Flirting With First Read online

  Flirting With First

  Sophia Summers

  Heather B. Moore

  Rebecca Connolly

  Contents

  The Belltown Six Pack Series

  Read all books by Sophia Summers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  More #BellTown Six Pack Novels

  About the Author

  The Belltown Six Pack Series

  Hitching the Pitcher

  Falling for Centerfield

  Charming the Shortstop

  Snatching the Catcher

  Flirting with First

  Kissing on Third

  Read all books by Sophia Summers

  JOIN HERE for all new release announcements, giveaways and the insider scoop of books on sale.

  Or go to her website: http://www.sophiasummers.com

  Follow all three authors on their facebook page https://www.facebook.com/SwoonySportsRomances/

  Read all the books in The Swoony Sports Romances

  Hitching the Pitcher

  Falling for Centerfield

  Charming the Shortstop

  Snatching the Catcher

  Flirting with First

  Kissing on Third

  Her Billionaire Royals Series:

  The Heir

  The Crown

  The Duke

  The Duke’s Brother

  The Prince

  The American

  The Spy

  The Princess

  Her Vacation Billionaires Series:

  Her Billionaire Lifeguard

  Her Billionaire Professor

  Her Billionaire Bellboy

  Her Billionaire Cowboys Series:

  Her Billionaire Cowboy

  Her Billionaire Protector

  Her Billionaire in Hiding

  Her Billionaire Christmas Secret

  Her Billionaire to Remember

  Her Love and Marriage Brides Series

  The Bride’s Secret

  The Bride’s Cowboy

  The Bride’s Billionaire

  Her Single Holiday Romances

  Taming Scrooge

  Chapter 1

  Trista McKinney questioned everything about her decision to become an actress. She pulled the fur-lined robe up closer to her chin. The deeper in her body the cold tremors ran—a bone-centered chill that wouldn’t leave—the more she wanted to take her bikini-clad-self off of this island.

  Iceland.

  Steam rose from the blue water all around her. She supposed the Blue Lagoon springs were hot. But the air was ice-cold. So cold she could only spend a couple minutes in front of the photographer with so much of her bare skin exposed. She watched the producer and held her breath, hoping that the man liked enough of what they’d already captured.

  He shook his head, and she groaned. He waved her over.

  She ran across the wood planks in bare feet from her heat lamp to his. “What do you need?”

  An attendant handed her a pair of slippers, which she gratefully pulled over her stiff toes.

  As he scrolled through the images, she saw the problem right away. She looked pensive, but they needed fierce. This was an exotic location, a harsh environment, and the shot needed that kind of vibe. It would be stunning, her white bikini in front of the charcoal-gray rocks, with the white of the glacier and the blue steamy water behind. The artistic director knew what he was doing.

  She counted heartbeats in each breath while she waited for the production team to discuss her shoot. Knowing she’d be in Iceland for a movie, her agent had booked a couple photoshoots with a modeling agency. Once they finished here, she would shoot the one scene they’d come all the way here to do for the movie. And then she could be done for the day. As long as her co-star Pete didn’t mess it up, they had another four hours, tops. She buried her face deeper in her robe. Did they pay her enough for this? Maybe, but she still shivered, and the cold was penetrating places she thought would never be warm again.

  Her eyes followed the ridge of the largest glacier. There were 42 ripples along the ridge. Twelve of them were rounded; the others had sharp, pointed edges. Not quite one-fourth. Calculations for what might have caused each type of ripple and questions about when they were formed ran through her mind. She clung to the predictability of math in moments like these.

  General dissatisfaction with her life seemed to consume her all the time now. At the top of her career, she had expected more happiness. But, it turned out, she didn’t love events. Appearances where she knew very few people made her sick to her stomach. Having perfect hair and makeup all the time had become more of a burden than a treat. And so many other things about her lifestyle bothered her. She was becoming too recognizable, so she couldn’t go anywhere without strangers noticing her. And the worst part of it all: She was lonely. No friends. The more she thought about her lack of true human interaction, the more she realized that a part of her had hoped, had planned, that being a movie star would gift her with friends, relationships.

  The problem being, everyone had an agenda. And the men were the worst. Her success had robbed her of the opportunity to simply fall in love.

  Except for Ryker Stone. She smiled. He was a professional baseball player. First baseman for the Blue Jays in Baltimore. A man famous for his white-blond hair and his good luck. For the first time in maybe forever, a man had seen something inside her that intrigued him. She didn’t think athletes were her type, but did she have a type? What was Ryker to her? With a puff of foggy air, she thought of his sincere blue eyes, laughing into hers, thought of how, when she was with him, all she wanted was to share the kinds of things she never told anyone else. How, when he saw her, he really saw the Trista no one else knew. Who was Ryker Stone to her? She admitted he was everything to her. But what was she to him? That was the question of her life right now. And she had no idea as to the answer.

