Pitch Perfect: Boys of Summer, Book 1 by Sierra Dean

up on national television.
    Next to him Tucker was dead silent, having not moved a muscle since Miles first stepped to the mound. Emmy was having trouble deciding which part of the performance was bothering him most. It might have been the erratic way Miles was handling himself, but Emmy suspected it had more to do with how goddamn good the kid was when he got his shit together.
    A 103-mph fastball was…well, it wasn’t just unusual, it was a lethal weapon for a team struggling to regain their former glory. A pitch that fast couldn’t be hit. It took an eighth of a second to get from the pitcher to the catcher, and there was no way for a batter’s brain to react quickly enough to swing on time. It didn’t matter how many millions he was paid.
    Emmy watched batter after batter succumb to the nasty fastball Miles was throwing, and all the while she could practically read Tucker’s mind.
    The fastball used to be his pitch.
    She’d seen him throw a ball that fast after nine innings once. A complete game shutout and he was still pitching over 100 mph. That kind of stamina was unreal.
    She wondered if he had that kind of stamina in other situations.
    What was it he’d been about to say in the therapy room before Jasper had walked in? Something about other men? There was something going on between them she couldn’t ignore—no matter how hard she tried—but was he after more than just sex?
    Alex grumbled something next to her, derailing her thoughts.
    “What?” Emmy didn’t actually need to know what he was complaining about, but talking to him seemed better than thinking too hard about what Tucker’s expectations of her were.
    Whatever they were, it was time for her to start reconsidering her relationship with Simon, because it wasn’t fair to either of them if she was spending day in and day out thinking more about Tucker Lloyd than about the man who was supposedly her boyfriend.
    “He’s leading with his leg too soon,” Alex responded, pointing at Miles with a pinky finger. “It sets him off balance, and he’s fucking up half his goddamn pitches.”
    At first she wanted to ask what the hell Alex knew about pitching since he’d never done it, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and watched Miles’s setup more closely. He drew up his knee and lunged out, but Alex was right. His step went ahead too far before his arm was in motion, giving him a slight wobble on his delivery.
    Emmy straightened up, trying not to draw attention to herself, and pulled away from the fence. She found Mike Anson—the pitching coach—and tapped him on the shoulder.
    “’Sup, Em?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unfriendly.
    “It’s Miles. His delivery is…off.”
    “You’re telling me.” Mike spit a wad of tobacco onto the dugout floor next to Emmy’s feet.
    “No, I mean it’s off in a real way.” She pointed to the field where Miles was building up for his pitch, and she and Mike watched him throw the same way he had previously. It was good for a strike, but the wobble was still there.
    “Well, son of a bitch,” Mike said, rubbing his short white hair. “How’d I miss that?”
    “He’s going to hurt himself if he keeps it up.”
    “He’s hurting us if he keeps it up,” the coach replied. “It’s a goddamn miracle he’s gotten anything into the catcher’s glove throwing that way.”
    Mike signaled to the catcher, who called a time-out with the umpire, then he waved to Emmy.
    “Me?”
    “Come on, girlie, I ain’t got all day here.” He walked slowly onto the field, and Emmy had little other choice but to follow him.
    She didn’t miss Tucker staring at her as she bounded up the dugout stairs and onto the field. The Kansas City fans hooted and booed over the pause in game play, and she tried to ignore the din as she met Mike at the pitcher’s mound. The backup catcher, Jeff Craig, was standing next to Miles, waiting for them to arrive.
    “Hey, coach,” Miles said