Holiday Home Run - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,7

time to flare.

The last thing she needed was to offend the soiree’s prized emcee thanks to her own personal hang-ups.

“You play hardball, don’t you?” Ben murmured.

His sheepish grin splashed cold water on her heated temper.

Julia closed her eyes on a sigh.

Ay, ay, ay. She’d never been this unprofessional in her life.

Why now? Why with this man?

Bueno, she knew why him. Because despite her promise to herself to never get involved with a ballplayer, this one seemed different. More approachable. Less ego-driven.

Yet, that had to be foolish thinking on her part. She’d seen too many girlfriends burned by a smooth-talking All-Star before. Dios only knew how many times a friend had cried on Julia’s shoulder, brokenhearted over some guy.

“Me, play hardball?” she asked, trying to come up with a way to smooth over her outburst. “Maybe.”

That rakish brow of his arched again, calling her bluff.

“Fiiiine,” Julia said, rolling her eyes on an exaggerated groan.

Ben’s mouth quirked in a grin and she couldn’t help but respond with one of her own.

“I guess you could say that,” she continued. “But here’s the thing.”

She took a step back, making his hands slip from her arms to drop at his sides. So what if she missed his touch. At this point, she couldn’t allow herself to.

Ignoring the chilly breeze that nipped at her, she squared her shoulders, determined to shove any personal feelings to the back, keeping things between them platonic and businesslike.

“Right now, all my energy and focus is on the Holiday Soiree. Ensuring its success. For me, it’s like a one-game playoff. Win or go home. And going home, back to Puerto Rico and my suffocating though well-meaning family, isn’t what I want.” Brushing her windblown hair out of her face, she stared back at him, willing him to understand the utter importance of the situation for her. “I need to knock this out of the park, Ben. I promise, you, Laura Taylor, the association, and especially the kids can count on me to give my best.”

Ben didn’t say anything. His expression remained schooled in that serious game face the television networks had repeatedly zoomed in on when he’d stood on the mound.

She had no idea what he was thinking. Which, she understood, was the point of his game face. Leave the opponent wondering, unsure what to expect.

Dios la ayude if he thought of her as the opponent now. Only, she doubted even God would be able to help her if she’d shot off her mouth and offended the All-Star.

After several gut-clenched-with-worry seconds, Ben gave a quick jerking nod. “I definitely understand a must-win situation. And I’ve been known to hit a home run in my time.”

Relief flooded through her at the olive branch he extended, especially since she should be the one doing so.

“The 2015 post season,” she said. “Game two of the Division Series against the Cardinals. Your shot to the left field bleacher seats was a beauty.”

“You saw that one, huh?”

The juxtaposition of Little Leaguer joy brightening his eyes and the confident, all-male grin tugging his lips had a laugh bubbling up from her chest.

“Are you kidding me? The whole world saw that hit. I mean, even if they weren’t watching the game live, there’s no way anyone missed the highlight reels running on practically every media site.”

Hands deep in his front pockets again, Ben let out a heavy breath. “Hitting that ball against our rivals did feel pretty great. Especially with the ups and downs of the next season, what with . . . well . . . never mind.”

Belatedly, she realized 2016 had been his last full season. While it had been a banner year for the Cubs, Ben had struggled at times due to his injury.

“That was a good game. A good day,” he murmured, head down, lost in his own memories. A dark cloud passed over his features, dampening the softness of his nostalgia. “Don’t get many of those anymore.”

A pang of regret for the shoulder injury that had sidelined him pierced her chest. She’d watched her older brother Alfredo deal with a similar situation after his car accident. The loss of the dream of making it to the big leagues still tore at Freddie, despite his move from player to coach.

“But you’re doing good things,” Julia told Ben. “You see that, right?”

Without realizing her intent, she moved closer, pressing a hand to his chest. Through the ribbed material of his turtleneck sweater his heart beat heavy against her palm. Strong. Slow. Steady.

“Different ones, sure,” she