Delay of Game (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 1) Read online

  Delay of Game

  Dating Mr. Baseball Book 1

  Lucy McConnell

  Orchard View Publishing LLC

  Contents

  Also by Lucy McConnell

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  The Athletic Groom Excerpt

  Also by Lucy McConnell

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Lucy McConnell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Lucy McConnell

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  Chapter One

  Elise Smith folded her arms to keep her nerves under control as she followed Doc Burningham down the painted cinderblock hallway to her new office.

  Office was a loose term. As a physical and massage therapist, she’d be working out of a state-of-the-art PT room—which was exactly what she’d hoped for when she applied.

  The Redrocks were the newest Major League Baseball team, toddlers among giants, really.

  As was she.

  In the world of sports medicine she was just as inexperienced as the team owner, Harper Richmond, who’d inherited the Redrocks less than a week ago. With the way her interviews were stacked, Elise got the impression that the team doctor, a longtime family friend, had snuck her into the entry-level position during the change in ownership. Had the front office been more aware, they wouldn’t let someone straight out of college anywhere near the players and their expensive bodies, nor their top-of-the-line equipment.

  “Welcome to the torture chamber.” Doc grinned as they entered the PT room. In his early fifties, Doc’s once auburn hair was now a dusty brown, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. Elise released her arms, Doc’s humor and the familiar setting calming her nerves.

  The walls were painted outfield-grass green halfway up and cream above that. The Redrocks’ logo, high glossed and looking as if it were painted yesterday, graced the far wall. To the right there were floor mats, exercise balls, stretching straps, rollers, and a whole bunch of tools of the trade. To their left were two padded tables and a massage chair. Not the kind at the mall where you pay five dollars to have rollers knead your back, but the kind that you sit forward in to have your neck and back worked by a professional. A professional like Elise Smith. A grin split her cheeks.

  Next to the team logo was an open doorway. She spotted two ice machines and a row of therapeutic tubs. Their stainless steel exteriors gleamed in the bright light. Two stationary bikes, two treadmills, and several other machines lined up like soldiers awaiting orders.

  A man in black scrubs bottoms and a red Redrocks T came out of the room, carrying a stack of folded white towels. He was built like a runner, tall and lanky with wry muscles, and had a military style haircut.

  Doc motioned Elise forward. “Camden Clark, I’d like you to meet Elise Smith, your new trainee. Elise, this is Camden, our head PT.”

  “It’s great to have you here,” Camden said as he set the towels on the far table and extended his hand.

  “Thanks.” Elise shook his hand.

  “Camden’s been with the team since the beginning. He’s your go-to and will help you get acquainted with the team’s needs. But I’m just down the hall if you need me,” said Doc.

  “Thanks.” Elise smiled wide to let him know she’d be okay. She would be, too, as soon as she got her hands busy.

  Camden picked up the towels. “Let me show you around a little. Back here is the supply closet.” He walked through the open door painted the same bright green as the bottom of the walls. “We keep a box or two of plastic gloves and things in those cabinets.” He jerked his chin towards the dark-stained cabinets behind the massage tables. “But bulk items and larger things are kept in here.”

  She hovered in the doorway as he put the towels on a shelf next to other linens.

  “Everything’s labeled.” He waved his hand. “But if you can’t find something, just ask one of us. If we’re down to three of something, write it on the whiteboard here and I’ll put in an order.”

  She nodded. “How many physical therapists are there?”

  “Normally, five; right now, it’s just you and me. Karen went into preterm labor a couple days ago. She’ll be back after maternity leave. David quit to go back to school. And Michelle …” He rubbed the back of his head. “… wasn’t a good fit for the team.”

  “What do you mean?” Elise bit the inside of her cheek. This wasn’t any of her business.

  “She fooled around with some of the players, created drama. That sort of thing.”

  “Oh. Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” She glanced down at her black scrubs and oversized T-shirt. She wasn’t the type of woman baseball players paraded before cameras. Since she’d stopped playing softball, she’d “gone soft.” Still healthy and fit, she could run five miles and be fine, and though her stomach was flat, her six-pack was a thing of the past. She’d added a swoop to her curves that gave her a more mature look. But none of that was visible in the baggy uniform. Being hit on by a player was not going to happen.

  “I didn’t think so, but I should mention that because of Michelle, there’s a no-dating policy.”

  “Not going to be a problem,” Elise assured him.

  “Okay, let’s get down to business.” Camden showed her the iPads around the room where they tracked the work on each player. “Each file has the player’s picture and name, so don’t worry about knowing who they all are.”

