And he saw it first on Twitter.

Chapter 1

The chatter in the Sonics locker room intensified as the opening-day excitement seemed to cast a spell over the place. Familiar faces appeared at the door along with an influx of new ones, rookies hoping for a permanent role in the rotation and prospects acquired in recent trades. There was much good-natured jostling and ribbing as the baseball team settled in for the season.

“What was with that bonehead play last week against Detroit?” Jimmy Reilly said as he put away a stack of towels. “Good thing it was just spring training.”

“Yeah, that was right up there with those girl balls you were pitching.” Brian McCauley grinned.

“You see the papers?” Jimmy asked, his brow lifting. “They were praising my fastball. The Trenton Times can’t say enough nice things about us. Imagine that, after last year when they were calling us the Garden State Goons!”

“You can thank his girlfriend, Nikki Case, for that,” Chase Westbrook, the starting pitcher, said, pointing to shortstop Jake Baldwin. “Best damn PR rep in the business.”

“You’re not going to get an argument out of me,” Jake said as he kicked his locker door closed. “She cleaned up our image, got rid of the haircuts, the tats, the bar fights. Have to admit, her plan worked. I hate it when she’s right.”

Chase laughed just as Pete Johnston, the Sonics’ manager, walked in with a new player. By the deferential way he was being treated, it was clear the new guy was someone important. The noise in the locker room subsided as recognition came quickly, and more than one mouth dropped as they identified the California slugger.

“Hey, boys,” Pete said in his folksy way, chomping on a wad of bubblegum. “We got ourselves a new first baseman. I know you’ll all welcome Gavin King to the Sonics.”

Their new teammate stood beside Pete like exhibit A. At six foot five, with black hair, chin scruff, and a build that went with his size, he had an undeniable presence. Even more irritating, he was good-looking, with a pair of intense dark eyes, a firm chin, and a sensual mouth. He’d been considered a star player, and rumor had it that among his other attributes, he was considered irresistible to the female fans.

But worst of all, every man who had been with the team the previous summer could only remember that devastating game when Antonio Chavez, the Sonics reliever, lobbed a curveball right over the middle of the plate and Gavin tattooed it, sending it four hundred feet over the bullpen wall to lose the game.

It still stung.

“Now we all know it was Gavin’s grand slam that kept us out of the series last year,” Pete continued, as if reading their minds. “That’s all the more reason we want him on our team. We need to fill Ryan’s cleanup spot, and he is just the guy Jeffrey thinks will do that.”

Several of the men groaned, but they were not about to challenge the manager, or Jeffrey Caine, the general manager. Yet none of them were happy to see their adversary being led to the nicest locker in the room. Pete opened the door, tossed out Jake’s belongings, and displayed the generous storage inside, a pile of fluffy towels, and a pair of shower shoes.

“Chase, why don’t you show him around, you know, make him feel at home? And Brian, once Gavin’s ready to play, I’m going to change the lineup, move you down and put Gavin behind Jake in the rotation. Any questions?”

Crickets.

“Good. Meet you all outside in fifteen for batting practice and drills. We want to keep up all the good work we started last year. Gavin, I’ll let them fill you in.”

Chase did an eye roll, but otherwise complied. As the pitcher led him out of the room, they noticed that the new player walked with a limp.

“Great,” Brian said in disgust once he was out of earshot. “On top of everything else, he’s a gimp.”

—

When he returned with Chase after a tour that took all of fifteen minutes, Gavin turned innocently to Jake. “So where is the concierge?”

“The what?”

“The concierge. You know, the person that orders stuff for us. I was thinking to get a salad for lunch.”

Jake’s eyes met Cody’s, and he fought the humor that threatened to burst out of control.

“We don’t exactly have a concierge,” he said seriously. “But we do have a snack stand. I’m sure if you asked real nice, they could find something for you.”

A couple of the men broke into laughter. “I guess this will take some getting used to,” Gavin said, glancing outside. Even though it was April, there was a coating of frost on the ground. He visibly shuddered. “This sure isn’t California.”

“You can say that again.” Cody grinned. “Welcome to Joisey.”

—

“Okay, let’s try the crunches with your feet a little higher on the bench. If that goes well, we can add it to your routine.”

Jessica Hart bent over to arrange the baseball player’s sneakers in the proper position on the bench, completely missing the once-over he gave her. Clad in sweats and a tank top, her copper-colored hair in braids and a Sonics cap on her head in an effort to restrain a multitude of curls, she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t appreciate a lascivious glance.

But when she rose, Roger Adams couldn’t help but openly admire her toned athletic body, biceps that rivaled those of some of the players, and the sheer strength of her physique as she tossed one leg over his trunk and positioned his shoulders in a perfect square. Her face was intriguing, with a turned-up nose and a sprinkle of freckles, her green eyes intense, and somehow her workout clothes only enhanced a feminine beauty that seemed innate.

“Christ,” Roger moaned even as he lifted his back off the floor. “I’m sick of working out. Besides, I have a groin injury. What the hell do crunches have to do with that?”

“Everything,” Jessica said firmly. “These exercises work your core. If your body is balanced, injuries are a lot less likely. Besides,” she added, giving him a thoughtful look, “Matt Carpenter never complained about a few sit-ups. But then again, he was in much better shape.”

That did it. Roger threw himself into the workout, determined to show her and Matt Carpenter that no one bested him. Squatting beside him to count, she hid a grin.

As the new sports therapist for the New Jersey Sonics, Jessica knew more than she ever wanted to about motivating athletes. She had grown up in a house full of brothers, all of whom went on to play pro sports. So she understood how they thought, what made them tick. She also knew that even though they were bigger and stronger than she was, they weren’t a damn sight better.

When she was in high school, her physical education teacher suggested she take up cheerleading, and she had laughed out loud at the idea. The thought of standing on the sidelines with a couple of pom-poms, a ponytail, and a push-up bra was totally ridiculous to her. Instead, she wanted to compete, to be treated as an equal. Unfortunately she discovered that for a female, the world hadn’t gotten there quite yet.

So she became a sports therapist, utilizing her skills and knowledge of the male athletic psyche to become a successful trainer. After a few temporary positions, she got offered a job in New Jersey thanks to her brother Rory, and established her reputation among the jocks.

The position was just to her liking: the Sonics were a fairly new team, filled with reckless young rookies looking to make it to the big time, players who would certainly get hurt and need her help.

She was on board.

“That’s fifty,” Roger said, collapsing on the mat, puffing from the exertion.