Collide Into You: A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story (12 page)

After I introduce Tanner to Stacey, I look at him expectantly. Where’s this surprise at? I wonder.

The surprise came in the form of a five-foot-eleven-inch-tall baseball player named Alec Huffman, Nationals pitcher as well as arguably the franchise’s most famous player. Alec’s smile is perfect—damn him—as he assesses Keira confidently. The man figures he’s already got this one in the bag.
 

“Keira, I want you to meet Alec. As soon as he knew you were coming, he demanded an introduction to the woman I cannot stop raving about. Even if that woman is a sister to me.”

I can’t read Keira’s expression. She’s turned away from me. So I can’t tell if she’s surprised or not, but I’m sure as hell not
benefitting
from this whatsoever.

Keira

T
ANNER
INTRODUCES
ME
TO
A
LEC
. He’s a tall, athletically built man with unruly reddish-blond hair, dark blue eyes, a smattering of freckles, and a perfect smile that could easily melt a solid bar of gold. His hands are thick and calloused as he shakes my hand.

Last year, the tabloids linked the Irish-American ballplayer with at least three young starlets as well as a former Playmate of the Year.
People
magazine put him in their Fifty Most Beautiful issue while also highlighting his charity work with a local breast cancer research foundation.
 

I couldn’t decide whether to hate or admire him.
 

“Tanner has told me so much about you, Keira,” Alec says after releasing my hand. “In fact, we can’t get him to shut up. I feel like I already know you. But his description did not do you justice.” I hear Tanner laugh while Dillan tries, and fails, to suppress a groan. Stacey stabs Dillan in the side with her elbow. Dillan groans again.

Alec ignores them as he shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. It’s an unguarded type of action, like maybe he’s actually shy and not the playboy the press has made him out to be. “My dad was in the Army and if I hadn’t been recruited by the pros in my sophomore year in college, my plan was to enlist as well.”

“Ah, so that’s where I went wrong,” I say, smiling. “Uncle Sam recruited me long before MLB could come calling. Didn’t have enough time to perfect my fastball.”

Alec laughs at my silly joke. He must really want to impress me if he found it funny. Or maybe he’s used to meaningless chitchat. “How long have you been a ball fan?”

I take a peek at Tanner to see if he’s listening. He is. “The second I met Tanner. So, about three years.”
 

When I first met Tanner, he was still in the minors trying his damnedest to make it into the majors. Like Alec, Tanner was recruited out of college, but he’d spent two years working his ass off in the minors, whereas Alec, from what I knew about him, which isn’t much, landed in the majors almost right away.
 

Alec has one of the best fastballs in the league. And pitchers, like home run hitters and quarterbacks, are some of the most sought-after players in professional sports.

In the same vein, Alec is one of the most sought after players
off
the field, too. Endorsements. Romances. Talk show appearances. He is worth millions.

What on earth does a staff sergeant in the Army have in common with a professional baseball player?
Not a single thing, I think.

“Tanner’s one of the best shortstops I’ve ever played with,” Alec says with a nod in Tanner’s direction. “And…” He lowers his voice and takes a step closer. My heart speeds up. “He’s also one of the nicest guys around. Professional. He takes the game seriously. Tanner practices hard. He is respected on and off the field. He also happens to have the coolest future sister-in-law ever. By the way, that’s a direct quote from him.”

This time, I shove my hands in my pockets.
 

I’ve never been good with compliments. It always feels like I should give a compliment in return. Maybe I should imitate Nebraska here: feel Alec’s shoulders and then order him to bowl on my team. But I have a feeling that might not go over too well. Or it might be the perfect compliment for a ball player.
 

No matter what, I’m certainly out of my element here.

“Thanks,” I say at last. “I’m very fond of Tanner. Every time we’re together, I want to handcuff him to me so I can spend a little more time with him.”
Like I said, I’m awkward with compliments.
“Okay, that came out way too psycho-like. I guess what I’m saying is that I wish I could spend more time with him and my brother, Jon.”

“The military and the majors,” Alec says with an understanding tone. “Individually, neither is ideally suited for long-distance relationships. Put the two professions together, like Tanner and Jon, and they might not see each other for a year.”

“Yeah—” I start, but someone brushes past me.
 

