Excerpt Reveal~ Stealing Home by Nicole Williams

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Coming July 10th

Pre-order exclusively on iBooks HERE

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Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isnā€™t easy. As the San Diego Shockā€™s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off playersā€™ advances. Given sheā€™s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how ā€œluckyā€ she was to have earned such a coveted position, she canā€™t so much as flutter an eyelash a playerā€™s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allieā€™s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesnā€™t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

Heā€™s a player, and in Allieā€™s experience, theyā€™re all the same. She wonā€™t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archerā€™s stature and decide who sheā€™ll put her faith inā€”The man sheā€™s falling for? Or the rumors?


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CHAPTER ONE
Working for a professional baseball team was going to be the end of my love life. The past two years confirmed that theory, as had the last text Iā€™d received from my latest ex-boyfriend.
           Half of the year on the road added to another half of the year working grueling hours that rivaled a doctorā€™s first year of residency equaled a whole lot of no free time to fill with a social agenda. Since being hired on by the San Diego Shock this season and the San Francisco Kings the year before that, the longest relationship Iā€™d maintained spanned eight weeks.
           This last one had barely cleared the four-week mark.
My lifestyle was costly, but it was worth it. Baseball was in my blood, and sports medicine was in my heart.
           Iā€™d grown up in a small Midwest town where people still got together for potlucks and everyone from the town hermit to the mayor attended a funeral. Where the only place you were expected to be after church on a Sunday was stretched out on the bleachers around the baseball field. It didnā€™t matter if it was a T-ball game or the high school championshipsā€”the bleachers were always packed.
Baseball was a religion where I grew upā€”it was stitched into the fibers of my lifeā€”so it was no surprise when I ended up with a baseball player. No, the surprise came after Iā€™d followed him to college and found him in bed with someone else.
           It had taken the wind right out of me, along with my tendency to trust first and doubt after. Ben had been sleeping around for a while by the time I found outā€”friends had known and said nothingā€”and that was the day I made a promise to myself to never let another guy hurt me as he had, to never be made a fool of like that.
After changing schools mid-year, I started studying sports medicine and never looked back. Or at least not often. I only looked back when I found myself feeling something similar to what Iā€™d felt for Ben. The relationship never lasted long after that.
           As evidenced by my newest failed relationship.
           ā€œWhose ass do I need to kick, Doc?ā€
           Dropping my phone into my lap, I looked across the aisle to see who was sliding into the row across from me.
Luke Archer.
Known to fans as the best hitter on the Shock, if not in all of pro baseball. Known to women for his good looks and up-to-no-good smile. Known to Cosmo magazine as being voted the Finest Ass in professional baseball. And known by the athletic training staff as a well-rounded pain in our asses.
           Not because he thought he knew better or was yet another prima donnaā€”which the sport had no shortage ofā€”but because he held to the old-school code of taking care of an injury by ā€œwalking it off.ā€ If that didnā€™t work, then we could usually convince him to pop one or two pain relievers after the game, and sometimes, if he was feeling especially accommodating, heā€™d accept a bag of ice.
           Luke Archer was the real man of steel, and no one to date had managed to convince him he was also made of those injury-prone materials known as flesh and blood.
           ā€œDoc?ā€ Archerā€™s voice broke through my haze of thoughts. ā€œJust give me his name and Iā€™ll take care of it.ā€
The rest of the team and staff were shuffling down the aisle between us to find their seats on the team jet, but his stare aimed my way felt unyielding.
           ā€œWhat makes you think anyoneā€™s ass deserves a kicking?ā€ I asked.
I returned a high-five as Reynolds passed by. Heā€™d twisted his ankle in the game earlier today, and Iā€™d been the first on the field to get him taken care of. Iā€™d been the last one out of the locker room to finish getting him taken care of too. As a noob, I had to work twice as hard. As a woman, I had to work ten times as hard.
