For the Win (Playing for Keeps Book 1)
Read For the Win (Playing for Keeps Book 1) Online
Authors: Amber Garza
FOR THE WIN
Amber Garza
Cover: Kris @ C & K Creations
Copyright © 2014 Amber Garza
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
For information: ambergarza.wordpress.com
Other titles by Amber Garza
Cuts Run Deep
Head Above Water
Falling to Pieces
Star Struck
Love Struck
Tripping Me Up
Finding Me Again
Winning Me Over
Break Free
Break Through
Engraved
Delaney’s Gift Series:
Dazzle
Shatter
Betray
The Prowl Trilogy
Prowl
Entice
Unveil
To connect with Amber Garza online:
http://www.ambergarza.wordpress.com
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Amber-Garza-author
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To Kagen, for proving that dreams really do come true.
BEFORE
London
I wasn’t expecting to like him.
Not one bit.
I had known guys like Cooper Montgomery before. Egotistical jocks who thought they owned the world and everything in it. And not once had they treated me with any ounce of respect. I was the shy girl. The one with her nose always pressed in a book. I certainly wasn’t the popular or the pretty girl. As a society, we’d been conditioned from childhood about what was cool and what wasn’t. The message had always been clear. Intelligent, bookish girls were not sexy. Lucky for me, I had never wanted to be sexy. Quite the opposite, in fact.
All I’d ever wanted was to blend in. To fade into the background where no one would bother me at all. I wanted to be left alone, plain and simple. I’d learned the hard way what it was like to garner attention, and that was something I never wanted to experience again.
That’s why guys like Cooper were an enigma to me. I didn’t understand people who welcomed the spotlight, and craved the attention. Even though I’d never spoken to Cooper, I’d seen him around school. He always had a group surrounding him, as if he was afraid to be alone. Girls trailed him like he was their god or something. Frankly, I found it repulsive. And I had no desire to be any part of it.
It’s the reason I was so upset when I was told by John, the editor of the school newspaper, that I had to interview him. I was all set to write my hard-hitting piece on the lack of nutritional choices available in our cafeteria. But instead I’d been assigned a sports piece, and I knew literally nothing about sports. The only reason we were even doing this article on Cooper was because Annabelle Garcia had a huge crush on him. She’d pitched the idea at our last brainstorming session, and then immediately offered to write the story. I was a little surprised because I hadn’t even realized our school had a fall ball season. Apparently Annabelle knew more about baseball than me. Too bad she was out this week with the flu.
I begged John to push back the story, but he said that Cooper was expecting to be interviewed this afternoon. And that’s how I found myself trekking across campus toward the baseball field after school. As I neared the ball field, I noticed the curious glances from the players. I knew I didn’t look at all like a normal spectator. For starters, my jeans and long-sleeved shirt were not conducive to the California fall heat. But I’d always been conservative in my attire. My dad and my friend, Skyler, were the only people who understood my need to stay covered up. The difference was that Skyler was always trying to get me to loosen up, while I was pretty sure my dad was hoping I’d remain this way forever.
Clutching the pad of paper tightly to my chest, I stepped onto the grass. My tennis shoes sank into it with every step. The warm sun beat down on my back, and sweat gathered along my shoulder blades and spine. I longed for cooler fall temperatures, but we never really had a fall. It didn’t start cooling down until November most years, and it was only September now. Therefore, I needed to remain patient. Even when we were blessed with rain the other day, the air was still sticky and warm. I blew the bangs off my forehead and walked over to the bleachers. They were empty, so I took a seat in the first row, setting my pad of paper and pen down on my lap.
Cooper stood on the mound wearing his orange and black Gold Rush High School Tigers’ hat, along with a shirt bearing the emblem of our school, and white pants. He adjusted the ball cap on his head before bringing his arm back for the pitch. When the ball left his hand, it moved so fast it was difficult to see where it went. The batter missed, and it was called a strike. Despite myself, I was impressed.
I’d heard Cooper was good, but I’d never witnessed it. Attending baseball games was not my idea of fun. In fact, when I was younger my dad used to drag me out to professional baseball games, but I never actually watched them. Instead I’d bring my current book and read until the game ended. I finished many good novels that way. I was pretty sure Dad had been hoping I would gain an appreciation for baseball by going with him to the games, but all I did was gain a sunburn. Eventually he stopped taking me, and I was grateful.
Since I knew zilch about baseball, I decided to come early to watch some of the practice. This may not have been the story I was hoping for, but I would still write a damn good piece. I was nothing if not professional. No matter the assignment, I made sure I gave it my best. Even when I had to write an article about the cheerleading squad I bit back my scathing remarks and made it as unbiased as I could. Sure John had to modify some of it, but in my defense, the cheerleaders had never made life easy for me. It was difficult to be completely impartial.
However, I had made myself a promise to keep an open mind with this story. And it should’ve been easy enough, since the article would be about the baseball team and Cooper’s position as pitcher. It had nothing to do with his less-than-stellar reputation. Well, less than stellar in my opinion. The rest of the girls at this school seemed to be turned on by his womanizer status.