  She wished he would show more interest in her. She’d texted Ryker five hours ago, and he hadn’t responded yet. He probably had a game or something. She couldn’t keep track of when he played or where he was. They weren’t even dating. They’d been to one red carpet event and four lunches, and they’d talked on the phone ninety-eight times.

  Her impatience had been on overdrive since she met him. For her, the universe had flipped upside down. But for him, she couldn’t tell. They talked when he could. He took her out if he came through LA or NY, depending on where she was. But nothing was progressing between them at all. They were at a maddening state of almost more than friends. And they’d been there forever. She scowled.

  “There!” The producer pointed to her face, waving to the others.

  She froze her frown.

  “That’s what we need from you.”

  She nodded. “Fierce.” She’d been right. “I can do that.” Especially if she kept thinking about how frustrated she felt trying to get closer to Ryker Stone and his penchant for not dating anyone seriously. Ever. Platonic-ville. He was the king of the friend zone.

  They chos
e a different backdrop for her next shoot. Hopefully her last. While the cameramen adjusted the screens and the lenses, she tried to relax, to get in her zone. She closed her eyes and started going through the digits of pi. If everyone only knew that the famous movie star Trista McKinney had a goal to memorize five hundred digits of pi. She was hopelessly addicted to numbers. She loved puzzles, riddles, and Sudoku. She was at two hundred in the long stream of digits after 3.14. She hummed as the numbers streamed through her mind. Maybe she could add five more while she waited. Where was her phone?

  But before she could ask her assistant to go grab it, they called for another shoot. She pulled the fur tighter around her body, gleaning the last possible seconds of warmth and then geared up to be fierce. Strong. She imagined she wore armor, a sword. She was a Viking leader in the early days of Iceland. She brought her furs with her on a whim and posed with the covering.

  The photographer went crazy. “That’s it! You’re beautiful. Now give me a scowl. There. More. Turn, yes!”

  She let the robe slide, showing her shoulder, and the biting air brought out her inner warrior. With her back to the camera, she let it slide to the ground. They grabbed the robe and finished up the shoot just as she started to shiver. Her assistant had heated the furs for her so when it was draped across her shoulders, she sank into its warmth while she hurried to her trailer to change for the movie.

  She would be alone for most of the next shot. It was an artistic reel. Then at the end, Pete would ride in on a motorcycle, and they’d have a romantic reunion. She rolled her eyes. At least she wasn’t going to be in a bikini.

  While they transformed her hair, she checked messages from her agent. Quinn had done excellent work for her, including planning social sightings like the one she’d done with one of Ryker’s best friends, Cole Hunter, pro center fielder turned heart throb and one of the SixPack players. At Quinn’s urging, she’d asked Cole to be her date for the red carpet. He was the next big name. But then he’d bailed. Her breathing hitched just thinking about it, remembering her panic. All her memories of high school that had flooded back. Sitting along at lunch. Never asked to any dance. Ignored in almost every possible way. Until she’d found the drama department. She exhaled, repeating her calming mantra. At ease. You are loved by those that matter. In. Out.

  But he’d sent Ryker in his place. And she could never be mad at him again.

  She checked her notifications. No messages from Ryker.

  He’d been her hero at the red carpet. Showed up that night to take over just as Cole left. The press had been even more excited. Two hot guys, same event. She laughed to herself, remembering.

  Cole had pulled her aside, a crazed determination on his face. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Ditched by her date at a red-carpet gala in her honor? She’d nearly had a panic attack.

  “It’s okay, sugar. I’m calling in Ryker. He’s better looking than I am and a pro-ball player.” His smile was charming, but she had been too panicked to care.

  Ryker came running in just after Cole left. And he was everything a man should be. For the rest of the night he’d been at her side, attentive and guessing her needs before she could express them.

  When the music started and he pulled her into his arms, she knew she was in trouble.

  “Trista, you are a beautiful woman.”

  She’d started to give her usual demur response, but something about Ryker’s sincerity cut that response short. Instead she said, “I’m trying to be beautiful. I study and try to help others, to do good. I feel a lot of responsibility.”

  Smiling as she thought about it now, she didn’t think anything would have surprised Ryker more. He held her closer and murmured in her ear, his breath tickling her neck. “Now that’s a woman I’d like to know more about.”

  But then he’d stalled. Maybe Ryker had discovered her nerdy obsession with numbers, that she was usually an awkward conversationalist, or that she had no true friends.

