8. Emerson

After Mason's home run during the fourth inning put us in the lead, we stayed that way. And although it was a win, we lost Mason in the middle of the game, which put a damper on all our moods. He made an amazing flying catch that saved the lead, but he fell on the way down and knocked himself out. So after the game, we all headed down the tunnel, trying not to stress about our teammate who was at the hospital being checked out.

That was what I should have been focused on. Mason and his injury. Instead, all I could think about was long hair, brown eyes, and gorgeous curves. Because all game long, I was looking up to the box where I knew Gi would be.

Pop and Avery had come to most home games this year. I knew where they sat, and there was no doubt in my mind that Gi would be with them. I hadn't meant to focus on her, but time after time, my attention shifted up to the box.

As if controlled by an invisible force, I couldn't stop myself. She felt it too. I wasn't dumb. At this point in my life, I knew when a woman was attracted to me. I heard the quick intakes of breath, saw the way her focus dropped to my mouth before she caught herself. I'd even seen her pulse pound against the smooth skin of her neck.

Restraining myself around her was torture. One I had little experience with. Being young and single, I rarely had to avoid attraction. If it was there, then I acted on it. This situation was causing my hyper-focus, which normally only existed on the field, to kick in. I wanted to think about anything—anyone—else. But my thoughts constantly drifted to the swell of her hips. The fullness of her thighs. The soft mounds of her breasts. Her plush pink lips. Even the way the skin pulled across her cheekbones.

God, I was becoming obsessed.

But a fling with Gianna would muck everything up. From the dawn of baseball, drama fucked with a team dynamic more than any other issue. I'd seen it over the years, teammates fighting over a chick. Guys vying for a position. Or the same salary. I'd gone out of my way to avoid falling into those kinds of traps and instead focused on being grateful just to be on the team and be part of the group.

But as I stood in front of my locker, cracking my knuckles, I was thinking about the best ways to make my best friend's sister smile. About the way her teeth would press lightly into her bottom lip as she shifted closer to me.

Shit. I dropped my head back. I needed to stop.

A hand landed on my shoulder, startling me.

Twisting, I huffed a breath.

"Looks like you might get lucky and get a room to yourself for the entire five-day trip," Bosco joked.

Mason and I were typically roommates on the road, but Bosco was probably the guy's best friend. And in his normal way of deflecting his concern, Bosco joked around.

"Don't be a dick, Streaks." Eddie Martinez, our shortstop, shook his head. "A reporter might hear you and print God knows what about you being an insensitive prick."

"He's just making margaritas out of the lemons that life is tossing our way," I said, smiling at the guys.

"Lemonade," Bosco corrected, dropping his head and giving it a shake.

I shrugged. "I didn't think you drank that shit, but sure, if that's what you want."

"You're such a dumbass." Bosco whacked me on the side of the head.

In a flash, I turned and jumped on his back to bear hug him.

He grunted and whipped to one side, but I held tight, rubbing against him. "Get your half-naked ass off me, fucker."

"But I'm such a good hugger," I laughed as I finally let him squirm away.

"Better you than me," Chris muttered from his own locker.

A loud clap had us all looking over to Coach Wilson, who was standing in the doorway. "We've got the room cleared to give you all an update on Dumpty."

The silence was instant.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Officially, he's day to day while he's being monitored for a mild concussion. Unofficially, he's not traveling with us, and he'll be out for at least five days. He's definitely got a concussion. A shoulder tear is possible. They're waiting on the MRI results." Wilson crossed his arms and rocked back on his feet.

Dread washed over me as I rubbed at the back of my neck. A tear would be season ending. Losing Mason, one of the team's best batters, would make it impossible to make a playoff run this season.

"We're hoping for the best," Wilson said, his hands on his hips.

"Does he have someone to stay with?" I asked. Like me, his family was far away and unlikely to make it to him tonight.

"Miller and Langfield are with the training staff at the hospital," he said, referring to Cortney Miller, our GM, and Beckett Langfield, the team's owner. "I think the plan is to take him back to Miller's place."

Bosco snorted. "Oh, he's gonna get to go to the momcom."

"Wouldn't let Cortney or Beckett hear you mock any of them," Asher Price, the team's catcher, warned.

Cortney and Beckett had ended up falling for women who were best friends, and the families lived in side-by-side brownstones. There were rumors that the houses were connected, but I'd only been to Miller's place once and hadn't seen it.

Their girls made up half of what Bosco referred to as the momcom. There were two other women in that group, and when both Beckett and Cortney had started dating Liv and Dylan, the four women were living and raising their seven kids together in a single brownstone. Although most of my teammates scoffed at the idea, I thought it sounded like fun.

"Streaks is just sore he didn't get to join the mommune when the lovely Delia picked Enzo DiLuca," Martinez joked, leaning back in his white folding chair now that he was dressed after his postgame shower.

"Please," Bosco scoffed. "Can you honestly see me seriously dating anyone, let alone a single mother?" He shuddered at the idea.

I couldn't see it. The man was allergic to not only commitment but any sort of responsibility that wasn't baseball related.

"But like I said"—Bosco pointed at me—"you're going to have your own room this trip. You better go out and find someone to enjoy the luxury with."

I smirked. Because, sure, there had been a time when that would have been my thing. But I was weirdly unexcited about the idea now.