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CHAPTER ONE

NEARLY SIX MONTHS EARLIER

KAMRYN

“ B low jobs are my love language with men. With women…” I twist my lips, “hmm, maybe making them squirt.”

Ripley, Arizona, and Bailey all burst out laughing. My waterbed is shaking because they’re all sitting on it laughing so damn hard.

Ripley wheezes, “Blow jobs and squirting aren’t love languages, you lunatic.”

I pinch my eyebrows together. I wasn’t trying to be funny. “What are love languages?”

She answers, “I texted you all the test last night and told you to take it. There are five love languages. Physical touch, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service, and receiving gifts. The test shows you how you prefer to be loved. Everyone is different and it’s all on a sliding scale. We like a little of each, but usually, there’s one strong leader in the pack.”

I pull up our group chat, see the link to the test, and click on it. I’m answering all the inane questions while I hear them chatting about their results. Ripley’s number one love language is words of affirmation. That makes sense for her. Ripley is the curviest of the four of us and has always suffered from body image issues over her larger six-foot pitcher’s frame. I imagine she’ll need someone who makes her feel comfortable in her own skin. She’s a gorgeous, curly-haired redhead, and I don’t know why she doesn’t see it, but she doesn’t. I hope she finds a man who makes her feel as beautiful as she is, both on the inside and outside.

Bailey and I met Ripley and Arizona ten years ago during our freshman year of college at UCLA. We all played on the UCLA softball team. Ripley and Arizona grew up together in Northern California while Bailey and I grew up in Southern Florida. Bailey and I played professional ball in Chicago for the past six years after we graduated from college. Arizona played in Southern California while Ripley played in Houston, Texas. A few weeks ago, we all signed with a new team, the Philadelphia Anacondas, and moved to Philly last week. Bailey and I live in the apartment next door to Ripley and Arizona. It’s so fun to be reunited with our close friends as we begin training for the Olympics in four years. It’s something we’ve been talking about doing together since the day we all met. Well, maybe not all of us. My sister is a bit indifferent, but the rest of us won’t accept anything besides Olympic gold.

Arizona, a tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty, answers, “My primary love language is physical touch.” She sighs. “I do miss the touch of a man.”

She had a bad breakup with her fiancé last year, and it’s taken a toll on her. I don’t think she’s dated much since, though I know Ripley is hopeful that this move will break Arizona out of her fog. And she had a big date last night that she’s been tight-lipped about this morning.

Bailey holds up her phone and, to no one’s surprise, proclaims that quality time is her primary love language. My sister, the much kinder, sweeter, more subdued twin, loves spending time with the men she dates. I’m the exact opposite. One, I don’t date. Sexual encounters are all I’m interested in. Men or women, I don’t care, but I’m a hit-and-run kind of girl. Two, the last thing I want is to spend quality time with someone. Sex? Yes. Anything more? Absolutely not. It’s a waste of my time and energy.

After answering the series of questions, the online calculator spits out my answer. Lifting my head, I say, “According to this, I’m forty-three percent interested in a partner providing me with acts of service. What does that mean?”

Ripley answers, “You’re most interested in someone taking care of you.”

“Well, duh. They need to make me come. That’s all I want from anyone. It should be a hundred percent.”

My sister rolls her eyes. “It’s not only physical needs. It’s more. This is kind of sweet, Kam. You get off on someone who considers all your needs.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “All hope isn’t lost for you.”

I throw my phone on my bed and cross my arms. “Whatever. This is dumb. I don’t need a partner to take care of anything for me beyond the bedroom. I’m an independent woman. I can take care of myself.”

I don’t want to talk about this anymore, so I turn to Arizona. “How was your date with the one and only Layton Lancaster last night? Please give us a few juicy details.”

Arizona went on her first date in forever last night. Not just any date. She went to a huge public event with one of the biggest, hottest professional baseball players on the planet. Their pictures are all over every gossip site this morning, with lots of speculation about a budding relationship.

She nervously tucks her hair behind her ear. “It was…umm…fine. He was sweet. Respectful.”

Weird answer. “Did you bang him?”

