Page 2 of The Pitcher’s Proposal

For a fleeting second, I can feel myself melting under that gorgeous smile of his. Then I remember where I am. Being the new woman on staff who flirts with the starting rotation isn’t a reputation I’m interested in building.

Marissa taps her tablet against her palm. “Dakota will be helping with individual consultations, travel nutrition, and the clubhouse fueling stations. Try not to make her regret accepting the job.”

“I’d never do that.” Brendan’s attention remains fixed on me. “In fact, I’m available to help her settle in.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I say, barely holding back a blush.

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering. I know all the good restaurants around here.”

“Then I’ll keep you in mind if my job suddenly becomes reviewing restaurants.”

“You should. I’m thorough.”

A door opens down the hall, and a man in Titans training gear sticks his head out. “Kelso, you coming?”

Brendan glances over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t move immediately. Instead, he looks back at me, his expression still playful but his gaze so steady it makes my pulse skip.

“See you around, Dakota?”

“Considering we work for the same team, that seems probable.”

His laugh follows him as he turns away. I watch him join the other player, then force myself to look toward Marissa. She’s studying me with amusement. We begin walking again, and she waits until we’ve turned the corner before saying anything. “Kelso is friendly with everyone.”

“I assumed he was.”

“He flirts with everyone too.”

“I assumed that as well.”

It’s reassuring information, which is irritating because I shouldn’t need reassurance. Brendan Kelso is attractive, charming, and completely irrelevant to my plans for this job.

Marissa gives me a sidelong glance. “You handled him well.”

“There wasn’t anything to handle.”

“Of course not.”

I resist the urge to defend myself, which would only make it appear that the interaction affected me more than it did. Brendan probably won’t remember my name by tomorrow, and I have too much work ahead of me to waste time thinking about the way his hand felt around mine.

We reach the conference room where the pitchers’ meeting will be held. Marissa steps inside first, greeting one of the coaches while I pause to hold the door for two staff members coming through behind us.

Before I follow them inside, I glance back down the hallway.

Brendan stands near another doorway, listening to the man beside him. As though he senses me watching, he turns his head.

Our eyes meet across the distance. That gorgeous grin of his returns, slow and confident, and he lifts two fingers in a small wave.

Heat climbs into my face.

I turn and walk into the conference room before Marissa catches me looking.

2

BRENDAN

AUGUST