The Steamy Baseball Book Bundle

“What is your schedule tomorrow?"

The slide of his warm-up pants draws my attention to those long legs.

The casual bend to his knees. His feet resting on the floor. It’s all too much as a shiver riffles through me. He has to be the hottest lab partner of all partners. I even have proof. The picture he sent is saved on my phone under All Photos. I may or may not have hearted it, so it shows up under Favorites.

I force myself to look away and pick up the flask. I need to concentrate on my current task—not think about shirtless torsos. Otherwise, I’m done for.

He gives me a side-eyed glance. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you? Who’s to say my offer still stands.”

“Oh my God. You’re incorrigible.” I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. This guy is something else. “Someone will have to check to see if the culture tubes remain clear. If they’re contaminated, they’ll need to be redone.”

“Why don’t we check it together? It is, after all, a group project.” He hands me the bottle of water.

“Be alone with you? No, thank you.”

He grabs his heart. “And the hits keep coming. Why wouldn’t you want to be alone with me? We had fun last night.”

“You mean before Pixie Girl interrupted?”

“I apologized for that.”

Seriously? I place the water bottle down and pin him with a look. “Let’s get something straight. I do not want to go out with you. I will never want to go out with you. You’re certainly not my type.” Anymore.

His gaze flares with heat, but I don’t think it’s the “I’m attracted to you” kind. It’s more of the “I want to get away from you” kind.

“You keep saying I want to go out with you, but I’ve never once asked. I simply suggested we could both check on it. So, you know, you can make sure I don’t mess up.”

“You literally said you wanted a private show.”

He tsks. “See, you’re confusing ‘having fun’ with dating.”

My resolve falters. Perhaps in my haste, I’ve jumped to conclusions, but does he have to prove my point that he’s nothing more than a pig? “Thanks for clearing that up. I sometimes confuse the two.”

“Why do I get the impression you’re not impressed at all with my extracurricular activities? Or is it more of disapproval? Is that it? You hate baseball players or all jocks in general?”

“Believe me, I’m the last person on earth to hate all baseball players.” Considering I like my brother and his group of friends, there’s no way I hate all of them. I only reserve this level of hatred for a particular type of player. “The guys I can’t stand are the ones who think they’re God’s gift to the female population.”

I’ve been down that road too many times.

“Good. Then you don’t have to worry about hating me.”

“Really?” I say, but my attempt at impassiveness cuts short when Braxton leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against mine. My mouth parts as his warm breath sweeps the side of my face.

“Yeah. After one night together, it won’t be me who’s thinking I’m God’s gift.”

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