Nailed at Home Plate Surprises!

Something to take your mind off the events this afternoon (if you need it)

Today is going to be difficult for some of you. Myself included. I’m staying off social media until this evening, locking myself in my little office corner and just writing. Writing, writing, writing. If you need the escape, go out for a walk, read a book, take a nap, pray, meditate, go to the gym, bitch to a friend…whatever it takes for you to process. Your feelings are valid. Always know that I’m a safe place if you need it.

As a little distraction, I’m sending all of my subscribers the FIRST CHAPTER of Nailed at Home Plate, along with a little spicy somethin’ somethin’ for you at the end.

Don’t forget to sign up to ARC read! Applications will close 1/25/25 so I can spend the next week reviewing applications. You can sign up here: Nailed at Home Plate ARC Sign-Up Form

Want to order a copy? You can do so through Amazon (eBooks) or my website for signed books and PR boxes: www.kiwancio.com

Enjoy!

1

Workin’ On It

MEGHAN TRAINOR

“Alright, put your damn shirts back on!” I shouted to the team as best I could in between my breaths of laughter. “We don’t want to blind the poor people in the stands with your God-awful farmer tans.” Another day, another choreography practice of utter chaos.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’d been with the baseball team Philly Sillys since their very humble beginnings when the Philadelphia sports franchise finally decided to start their own Entertainment League Baseball, ELB, team. Of which was decidedly overdue. They had their own podunk stadium off by the train tracks by the Delaware River. It was a bit out of the way from the big sports complex area, but honestly, I liked the view of the river from the stadium.

It all started with the sudden rise to fame of the Savannah Bananas and Party Animals, both teams that played a new form of baseball that was more avid about entertainment than scores. From there numerous other teams were quickly added to the league. More were being added every year. The Bananas had been kicking ass and taking names, showing the industry that you could have fun and play baseball. Well, their version of baseball. And damn, was it ever fun.

When I heard that Philadelphia was adding its own ELB league, I jumped at the chance to find a job in the organization. I’d been a huge fan of Philly sports since the day I was born, thanks to my dad who had grown up in the inner city. Born and raised in the Philly suburbs, my blood was made of wooder, soft pretzels, and cheesesteaks “wit wiz”. It was where the polite greeting to strangers during the appropriate seasons was “Go Birds!” and “Go Phils!”. My roots were deep in the area from generations of Andrews living here since the pre-Revolutionary War era.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Athletic in my own sense, my background was in dance and gymnastics. Well-versed with the Bananas method of baseball after watching any game I could that was aired on ESPN, I jumped at the job opportunity and submitted an audition video for the position of Team Choreographer. To prepare for my interview I watched every Bananas game I could find online so I could understand the format of the game-to-entertainment ratio. Between my talents, and knowing the ins and outs of the new sport, got me the job. Not to mention the fact that I ended up wearing every Philly sports jersey throughout the audition video.

It also helped that baseball had recently moved up the list of my sporting loves. Eagles football had been my first. But when a particular dreamboat was traded to Philadelphia, well…that brought my attention fully to baseball.

Football and hockey players wore helmets so it was difficult to discern the hotness of the players during the games. With basketball players, you only got a fleeting look as they ran past. But baseball? Most of the time was spent being stationary so you managed to get an eyeful of each one every so often. So when I locked the icy blue eyes of Philadelphia’s new catcher, JT Rheems, a few years ago, it was all over. Goodbye football. Baseball was now my life.

Even with the demanding schedule of the Sillys, I watched the games live when I could. If not, I caught up with them later on the recorded replay. On the rare occasion that I had a day off while the team was in town, I did try to scoot down and take in a game. I didn’t even care if it was standing room only. The vibes at the park were absolutely unmatched.