           ā€œI have three younger sisters. I have more experience than most with guys deserving ass kickings.ā€
           The last of the guys wandered by us. Without the break of their bodies coming between us, Archerā€™s stare became too intense. His eyes seemed capable of pinning me to the back of the seat.
           The head athletic trainer, Dax Shepherd, attended to the ā€œmoneyā€ playersā€”the ones like Archer, who brought fans to the stadium and were a large part of the Shockā€™s impressive win-to-loss ratio. Up until this very moment, I didnā€™t know Luke Archer was aware of my existence on this team or the planet.
           ā€œYou really have three younger sisters?ā€ I asked.
Unlike most of the female populace, I didnā€™t know every last fact about Luke Archer. The news about his parents had made headlines a few years back, and that was all I knew about his personal life.
           ā€œI really do. And I talk to or text all of them every day.ā€
           ā€œPlus you kick asses for them.ā€
           Archerā€™s hazel eyes lightened. ā€œPlus that.ā€ He twisted in his seat so he was almost facing me, his eyes dropping to the phone in my lap. ā€œSo? No one messes with my sisters. And no one messes with my team.ā€
           My forehead creased. ā€œIā€™m not one of your teammates.ā€
           ā€œYouā€™re a part of my team. Just because you donā€™t play the field or swing a bat doesnā€™t mean youā€™re not. You keep us healthy and strong out there.ā€ When I cocked an eyebrow, he added, ā€œAnd when we get injured, you make sure we get fixed up quickly so we can get back to doing what we love. Youā€™re every bit as vital to this team as . . .ā€ He glanced up and down the aisle like he was looking for someone to fill in the blank with.
           ā€œAs Luke Archer?ā€ I completed for him.
           His answer to that was a lifting of his eyes. ā€œIā€™m one man who can swing one bat.ā€
           ā€œOne bat really, really hard. And very, very exactly,ā€ I interjected.
           He continued, ā€œYou make sure twenty-five men can keep swinging their own bats.ā€
           ā€œWell, thereā€™s me, the two other athletic trainers, the physical therapist, the personal trainers, and the actual doctor who help out with that too. I canā€™t take all of the credit.ā€
           ā€œCome on. You work twice as hard as any of them, so you should at least take most of the credit.ā€ When his phone started chiming in his slacksā€™ pocket, he pulled it out, turned it off, and hid it back in his pocket.
           ā€œAnd since the closest Shepherd and Coach Beckett have let me get to you is handing out a water bottle, how would you know that?ā€
           He pointed at his eyes. ā€œIā€™ve got two of these and use them for observation on occasion.ā€
           ā€œWhen theyā€™re not searching for your next conquest?ā€ I gave an internal groan the moment after Iā€™d voiced something that should have stayed unsaid.
           My relationships with the players had always been professional and rarely, if ever, delved into the realm of personal information. If it didnā€™t have to do with preventing or tending to injuries, I didnā€™t bring it up.
           Until now. When Iā€™d just suggested that Luke Archer had a reputation in every city the Shock had visited, every hotel theyā€™d stayed in. Perfect way for my first real conversation with the star player of the team, and the whole of professional baseball, to go.
           Archer stayed quiet, studying me with that tipped smile he was famous for.
           ā€œYou know my opinion on rumors?ā€ he said a minute later.
           I was capable of nothing more than shaking my head.
           ā€œThat theyā€™re started by haters. Spread by fools. And accepted by idiots.ā€
           My head tipped. ā€œAre you calling me an idiot?ā€
           His eyes flashed. ā€œAre you calling me a manwhore?ā€
           I studied him lounging in his seat with his legs kicked out in front of him, his wide chest stretching beneath his suit jacket, his long arms resting on the armrests.. His body was enough to weaken the resolve of someone as jaded to player players as I was, but his face didnā€™t play second-string.
           Brown hair lightened by the sun, smooth skin darkened by it, a strong jaw, and hazel eyes that trended more toward the green end of the spectrum; Luke Archer was quite possibly the most attractive man Iā€™d ever laid eyes on. According to Sports Anonymousā€™s random poll of five thousand women, he was the best-looking guy in professional sports today. The other few billion women on the planet would have agreed with that title, I assumed.
           ā€œDo you always take so long to answer a question?ā€ Archer motioned at me, waiting.