  A new message dinged. An email from Quinn. Do you think you could get those SixPack guys to do a shot with you?

  More time with Ryker? Absolutely. She sent a quick reply. I’ll ask. What’s it for?

  National commercial. The pay is excellent if we can get them.

  Okay.

  If nothing else, it was an excuse to text Ryker. Again.

  She laced up her tall boots. Costume did a final check for hair and makeup and sent her back out in the frigid weather. “Oh boy.”

  The director waved her up a steep incline. When she reached the top, proud she was not out of breath, he pointed to a well-worn path. “Pete’s gonna ride up there and pull to a stop here. We’ll do close-ups of you both, and we’ll need a shot with you jumping on the bike with him and one with him running to you.”

  She nodded. “And before?”

  “You’re second-guessing your life choices. Wondering where your man is. You’re not bothered with the cold, so no shivers or rubbing your arms.”

  “Got it.” She moved away so she could get into her zone for the scene. She imagined her character. Strong and confident, brave to go off alone. But now, lonely. She’d hoped Pete’s character would follow, only he hadn’t come. Should she leave everything she cared for, everything she’d worked for, to have Pete in her life? The world quieted, and she became Katrin, ancestor of Viking warriors, researcher.

  She hardly noticed the team behind her fade away, or the director’s motion to begin filming. A part of her knew he was happy and was making the most of what she was doing, but she was in another world now, caught up in her character’s cares. The sound of a motorcycle thrummed through her and she searched around her for the source. Before she could run to the edge to look below, Pete jumped the ridge on his bike, landing on the flat plateau where she stood. Pete. He tossed his helmet and ran to her, picking her up and swinging her in a circle. She clutched at him, his rugged jacket, wanting him close until he satisfied her hunger and brought his lips to hers. They stood, caught up in the emotion of a desperately longed for reunion until the director shouted, “Cut!”

  “Wow, you’re something.” Pete immediately shattered the moment with his goofy grin.

  She turned away.

  They finished up the scene in fewer takes than expected. She gathered her things, left all the costume pieces in her trailer, and then she hurried to her limo. A whole day at the resort where they’d put her up, including the hottest bath she could muster awaited.

  Her phone dinged. Ryker! She swiped to read his message, her fingers fumbling with the screen.

  I talked to the guys. I can get them to a commercial if your people are open to unconventional meeting times. We’re mid-season.

  He always had to remind her about his baseball schedule. She decided right then to look it up and input every game into her phone. Maybe if she started talking about game stuff, he’d be more into her.

  I’ll pass that on. And thanks… So I saw a thing on Twitter.

  You’re welcome. Oh yeah? What kind of thing?

  Something about you and first base.

  ...you know that’s the position I play, right?

  Funny. This conversation was about getting to first base. With the first baseman.

  Lots of laughing emojis followed. You trying to suggest something here?

  She bit her lip. Just wondering. The Twitter world seems to think you might know something about it.

  Hey, I’m playing in LA tomorrow. You around?

  She wanted to curse her gig, her movie, and her career for placing her so far away. No…Iceland. Any games up here? She included a couple emojis so he wouldn’t think her totally ridiculous.

  That might be chilly for us ballplayers. Let me guess, bikini shoot? His laughing emojis made her grin, but she texted back the image her assistant had taken of her wrapped in furs, plenty of skin showing, the obvious glacier and blue steamy water in the background giving away her location.

  He called.

  She squealed and lifted the phone
to her ear. “Hello.” She tried not to sound as breathless as she felt. He’d called! A part of her laughed at how quickly a bikini picture had gotten a real phone call in response. Men were all the same in one way.

  “It really was a bikini shoot?”

  She fell back against her seat in the limo, closing her eyes. “It’s so good to hear your voice. Yes. And most pictures didn’t include the lovely fur.”

  “Oh, Trista, babe, I’m cold just thinking about it. That’s crazy.”

  His tone sent warm shivers down to her toes. Babe. Was that like a joking nickname? Or an endearment? Did it mean he was into her, or did he call all women, babe? She was going to go crazy, analyzing everything he said to her. “It’s super cold, but we’re done. And we just finished a scene from Rising Storm too, so the trip was worth my while.”

  “You looked stunning. Mmm. I’ll be pulling this one up again until I see you next.”

  “Maybe don’t show anyone else. The guys…”

  “Already know you’re beautiful.”

  She was unaccountably and unreasonably shy. And she was modest, too, the thought of all that skin showing, seen by everyone sitting near Ryker when he opened his phone, made her blush. The irony was that millions of people would see the images. But that was different. It felt separate or something. “I’d just rather you didn’t.”

  “Totally kidding. For my eyes only. That’s even cooler.”