The Game Changer: A San Francisco

Rockets Baseball Novel (Hot Streak

Series Book 1) Aurora Paige
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THE GAME CHANGER
HOT STREAK SERIES, BOOK 1
AURORA PAIGE
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Aurora Paige
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.
Published by
Smitten Ink Books, LLC
www.aurorapaige.com

Editor: Morgana Stewart

Cover Designer: Sarah Kil Creative Studio
Model: Andrew Frojelin, Jr.
Photographer: Aurora Paige
Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic
language, and discussion about stalking.
To those who are struggling with anxiety, depression, and any
form of mental illness. Don’t be afraid to seek treatment.
You’re not alone.
 CONTENTS
1. Celine
2. Alaric
3. Celine
4. Alaric
5. Celine
6. Alaric
7. Celine
8. Alaric
9. Celine
10. Alaric
11. Celine
12. Alaric
13. Celine
14. Alaric
15. Celine
16. Alaric
17. Celine
18. Alaric
19. Celine
20. Alaric
Also by Aurora Paige
About Aurora Paige
Acknowledgments
A Note From Aurora
THE GAME CHANGER
 HOT STREAK SERIES, BOOK 1

Blurb:
Celine
Being a sports psychologist for pro baseball is my dream.
There’s nothing I love more than working for the Chicago
Angels helping players that need someone to get their mind in
focus and back on track.
The minute the Angels pick up playboy superstar Alaric King
as their first baseman, I knew he’ll be trouble: hot, charming,
and irresistible. Getting involved with an athlete is already a
bad idea, but getting involved with a player that’s also your
therapy patient? Absolutely forbidden.
I work hard to be where I am, and I’m not going to let my
dream career shatter to be with a heartbreaker—no matter how
tempting he is. Am I strong enough to not let him into my
heart?
Alaric
Ever since my rival purposely threw a baseball at my head, my
game has been off and I end up being traded to the Chicago
Angels. My plan is to show my face at mandated therapy
sessions so I can get back on the plate. What I didn’t plan is to
be blown away by Dr. Celine Pineda: intelligent, successful,
and sexy as hell. She’s only here to help me fix my swing, but
what I didn’t intend is for her to fix my heart.
I knew that we couldn’t be together. Being with her could cost
both our careers, but I didn’t care. I am going to risk it all, but
would she?
1
 CELINE