  Elise checked her grin. That wouldn’t be a problem; she could pick any one of them out of a crowd.

  “Inside each folder is a detailed list of their injuries and current PT schedule. Stick to what’s in here—if you catch something that’s not on the paperwork, let me know.”

  “Sounds good.” She made a mental note to study those fi
les until she knew them by heart. A professional athlete’s body was their moneymaker. Proper care would ensure their ability to play for years. And, mostly because of what happened in this room, a professional athlete could heal quicker than the weekend warrior. The right exercises and treatment allowed all twenty-five men on the active roster to remain there. The team counted on them to perform to their highest level.

  Camden leaned against the massage table. “Doc said you blew out your knee—how’s it doing?”

  “It’s great.” She bent both knees slightly, testing the right’s ability to hold her weight. The move was more of a habit than anything. “It’s been two years.” This job would require her to be on her feet almost all day and sometimes late into the night after games.

  “Good to hear.” He glanced around. “I told the scouting office I’d watch some film with them. Are you okay if I send in a couple guys for massage work?”

  Elise rubbed her hands together. Time to get to work. “I can’t wait to get my hands on some muscle.” As soon as the words were out, she flushed. “That sounded—not right. I meant that I’m excited to get to work on their bodies.” Her cheeks burned and she was sure they were deeper red than her hair. “Okay, I’m just going to stop talking.”

  Camden scratched his head. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Elise nodded. “First-day jitters. When I’m nervous, my filters turn off. I promise to keep my mouth shut in front of the players until they turn back on.”

  He stood up straight. “Don’t worry. These guys are pretty chill.” He gave her one last look, like he was nervous about leaving her alone.

  She waved before moving to the sink to wash her hands. Her palms were sweaty and if she was going to give a massage, she should sanitize first. When she turned around, Camden was gone. Letting out a deep breath, she let her gaze sweep over the room, taking in the familiarity of the environment. While she waited for her first appointment, she opened and closed cabinets and drawers. Sports tape … menthol cream … She could do this.

  “You the new PT?” asked a deep voice.

  Elise flipped around to see relief pitcher Blake Rygs stride through the door, his broad shoulders taking up all the available space. Her eyes traveled down to his trim midsection and then back up over his well-toned chest.

  “Yep,” she squeaked. Feeling her fair skin burn, she gathered what was left of her wits and assumed a professional tone. “I mean, yes. I’m Elise.” She offered her hand and bit her lip.

  “Blake Rygs,” he said. Like she didn’t already know. She’d seen the SPORTSNetwork interview the day he was called up. He was all charm and dazzle for the cameras and he was even better on the mound. A right-handed pitcher, Blake threw a ninety-nine-mile-per-hour fastball and a changeup that left batters cursing. She resisted the urge to fan herself.

  Blake’s cocoa-colored eyes grabbed hold of her gaze and wouldn’t let go. He stared for a moment before taking her hand in his giant one, his skin cool and smooth to her hot. She felt the calluses under his fingers from the bat. He held her gaze and her hand just a little longer than he should, and her insides went all gooey.

  “Let me just … um … look at your file.” She taffy-pulled her eyes away and hurried to the iPad on the counter. She thought the distance would allow her mind to clear, but she struggled to get the bouncing balls in her stomach to settle down. Finally, she found his ailment: tight hamstrings. That she could work on.

  “Do you have a towel?” Blake asked.

  She looked over her shoulder to find him with his sweats in his hands and a pair of skin-tight sliders hugging his legs. Sliders! The guy was standing there in his underwear like it was no big deal. Of course, it wouldn’t be a big deal if a gazillion butterflies hadn’t sprung loose in her belly. “Yeah—I’ll just … go find one.” She hurried to the supply closet. When she was out of sight, she fanned her face.

  He’s just a body, Elise. An amazing body. But a body nonetheless, with muscles and sinews and bones and brains.

  She’d worked on all body types during her internships, having done a stint at an assisted living center, an athletic center, and for a college team. She’d worked on wrinkly bodies, hard bodies, and everything in between. Even the football players, with their stacks and stacks of muscles, hadn’t had this effect on her. Which meant that her reaction had nothing to do with the man out there in his sliders and everything to do with her nerves.

  Get it together.

  Besides wanting this job, she needed it. Messing up and falling into a pile of butterflies and giggles every time one of the players came into the room wasn’t going to win her any points with the rest of the PT staff. They’d already gotten rid of one girl, Michelle what’s-her-name, because she wasn’t a “good fit.” Whatever that meant. Elise had to fit in here, had to make a good showing—her family was counting on her.