           ā€œNo,ā€ I said, recalling the last question heā€™d asked me. Snap out of it. ā€œI donā€™t think that youā€™re a  . . . manwhore,ā€ I whispered the last part.
Iā€™d had enough experience with the rumor mill to be a sympathetic party to the target of so many. Being one of the first and only female athletic trainers in professional sports had opened me up to a hundred rumors when Iā€™d been hired. All versions of them had to do with me fucking my way into the position.
           ā€œGood.ā€ Archer nodded, seeming satisfied. ā€œBecause you certainly donā€™t seem like an idiot.ā€
           ā€œThanks?ā€
           He nodded again. ā€œWelcome.ā€
           That was when the pilotā€™s voice echoed through the team jet, running through his usual spiel. We were leaving Tampa and heading up to Chicago. Now that the season was in full swing, I lost track of the cities we were leaving and the ones we were heading toward. All of my attention was focused on the players and getting them through the season as injury-free as possible.
           ā€œIā€™m still waiting for that name, Doc.ā€ Archer clicked his seat belt into place when one of the attendants stopped beside him, looking ready to strap it into place for him.
           When she saw mine unfastened, all I got was a lifted brow and a pointed finger before she moved on to the next aisle.
           ā€œOh, itā€™s okay. Heā€™s not worth it.ā€ I lifted my phone toward him before dropping it in the duffel bag I kept on hand at all times. Bandages, tape, painkillers, and a small cooler of ice packs were always at the ready whenever I was with the team. ā€œAny guy who breaks up with someone via text message isnā€™t worth much.ā€
           ā€œReally? Over text?ā€ Archerā€™s eyes narrowed. ā€œThatā€™s the reason the ass-kicking was invented. For those types of guys.ā€
           I shrugged as the plane started to taxi down the runway, the interior lights dimming. ā€œWe havenā€™t even been together a month. Truthfully, it lasted longer than I thought it would. This kind of lifestyleā€ā€”I twirled my finger around the airplaneā€”ā€œmakes it difficult to sustain a long-term relationship.ā€
           ā€œThatā€™s why Iā€™m not a fan of them.ā€
           ā€œLong-term relationships?ā€
           ā€œAny kind of relationship,ā€ he said.
           I nodded my understanding. The players had it worse than the team staff. At least in terms of having to question if a person was into them for who they were or because of their job, and the fame and money that came with it.
           ā€œIā€™m either practicing for a game, playing a game, recovering from a game, or fueling up and resting for a game. Thereā€™s not time for much else,ā€ he said.
           Leaning into my armrest, I realized how strange it was to be having such an easy conversation with Luke Archer. It felt natural, not forced. Most of the players would take a moment to chat with me about something game-related, but I was still the new kid on the block. I felt like I had to pass some test before theyā€™d accept me as a member of the team.
           Archer didnā€™t seem to be of the same mind though.
           ā€œYeah, I know. Itā€™s like you need to find someone who can just travel with you wherever you go, right?ā€ I said, thinking how much easier it would to be in a relationship with someone I got to see on a daily basis without two computer screens.
           ā€œExactly. Someone who understands the lifestyle. Appreciates the sacrifices you have to make.ā€
My head fell back into the headrest from the inertia of takeoff, but I could still feel Archerā€™s eyes on me. ā€œSomeone who understands that the job comes first. Someone who doesnā€™t get insecure or jealous or bent out of shape that they get the few precious minutes in between the job.ā€
           When my head turned toward him again, I found Luke Archer staring at me with a kind of intensity I hadnā€™t seen aimed my way in a long time. My breath caught, and even though the strength of his stare threatened to overwhelm me, I held his gaze.
           ā€œSomeone who understands the game. The commitment. The time. The sacrifice. Someone whoā€™s as committed to it as you are.ā€ One corner of his mouth twitched, carving a dimple into his cheek. ā€œItā€™s not like you could ever expect to find a person like that sitting in the row across the aisle from you, right?ā€


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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if itā€™s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because sheā€™s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever timeā€™s left over sheā€™s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.





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