She rolls her eyes. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not? He’s so hot. I’d sit right on that square chin of his if I were you.”

She and Ripley exchange an indecipherable look before she turns back to me. “We had a nice time. We’re going to see each other again, but you know I’m just getting back into the dating pool. I need to take things slowly. While we’re on this topic, he invited us to hang out with him and his friends tonight. They’re going to the same bar, Screwballs, that we went to the other night.”

Bailey and I instinctively look at each other and communicate without words or actions, as always. I nod. “Sure, we’d love to. I hope his friends are hot too.”

She smiles as she stands. “Great. I’m having brunch with my brother. I’ll see you guys later.”

I wink at her. “Tell sexy Quincy that we say hello.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Off limits. My brother is off limits to you. He can’t handle you.” She mumbles, “I’m not sure anyone can.”

I simply smile at her. Quincy Abbott is a pitcher for the Philly Cougars. He’s hot as hell, extremely tall, with blond curly hair and Arizona’s same bright blue eyes. But I would never go there. I simply enjoy fucking with her. Besides, I’ve gotten the feeling that Ripley has a crush on him. She’s never admitted as much, but I have my suspicions.

Arizona leaves and Ripley, Bailey, and I all lay back on my brand-new king-sized waterbed. I’ve wanted a waterbed my entire life. So much so that I asked for a waterbed and a puppy for Christmas every single year of my life. My parents never considered indulging me on the waterbed. When Bailey and I signed our contracts with the Anacondas, the biggest of my life, I decided to finally treat myself to one. It arrived yesterday and I’m obsessed with it.

I turn on the vibration setting, and Bailey starts giggling. “I can’t believe your bed vibrates. I think this will be my last time on it. I’m afraid of what will happen on this bed.”

I blow out a breath. “I can’t wait to have my first non-self-induced orgasm on it. It’s going to be epic. I’m glad we’re going out tonight. I’ll bring someone home for a little surfing fun. I’m feeling like I want a woman tonight.” I wiggle my hips. “I need it a little gentler as I learn the motion of this ocean.”

Ripley asks, “How do you know when a woman is interested? I guess I assume most women are into men unless there’s some obvious signal.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I assume everyone is open-minded. If they’re not interested, they can let me know and I’ll back off. I frankly think everyone is on a sliding scale of sexuality. Your exposures and experiences dictate what you do and don’t indulge in.”

She twists her lips. “Hmm. That’s an interesting perspective. What do you look for in a woman?”

I smirk. “Women should be like swim goggles.”

Bailey sighs. “Oh god, don’t get her started.”

I giggle. “Yep. Goggles. Tight, wet, and on my face.”

Ripley smiles. “Seriously. I want to know.”

I sigh. “It’s no different from what you look for in a man. A spark. Some attraction and chemistry. I don’t need much more. I’m not marrying them, I’m fucking them. I won’t ever see them again after we’re done.”

She asks, “What’s the deciding factor each night whether you go home with a man or woman?”

“I don’t know.” They always have questions about this. “I suppose at times it depends on my mood. One night, I might want to do squat thrusts in the cucumber patch, and other nights, I want to stir the bean curd.”

Ripley lets out a laugh. “Ha. I’ve missed your euphemisms for sex. I’m so happy to be reunited with you two. I’ve missed you so much. And I think this change of scenery is needed for Arizona.”

Bailey’s face turns serious. “How’s she doing?”

Ripley shakes her head. “She’s been a mess. I want my best friend back, and this move is just what the doctor ordered. We need to make sure she’s pushing herself on the social front. She’s been a clam all year. ”

“At least she went on a date last night. That’s a big deal for her,” I add.

Ripley slowly nods. “I guess.”

Something is off about this situation. Why isn’t she elated that Arizona went on a date last night, especially with a stud like Layton Lancaster?

Bailey and I exchange glances. I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.

CHEETAH

I’m at the stadium with Layton in our training facility, getting electric stimulation on our sore muscles. It’s the all-star break in professional baseball. It takes place every year at the halfway point in the season. It’s a time for baseball to celebrate the best players in the league with a friendly game. There are always parties and other fun activities associated with the event for those who are selected for the teams.