“Hey Cadence, next time go easy on us.” Star first baseman Bryce Heart huffed at me as he gathered his water bottle and shirt he’d shed during practice. Why he chose to have a cropped beard and shaggy hair while playing a summer sport was beyond me. The only part of baseball season I didn’t like was the sometimes insufferable temperatures of summer that we had to contend with. But it did mean that the guys took off their shirts a lot.

“My secret is I always go easy on you guys.” There was a chorus of groaning from the team and I could only laugh. For the most part, they were cooperative with what I threw their way. But it didn’t mean that I didn’t get any sass for it. It was a sort of playful love/hate relationship with the guys.

One would think that spending the better part of my spring and summer with a bunch of hunky guys would be a single woman’s dream. For some, sure. As for me, the novelty wore off pretty damn quick. It's not that the guys didn’t try to scoop me up for a date, because most of them had made a pass or two. Or five, in second baseman Bryson Stevens’ case.

First of all, they were coworkers. Secondly, I saw them all more as dorky, goofy little brothers. Little brothers who had some very nice bodies. Not that I ogled them anymore. The stink of sweaty man bodies in a locker room had a permanent place in my nostrils. That deterred any sexy factor for the lot of them.

It was a bit of a two-way street. Since I was around the guys almost all the time during the season, both on and off the road, they saw me as just another guy on the coaching staff. As in, none of them scattered when I had to walk through the locker room while they were changing. Most managed to somewhat hide their junk but to avoid any accidents, I did my best to avoid walking through in the first place.

Philly Sillys’ manager, Bert Topper, saw me as one of the guys. With a few decades of minor and major league ball under his belt, the organization dragged him out of a cozy retirement. Well, dragged is a strong word. Turns out he was rather bored anyway and was willing to give the new sport a chance. Despite his usual monotone demeanor, he was a great fit for the team. He was all business and no-nonsense, even with a bunch of crazy psychopath ball players.

He’d call me into his office from time to time, which was only accessible through the locker room, not caring what sort of minefield I’d have to walk through to do so. Between the team and coach, I was thankful they saw me as one of their own. Just because I had breasts and a vagina didn’t mean that I should be treated any differently. I respected him for that.

Honestly, the guys were more of a walking HR sexual harassment complaint to each other than they were to me. What was it with guys in sports and spanking each other? Kinky. They wouldn’t dare touch me like that. I was just someone who they got goofy or smart assy with from time to time.

It's not like I was overly feminine. I fit right in with the guys. Skinny jeans and team t-shirts were my usual go-to for the season. Mostly it was typical workout or dance clothes for practices. Tank tops or sports bras and Soffe booty shorts for the really hot days. Those shorts were a nod to my early dance days. They were the easiest and comfiest things to pull on over tights or warmups. Ball caps and ponytails were the only suitable hairstyle. Although I typically kept a shortish sort of bob before the start of every season.

“Aww come on guys, you know you liked it.” Catcher Garrett Stubbeman chimed in which only brought on more groaning. Garrett was usually my sidekick, giving the guys a much-needed morale boost during practice and games. Party guy extraordinaire, usually gave the mascot, and my best friend, Olivia, a run for her money. He was the master at getting the crowds and the team hyped up. I was pretty sure I’d never seen the man have a grumpy face in the entire time I’d known him. His wife had the patience of a saint and honestly was a bit goofy like him.

“Garrett you’re such a kiss ass.” Left fielder Brandon Marshall chided as he stroked his rather epic beard. How the man could stand to be in the summer heat with long hair and a beard to match was beyond me. I felt like I was roasting if my hair brushed against the back of my neck. No wonder he kept it wet all the time. Except it probably made more sense to cut it all off instead of dousing it with water every chance he got. But, to each their own. Guys are weird.

“You still love me though.” Garrett grinned as the last of the guys joined us to head back to the locker room. “I’m irresistible.”

There was a more avid chorus of groans. Garrett was one to milk the audience, whether they liked it or not. The fans were more keen on his nonsense. The guys were as well, though they didn’t openly admit it.

