Scoring Position: Windy City Heartbreakers

By Mimi Kinley

Willie

I will not date baseball players. I will not date baseball players...

 

I've willingly made that promise to my father every year since I was seven. But that was before the hottest corner in Baseball, Holden Wright, was traded to the Cubs, my Cubs. And certainly before he ignited all my sexual fantasies with a dimpled grin and a firm handshake.

 

He makes me want to break every promise I've ever made, and judging by the hungry look in his eyes, he's more than happy to help. Right up until he finds out I'm the manger's daughter.

 

Holden

I'm crushed when I find out the gorgeous blonde, I've spent the last few minutes eye-fucking is untouchable but as bad as I want to bury myself deep inside her, I'm not crazy. There's no way I'd touch the manger's daughter, I just got here.

 

But when I catch her taking photos of me during a solo work out for her secret website, I lose all my good sense. If I get fired—it will be a hell of a way to go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mimi Kinley
• Release date: May 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223990246

Mimi Kinley

USA Today Bestselling author Mimi Kinley writes short, hot contemporary romance with guaranteed HEAs. She lives in the midwest with her husband and two cats. Her stories are available in eBook format as individual stories or as part of larger anthologies. She also writes full-length contemporary romance under the pen name Mindy McKinley.

Book preview

1

WILLIE

To know what life is worth you have to risk it once in a while .

Or something like that.

It’s the only quote I can remember from the utter waste of time Twentieth Century Philosophy turned out to be. And though I highly doubt Sartre had me in mind when he wrote it, it’s going through my head right now anyway.

Why? Because I’m currently scrambling atop a tiny cocktail table in bare feet, in a dress, so I can get a better shot of the Chicago Cubs welcome home party.

I’m not completely crazy, it’s for my job. I’m the Assistant Manager of Social Media for the team and it’s my task to document every minute of everything and push it out to the hundreds of thousands of followers I’ve managed to secure over the last year at this job.

It may say assistant manager on my desk, but everyone knows I make the department relevant. My sixty-year-old boss wouldn’t know Twitter from his asshole and I’m not even sure he has one. An asshole, that is.

The team’s return to Wrigley from spring training always prompts a media circus, but this year it’s a fucking madhouse with the overnight news of the Holden Wright trade.

Having his glove and his batting average on the team is big news. Possibly season changing. And even if the trade indicates he’s near the end of his long and successful career, he’s a giant score for us and everyone wants a piece of him.

The team hasn’t even arrived yet and the place is swarming. This tiny, wobbly, table is my last-ditch effort to get a shot of the whole room before all hell breaks loose.

Perfect, I say to no one when I have my footing. From this height I can get the media, the owners, and the giant Cubs backdrop in one shot. It’s perfection. Proud of myself, I take half a dozen shots and I’m just thumbing through the results when someone bumps the table and I pitch forward, arms flailing, letting out an Oooooh shiiiiit, that would make my father frown.

Luckily, I’m caught at the last minute by strong, capable hands and before I know what happened, I’m on my feet. No worse for the wear, staring up at none other than Holden goddamn Wright.

Holy Shit. He is hotter than I expected. And let me tell you—I expected magma-level hotness from this man. It’s clear from first glance that photos simply don’t have the capacity to convey the relaxed ease of his solid body, or the green of his eyes that are the exact shade of spring grass. Just one eye crinkle from him and I have to fight the urge to climb up his expensive suit and beg him to fuck me.

I’ve been around baseball players since I was born. It comes with the territory with the Cubs manager as a father. But there’s something different about Holden. My heart jumps into my throat, my clit pulses and I can’t seem to move a reasonable distance away from him. I just stand there, vibrating with need, hoping no one notices.

His eyes sweep over my face quickly and the smile he gives me is genuine, warm, and I can tell already that he’s one of those honest-to-God, wholesome, door-holding good guys.

It’s a shame, because I would like to do very bad things with this man and the image I suddenly have of him fucking me in the locker room showers would probably make him blush.

Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. His voice reminds me of warm honey—sweet, confident, and achingly deep.

I can’t answer for a moment, and it makes me feel like an idiot. I’m fine, thank you…

Holden Wright, he holds his hand out to me like there’s any chance in hell I wouldn’t know who he is. He is only the best third base booty—I mean baseman—in baseball. The hottest corner. The man who made the famous World Series-clinching catch in game four, who has posed shirtless for countless sports magazines, who has nearly a dozen charities that he oversees personally