For those who aren’t, it’s four days off from the grind of a long one-hundred-and-sixty-two-game season. I’ve been having a good year, but not all-star worthy. Our young, popular shortstop, Avery McNeil, as well as one of our relief pitchers, both made the team. Our new pitcher, Quincy Abbott, should have made the team but didn’t. He was traded to us from Houston before this season. He said he’d rather save his arm for the second half of our season, but he still should have been offered the roster spot. He's having a career year and has become our ace on the mound.

Layton made the all-star team for ten straight years but hasn’t in the last few. He used to be the biggest star in baseball, but at thirty-four, I imagine retirement is around the corner for him. He’s one of my best friends in the world. I can’t imagine ever playing without him, but that day is coming sooner rather than later.

He's got ice on his knees and the e-stim hooked up to his quads, which is pretty standard for catchers. It’s the most physically demanding position. I’ve got the e-stim on my hamstrings, which feel a little tight. I’m a speedy center fielder, a position you can play for much longer than a catcher. I’ve had years where I led the league in stolen bases, but turning thirty has made it so my muscles don’t recover as quickly as they used to. The e-stim helps them loosen up a bit.

I woke up this morning to a flood of online photos of Layton with Quincy’s little sister, Arizona. Apparently, they attended an event in New York City last night, and the paparazzi went absolutely wild for them. I guess it makes sense; he’s a good-looking fucker who was the face of baseball for a long time. She’s a professional softball player and, judging by her photos, is incredibly beautiful. I haven’t met her since she just moved to Philly. The internet practically exploded this morning. I can’t imagine Quincy is thrilled about it. When it comes to women, Layton is the biggest player on the planet; he’s with a different girl every single night.

I ask, “How did you end up with Quincy’s sister last night? Was she cool?”

He smiles. “Very cool. I briefly met her…once before, but then management introduced us yesterday and asked us to attend the event together. We hit it off and are going to hang out a bit.”

“She’s fucking hot.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “No shit.”

“Speaking of shit, is Quincy losing his?”

He winces. “She’s telling him this morning. I’m going to head home soon, anticipating an angry Quincy stopping by. We can talk, man to man. I’m not planning to dick her around. I wouldn’t do that to Q.”

I nod in understanding. “Honestly, I’d fucking throttle you if you went out with any of my sisters.”

He winks. “It’s a good thing they’re all married. You’ll meet Arizona tonight. She and her friends are meeting us out.”

“Sweet. Hot girls usually hang with other hot girls.”

“I thought you were hanging out with that girl, Brianna.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Have you ever known me to be truly serious with anyone? The front doors are always open for business on the Cheetah bus to Manchester.”

There’s a reason it’s been a long time since I’ve had a serious girlfriend. I’m a lot to handle. I know that about myself. I like to have fun. I want to be the life of the party. I say and do crazy things. Putting all that aside, I hate hurting people. I hate confrontation. When a relationship goes to shit, which it always does, I allow it to go on longer than it should because I don’t want to hurt the woman. In the end, we both end up mad or hurt. I’ve stopped trying.

Layton smirks. “You’d be serious if it was a clone of Gemma DePaul.”

I give him the finger. They all like to rub my nose in the fact that I have an innocent crush on teammate Trey DePaul’s wife. She might also be the reason I don’t date. No one measures up to her. She’s perfection.

“She’s just a friend.”

He chuckles. “I know, but how much porn do you watch that has brunettes with great tits?”

I scrunch my face. “A lot. You know I like to watch the ultimate act of intimacy.”

“You like to watch porn. Nothing intimate about that.”

Yes, I’m a normal, red-blooded man who likes a healthy dose of porn. Admittedly, I put it on in hotel rooms when we travel, but I mostly do that just to fuck with the guys. They think it’s crazy, and I’ve got a rep to protect as the funny, nutty teammate.

He continues, “You’re a kinky motherfucker, Cheetah. Just admit it.”

I shake my head. “Kinky sounds dirty. I prefer…erotic. It’s a sexier term.” I gyrate my hips back and forth suggestively, and he laughs.

