Table Of ContentTake Me Out
Elley Arden
Alicia Hunter Pace
Leslie P. García
Bea Moon
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Elley Arden, Leslie P. García, Jean Hovey, Stephanie Jones, Bea Moon This is a work
of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are
either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character
to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7377-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7377-4
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7378-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-44057378-1
Cover art © istock.com/grafikeray and istock.com/wabang70
Contents
Tradeoff
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
Slugger Gone South
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About the Author
Safe at Home
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About the Author
That Ol’ Team Spirit
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About the Author
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Tradeoff
Elley Arden
Avon, Massachusetts
To my parents, who dragged me to hundreds of baseball games, getting this
whole ball rolling.
Chapter One
“You didn’t have to come. I wasn’t going to jump off a bridge or anything.” Ben
Border looked away from his agent and out the hotel room window at the
gleaming baseball stadium across the street. The massive steel-and-brick
structure in the middle of sweltering Orlando, Florida, was his home field now.
Being here felt nothing like being in Boston.
“When one of my guys starts throwing around the ‘R-word,’ you can bet
your sweet ass I’m on the next available flight,” Jordon said.
“Retirement is not the end of the world.” Not when a guy was thirty-seven
and being tossed around the league like a leper.
Okay, that last part was an exaggeration. It was one trade in a long career.
He’d been lucky for the most part. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. But there
was another reason, too.
Ben was tired and restless. Baseball didn’t feel the same. Each time he
crouched behind home plate, he asked himself why he was putting himself
through the same meaningless motions. Wasn’t that a slap in the face to the
game he supposedly loved?
Jordon stood and crossed the drab carpet to the pathetic plastic coffee pot
hogging the meager countertop in Ben’s mid-priced hotel room. “There’s
nothing wrong with retirement if you make the decision from a reasonable place,
not one filled with emotion.” He poured steaming liquid into a tiny foam cup and
returned to the empty seat across the table from Ben.
Was Ben being emotional? He wanted to argue he wasn’t, but he knew
Was Ben being emotional? He wanted to argue he wasn’t, but he knew
better. There hadn’t been tears, but there’d been anger when Hopkins had
informed him of the trade. And the anger lingered. Holed up in a hotel room,
awaiting his first field appearance with a team of strangers, Ben had known
better days. Right now, he’d give anything to be home in Lake Placid, tossing a
line into pristine Mirror Lake.
He was done dreaming and achieving. Those were a young man’s games.
“Give it some time,” Jordon continued, shrugging out of his suit coat.
“Orlando might be perfect for you. You’ve got yourself a bullpen full of fastball
pitchers. That’s gotta make you smile.”
Ben did love being on the receiving end of a 90-to 100-mile-per-hour
fastball. Something about the way he stared down the speeding bullet and caught
it with a wicked sting and deafening pop juiced his veins. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll
give you that.”
“Good man,” Jordon said, slapping the table. “That’s a start.” He sipped
from the foam cup. “You used to say everything happens for a reason.”
Ben sniffed. “I was younger then.”
“Barely.”
“Well, I was less jaded.”
“Listen, I’m not going to act like this doesn’t suck. Being traded from a
championship team to a struggling one, you have plenty to be pissed about. But
if you look for the positive, you’ll find it. It’s up to you.” Jordon stood. “And on
that note, I’m going to head over to the stadium to meet with Wells. You should
rest.”
“Yes, Dad,” Ben said, chuckling. Jordon was a few years younger than him,
but the guy hovered like a mother hen.
Jordan flipped up his middle finger before leaving.
As Ben’s laughter died, he moved to the bed and belly-flopped onto the
goose down comforter. Everything happens for a reason, huh? It was the motto
he’d lived by his whole career. His gut told him it was still true. His brain told
him the reason for this trade was to force his retirement. Regardless, he wasn’t
prepared to mar his stellar reputation with the league by being a no-show tonight
and sticking it to a team that was woefully low on capable catchers. He would
play his best, like he always did. And if, when Hernandez returned from the
disabled list and resumed his crouch behind home plate, Ben ultimately decided
to hang it up, he’d do so with respect for his teammates and the game.
Dragging himself off the mattress, he went through his normal pregame
routine with lackluster enthusiasm. After showering and shaving, he downed a
movie-theater-size box of M&Ms and grabbed his bag. Now was as good a time
as any to face his new reality.
• • •
Beeep. Beeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeep! Scarlett Dare jerked awake, hand flailing for
the snooze button. She pounded it, and blissful silence was restored to her hotel
room. But not five minutes later, her eyes were open and she was staring at the
popcorn ceiling. She couldn’t be late for a meeting if she tried. Pushing off the
bed with a sigh, Scarlett headed for the coffeepot. Her life had slid into a rigid
routine over the past four weeks. Up late working on presentations and
marketing plans, up early for board — or more accurately, bored — meetings,
and all the while fueling herself with copious amounts of caffeine.
In a few hours, she needed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, schooling
forty new hires on company objectives and brand messages in her role as
executive vice president of marketing for Pace Waterman. Despite the fact that
she probably could recite the spiel in her sleep, her boss, Brad, would probably
prefer her to do it while awake. She yawned and took a gulp of the too-weak
brew. Ugh, hotel coffee. She missed her morning cup of vanilla and hazelnut
espresso from Rockn’ Joe’s. Within three months, the much-anticipated Orlando
office would be pushed from the proverbial nest with only the occasional,
emergency visit from the senior management team. Then Scarlett would go back
home to New Jersey for a month — maybe two — before she would fly out to
