Take Me Out Elley Arden Alicia Hunter Pace Leslie P. García Bea Moon Avon, Massachusetts This edition published by Crimson Romance an imprint of F+W Media, Inc. 10151 Carver Road, Suite 200 Blue Ash, Ohio 45242 www.crimsonromance.com Copyright © 2013 by Elley Arden, Leslie P. García, Jean Hovey, Stephanie Jones, Bea Moon This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental. ISBN 10: 1-4405-7377-8 ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7377-4 eISBN 10: 1-4405-7378-6 eISBN 13: 978-1-44057378-1 Cover art © istock.com/grafikeray and istock.com/wabang70 Contents Tradeoff Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five About the Author Slugger Gone South Acknowledgments Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four About the Author Safe at Home Dedication Acknowledgments Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four About the Author That Ol’ Team Spirit Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four About the Author A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance Tradeoff Elley Arden Avon, Massachusetts To my parents, who dragged me to hundreds of baseball games, getting this whole ball rolling. Chapter One “You didn’t have to come. I wasn’t going to jump off a bridge or anything.” Ben Border looked away from his agent and out the hotel room window at the gleaming baseball stadium across the street. The massive steel-and-brick structure in the middle of sweltering Orlando, Florida, was his home field now. Being here felt nothing like being in Boston. “When one of my guys starts throwing around the ‘R-word,’ you can bet your sweet ass I’m on the next available flight,” Jordon said. “Retirement is not the end of the world.” Not when a guy was thirty-seven and being tossed around the league like a leper. Okay, that last part was an exaggeration. It was one trade in a long career. He’d been lucky for the most part. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. But there was another reason, too. Ben was tired and restless. Baseball didn’t feel the same. Each time he crouched behind home plate, he asked himself why he was putting himself through the same meaningless motions. Wasn’t that a slap in the face to the game he supposedly loved? Jordon stood and crossed the drab carpet to the pathetic plastic coffee pot hogging the meager countertop in Ben’s mid-priced hotel room. “There’s nothing wrong with retirement if you make the decision from a reasonable place, not one filled with emotion.” He poured steaming liquid into a tiny foam cup and returned to the empty seat across the table from Ben. Was Ben being emotional? He wanted to argue he wasn’t, but he knew Was Ben being emotional? He wanted to argue he wasn’t, but he knew better. There hadn’t been tears, but there’d been anger when Hopkins had informed him of the trade. And the anger lingered. Holed up in a hotel room, awaiting his first field appearance with a team of strangers, Ben had known better days. Right now, he’d give anything to be home in Lake Placid, tossing a line into pristine Mirror Lake. He was done dreaming and achieving. Those were a young man’s games. “Give it some time,” Jordon continued, shrugging out of his suit coat. “Orlando might be perfect for you. You’ve got yourself a bullpen full of fastball pitchers. That’s gotta make you smile.” Ben did love being on the receiving end of a 90-to 100-mile-per-hour fastball. Something about the way he stared down the speeding bullet and caught it with a wicked sting and deafening pop juiced his veins. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll give you that.” “Good man,” Jordon said, slapping the table. “That’s a start.” He sipped from the foam cup. “You used to say everything happens for a reason.” Ben sniffed. “I was younger then.” “Barely.” “Well, I was less jaded.” “Listen, I’m not going to act like this doesn’t suck. Being traded from a championship team to a struggling one, you have plenty to be pissed about. But if you look for the positive, you’ll find it. It’s up to you.” Jordon stood. “And on that note, I’m going to head over to the stadium to meet with Wells. You should rest.” “Yes, Dad,” Ben said, chuckling. Jordon was a few years younger than him, but the guy hovered like a mother hen. Jordan flipped up his middle finger before leaving. As Ben’s laughter died, he moved to the bed and belly-flopped onto the goose down comforter. Everything happens for a reason, huh? It was the motto he’d lived by his whole career. His gut told him it was still true. His brain told him the reason for this trade was to force his retirement. Regardless, he wasn’t prepared to mar his stellar reputation with the league by being a no-show tonight and sticking it to a team that was woefully low on capable catchers. He would play his best, like he always did. And if, when Hernandez returned from the disabled list and resumed his crouch behind home plate, Ben ultimately decided to hang it up, he’d do so with respect for his teammates and the game. Dragging himself off the mattress, he went through his normal pregame routine with lackluster enthusiasm. After showering and shaving, he downed a movie-theater-size box of M&Ms and grabbed his bag. Now was as good a time as any to face his new reality. • • • Beeep. Beeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeep! Scarlett Dare jerked awake, hand flailing for the snooze button. She pounded it, and blissful silence was restored to her hotel room. But not five minutes later, her eyes were open and she was staring at the popcorn ceiling. She couldn’t be late for a meeting if she tried. Pushing off the bed with a sigh, Scarlett headed for the coffeepot. Her life had slid into a rigid routine over the past four weeks. Up late working on presentations and marketing plans, up early for board — or more accurately, bored — meetings, and all the while fueling herself with copious amounts of caffeine. In a few hours, she needed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, schooling forty new hires on company objectives and brand messages in her role as executive vice president of marketing for Pace Waterman. Despite the fact that she probably could recite the spiel in her sleep, her boss, Brad, would probably prefer her to do it while awake. She yawned and took a gulp of the too-weak brew. Ugh, hotel coffee. She missed her morning cup of vanilla and hazelnut espresso from Rockn’ Joe’s. Within three months, the much-anticipated Orlando office would be pushed from the proverbial nest with only the occasional, emergency visit from the senior management team. Then Scarlett would go back home to New Jersey for a month — maybe two — before she would fly out to