He shrugs. “Whatever, dude. Is there even a difference between erotic and kinky?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course there is. Erotic is teasing your woman with a feather, driving her crazy with desire. Pushing her to the edge before you give her what she needs. Kinky is using the whole fucking chicken for some messed up shit. Big difference.”

He starts laughing hysterically. I notice our trainer, Jeffrey, biting back his smile.

Like I said, I have a rep to protect.

It’s nighttime, and we’re sitting in our regular booth at Screwballs. The owner always ropes it off for us, loving the attention we bring to his bar. It’s a huge booth. Not only can we all fit in it, but there’s plenty of room for any guests we invite to join us. It’s often a few random girls, but not tonight. Tonight, it’s Arizona Abbott and her friends. I’m kind of excited to meet professional softball players. I don’t know any.

Quincy is running late, but our teammate, Ezra Decker, is with us. He’s our second baseman and good friend. He’s a shy, understated man from the Midwest who happens to be one of the nicest guys I know.

I ask Layton, “Can you tell us their names again? ”

He scoffs in annoyance. “Arizona is my girl. Ripley is the tall redhead. The brunette identical twins are Bailey and Kamryn. I only met them briefly, but I think Kamryn is the outgoing one. I can’t tell them apart though.”

“Are they hot?”

He nods. “All four of them are hot. I think the twins might be up your alley. They’re sexy brunettes.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “I had sex with twins once. It was amazing.”

His lips curl up in amusement. “You did? Could you tell them apart?”

I smirk. “Yep. Maria had a nose piercing and Marco had two balls.”

He and Ezra start laughing but I hold up my hand. “Just kidding. There are always subtle differences in twins. You need to find them. It’s like a treasure hunt.” I look around and innocently ask, “Are Trey and Gemma coming?”

Trey is our third baseman, and his wife of a few years is Gemma. They used to come out all the time, but they had a baby a few months ago and don’t go out as much. I obviously see Trey in the locker room and on the field, but I miss Gemma. She’s the coolest chick I’ve ever met. She’s a super smart lawyer, but also a down-and-dirty secret romance author. I love her sense of humor. She may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I admittedly have always had a crush on her, but Trey staked his claim the second he laid eyes on her. Layton wasn’t wrong earlier today. Gemma is the reason I’ve had a several-year brunette fetish.

She and I have a lot in common, and she’s become one of my best friends. I decide to text her.

Me: You guys coming out?

Gemma: Sorry, no sitter. Fletcher is asleep, and Trey wants me to himself. He’s not home many evenings during the season. I need to get my fill of my sexy man when I can.

Me: Okay. Book club meeting this week?

Gemma and I have lunch once a month to chat about the romance books we’re reading. I love reading romance books. It’s like porn with a storyline. I also think it gives insight into the minds of women. I try to tell the guys that all the time, but they don’t listen. They never read anything except fantasy football magazines.

Gemma: Yep. Come by my office and we’ll grab lunch one day.

Me: Yes, Mommy.

Gemma: Such a good boy.

I smile as I place my phone back in my pocket. She always has a comeback for my comments. Yep, Gemma DePaul is a unicorn. What I wouldn’t give for a woman with a dirty yet smart mind like Gemma’s.

Layton announces, “Here they are.”

I look up and see four women walking toward our table. Four gorgeous women. What’s cool is that they’re dressed casually, not like the usual women in the bar who dress more provocatively. The four women are all in sweatpants, but it’s the one brunette in a cropped T-shirt catching my attention. She’s fucking beautiful, with long hair, huge golden-brown eyes, a button nose, and a body built for sin. There’s something about the twinkle in her eyes and the confident way she’s walking that tells me she’s a little crazy. Just how I like them .

Layton introduces all of us and I take Kamryn’s hand in mine. A lot of women get shy or awkward when meeting famous baseball players, but she doesn’t cower at all. In fact, she licks her lips like I’m her next meal.

I squeeze her hand a little harder and ask, “Do you know the difference between a cheeseburger and a boner?”

She smiles. It’s mischievous, and I love it. “Do tell.”

“You’re not giving me a cheeseburger right now.”

She giggles. “I like you, Cruz.”