It’s Zoe, the girl I met before the game started. “Excuse me,” she says over her shoulder. Her arm made the briefest contact with my elbow. Might have been intentional. Maybe not. But my guess was on the first thought. If not for the smug-like expression, she’d be an attractive woman. I notice that Alec tenses up as she walks past him. If she said something to him, I couldn’t hear it, but Alec’s reaction was one of pain or humiliation.
 

For a man with a playboy reputation, my first impression of him was anything but that. Whatever his relationship to Zoe was, it wasn’t any of my business. For all I knew, this conversation—
this friendly meet and greet
—was a one-time deal. I’d probably never see the mega-rich ball player again. Not like this, at least. No doubt I’d see him if Tanner had a get-together, or at other ball games. But that’d be it. I had no illusions of starting a relationship with the famous player.

Or starting a relationship with anyone, for that matter.

My eyes follow Zoe as she goes inside the locker room and then comes out with her fiancé, Randy “Big H” Hernandez. His hair is wet from the showers and the young catcher reminds me more of a high school kid rather than a professional player. Young, lanky. He couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two.
 

Zoe passes us on the walkway while Big H stops. Alec’s mouth works as if he’s clenching his jaw when Big H says, “Got a sec, bro?”

By the way Zoe interacted with me earlier, I doubt that Big H wants to talk about tonight’s game or the accuracy of Alec’s last few pitches, which were less than stellar. Nope. There’s some sort of history here between the two of them.
 

When I glance over at Zoe at the top of the walkway, I see a Latina bombshell standing next to her. Big H’s sister? Alec’s former girlfriend? It might explain why Zoe was rather hostile to me.

“Excuse me a moment, Keira,” Alec says politely even though I can tell his insides are on a low boil.

“Of course,” I say automatically. What could I say?
No, I’m sorry Mr. Millionaire Ball Player, but I will not excuse you for a moment. I have a beer waiting for me. I haven’t a moment to spare.
He and Big H head up toward Zoe and the Latina Bombshell. Tanner comes to my side.
 

“That was odd,” I tell Tanner.

“That’s Maria, Randy’s sister,” Tanner says. And that’s all he needs to say. I understand completely when Big H and Zoe leave Alec and Maria alone. She’s talking with her hands while his hands talk to his pockets.

“I’m guessing the tabloids have had it all wrong?”

Tanner nods.

“I can spot a
player
a mile away,” Stacey says. She’s slightly behind me, but I hear her softly spoken words perfectly. Dillan remains silent. I wonder if Stacey places Dillan in the player list. He’s taken the silent, brooding type to a new level tonight. Normally, I can’t get him to shut up.
 

Stacey continues, “Alec Huffman is no playboy. Everyone loves a bad boy, though, and however false, it’s a reputation he has yet to refute publicly. I can’t help but feel a tiny bit sad for him.”

“What the hell for?” Dillan asks. “The guy’s a millionaire, he can date whoever he wants, and he’s living his dream by playing ball.”

Stacey shakes her head at him as if he doesn’t have a clue.
 

“Think about it, Dillan. Just like Tanner here, Alec’s probably played baseball since the moment he could grasp something in his hand. Every day. Every weekend. After school. Coaches. Practices. Games. Tournaments. Championships. You name it. Years and years and years of hard work. Years and years of sacrifices and not just for him. His entire family. Imagine how much it costs to be as good as Tanner and Alec and any other major ball player? Your definition of his success—money, women, dreams—are the by-products of hard work. Yes, he’s living a dream, but it took twenty years of work to get there. He has to stay in top shape because there are hundreds of young hopefuls ready to take his place. Yes, he’s a millionaire, and that’s because others are willing to pay him because of his hard work. He can date anyone he wants because he’s good-looking, successful, and wealthy. But I’d bet all the money
in your wallet
that that’s not how Tanner or Alec view themselves. The sporting franchises expect certain traits in their players, and thus our famous friends here create public personas. So, yeah, I feel a tiny bit sad for Alec because no matter what he does, not many will know the real him. It’s unfortunate.”

