The Wrong Pitch

I couldn't possibly have been more wrong the night I'd tackled Hunter Moore to the ground in the middle of the night. To be fair, the street was pitch-black, the wheel to my suitcase had popped off, and I found myself face to face with a stranger charging at me. My instincts had kicked in, and instead, I'd landed him straight on his back with my knee pressed to his chest. Turns out, the stranger I'd tackled to the ground was my brother's roommate . . . which meant he was also mine.

With my dreams coming to a screeching halt, I was left with no other choice than to move in with my brother and his roommates.

Hunter Moore was star pitcher for the Northeast Rebels. Although I'd found his incessant talk of baseball obnoxious, I couldn't help but relate to how deep his passion ran. Even if our dreams were completely different.

With a shared bathroom and a single wall between our bedrooms, we couldn't resist pushing the boundaries.

Potent green eyes. Perfectly sculpted muscle. I was inevitably drawn in. But the closer we became, the more I learned just how dedicated Hunter was to his dream, no matter the cost.

Only I was unaware, he'd already traded mine for his.

Contains mature themes.

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Hljóðbók: 26 mars 2024