Out of His League

CHAPTER 1

A bright flash of metal caught Gretchen's eye as she plunked down on the closest unforgiving airport terminal seat.

She did a double take as she realized the flash of metal was a Rolex watch, and trailed her eyes up the well-toned arm it cuffed, to the tight sleeves of a white Toronto Sixers baseball polo. Moving up from the shirt, she locked on to a very familiar face that was hidden behind signature Ray-Bans and a well-worn Sixers cap.

A face—hell, a whole man—she'd never met in person but had cheered for on TV and at home games as much as she could.

Gretchen's heart thumped audibly in her ears as she took him in. Joshua. Joshua Malvern, the left fielder for the Sixers, was walking toward her in the airport. A tall, fit, and dangerously handsome major league baseball player, at her gate, the last one on the concourse. Puzzled, she checked the date on her phone. He shouldn't be here; he should be at batting practice. He should not be getting on a plane to Las Vegas.

Then she noticed the slump in his shoulders as he sagged into an empty seat three down from her, his carry-on duffel dumped beside him. He took off his sunglasses, and she caught his faraway stare as he ran a tired hand over his face, the weight of the world etched across his features.

Oh. Oh no. Not again. He was being sent down. The club likely wouldn't bring him back—he was out of options. Her heart fell, heavy at the thought. It happened all the time to the best of players. But this time it sucked.

She had her team cap with her, and she rummaged through her laptop bag for her fine-tip Sharpie. It was red, but what the heck, it would show up on the white brim of the hat. She wanted to remember him as a player from her favorite baseball team. Her favorite player—period—since his rookie year in Boston.

She hesitated. Would he want to be bothered? He had a "fuck off" vibe she could sense even from where she was sitting. Crushing the cap in her hands, Gretchen bit her lip, debating on the merits of doing it anyway, and quickly stuffed it away. An autograph wasn't appropriate given his obvious mood—he needed a pick-me-up, not a crazed fangirl. She got up, grabbed her carry-on, and strode to the coffee bar in a fit of spontaneity.

She knew how he liked his coffee; she'd read about it in a fluff piece from the Toronto Star online sports news. She also knew his batting average and RBIs, his favorite meal and color—basically all the normal tidbits that a celebrity doled out about themselves on social media. Joshua wasn't on any of that publicly—he was a pretty private guy compared to some on the team—but his fans certainly were and loved to share. Celebutainment reporters would take any nugget of information and throw it to the fans like they were a hungry pack of dogs too.

A few minutes later, she presented him with the coffee silently, trying not to wimp out and back away, and he looked up, confused. She wiggled the cup slightly.

"Two cream, no sugar," she said, her voice wavering, ready for him to call security and tell her to get the hell away from him.

Instead, he gently lifted the coffee out of her hand, one eyebrow lifting in apparent amusement. Phew.

"Thanks," he replied quietly, peeling the tab back on the lid. "Have a seat."

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a—"

He patted the chair beside him as he took a sip, letting out a groan from his throat, closing his eyes.

"You looked like you needed it," she offered quietly, slowly dropping into the chair, gripping her own cup to keep from shaking like a leaf. This was by far the most daring thing she'd ever done. She was quite sure she was out of her element in the moment.