“Now boys, be nice to each other. Or else practice tomorrow will involve quiet yoga.” That earned a proper grumble and a few swear words from the team.

“Yeah, y’all remember what happened last time.” Right fielder Nick Costa reminded the guys with a smirk. The man was dark and hunky. He looked like he was from the coast of Spain, tan and a bit exotic. The women were all over him, but he was cautious to be a good role model for his super-adorable son. Sometimes he’d bring Leo to practice but most of the time he was a permanent staple in the front-row seat at the games.

“You mean the last few times,” Bryson added with a snorted laugh.

“Marshie here and his melodic ass.” Third baseman, Alex Boimler, Brandon’s partner in most of the chaotic crimes and team mischief, chimed in. His blonde curls bounced as he chuckled. Brandon answered back with a punch to his arm.

“Hey, the ladies love my ass. Its musical talents are just a bonus.”

That got me to laugh. It was never a dull moment with this squad and their seemingly unending antics. They knew not to mess with me but they did go out of their way to humor me. Laughter seemed to be the energy they needed to keep up with their nonsense on the field to entertain the crowds. Laughter and cheers.

With the crowd sizes not being where ownership wanted, the boys were having a rougher go this season. Except for me. They thought I was always an audience worthy of their craziness. Considering my good nature and love for humor, I was probably a prime person to entertain.

Some days the boys got on my nerves. But most of the time they were adorable gigantic knuckleheads that I got to dance around like animals in a circus act. The more absurd they were to me, the more chaotic the dance moves and training that I made them do. They hadn’t caught on yet. Or perhaps they were indulging me. I couldn’t tell.

All the guys were charming in their own right. At the moment no one was seriously dating anyone. Sure I heard about the occasional conquest, mostly while on the road. The women in the city had been through one or two of the guys.

They were rather intense and with an equally intense work schedule, it was difficult for any of us to have any lasting relationship. Once the season kicked into full swing it was all eat, sleep, baseball. Sure there was the occasional night off. But if you didn’t have an understanding partner, it was a tough life to support.

Not that I minded. Dating wasn’t a huge focus in my life. It added unnecessary complications. I loved my job. My job was currently my life. Not many men could understand that. Especially the fact that I was around attractive baseball players for six months out of the year.

Maybe I’d have more of a chance with a lasting relationship if I found someone in the offseason. But even then it took a few months just to mentally and physically recuperate from such a vigorous few months. I needed to focus on myself before trying to split my attention with anyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to them and it wouldn’t be fair to me.

Sometimes the quiet overwhelmed me and I found myself wishing to have just someone to hang out with. To have a body to snuggle up to. Someone to chat about everything and also nothing at all.

I’ve had people tell me, “Why don’t you just date a baseball player?”. Okay sure, it kind of made sense. We’d have similar schedules and training demands so we could be supportive of each other, right? Well that would only work if you were part of the same organization which would only work if said organization would be cool with a player dating a member of the coaching staff. Which was pretty much the equivalent of a CEO dating their secretary. Not a smart idea.

So I did what any sensible person would have done when an attractive baseball player asked them out. I said “yes”. Just once though. Bryson was the only one that I sort of had a crush on, even after working with the crazy lot of them for a few months. Neither of us were stupid about it. We made sure we didn’t do or say anything suspicious around the guys. Our dates were always outside of the city so we had less of a chance of being caught by anyone who even had an inkling of who we were.

While it was a lot of fun, and rather hot, we ended it as friends. Or well, I ended it as friends. Things got too real for me. Bryson wanted to make it into something more serious and I…I didn’t feel that way about him. He was a nice guy and fun in bed, but that’s all it was. A fun time. Not something that I could see being forever. It just wasn’t fair to either of us to keep it going when we had to hide it.

“Cadence?”

“Huh?” I blinked and suddenly center fielder Johan Ramos’ face came into focus. His Dominican lit made my name sound like music as it left his lips. I always thought he looked like a charming lawn gnome with his joyful and expectant expression at any given time.

