Holiday Home Run - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,22

she was struggling to make sense of something. “Yours anyway.”

She shook her head as if to clear it, then turned to gaze out over the rink.

Ben rose from his haunches, his left knee cracking as he moved to sit next to her on the wood-slatted bench.

Something about the way Julia emphasized “yours,” like she needed to differentiate her reality from his, bothered him.

As if his connection to the sport he loved was a negative in her mind.

The idea was preposterous.

Sure, he’d noticed her reticence to talk about her brothers’ involvement with baseball, but he’d attributed it to her desire for privacy. Not any ill-will toward the game itself or the lifestyle being linked to it required.

Baseball had been his connection to every semblance of family he’d ever had. The only problem he saw with that was his inability to figure out how to replace it now that he’d been forced out.

But a negative? Never.

“So let me ask you this,” he ventured, trying to wrap his head around the idea that for the first time in his adult life, his status as a big-time player could be a deterrent to something, someone, he wanted. “Is my baseball career or my ties to the game a problem for you?”

Julia’s eyes fluttered closed as her chest rose and fell on a heavy sigh.

Ben’s pulse blipped, skipping a couple beats. Her reaction did not bode well for him.

“Not a problem, so much as a . . . a deal breaker,” she finally answered.

He sucked in a sharp breath like she’d drop-kicked him in the gut.

Several seconds of stunned silence passed while her words sunk in. His mind rolled over them, considering. “Wow, I wasn’t, uh, wasn’t expecting that.”

She swiveled to face him, her gloved hand covering his on the bench between them. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

“Ha!” The harsh laugh burst from his throat.

“It’s true!”

“Come on,” he said, torn between laughing at the irony or cursing at his rotten luck. “Why does this sound like a line from a bad Dear John letter?”

“Look, you’re a great guy—”

“Aw, man!” Ben let his head fall back as he sent his plea to the heavens. “Not the dreaded ‘nice guy’ description? This just gets better and better!”

“Stoooop.” Julia drew out the word, squeezing his hand to get his attention. “You know what I mean.”

Sure he knew what she meant. He was getting the brush-off. Him. People magazine’s sexiest MLB player of the year, not that he ever threw that designation around. The guys had had a field day with that one in the locker room. Jokes and pranks for weeks on end.

His teammates had known he could handle the ribbing. They also knew that when he had his sights set on accomplishing something, he gave everything he had to see it come to fruition. He studied film. Read scouting reports. Learned about the players on the opposing team. And when it was time to step onto the field, his entire focus honed in on that one person at the plate.

Over the past few weeks he’d been doing everything possible to get to know all he could about Julia. Only his efforts this time weren’t about winning a game.

No, this time, the outcome felt bigger. More important.

Before he could figure out how to convince Julia to give him—give them—a chance, he had to know what stood in his way.

“Fine,” he said on a huff of breath. “So, I’m a nice guy, but . . .”

He let his words trail off. Brows raised in question, he looked at Julia.

The streetlamps and string lights left her face in partial shadow, while they reflected in her dark eyes.

“But my life has been consumed with baseball for years. In my family, our schedules revolved around my brothers’ practice, games, tournaments, team gatherings. Even my quinceañera party got pushed back a month because every weekend in July there was something baseball-related on the calendar.”

He, on the other hand, had relished spending his August birthday with his teammates as summer league wound down before school started. It beat the low-key one candle stuck in a cupcake celebration with his parents. If one of them even remembered to stop by a bakery on their way home from their research labs on campus.

“For the first time in my life, I’m missing winter ball league in Puerto Rico,” Julia went on, her voice raw with conviction. “And honestly, it’s a relief. Most days anyway. Then one of my brothers, Ángel or Martín, sends a text with their