Page 13 of Stealing Forever (Bridge Point Bears Baseball #1)

The team’s already warming up when I finally walk my ass onto the field. I’m late, but there was a rollover accident on the freeway causing a huge delay in my commute time.

My duffle lands with a thud in the dirt next to the dugout, a small dust cloud rising above it. Popping open the cap to my water bottle, I take a few long pulls of the cool liquid before wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

Catching sight of one of my players, Max Callahan, approaching, I close the bottle and toss it on top of my duffle.

He wears a timid smile as he comes up in front of me, raking his hand through his short hair. “Hey, uh, Coach. Can I talk to you for a second?”

Great. Something must have happened before I got here.

Max is one of the most serious players on the team with his no bullshit, high-drive work ethic.

He’s closer to my age, in his early thirties, and tends to be my eyes and ears when I can’t be.

He’s played on the Bears for a couple of seasons now, but Blake was considering trading him, and I sincerely hope that doesn’t happen anytime soon.

“Of course, Callahan. What’s up?”

“Hey! There’s the internet sensation!” Austin shouts, jogging over to us. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin when he stops in front of me.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Yeah…that’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” Max trails off, pulling his phone from the pocket of his baseball pants.

“You’re a viral hit! I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it yet,” Austin teases me, coming behind me to squeeze both of my shoulders. I shake out from his hold.

“Someone explain. Now ,” I bark, annoyance growing quick like a poison within me.

Max pushes play as he hands his phone to me, and my voice carries from the device. “Where’s Doctor Waggoner?” Then cuts to some rap song I don’t recognize as the video changes to me carrying Hailey across the field.

One point eight million likes. Six million views.

What. The. Fuck.

“What is this?” I growl, thrusting the phone back into Max’s chest. “Who did this?”

“My cousin recorded it, then obviously posted it on her social media. She had no idea it would go viral, she just thought it was sweet.”

“Sweet,” I repeat slowly, nodding my head. “And now it’s been seen by millions of people.”

“On the bright side,” Max says through his teeth hesitantly. “The Bears are trending. We’re the hottest team in the MLB right now.”

“With the hottest coach,” Austin adds. I glare at him.

“So what exactly does this mean?” I ask, not knowing what the fuck to expect. Or do for that matter. Am I supposed to put out a statement or something?

“Absolutely nothing, Coach. Now you just sit back and enjoy being internet famous. I bet this will increase ticket sales, too.” Austin pulls out his phone and starts looking at something. Then, he laughs, and turns his phone around. “Check it out.”

Through narrowed eyes, I look at the screen. It’s a map of Coit Stadium showing available seating for our upcoming home game.

Only, there is none…

I whip my eyes up to his. “The game sold out?”

What?

“The next four sold out.”

The fuck.

“Holy shit.” I exhale a breath, and with a surprised chuckle, I grin. “Blake’s going to fucking love this.”

“Fuck yeah, he is!” Austin holds his hand up for a high five, and for once I don’t hesitate.

As much as the idea of being viral on the internet nauseates me, I know this type of exposure is going to do amazing things for the season.

“So… You’re not mad?” Max raises his eyebrows in question.

“Nah, I’m not. But next time tell your cousin to ask permission before she records me, yeah? Or anyone for that matter.”

“You got it, Coach. Sorry about that.”

I give him a nod in response, then cup my hands around my mouth and yell to the team. “Huddle up, everyone.”

The entirety of the Bridge Point Bears baseball team jogs over to me, and forms a tight circle.

“In less than twenty-four hours, we’ll be on Rebel turf for opening weekend.

Last season when we played them, there was some tension between the teams. I’m not gonna beat around the bush, so let me remind you guys of this one more time.

This is my team now. Whatever bullshit Coach Melbourne let you get away with last season won’t fly with me.

If you’re out on the field, have a camera in your face, or even when you think no one’s watching, you remain professional. Got it?”

A collective round of “yes sir” is said as I make eye contact with every single one of my guys. When they fall on Jensen, he smirks.

Narrowing my eyes, I tell him, “Heed my words, Fields.” Then, addressing the entire team, I dismiss them to practice.

Heading to the dugout, I slump down on the bench and pull my phone out of my duffle. I don’t have any social media, but I want to watch that damn video again so I pull up the search engine and type in Bridge Point Bears to see what happens.

To my dismay, the video is the first thing that pops up with several links to several social media channels.

“ Goddammit ,” I grumble, and click on the first one. It’s the same video as Max showed me, but this time I click on the comments section. It has thousands of comments, but before I can start reading them, a pop up appears, prompting me to sign in.

Not willing to create an account, I go back to the original page and click on the next one.

Different social media site, same video, but this time there’s a woman floating over the video, talking and reacting to what she’s seeing. Obviously a green screen, but unsettling to see regardless.

Another link, another rendition of the video.

Finally, I make it over to a platform that doesn’t require a sign-in, and I’m able to see what people are saying—only I quickly learn I should have avoided the temptation of knowing.

Holy shit, the Bears coach might make me a baseball fan!

Off to buy tickets to a game I don’t understand!