“Yo, earth to Cadence.” Brandon had to add his two cents with a dramatic wave of his hand in front of my face.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.” I batted Brandon’s hand away and sidestepped the crowd of guys who looked on in some mix of concern and humor. “I was…just going over my grocery list. To pick up. On the way home.” The cadence of my voice was choppy. I could tell from the looks on the guys’ faces that only half of them believed it.

“Shit, I don’t even remember what’s in my fridge,” Shortstop Trea Tennant added, looking rather worried as he massaged the leather of his glove while deep in thought. Thank god for the lanky, blonde-haired shortstop. He broke the tension and got the attention of the guys off me as they all laughed.

Hurrying down the ramp, I made a beeline to my office to leave the guys to shower and head out for the day. It wasn’t exactly a secret that I had some “zone out” moments, it was mostly just me being deep in thought. And for some reason today my brain wanted to hyper-focus on my dismal dating life.

Call me old-fashioned but I only wanted to date guys that I had a spark with. A connection. Someone that I could see myself with forever. It was such a sappy and outdated notion, but why waste my or anyone else’s time when the next one could be our forever love?

It was probably my dad’s fault for getting me hooked on Molly Ringwald movies from the 80s. Sixteen Candles was his cult classic favorite. He had only ever admitted it to me, but his favorite part was when Jake showed up to the church in his fancy little sports car. Sometimes I caught my dad mid-sigh as he watched the scene unfold.

So yeah, I was looking for my Jake. A man who was a literal dream on two feet. Someone who smiled whenever he thought or spoke about me to anyone. The kind of man that would be happy to see me when I got home, even when we were in our eighties.

Someone like JT Rheems.

Well, at least that’s what I imagined.

JT Rheems. The man I rushed home to see just a glimpse of his face behind the wire cage of the catcher’s mask on my TV. The man had corded biceps and forearms that flexed with every catch and throw. The man with an ass I could bounce a quarter off of.

The man that I’d never had a face-to-face interaction with. The man that I’d never even spoken to. The man that didn’t even know I existed. A man that I didn’t have to work into my hectic schedule. My imagination worked for me. In all the delicious ways possible. Well, with the help of some of my buzzing friends.

It wasn’t even a full-blown fantasy per se with a house and a future. It was just little glimpses of a shared space with the man. A smile that was just for me. A darting look into the crowd to see me in the sea of people. A lingering touch of those strong hands as we…

A knock on my office door made me jump almost three feet in the air. Unless I was showering or changing, I always kept the door open. So it was safe to say that the main pitcher for the Sillys, Matt Strohman, saw my startle.

“Hey, Cadence?”

“Oh uh, hey Matt.” I managed to get out, still breathless from the unaware jump-scare party of one.

“You forgot your hat.” With a bashful little smile, he stepped into my office and handed it over. Tall and lanky with wavy locks like Brandon, he resembled something more like a scarecrow than a pitcher.

“Fuck, right.” The guys were rather rambunctious today as practice concluded. I must have left my hat on the field when I was trying to show one of the guys how to do a cartwheel. “Thanks, Matt.” For being a star pitcher, he was the sweetest guy on the team. Well, maybe he and Bryson were tied for first.

“Don’t let the guys get under your skin.” He probably told me the same thing once a season. At this rate, all I could do was laugh and nod.

“I know, you guys are just a bunch of overgrown goofballs. Some more than others. I’m good though, Matt.” I dismissed him with a laugh and a wave. With a quick grin and a nod, I found myself in silence once again. Well, as much silence as the closed double doors to the locker room could offer. Silence was not in the team’s vocabulary.

Glancing at my watch, I swore under my breath. Grabbing my purse, I made a beeline for the parking lot. I had to get home to watch my imaginary perfect guy squat behind home plate.

And now…for your spicy little treat of a very fun scene later in Nailed at Home Plate…

(Art by michillart)