Crushing on Him (Men of Summer 0.50)

I simply didn’t have time between studying and baseball.

Through it all, I kept playing hard on the field.

Improving behind the plate.

Leading my team.

Hearing rumbles of scouts coming to check me out.

Soon, their presence at my games was more frequent. Old dudes in Aces jackets, or Storm Chasers jerseys, or Sharks gear, taking notes in their little notebooks as I caught and hit.

And I gave them something to talk about.

Oh hell, did I ever give them reports to bring back to the front offices.

I was dominant, and took my school to the College World Series, winning it all.

Agents checked me out too. In the spring of my junior year, I talked to a handful, but talking was all that was allowed with student-athlete eligibility rules.

Once I was finished with college ball though, the rules changed. And with my early graduation looming closer, it was time to pick and choose.

“Holy hell. Is this my life?” I asked Reese one night in my dorm as I was picking what shirt to wear to meet an agent named Haven. A former Olympic gold medalist in snowboarding, she’d made a name for herself as an athlete’s agent, with a fantastic client list and a keen understanding of what mattered to guys and gals playing ball.

“Pick the blue polo, you dork,” she said as she perched on my desk, polishing her toes a cherry red. “And yes, I can believe it. I’ve always believed in you.”

My chest went warm. Her support meant the world to me. Hell, she was the reason for another tattoo of mine—a mountain on my right hip. She came with me to Ink Lore for that, too, and the design hearkened back to our childhood dreams.

I strode to the desk and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Love you.”

“Awww. I can sell those locks of hair now for a million dollars,” she teased. “They’ve been kissed by Grant ‘Thinks He’s Hot Shit’ Blackwood.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think I am.”

She wiggled her brows. “No. You know you are.”

“C’mon. That’s not me.”

“I’m just teasing you. Anyway, I can’t wait to hear how it goes with Haven. I researched her, and she is one badass babe.”

“Of course you researched her,” I said as I checked my reflection in the mirror. “That’s what you do. And you’re a badass babe too.”

“You know it,” she said as she finished her last toe. “Voila. My power color.”

“Hey, you want to come tonight? With Pops and me?”

She knitted her brow. “To meet Haven?”

I shrugged easily. “Why not? She wants to meet my family. You and grandma and grandpa are my family.”

She smiled, tilting her head. “I’d be honored.”

We went to an Italian restaurant off-campus. My grandparents even drove here to meet Haven too.

“I think you’re going to go high in the draft. And I think you can have an amazing, incredible, wonderfully long career,” the confident woman said over dinner.

So this was what it was like to be wooed. I didn’t mind it. I didn’t mind it at all.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll fight for you,” she said, then she turned to my grandparents. “I know what it’s like to be an athlete. To give your all to something. And I will look out for Grant in a way that would do you proud.”

Aww hell.

My pops gave a tentative smile. “It’s up to him. It’s always been up to him,” he said.

After dinner, Reese and I wandered alone to our favorite late-night coffee shop, ordering a macchiato for her and a coffee for me, even though it was late.

“Do I sign with her?” I asked, then took a drink.

“What does your gut tell you?”

Good question. And an athlete should listen to his instincts. “She’s the one.”

Reese beamed. “Go for it.”

I called Haven the next morning and gave her the news. “I’m yours,” I said playfully.

She cheered. “Yes! I’ll do everything I can to make your career a wild success.”

A few weeks later, I was chilling at my grandparents’ house in Petaluma, playing a game of Scrabble at the kitchen table with my grandma, grandpa, and Reese.

“Xylophone,” Reese said as she built on the phone already on the board.

I whistled in appreciation. “That’s impressive.”

My grandma shot me a sly smile. “Wait till you see what I spell,” she said, then spelled jukebox for twenty-seven points.

I gave her a proper Wayne’s World we’re not worthy salute.

When it was my grandfather’s turn, he stroked his chin, contemplated the board, and reached for a letter.

My phone trilled.

Haven’s name flashed across the screen.

I mouthed be right back and swiped to answer the call. “Hey there, Haven.”

“Hi Grant. How would you like to play for the San Francisco Cougars organization?”

Chills swept over my body.

I parted my lips to speak but words didn’t come right away.

This was a dream come true. It was everything I’d worked for my entire life, and a few seconds later, I gave the one and only answer. “Yes.”