Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance
Pro Pitcher Matt Archer is untouchable. Even after an injury threatened to end his career forever, he manages to make everyone smile and laugh—everyone, that is, except his sister’s no-nonsense best friend who doesn’t have the time or patience for his shenanigans…or his playboy tendencies. When his sister’s wedding forces them to work together, though, neither Matt nor Shay anticipates the potentially catastrophic consequences of their chemistry.
Shay Meyers didn’t sign on for this. Yes, she agreed to be Andy’s maid of honor, but she never agreed to be Matt’s keeper, too. Still, the more time she spends wrangling the infamous player, the more she realizes there’s more the Matt Archer than meets the eye. And the worst part? She’s starting to like what she sees…
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Matt lay on his bed, opening and closing his palm and waiting for the pain to subside. In the old days, when the injury was fresh, this kind of pain was something eh could only dream about–manageable, workable. But now?
Every pang sent his mind whirring back to the phone. The texts from his physical therapist. The call for the majors that he still hadn’t gotten.
He rolled over, careful not to put any weight on his hand, and got to his feet.
He’d never paced before, but this seemed like the time for it. When he had a problem that couldn’t be solved.
And when Shay still wasn’t home…
He pushed that thought away, too. What should it matter to him whether or not Shay got home at a reasonable time? It was a bachelorette party. They should be out all night, and they’d deserve it if they were.
Just so long as it was just the two of them…
He shook his head and turned on his heel. Yes, pacing was good. Pacing at least made him feel like he was doing something instead of just sitting there staring at the ceiling. At least while he was moving he could–
The door burst open and then, just as quick, slammed shut with Shay now leaning against the white door.
“Okay, so we need a couple ground rules,” she huffed a strand of her dark hair out of her face.
“Um…hello to you too?” He stopped short and surveyed her, trying to determine if she was drunk.
She wasn’t swaying, her eyes weren’t glass or half lidded. Her hair was a little haphazard, but it was nothing unmanageable. In face, if it wasn’t for the red glow on her cheeks she might have looked completely normal.
Normal, of course, in the way that Shay was normal–her slender body wrapped in the slinkiest black dress he’d ever seen. The collar dipped just low enough for him to catch a trace of her cleavage, but then–
He internally shook his head again. Impassive. That was the new stance. Whatever she did, he was impassive.
No matter how fuckable she looked in her shiny red heels.
“We…I’m not sure where to start.”
“Probably with an aspirin. Are you drunk?” He asked.
She shook her head furiously. “I stopped drinking hours ago when I finally decided that…”
She trailed off again, then took a deep breath and said. “I just poured Andy into bed. Logan was already asleep.”
“Okay.” He nodded.
“They’re both pretty knocked out. It’s just you and me.”
The huskiness in her voice gave him pause, but he said, “Good, if we play Yahtzee I’ll know I can yell.”
“No. Listen. I…We need some rules.”
“Like not barging into my bedroom?” The corner of his mouth quirked up and she rolled her eyes.
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
“That’s a big ask when I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said.
She nodded. “Right, right. Well…look, I’ve been thinking. This thing between us. It’s not going away. I don’t think it’s going to and I think it’s been there for a lot longer than either of us will admit.”
He stayed silent, unsure whether to trust whether she really meant what he thought she meant. And if she did…
His gaze flicked to the messy tangle of his sheets. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we need some rules.”
“What, like Pretty Woman? No kissing?”
“How the hell do you know the rule in Pretty Woman?”
“I’m a man, I’m not dead.”
She shook her head. “Right. Not important. Rules. We need to, I don’t know, agree that whatever we do is confined to our bedrooms. No PDA. We’re not a couple.”
“So…you want me as your booty call?”
“Yes, I guess. My very secret, temporary booty call.”
“Just until we’re off the island. By then, we’ll have all this out of our systems and we can find people we’re more compatible with without wondering, you know–“
“What would have happened if we’d slept together more than we already have?”
“You know you’re crazy, right?”
She nodded. “Yup. Now take off your pants.”
About the Author:
Allison Gatta is an avid writer of steamy contemporary romance, an obsessive viewer of bad television, and an occasional player of overly-complex board games. In her free time, she thinks up fun, new characters and argues with her family over sci-fi trivia. She is a firm believer that Voldemort would vanquish Darth Vader in a duel.
Allison lives in the bustling city of Austin, TX with her husband and their scrappy pup, Sophie. She is fueled by coffee and feedback, so feel free to get to know Allison though twitter (@Allison_Gatta),facebook (Allison Gatta), or her website www.AllisonGatta.com.
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