Let Me Love You
By Iris Blobel
Blurb:
Oliver Dempsey, pitcher for a Melbourne baseball club, loves the women,
and they love him…
But he keeps
them at an arm’s length, and when he meets Tamara, he’s unprepared for the
attraction he feels for her. Told by his coach that she’s off limits,
only draws him in more.
Tamara Amis moved to Melbourne to find some distance between her past
and herself…
With the
help of her uncle, the coach of a Melbourne baseball club, she quickly finds a
job, and a place to live. Yet, one meeting with the handsome pitcher stirs
unexpected emotions that threaten to overwhelm her.
It’s
Oliver’s injury that brings them together, but as they find out about each
other’s pasts, how can they be ready to share a future?
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Excerpt:
breath, fixing his stare at the ground. For Pete’s sake, he was a pitcher, not a hitter, and well known for his fastballs as well as his perfect curveballs. Alas, he had neglected his hitting. Today, his swing was below average, and, unable to focus, he walked over to the bench where he spotted Coach Becker shaking his head towards him.
Pointing his finger back towards the field, the coach said,
“Head right back out there, Oliver. You need to improve your hand-eye
coordination. I want to see more, and better.”
Oliver cursed under his breath. “It’s not going to happen. My
shoulder’s killing me. It’s been a long day.”
Coach Erik Becker rubbed his face.
“It’s not gonna happen today,” Oliver persisted.
With a grimace on his face, his coach nodded.
"Righteo, call it a day.
But I want you back out there again in the morning, though.”
Oliver eased off his gloves and
shoved them into his back pocket, before removing his helmet.
The coach gave him a gentle
slap on his back. “I need you to concentrate more tomorrow. Remember what I
told you. You need to focus on your proper stance as well as swinging the bat.
Keep your eye on the ball as it comes towards you. Try to connect the
bat with the ball, preferably at the fat of the bat. We have a game coming up
soon. Go and deal with the shoulder issue. Check in for a massage.”
Oliver wiped his forehead with
his arm when he noticed a woman standing in the coach’s shadow. Raising his
eyebrows, he nodded towards her as to ask who she was.
Erik turned slightly. “Oliver,
this is my niece, Tamara. She’s moved here from Perth. Tamara, this is Oliver.”
Oliver extended his hand
towards her. “Nice meeting you.”
She ignored his hand and took a
step back. Taken aback by her reaction, Oliver instinctively checked his hand
for dirt or sweat. Questioningly, he looked at his coach.
Erik ignored the situation and
simply said, “Have your shower and see me before you head off to discuss your
training schedule.”
Nodding, Oliver took another
quick look at Tamara. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and he was puzzled by
her expression. It seemed as if her intense blue eyes were trying to hide
something. The distant look in them was almost mysterious, and combined with
her body language, he couldn’t help but get the impression something was wrong.
She was very guarded.
With one last look towards
Tamara, Oliver turned and left.
As soon as he got to the locker
room, he peeled off his t-shirt. Pain shot through him the instant he lifted
his right shoulder. He’d been ignoring the twinge during the training session,
but knew he had to have it looked at. The fucking skateboard rider had nearly
knocked him over the previous day when he came out of nowhere. Oliver hadn’t
had a chance to move out of the way fast enough and slammed his shoulder into a
post.
He slowly stripped out of his
track pants before grabbing a can of Coke out of his bag. Leaning against the
wall, he chugged half of the drink while enjoying the quietness around him.
Everyone else was still out on the field trying to please Coach Becker. He
choked a laugh, hoping his mates would put Erik in a better mood than he had.
They had a few important games over the next few weeks before the season ended,
and for the first time in years, the club was doing well.
As
he walked to the showers, he thought about his training session and wondered
whether his shoulder was to blame for the bad hits, or his lack of training.
But who was he kidding, he always liked to throw everything he had at people,
yet was hopeless in receiving anything thrown at him. That applied in baseball
and in life. When he’d been to see his first baseball game as a kid in Los
Angeles, he’d known he was born to pitch.