I watched Cooper strike out a couple more batters before the coach signaled the end of practice. My pulse quickened as the team huddled around the coach, my usual pre-interview jitters hitting me. I wiped my clammy palms on the thigh of my jeans and scanned the questions I’d prepared. My finger moved swiftly over the pad of paper at the questions I’d scrawled in my telltale slanted cursive. My dad always teased me about my penmanship, which he called illegible. But it didn’t matter. No one used free hand anymore. Everything was typed on computers. And typing was something I was good at. One day when I was a professional writer I’d lug a laptop with me everywhere. Dad promised to buy me one for Christmas this year, and I was counting down the days. I only hoped he kept his promise. Money was pretty tight for us, but he assured me he was saving up. Usually I stayed cautiously optimistic so I didn’t get too upset when it didn’t pan out. But this time my heart had already jumped in with both feet before I could catch it and reel it in.
“Hey.”
I jolted at the sound of Cooper’s voice, not having heard him walk up. My pen rolled off my lap and landed near my feet. Then to my horror, it kept rolling until it landed in the grass.
“I’ll grab it,” Cooper offered, bending down. When he stood back up, he held the pen out to me. It dangled between his thick fingers.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, snatching it from him. The players had dispersed, some of them hiking across the field, bags slung over their shoulders.
“I’m assuming you’re the person interviewing me for the paper.” Cooper flashed me a smile, a dimple forming on his right cheek.
My heart twisted. I could see why girls found him attractive. Even though I wasn’t attracted to him at all, he wasn’t exactly ugly.
“Yeah.” I stuck out my right hand, while fisting the pen in my left. “London Miller, reporter for the Gold Rush Gazette.”
Dear god, I sounded like an idiot.
Why was this guy making me so nervous?
“Cooper Montgomery, but I’m guessing you already knew that.” As he shook my hand, he grinned again. His blue eyes sparkled as the sun struck them. I wished I didn’t notice how good-looking he was, how perfect his smile was, and how his eyes were bluer than the ocean. But these things were impossible to miss. In the past, I’d only seen Cooper from a distance. This was the closest I’d ever gotten to him, and it seemed he was even better looking close up. I forced away the thoughts, wondering why I allowed my mind to go there in the first place. I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl who crushed on guys. I found it pointless, a waste of time and energy. All I wanted in life was to survive high school, and then get into a good college so I could become a reporter. Boys only complicated things. Besides, it’s not like any boy was ever interested in me.
“Nice to meet you, London.” For some reason hearing my name coming from his lips stopped me cold. A shiver ran down my spine as I drew my hand back.
But I recovered quickly. “Where do you want to conduct the interview?”
“Right here is fine.”
“See ya, Coop,” one of the players called as he walked past us.
Cooper waved at him before plunking down on the bleacher next to me, so close his thigh brushed mine momentarily.
Swallowing hard, I scooted over a little, putting some space between us. “Great.” Biting my lip, I stared down at the pad of paper in my lap. My eyes scanned the paper, searching for a good ice-breaker question. But suddenly they all sounded lame to me. Sighing, I turned to him. “You did great today in practice. I was really impressed.”
There was that million dollar smile again. God, this guy was charming.
“Thanks. I’m glad to know I impressed you.” He threw me a wink.
My cheeks warmed, and I lowered my gaze. Maybe a compliment wasn’t the best way to start with this guy. According to John, it’s always best to start by buttering the interviewee up. But I had a feeling that Cooper was used to people gushing over him. All I’d succeeded in doing was blowing up his already big head.
“How long have you been playing baseball?” I asked, knowing this would be an easy place to start.
“My whole life.” Staring out over the field, a wistful smile flickered. “My mom used to joke that I came out of the womb with a baseball in my hand.” An apologetic expression cloaked his face. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t that best visual, but you get the point. I was born to play the game.”
His answer propelled me forward. I was grateful that he was taking the interview seriously. I’d heard horror stories of football players joking all through their interviews. Even when I did the article on the cheerleaders they weren’t all cooperative. Some were sarcastic and giggly. “Did you always know you wanted to pitch?”
“No, actually. When I was a kid I liked to hit.” He shrugged, displaying a lopsided grin.
Did he do that just to show off his cute dimple?
I imagined girls became a puddle at his feet when he did that. Luckily, I was stronger than them. “But who doesn’t, right?” He paused as if awaiting my response.
Not knowing a thing about baseball, it took me a minute to slowly nod. “Right.” I hoped he didn’t detect how unenthusiastic I was.
“But when I was around ten, I had a coach who noticed I had a strong arm. He had been a pitcher back when he played, so he kind of took me under his wing; started working with me on pitching. By the end of that season it was clear that I was meant to be a pitcher.”
I nodded, giving myself a minute to formulate my next question. My list was invalid at this point. I wanted to keep the momentum of this line of questioning. “What kind of training have you had to get where you are now?”
“I’ve taken pitching lessons since I was eleven. That was also the year I started playing ball year round. And I practice every spare moment I get.”
His words made me wonder if I’d misjudged him. Clearly baseball was his first priority. Before today, I’d always assumed he played ball just to get chicks and hang out with friends. That’s the way it appeared from the outside anyway. I thought about the hours I spent immersed in my books and magazines, about all the time I spent writing my articles and stories. Maybe Cooper and I had more in common than I thought.
“Hey, Cooper,” a female voice floated in our direction.
I glanced over my shoulder to where a group of girls stood near the fence, smiling. They giggled, flipping their hair around as they waved at Cooper. One of them wore a ball cap on backwards, her blond curls spilling out of it. I recognized most of them. They were the popular girls, the ones who never gave me the time of day. My stomach soured as Cooper waved back, his dimpled smile deepening.
Okay, so maybe I was wrong about him. Clearly we were nothing alike.