Tucker shrugged unapologetically but crouched in the bottom of the closet and rifled through his bag for some jogging shorts. Maybe a run would help loosen him up before practice. Something had to.
His blazingly white jersey, which was hanging from the rail above, brushed the top of his head as he dug into his suitcase, and he stopped to look up at it. In all capital block letters, black with the signature orange outline, the name LLOYD shouted out to him. Below that was his number, lucky 13. He ran a thumb over the bottom hem of the jersey, and in a warm rush, the excitement he remembered hit him. The flutter in his belly. It was still there, still driving him forward.
This would be a good year. It had to be, otherwise it might be his last.
“Come on, dude, don’t make me drag you.” Alex finished off his coffee and chucked the container at the garbage can in the corner of the room. It bounced off the edge with a loud metallic ping.
“Good thing you don’t play basketball.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who gets paid to locate.” He pointed a finger at Tucker and gave him a wink. “Now let’s get our asses in gear.”
Outside, the air was warm with a faint, lingering coolness that told Tucker spring was still new here, even if it was nicer than the temperature in San Fran. He and Alex made their way past the hotel to a running path the concierge had recommended. They weren’t the only ones craving a breath of fresh air, either. Tucker recognized a few familiar faces he’d seen for years across the infield green. There were nods of acknowledgment, but no one said anything.
After a few minutes of walking, Tucker reasoned that one of them should probably start, you know…running. He kicked up his pace, and in spite of a huffed expletive from Alex, the catcher managed to keep time. Tucker was six three, so he had to give his friend credit for matching his longer strides.
“You figure Calvin will…” wheeze “…have it in for us right from the start?” Chuck Calvin was the grizzled, no-nonsense field manager of the team who had a habit of screaming so much after games he was often reduced to a wheezing, asthmatic mess who could only swear and shake his head. He was a Felons legend, in spite of their long run of losing seasons.
Tucker chuckled and slowed his speed enough Alex wouldn’t notice but would be better able to keep up. “After the way we got trampled last fall? I’d be amazed if we don’t get fixed with those collars they use for yapping dogs. And every time we fuck up a play, we get zapped.”
Alex’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second while he contemplated the possibility of this. No one would put it past Chuck. Thankfully, Tucker was fairly certain they didn’t make those collars in human sizes.
Yet.
He and Alex turned to cross a path when a blur of yellow and black flew at them from around a corner. A feminine shriek was the only warning they got before the cyclist came at them on a collision course. Tucker yanked Alex backwards, but he wasn’t fast enough to get out of the path. He closed his eyes and thought, Please God, not the arm.
Chapter Two
Emmy Kasper had been thinking about her luck when she managed to drive her bike headfirst into a batch of the bad kind.
She’d been so busy musing about her new job she’d sort of neglected to think about the important things in the present, like watching the road for joggers. When the two men stepped out in front of her, she was struck by a moment of absolute stupidity.
Oh, there are people in the road. What should I do?
A second later, her brain caught up. Oh shit, there are people in the road and I’m about to fucking hit them.
She shrieked, because screaming like a girl seemed to be the only thing she could think of to warn them. It worked, because two heads pivoted towards her as she finally remembered how the handbrakes on her bike functioned and squeezed down on them for all they were worth.
The world went upside down suddenly, and she was vaulted from her bike seat ass over handlebars and landed in a heap directly in between the two men she’d narrowly avoided maiming. Adding insult to injury, her bike decided to keep rolling forward and only stopped when it slammed into her. Pain formed an ache at the center of her back, but it was the giant smear of blood on her knee that really caught her attention. The line of blood on the pavement didn’t look so good either.
In spite of all evidence she was the only one who’d been hurt, she awkwardly blurted out, “Are you guys okay?”
“Aside from almost being killed?” This from the shorter, slightly chubbier of the two.
“We’re fine, are you okay?”
When Emmy finally focused on the taller of the two, her heart caught in her throat, and it wasn’t because he was gorgeous. Which he was. Staggeringly so. No, she kind of wanted to curl up and die because of who he was.