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SYNOPSIS
Life
loves a good curveball… Seventeen-year-old Annie Lucas is too young to remember
her dad’s glory days as a pitcher for the Yankees. So when her father is
offered a coaching position with the Kansas City Royals, Annie is intrigued to
see the baseball side of her dad. Of course, knowing he’ll be a mentor to hot
young rookie pitcher, Jason Brody, certainly makes it more enticing. After an
awkward first meeting with “Brody” involving very little clothing and a
much-too-personal locker room interview, Annie’s convinced she knows Brody’s
type: arrogant, self-involved, bossy. As her dad grows closer to the pitching
phenom, the friction between Brody and Annie increases. But when opening day
arrives and it looks like both her dad and Brody may lose their dream jobs,
Annie steps up and offers support. She and Brody call a truce that grows into
friendship—and beyond. Falling for a rising star who’s quickly reaching a level
that involves rabid female fans is not what Annie would call smart, except
suddenly she’s getting hints that maybe this crush isn’t one-sided after all.
Could someone like Brody actually fall for a girl like her?
EXCERPT:
He eyes me skeptically. “What kind of article?”
“It’s for Sports Illustrated,” I say without hesitation and then quickly
realize that I don’t look nearly old enough to be a real reporter for a huge
publication. “I’m an intern,” I add. The skepticism falls from his face and he
looks nervous, which gives me a boost of confidence. I walk closer and pull out
the chair in front of the locker beside his, propping my feet up on the bench
across from me. “Frank Steadman said you’d be willing to answer a few
questions.” His mouth falls open, and he looks down at his towel and then back
at me. Water drips from his hair and off his dark shoulders. “Um…okay,” he
says. “Mind if I get dressed first?” I wave off his concerns, my face heating
up, blowing my confident cover. But him getting dressed might allow enough time
for Dad to return, and I’d rather not have to deal with that. I duck my head
down, letting my hair hide my cheeks and flip open the first page of the
notebook. “This will just take a minute… So, you’re nineteen? And you’re from
Texas?” “Chicago,” he corrects. I had no idea where he was from but figured it
sounded better if I pretended to know. I write down this information and then
search my brain for some more questions. “Does the wind in Chicago affect your
curveball? Do you throw into it or against it?” He gives me a funny look.
“I…well…I just throw toward home plate.” My face gets even hotter. “Right,
kidding. What’s your favorite color?” “Orange.” I take my time writing orange in really big loopy cursive
while I think of my next question. “What are your opinions on sushi?” His
forehead wrinkles like I’ve just asked him to publicly declare a political
party. “Raw fish and seaweed? I think it’s best eaten while stranded on a
desert island with no other options.” “Very diplomatic.” I scribble down his
answer. “How many strikes have you thrown in your career?” “Don’t know,” he
says. “Do people actually count that stuff? Before the majors?” “Some of them
do,” I say, though I have no idea. “If you could be any magical creature in the
Harry Potter series, which would you choose?” “You said this is for Sports
Illustrated, right?” “Yeees, But it’s the…kids’ edition.” “Oh, right.” He
scratches the back of his head. “I guess maybe one of those elves.” “A house
elf? Seriously? They’re slaves.” I shake my head. “Why would you want to be an
enslaved elf? They can’t even wear clothes.” He grips his towel tighter and
releases a frustrated breath. “Fine, I’ll choose an owl. That’s what I’d want
to be.” I snort back a laugh and drop my eyes to the page again. “What? What
the hell’s wrong with being an owl? They’re smart, they know geography and shit
like that.” “Owls in real life are actually pretty stupid. But no big deal,
I’ll just relay that message on to the children of America. Jason Brody,
temporary Royals pitcher, wants to be an owl when he grows up because they
know geography and shit like that.” Okay, I’m getting way too into this fake
reporter role. “Who says this is temporary?” he snaps. “Your two-way contract.”
Isn’t that how Dad explained it? He plays a few games then goes back to
Triple-A, all without signing a real major league contract. He yanks a pair of
jeans from his locker and then grabs a bundled up orange T-shirt. “Well, I plan
on kicking some ass on Opening Day and making this a permanent gig.” “I think
you need a reality check,” I say. “One game isn’t going to be enough--” “Annie,
what the hell are you doing?” I leap off the bench and turn around to face Dad
and Frank standing about five feet from me. “Introducing myself to your new
pitcher.” “Brody, what are you doing here, son?” Frank asks. “We’re off today.”
“Just getting in some cardio and weights.” His gaze darts from me to Dad to
Frank. “I was just finishing up this interview for Sports Illustrated. The
kids’ edition.” “Well, we won’t keep you from getting your clothes back on,
then,” Frank says, like he’s trying not to laugh. “And just for future
reference, all interviews will go through the team’s publicity department so no
one will be wandering in here, surprising you. Savannah will meet with you
tomorrow to discuss publicity.” Dad moves forward and extends a hand to Jason
Brody. “Jim Lucas, nice to meet you, son. I’ve seen your spring training
videos. You’ve got some real talent. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Brody shakes Dad’s hand, his eyes still on me. “And this is my daughter Annie,”
Dad adds. Brody glares at me. “Let me guess—you don’t work for Sports Illustrated?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Julie Cross lives in Central Illinois with her
husband and three children. She’s a former gymnast and longtime gymnastics fan,
coach, and former gymnastics program director with the YMCA. She’s a lover of
books, devouring several novels a week, especially in the young adult and new
adult genres. Outside of her reading and writing credentials, Julie is a committed—but
not talented—long-distance runner, creator of imaginary beach vacations,
Midwest bipolar-weather survivor, and expired CPR certification card holder, as
well as a ponytail and gym-shoe addict. 
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