?" Rhett asks.

I shift a glare to him. "I don't have slumps."

"Used to."

He's not smirking. If I were him, I'd be smirking.

But I'm getting the SEAL face. The one that says he knows there's a problem. He knows what it is. And he doesn't know how to fix it, but he's going to figure it out no matter how many buildings have to burn.

Mackenzie's squinting at my brother. "When did he have slumps?"

"Whenever—"

I cut him off by punching him in the arm, which does more damage to me than it does to him since he has boulders where his biceps go.

"C'mon, Bazookarooka. You want help getting out of the slump, you gotta be honest."

"And you need to shut your fucking trap when you don't know what you're talking about."

He knows. He fucking knows I'm a virgin.

Anyone who tells you being the baby of a family is the best clearly doesn't have three older brothers and a Parker.

Though I'll never regret that her phone once called me Bazookarooka.

"Brooks, if there's something we can do—" Lila starts, but Tripp clears his throat weird, and she blushes and looks away.

I look at Rhett.

Then Mackenzie, who's also turning red.

Lila.

And Tripp.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Do they all know?

"I'm fine. Just getting warmed up." I fake a cough. "Florida allergies."

"Daddy, Jupiter finded a lizard!" Tripp's son, the older of his two preschoolers, dashes up onto the veranda with a wiggling green thing in his hand and a tiny brown puffball bouncing along behind him. But where James stops at Tripp, the puppy lunges for my boot like it's a Big Bad to be defeated.

I squat and pick it up, because it's the best kind of distraction from a conversation I'm not having.

Its fur is wiry brown curls, and as soon as I get him up to my face, he licks my nose.

Eloise jogs back over and punches me in the arm. "Now that's the kind of action you need."

Rhett slips an arm around her shoulders and clamps his hand over her mouth.

"We're thinking Glow, Firequacker, and Spike should go on a mission to find Meaty," Lila announces.

"But only under direct supervision," Tripp adds quickly.

"Or you drop the mascot contest and bring back Fiery." Mackenzie's watching me, and I'm trying to pretend I don't know it.

What's worse?

Standing here having everyone not-subtly change the conversation from discussing my virginity in relation to my hitting slump, or suspecting it's not the first time they've had this conversation?

If they know—if they all know—then who else knows?

And how?

Was it Lila? Did she steal that meatball costume for publicity? It didn't sound like her. It sounded like?—

Fuck.

Me.

I suck in a surprised breath and look at Mackenzie.

"You've met Parker before."

"She has the b-best phone."

"Say you'll never be able to hit a ball again."

Her face instantly goes redder than the amount of blood I'd like to shed. "Why would I ever say that to you?"

"Pretty damn sure you know why."

The puppy squeaks and pisses on my shirt. Shit. I'm squeezing a dog because I've realized the nutcase I can't stop thinking about is the same fucking nutcase who cock-blocked me in a damn meatball costume.

I scratch him behind the ears and cradle him gently to my face. "Sorry, Coco Puff."

The name just comes out, and when he licks my nose again, I'm a goner.

He's a squirmy, happy little runt, wiggling in my palm and smiling as he pants, and I named him.

He's as good as mine.

I look past Mackenzie, because as far as I'm concerned, she doesn't exist anymore. Jesus. The closet. The humming.

Was that chick with the "boyfriend" at the restaurant last week her doing too? Is this all one giant set-up to make sure I don't get laid?

I pin Lila with a don't fuck with me and don't tell me no look. "I want this dog."

"They're all from a local shelter. Shouldn't be a problem."

"He matches your carpet," Eloise says behind Rhett's hand.

"She means the shag carpet in your bedroom." Rhett's brows knit together. "That still sounds like I'm talking about your pubes, doesn't it?"

"Daddy, what is pubes?" Tripp's son asks.

"Picture time!" Lila announces. "And maybe we get a little pickier about which family you bring next time, Brooks?"

Fine with me.

And Coco Puff.

He's my only family now. I'm disowning the rest of the cock-blocking, secret-telling, back-stabbing traitors.