I guess I’m a baseball girlie now.

I’m no baseball fan but I’d gladly play with his balls!

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Yes please.

Sign. Me. Up.

I’d love for him to oversee me on the bench. Or, under me is fine too.

Is this…

“Ah, you’ve become a thirst trap.” Gareth collapses onto the bench next to me, peering down at my phone.

“A what now?” I scrunch my face in confusion.

“It’s when thirsty women on the internet turn you into a sex symbol,” he explains, and it does nothing to ease the confusion.

“Thirsty?” I ask with hesitation, like I’m not sure of an answer to a math question.

Austin joins us in the dugout. “C’mon. You know what thirsty means.”

I tug my cap off and run my hand through my hair. “The internet and Gen-Z slang aren’t something I keep up with.”

“It means they want you.” Austin laughs. “Like, they’re thirsty for your?—“

I cut him off with a growl. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“What Austin is trying to say,” Gareth glares at him, “is these women find you attractive and it's really boosting the team’s favor this season.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I clamp my eyes closed. “Shouldn’t you two be practicing.”

“On it, Coach Hottie!” Austin hops to his feet.

“Austin,” Gareth scolds, groaning with annoyance. “Respect the coach.”

“I do respect him. I also envy him a little right now.” He winks at me, then jogs back to the field.

“Sorry, Coach.” Gareth picks up his mitt from the bench.

“Not your apology to give, Fox. For what it’s worth, it’s not needed either. I’ve figured out Austin and his personality.”

“I know, but there should be a line of professionalism, too.”

I laugh. “Professionalism ended when you guys set up that group chat.”

“True.” He grins.

My phone starts to vibrate in my hand, and I see Hailey’s name flash across the screen. My pulse quickens—she never calls.

“Gotta take this,” I slur in a single breath before answering. “Hello?”

“Declan, hey,” Hailey’s sweet voice filters through the phone, “sorry to bother you at work.”

My thoughts stray to dark places. Is Sailor hurt? Is she? “It’s fine. Is Sailor okay?”

“Oh, yes! Sailor is perfect. That’s not why I’m calling.”

Immediately I relax, exhaling a deep breath as I run my hand through my hair.

“I...um… Have you been on the internet today?” she asks with hesitation.

She’s seen the video, too.

“Yeah. A couple of my guys just brought it to my attention. Hailey, I’m so sorry. A family member of one of the players took it and posted it.”

“I’m not upset, I just was a little surprised. But I wasn’t sure if you’d seen it yet and I feel compelled to let you know I wasn’t the one who did it.”

“Of course you weren’t.” I’m baffled she’d even say that. “Why would you think I’d accuse you of posting it?”

“I just wanted to be clear that it wasn’t me. I don’t want you to think I’d do that—try to chase clout or whatever.”

My thoughts flash back to the night after her accident where I told her about Sailor’s mom leaving us to try and become a Hollywood star. Then I think about Austin’s words— you’re an internet sensation —and put two and two together.

“Hailey, I promise you that wasn’t even a thought in my mind, but thank you for the reassurance.”

She sighs, and I can hear the relief in her words. “Okay, good.”

A tangible silence settles between us and I look out to the baseball diamond where the guys are working on the drills we open every practice with.

It’s wild to think that in less than twenty-four hours I’ll be sharing a hotel room with Hailey.

And it’s even crazier that rather than be focused on opening weekend, our practice, or hell, baseball at all, I’m thinking about the hours of uninterrupted time we’ll spend in each other’s company after Sailor goes to sleep. That is, if she doesn’t immediately retreat to her room in the suite.

“Well, sorry again to bother you while you’re working,” her voice lulls me from my thoughts.

“Hearing your voice is never a bother.” Goddamn do I mean it.

I’m so fucked when it comes to this woman, and with every day that passes I feel that last thread of control threatening to sever.

I shouldn’t have voiced that thought, but I’m having a helluva time pretending like I don’t have an interest in her.

A small gasp pushes through the speaker and that sound alone has me growing hard behind my sweatpants. Spinning on my heel, I turn away from the guys even though I know they can’t see me. But on the off chance they do look over here, they don’t need to see my dick pitching a tent in my pants.

Needing to end the call before her voice alone makes me harder, my voice is far too raspy when I say, “I’ll see you when I get home, sweetheart.”

My brain should have never given her that damn term of endearment, and now I can’t imagine any other nickname for her.

“Yeah…okay. See you then.” She sounds as breathless as I am.

I want her. And I think she wants me too.

But if I’m wrong, and I mess this up, I’m not the only one whose heart will be broken. I can’t risk another woman walking away from Sailor.

But fuck if I can’t enjoy the feeling of knowing that a woman I only imagined in my dreams could want me like I want her.

Call it selfish, but for a few moments, I plan to relish in that.

Feeling on top of the world, I step onto the infield, arms open wide, and project my voice.

“Who’s ready to kick some Rebel ass for opening weekend?

” A round of hoots and hollers echo through the air and it fills me with pride.

Excitement . “Then let’s get to work so we can get home and rest before we fly out tomorrow. ”