“I like you too, Kamryn. How old are you?” She could be twenty-two, too young for me, or thirty, I have no idea. Though I’m thinking older, given her confidence.

“Old enough to remember when saying shove it up your ass was an insult, not a pickup line.”

I can’t help but chuckle. She’s a hellcat. I think I’m in love.

Rubbing my scruff, I ask, “But are you old enough that you still type a double space after a period?”

She lets out a laugh. “ Definitely not.”

“Hmm. I’d say that makes you roughly twenty-nine.”

She nods. “Close. Twenty-eight going on twenty. How old are you? Forty? Fifty?”

She’s fucking with me. Love it. “Thirty, going on eighteen. A perfect match.”

“Thirty, and you’re using cheesy pickup lines about cheeseburgers?” She tsks.

“You liked it.”

She bites back her smile. “Pickup lines aren’t really my thing. I’d rather be pinned down than picked up.”

I chuckle as I finally release her hand. I think I may have just found my soulmate.

Quincy arrives and everyone is chatting, but I can’t take my eyes off Kamryn. There’s something extra about her.

At some point, the conversation steers toward walkup songs. At the beginning of each season, a ballplayer selects a walkup song. At every home game, just as he’s walking from the dugout to the batter’s box, that specific song of his choosing is played. It sounds like the girls have them too.

Arizona mentions that she plans to use “Smooth Criminal” by Michael Jackson this season. I ask, “Are you a speed player?”

She nods. “Yep. I usually lead the league in stolen bases.”

“Ahh. That song is perfect. Damn, I wish I had thought of it.”

She smiles. “Use it next year. Luke Combs’s version of ‘Fast Car’ that you’re using this year is a good one. Plus, you do your whole dance bit during the seventh-inning stretch of every game. They don’t ever show it on TV though. I only see them on TikTok. I’m excited to catch a few games in person so I can watch you in action.”

“You’ll have to come dance with me sometime,” I offer.

Her face lights up. “I’d love to.”

I turn to Kamryn. “What about you? What’s your walkup song?”

She smirks. This woman oozes trouble, and I’m so damn attracted to it. “I like to ruffle feathers with my song selections. Last year I did ‘Barbie Girl’ by Aqua. It made me laugh every time I stepped to the plate. The year before I used ‘Pony’ from Magic Mike .”

I chuckle. “What about this year?”

“You’ll have to come out to the ballpark to find out. I’ve got a special one this year. I think you might like it.”

“Maybe I will come watch you play.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Why do they call you Cheetah?”

I give her a cocky smirk. “Because I’m fast. Very fast.” Cheetahs are known to be the fastest animals. I’ve been called that since middle school.

Without an ounce of hesitation, she brings her face within an inch of mine. “No one likes a man who’s fast, Cheetah .”

“On the field, sweetheart. In bed, I’m more of a tiger than a cheetah. A different feline, but an animal nonetheless.”

She then starts calling me kitten. Fuck, I love it. It makes my dick swell in my pants.

She motions her head toward the dance floor. I see some chick I hadn’t noticed staring at our table. It’s not exactly unusual for women at this bar to stare at a table of professional baseball players. I think I’m desensitized to it at this point. I hate when women make it too obvious and easy for me. The chase is half the fun.

Kamryn asks, “Do you think that attractive woman over there is looking at me or you, kitten?”

My head toggles between the two of them as realization hits. Shit, Kamryn likes women. “Is that what you’re into? Explains why you’re busting my balls instead of gargling with them.”

She calmly sits back in her seat and slowly sips her beer, though I notice a slight curl of her lips in amusement. She places her beer on the table, never breaking eye contact with me. “Sometimes I like a banana in my fruit salad, and sometimes I like to dip my toes in the kitty pool. It depends on my mood.” She stares at me with a mixture of both fire and mischief in her eyes. “I’m a mood fucker.”

Where has this woman been hiding all my life?

She continues, “How about a little wager, kitten?”

“What do you have in mind, Kam bam?” Not the best nickname, but if she’s calling me kitten, I need to call her something besides Kamryn. Her friends have been calling her Kam. I’m just adding the bam.