  Angry at herself for behaving immaturely, she yanked a towel off the pile and grabbed a bottle of massage oil. Two deep breaths had her face almost back to its normal shade. Remembering her promise to keep her mouth shut, she walked out and handed Blake the towel, then turned her back while he positioned himself face down on the table.

  See, he knows what he was doing. And I know what I’m doing.

  With a deep breath, she rubbed some oil between her hands to warm it up and then carefully draped the towel. With her hands hovering over Blake’s dark skin, she hesitated.

  She’d had one instructor who said that for massage therapists, working on muscles was like a mechanic working on a car. You aren’t emotional about the car, but you want it to perform to the best of its abilities. Picturing the layers of muscle under that skin, she went to work. Lightly at first, then deepening the pressure to get into the connective tissue.

  Her fingers felt the way, working to remove tension and flush out the acids in the muscle. Blake’s body responded well, doing exactly what she’d asked. Gaining confidence, her strokes became longer. She smiled to herself, enjoying the flow and the way his body spoke to her as no body had before. The level of communication was unreal, like her mind was an outsider, eavesdropping on the conversation between their nerves, skin, and sinew. Moving down his leg, her hands listened while his body spoke.

  “Is your calf always tight?”

  He cleared his throat. “Pretty much.”

  She frowned, not liking his answer. Each part of the body was connected to another. Tightness in the calf could lead to problems in the feet or even the lower back and hips. “I’m going to work that too, and then I want to check your knees.”

  “My knees are fine,” he said almost too quickly.

  Elise didn’t answer him out loud. She just kept working, letting the release she felt in his leg speak to her and for her. Blake sighed. Moving back up to the towel, she held it up, averting her gaze, and told him, “Roll over and scoot down.”

  She rubbed oil over his knee and then bent closer, her ponytail falling over her shoulder. “How often do these bruises appear?” She tapped the outside of his knee.

  “Every now and again, but they don’t hurt.”

  “Easy there, tough guy.” Elise lifted her chin and met his defiant eyes. She smiled. “I’m here to help.” She straightened and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Small bruises here, and here …” She lightly touched the outside of both knees. Blake sucked in a breath as though she’d scalded him. “… c-can mean your tight calf muscles are pulling on your tendons.” She stuttered over her words.

  A small line appeared between Blake’s brows. Elise had the strangest desire to lean over him and smooth the line away. She already had her hands all over his legs, and wondered what those shoulders would feel like. Their eyes caught again and she glanced quickly away. “Let’s loosen your shins and then I’ll stretch this ligament and we’ll see how you feel.”

  She dug right into his shin, excited to get to work. If he were a soccer player, he’d never make it through a game without injuring his tendon as tight as his shins were.<
br />
  “Ouch—what the heck?” He jerked out from under her hands.

  “Tender?” she asked.

  He scowled.

  She couldn’t help but laugh, a sense of lightness bubbling up. The tenderness meant she was on the right track. “Sorry, I’ll ease up on the pressure.”

  He eyed her warily, though she caught something in his gaze that didn’t have anything to do with the massage. She lifted her palm up, a smile tugging at her lips. “I promise.”

  “I’m trusting you.” He stretched out again.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said. She kept the pressure light, waiting for each layer of tissue to give before asking the next. All the while, Blake’s eyes were on her. She could feel the sweep of them over her face and down her hair.

  Tracing the muscles and sinew she could only see through her fingertips, she got lost in him. And he had such great definition that she enjoyed every moment. When she was satisfied with the progress they’d made, she came out of her trance and smiled.

  “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Blake was looking at her strangely, like she’d turned the table on its side without telling him. He took her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “I—”

  She looked down at their hands, her heart pounding against her chest like a dozen baseballs hitting the backstop. A warm tingle pooled in her belly and she gasped. Unnerved by the intensity between them, she took a step back, her hand slipping out of Blake’s and breaking the surreal and unique connection between them. She rubbed her palms together and then rubbed the extra oil into her elbows—a habit she’d picked up in school. “Give that a try and see how you feel after practice. I’ll, um, check in with you tomorrow.” She escaped into the supply closet before he could respond.

  She thought she’d had first-day jitters, but maybe … maybe she was … she couldn’t be attracted to Blake Rygs. No! This wasn’t that. The butterflies and racing heart were from working on an MLB relief pitcher. From making her dream a reality. That was all there was to her erratic pulse and the sense of connection she’d experienced.