“S ee you next week, Doc,” my patient, Brent Davis,

said before walking out of my office.
“Bye Brent.” I waved from behind my desk, then finished
writing my final notes of my session with the all-star pitcher.
Living in Chicago was not my first choice since San
Francisco was my home since birth. I went to college in the
Bay Area and did my doctorate and internship with Doctor
Ryder Carmichael, who was my professor as well as the sports
psychologist for the San Francisco Storm hockey organization.
My older brother, Tyler, was able to stay local being the
pitcher for the San Francisco Rockets baseball team after
being traded from the New York Titans.
I picked up the file of my newest client, Alaric King, and
find it is littered with notes by prior sports psychologist,
Doctor Bill Winston. I initially read the patient notes last
week, but needed to refresh my memory before Alaric came
for his first session with me:
Patient is reluctant to share when asked questions. He
keeps to himself. Very guarded. He keeps saying he is fine.
Body language is tense. Tough guy act. Challenging session
and isn’t interested in opening up. He said he’s there because
“it’s mandatory.” —Dr. Winston
Alaric didn’t do the homework I assigned him last week.
This is our fourth session, and he still hasn’t opened up about
his trauma on the plate. He’s very guarded and crossing his
arms. Patient is annoyed and being short with his answers. I
recommend more than five sessions with him if he’ll be open to
it. —Dr. Winston
The notes were very similar every session. Great, I’m
looking forward to working with this difficult man—Not!
Alaric was traded to the Chicago Angels baseball organization
last week, and now it was my turn to take a crack at him. I’ve
worked with Alaric’s type before and knew what to expect.
Last week, I watched him practice. His body language at
the plate was tense and he slightly backed up when the ball
came toward him. He swung and struck out. He became
frustrated and even more stressed out. I also pulled up the clips
that changed everything for Alaric—the moment he was hit
with the ball and knocked him out. He hadn’t been the same
since.
I had a few minutes before Alaric’s appointment with me,
so I contacted Doctor Winston hoping for more insight.
“Good afternoon, Doctor Winston, this is Celine Pineda,
the sports psychologist with the Chicago Angels. Do you have
a minute to chat?” I asked.
“Hello, Doctor Pineda. Sure, I have a moment. What can I
help you with?” His voice was gruff, like he was a smoker.
“I’m calling in regard to Alaric King, who was under your
care before he was traded to the Angels.”
“Oh, yes, Alaric. How could I forget him? He was one of
the most challenging clients I’ve had in a long time,” he noted.
“I read your notes and was wondering if you had anything
else to add about Alaric.”
“I have nothing you haven’t already read in my notes.”
Doctor Winston chuckled darkly under his breath. “The only
thing I’d like to say is good luck with him,”
I was going to prove everyone wrong— challenge
accepted.
A RAP ON THE DOOR STARTLED ME AS I READ D OCTOR
Winston’s notes once more then I quickly closed Alaric’s file.
“Come in,” I called out.
My assistant, Bethany Blanchard, entered my office with
coffee in hand for me.
“I got you your usual.” She smiled, handing me the iced
coffee drink. “I thought you could use a pick me up.”
“Thanks, Beth. How’d you know I needed this?” I
chuckled then took a sip of the iced coffee.
“You looked stressed when I brought Brent into the office
earlier. And I know that Alaric King is your next
appointment.”
“It’s my first meeting with him and I just wanted to make
sure I was prepared for his session today.” Not only did I
research and observe his professional career, but I also did
some digging on him. He was quite the playboy baseball
celebrity— being seen with different women, going out to
clubs and VIP events to party often, and looking like an
arrogant man who only cared about his looks and social status.
I usually didn’t research personal information from the internet
with the possibility of false information, but I felt it was
relevant since Doctor Winston’s notes indicated that Alaric
was a difficult patient.
“Alaric’s so hot.” Beth fanned herself with her hands.
“And drool worthy.” I could see the heart shaped eyes on her
face like an emoji as she gushed over him, her cheeks
blushing.
“Remember, we have a code to follow. We need to always
be professional and never cross that line with a patient,” I said,
pursing my lips.
Beth gazed at me in awe. “I don’t know how you do it,
Celine.”
“Do what?” I asked, knitting my brows.
“Your self-control since many of these ball players are so
hot…and rich…I would be all over them in a heartbeat.” Beth
confessed.
“I have to remind myself that I’m in the business to help
people, not find a husband.” I took a deep breath in and
sighed.
I glanced at the clock and saw that it was getting close to
Alaric’s appointment time. “Alaric’s going to be here soon. I
suggest you get back to your desk to check him in…not check
him out.” I chuckled and lifted my coffee cup. “Thanks again
for the coffee, Beth. It was very thoughtful.”
“Of course, Doctor Pineda. Anytime.” Beth stepped out of
my office, closing the door behind her.
Soon after, Beth buzzed my line to let me know that Alaric
had checked in and she was going to bring him to my office. I
was ready to help him, but the real question was if he was
ready for me.
2
 ALARIC

