Bring The Heat: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Bad Boys of Summer Book 1) Read Free

stomach sank. The ball was gone, streaking through the sky so fast that I lost track of it. The outfielders were scrambling for the back wall but it didn’t matter. My eyes stung from the glare of the sun as I searched the sky for any sign of the ball.
    With a horrified gasp, I spotted the ball flying over the upper deck seats in right field. The damn thing was gone. As Delgado rounded third and headed for home, I thought I heard the faint sound of a car alarm blaring off in the distance.
    The announcer gasped along with the crowd, the sound unpleasant over the sound system. “It’s outta the park, ladies and gents! I hope y’all have good insurance cause that baby’s headed to the south side parking lot! Holy guacamole! Have you ever seen anything like it? We need to get the measurement on that one Hal, we might have ourselves a record there. Trey Delgado just hit his first grand slam of the season, and I’m thinking that may be a record for the longest hit ball on record!”
    I winced at the announcement and the booing of the crowd that followed. I gripped the bill of my hat and ducked my chin. I took a swift kick at the mound. “Fuck!”

Chapter Three
    Chelsea
    “The south side parking lot?” I whined at the announcement.
    Paris shook her head. “Damn. That was a rough first day.”
    I followed her gaze and saw Cody Wright kicking the shit out of the pitching mound. “Paris, focus, our car—correction, my car —is in the south lot!”
    “Cool your jets, babe. There’s no way that ball actually made it that far. All right? Now, come on, let’s go down to the tunnel and wait for Robby. He’s gonna be pissed off and I’ll need to cheer him up.”
    Before I could object and insist that we go see whose car got smashed, Paris was tugging me into the crowd of disappointed Warriors fans.
    “Fuckin’ Wright. Why the front office even picked him up is beyond me,” one fan grumbled to another in front of us.
    The guy to his right nodded in agreement as we all shuffled towards the exit. “I heard he can pitch a one-oh-two fastball though.”
    The first fan shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Don’t matter if he pitches it to the wrong guy! Did you see that swing? Dayum!”
    I tuned it out and stuck close to Paris as she led the way out of the bleachers and down a hallway, a couple flights of stairs, and after flashing an ID badge at a cluster of security guards who all looked to be too busy bitching about the game to care, we walked down a deserted hallway that smelled like sweat and stale ballpark peanuts.
    “This way,” she said, grabbing my arm before I walked right past the right hallway. “The locker room is at the end of this hall and when they’re done with their post-game shit, they all come this way. You’ll get to see the whole team!”
    “Swell.”
    Paris shot me a dark look. “Come on, let’s sit over there.”
    “I’ll stand. If I do any more sitting today I think my ass is going to go into a permanent hibernation. Baseball games are too damn long.” I massaged my ass cheeks through my dark wash skinny jeans.
    “Says the woman who spends eighty hours a day at her computer…”
    “I have a standing desk, thank-you-very-much,” I retorted, resisting the urge to shoot my tongue out in her direction.
    My first year as a full time programmer, I’d packed on fifteen pounds from too much snacking and lack of exercise. When I got the funding for the new game I was building, the first investment I made was in an adjustable desk so I could stand up and work. Between that and one of those horribly complicated home gym machines, I’d melted off most of that weight gain and was back in my normal jeans.
    I glanced at Paris as she sat down. She was incredibly dressy for a day at the ballpark. She was wearing a short, black mini skirt that was suction-cupped to her ass and a low cut red top—the Warriors’ signature color—that was just as tight. I wondered if the outfit was like one of those space