As Stacey dissects Alec in front of our eyes, I watch as Maria storms off. Alec stays at the top of the ramp for a moment, his back still turned to us. It must have been a tough breakup by the way his shoulders sag slightly. I do know that Maria wasn’t in the stands with us. Did Zoe call her when she saw me? Did Maria show up to learn the truth?

All I know is that there is too much drama around Alec Huffman. True or not true, drama is drama, no matter how it’s shaded.
I don’t do drama.
As Stacey finishes her analysis, her subject matter turns around, signs a few autographs for fans, and walks back to us.
 

“Sorry about that,” he says in a tone that suggests he’s trying to appear more optimistic than he really is. “Anyway, Tanner promised we’d all get a beer. Is that still the plan?”

Tanner glances at me. He wants to know if I’m still interested. How sweet. I smile and nod.

“Sure is,” Tanner says. “Preston’s Pub on First is within walking distance, and while their beer can’t match Dillan’s home brew, it has a great selection. Their wood-fired pizza isn’t bad, either.”

“You brew?” Alec asks Dillan. Alec wedges himself between me and Dillan as we walk out of the stadium.
 

I remember the shelf full of beers in his fridge. Did he brew those? I had no idea Dillan was into that. Jon never mentioned it before. As we walk, Dillan talks about his beer label,
Nine Year Crush
, and how it took nine years to get it just the way he wanted. For some reason, his eyes shift to mine when he says that.

I tilt my head. Interesting trivia: I met Dillan for the first time nine years ago.

Dillan

T
O
MY
RELIEF
, K
EIRA
ACTUALLY
doesn’t seem to be all that interested in Alec Huffman. But then again, when have I ever been known to accurately predict Keira? Right, never.
 

The first time I ever met her, Jon invited me to his parents’ house for a barbecue celebrating Keira’s high school graduation. I was twenty-one—so was Jon—and I remember being extremely curious about meeting my best friend’s little sister. Jon, naturally, admired her, which was the exact opposite of how I felt about my own sister. In my mind, Keira must be perfect and I wanted to find out if it was true.

I had recently discovered that college girls, for some reason, adored me more than I deserved, and it was pretty much zero effort on my part to woo them with one or two well-placed smiles. Jon made me promise never to
use
women, and I didn’t, but they sure as hell used me.
 

My first time was actually the summer I graduated high school, and it was with the newly divorced Ms. Grace, my thirty-nine-year-old calculus teacher. I’ve been a student of higher learning ever since. At least I can claim I had received my A+ in her class long before she seduced me.

But when I met Keira, it wasn’t like she fell all over me. Her friends did. Her neighbors did. Her friends’ moms did. Not Keira. And that made me take notice of her. Her skin tone was somewhere between almond and bronze, a combination of a backyard swimming pool and her being an avid runner.
 

On top of that, she was utterly gorgeous in a yellow summer dress that I prayed would be see-through. That prayer didn’t come true, and she ignored the crap out of me. Refused to even acknowledge my presence. That made me want to impress her, which, for whatever idiotic reason, made me come up with the idea of jumping off her parents’ two-story roof and into the deep end of the in-ground swimming pool.

Not one of my best ideas.

Luckily, Jon stopped me from doing it, and to this day, Keira has no idea of how close I came to immortalizing her graduation party. I snuck away, instead, and drank an entire six-pack of beer at a convenience store. Well, five beers. I shared one with the homeless man who sat with me on the curb. It was the worst beer I had ever tasted before or since.
 

I wanted Keira to notice me. I wanted her to throw herself at me. Later, Jon told me that she said I was a disgusting man whore-pig who shouldn’t be let loose on the general population. Keira. She has a way with words. She wasn’t right. She wasn’t wrong. She started off as a little crush. A tiny, whispery one. The type of crush you know you’ll never, ever fulfill, but it fills your dreams on the nights you’re lonely and especially on the nights where you might have been with someone, someone you shouldn’t be with, but you still felt alone. In here. In your heart.

Nine years.
 

When I finally found the exact right ingredients in the exact right doses to make my own beer to get the taste of that day out of my head, I felt like I had regained some of my dignity. It took nine years. Keira might never know what prompted me to start my own home brewery in my spare time. But
I
did. By ignoring me that day, she inspired me to become a better version of myself. Even now, Keira still doesn’t like me. Joke’s on me, I suppose.