Third baseman Drake Schultz is the undisputed bad boy of the New York Kings. So it's no surprise when Major League Baseball suspends him for taking performance-enhancing drugs. Furious with their superstar, the front office issues an ultimatum: either work with their sober companion or kiss the rest of his quarter-billion-dollar contract goodbye. Cocky and arrogant, Drake resists being saddled with a live-in babysitter—even one he's insanely attracted to.
Drake is Eva Sloane's first celebrity client as a substance abuse counselor, and she knows she's in trouble when he starts tempting her at every turn. The way he looks at her is as hot as sin, but she refuses to become his new drug of choice. Slowly, she helps him realize he has to face the demons from his past and heal his tortured spirit before he can even think about satisfying any craving he has for her.
About the Author:
Collette West grew up as somewhat of a jock-nerd hybrid. Entering the world three weeks premature, her dad nearly missed her birth because he had seats behind the dugout for a sold-out, highly-anticipated match-up between two of baseball's biggest rivals. Not to be outdone, her book-loving mom taught her how to read by the time she was three. A love of the game coupled with an appreciation for the written word were instilled in Collette's impressionable brain from a young age. No wonder her characters believe in the philosophy: sports + romance = a little slice of heaven.
Splitting her time between the Pocono Mountains and Manhattan, Collette indulges her inner fangirl by going to as many games as she can from hockey to baseball and downloading every sports romance novel in existence onto her iPad. When she's not clicking away on her laptop, she enjoys walking her dog in Central Park, satisfying her caffeine craving at the Starbucks on Broadway and keeping an eye out for Mr. Right. But above all, she loves dishing with her readers. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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I plaster a huge smirk on my face and tip my cap to amp them up even more. I know I shouldn't, but I casually let my eyes stray to the brunette again. She's quiet, pensive, leaning forward in her seat, watching me. My head is splitting, and I give myself a moment to concentrate on her and nothing else. The roar of insults fades in and out, and a wave of dizziness threatens to overtake me. I blink to clear my head when her face starts to blend in with all the others. The anxiety I started the game with returns in a rush when I can't seem to find her. Where is she? God, I need to see her—just to get my bearings. Thankfully, for some reason, she stands up and starts pointing skyward.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see Jilly a split second before the big guy comes barreling in on me, all six feet eight inches of him. I take a few hurried steps back when the ball bounces off the line and rolls into fair territory. Jilly slides in after it feetfirst, just missing out on making a spectacular catch. He fumbles around in the dirt until the ball's securely in his grasp, checking the runner, who can't advance past second since there are now two New York Kings covering third.
"Do you get off on this or something?" Jilly snarls up at me, dusting off his uniform.
But I didn't muff the play on purpose. I was looking at that girl, trying to hold on to what's left of my sanity. The increased energy and alertness I had in the first few innings are long gone, and now, the wave of despair I was seeking to avoid all night is hitting me dead on.
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