She smiles. “If our lady friend wants you , I’ll let you come home with me tonight to break in my new waterbed. If she wants me , you need to come to our first game with my name written across your chest in thick Sharpie. It has to read, Kam’s Kitten .”

This sounds like a win-win for me. I hold out my hand. “Deal. You and I will be riding that wave within the hour.”

She shakes my hand in return as something electric passes between us. We both feel it but then break apart, stand, and race toward the brunette, who I have zero interest in. It’s Kam I want, but if leading this random girl on is what I need to do to get Kam under me, then so be it. I’ll make sure to at least buy the woman a drink or two after I win the bet. I’m not a total asshole.

I get to her a hair ahead of Kam and give her my big, trademark smile. One that admittedly gets most ladies swooning over my dimples. I gently place my hand on her waist and pull her close to me. “Hi, beautiful. What’s your name?”

She bats her long eyelashes at me. “I’m…I’m Stephanie. Ohmigod, you’re Cruz Gonzales, the star centerfielder.”

I nod. “Yes, I am. You can call me Cheetah.” I whisper in her ear, loud enough for Kam to hear, “You’ll be screaming it later.”

Her eyes light up as she runs her hand across my chest. I place my hand over hers. “What does my shirt feel like?”

She pinches her eyebrows together. “Umm…cotton?”

“No, sweetheart. It’s boyfriend material.”

Kam lets out a laugh as she uncaringly enters our space and tucks Stephanie’s hair behind her ear, brushing her fingertips across her cheek as she does so. “I’m Kamryn.” She leans toward her ear and whispers in the same louder tone I did, “I’ll be the one making you scream later, but the S will be silent.”

Stephanie’s face flushes as she stares at Kam and licks her lips. Her breathing picks up.

What the fuck is happening here?

I stand there in awe as Kam works her magic with Stephanie. She’s putty in Kam’s hands. Kam is funny, sweet, charming, dirty, and all-around awesome. I’m not sure I care about losing anymore. I’m simply enjoying watching her in action.

Stephanie is laughing. I can’t get in a word. Who is this enigma that is Kamryn Hart?

At some point, Kam brushes her lips over Stephanie’s. Stephanie runs her hand over Kam’s bare waist and moans into her mouth.

I’m not sure whether I’m incredibly insulted or incredibly turned on. Judging by the sudden tightness of my pants, it’s quite possibly both.

Within minutes, Stephanie has agreed to go home with her. I nod at Kam. “You win. Let’s go back to the table.”

She winks. “Sorry, kitten, I have a much better offer.” She grabs Stephanie’s hand and makes her way toward the front door.

I barely got in a word with Stephanie. More importantly, I didn’t get to talk to Kam as much as I would have liked. That woman has more game than anyone I’ve ever seen.

I drop my head and walk back to our booth. Layton looks at me in shock. “Did you lose?”

I motion toward Kam and Stephanie at the entrance, and admit, “I did.”

Kam gives us the Cougars’ famous claw sign and then starts laughing as they leave. I can only shake my head as I ask no one in particular, “What does she have that I don’t?”

Arizona answers. “A vagina.”

I purse my lips. “Hmm. Fair point.

Bailey rubs my back. “She’s bizarrely charming, isn’t she? It’s infectious. She’s been this way since we were kids. Don’t take it personally. She always gets the person she wants and never strikes out.”

I sigh. “She likes men too, right? ”

Bailey nods. “Yes, but you might not want to waste your time. She rarely sleeps with someone more than once. She had her heart broken to shreds in high school and hasn’t been in a single relationship since. Don’t fall for her. Her heart is gold when it comes to her friends and stone when it comes to physical relationships.”

Layton smirks. “Cheetah doesn’t do relationships either. Unless Gemma DePaul also has a twin, he’s not the commitment type.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He didn’t need to out my crush to our new friends. I mumble, “Dick.”

He chuckles as he wraps his arm around Arizona and pulls her close to him. I look at Quincy, who’s staring at them with daggers in his eyes.

We end up having a fun night. It’s nice hanging out with female athletes. The girls are all cool and fun, but it’s the one who already left that I can’t get out of my mind.