I t had been a week since I moved to Chicago. Just because

my numbers at bat dipped, the owner of the New York
Titans decided to trade me to the Chicago Angels. Despite
being great on the field and never missing a catch, it didn’t
matter. I was soon packing my bags and headed to the windy
city. My cousin, Camila Reyes, moved out from her apartment
to live in San Francisco with her boyfriend, Cole Richardson.
He was one of the San Francisco Storm hockey players. I
hoped this time their relationship worked out.
The day after I arrived in Chicago, I started practicing with
the Angels right away.
“Alaric, don’t forget you have your appointment with
Doctor Pineda tomorrow afternoon,” Micah Nelson, the
general manager of the Chicago Angels reminded me.
“Yes sir, I have it on my calendar,” I said through a
grimace. I didn’t want to hear shit from him or anyone else
about being required to go to therapy. It was also part of my
contract. I had hoped that by being traded, I could have
avoided having to participate in any more therapy.
I already did my five mandatory sessions with Doctor
Winston. He was just a bunch of bullshit anyway—explaining
theories and research of old experiments that he felt may relate
to my issue. I had nothing to say to him. I wanted to forget
what happened to me and move on; but no, he wouldn’t leave
it alone. I didn’t want to talk or plan to tell him how I was
feeling. Fuck that! I was going to my appointments so he can
mark off that I was there, whether I participated or not.
I knew what was wrong with me. I didn’t need a sports
shrink to tell me that. I was nursing a grudge over what
happened four months ago. I was certain that the pitcher for
the Las Vegas Flames hit me on purpose even though he swore
it was an accident. I was convinced that this was over some
chick. The pitcher came over and made it seem like he was
concerned about my injury, but I heard him say “this will teach
you to keep it in your pants.” To this day, I still wasn’t sure
who he was angry over. Whoever that woman was, she wasn’t
memorable enough and just a hook-up.
Stepping onto the plate during practice, I warmed up my
arms with the bat in my hands as I got into my stance. Brent
threw the ball and my body tensed, heart rate speeding up. I
stepped back from the plate, gritting my teeth. Damnit Alaric!
Get it fucking together!
I locked my teeth together, my breathing ragged.
I needed to get over this issue if I wanted to stay with my
new team and not get benched. I took a deep breath in, getting
into my stance and ready to knock one out of the park. Then
Brent threw another pitch, a fast ball flying toward me.
It was the playoffs between the New York Titans and Las
Vegas Flames, and the bottom of the fifth. The bases were
loaded and no strike outs. I walked up to the plate, slightly
moving my arms to prepare. I positioned myself at the plate
and glared at the pitcher, ready for the ball. The pitcher, Wade
McIntyre, threw the ball and I swung, hitting it to the foul line.
Stepping away from the plate, I inhaled deeply then let it out
slowly, composing myself. I went back into position, staring at
the pitcher. He glared at me then threw a fast ball, hitting my
face and knocking me to the ground.
I covered my face as the head coach and medical team
came on the field. Wade ran over, peering down on me.
“Is he going to be okay?” Wade asked.
 “We’re going to take him to the locker room to have the
team’s doctor examine him,” one of the medical staff noted.
Holding half of my face, I tilted my head up to look at the
offender and Wade had a smug look on his face.
“That’s what you get for messing with my woman. This will
teach you to keep it in your pants,” he said in a low voice, but
enough for me to hear him clearly.
Apparently, my team members heard it too. Both teams ran
on the field and started fighting as I was taken back to the
locker room. The doctor looked at my swollen and bruised half
of my face. My eye was swollen shut. The doctor suspected
that there may be a fracture but wouldn’t know until they took
an x-ray.
I saw Brent’s fastball pass by my face and felt the breeze
as it flew by me. My body stiffened. I couldn’t shake the
feeling that I was going to get hit by the ball again. It took two
months for the fracture in my cheekbone to heal. Physically, I
was lucky that was the only thing that came from the hit; but
the trauma being on the plate had consumed me mentally. I
couldn’t focus on my swing.
I cursed under my breath. I clenched my jaw and threw the
bat.
“I’m leaving. See you tomorrow,” I told the coach as I
headed to the locker room. Maybe a good night’s sleep would
help me clear my head so I could focus better during practice
tomorrow.
3
 CELINE

M y office door swung open with Beth smiling from ear-

to-ear as she held onto the doorknob, and Alaric
entered through the doorway. I gasped. He was
handsome in photos I’d seen on the internet by the paparazzi,
but in person, he was swoon worthy. His presence can change
any dynamic in any room. Celine, stop staring and pick your
jaw up from off the floor. He’s a client.
He was a more than a foot taller than me, even with my
high heels on. His dark brown eyes matched the color of his
hair that was cut short on the sides and styled messy on top.
He wore a t-shirt that clung onto the bulge of his biceps and
chest muscles. His fitted jeans highlighted the athletic frame of
his body.
Beth threw me a wink before shutting the door. I stand up,
walking around my desk to meet him. Alaric glances around
my office, then his brown eyes land on me. I take a shaky
breath.
“Mr. King, I’m Doctor Celine Pineda.” I extended my
hand out.
“Hi,” he said, gruff, and took my hand for a firm
handshake.
The touch of his skin sent an electric current through my
nerves, awakening my senses. Heat went straight to my core
and down to my sex, getting me wet.
I pulled my hand away and stepped back.
 “So, am I supposed to lay on the couch or something?” he
asked; sardonically.
I studied him and his body language. He hid his unease
behind his bravado. I could applaud the poker face he had on,
but then he rubbed his hands on his pants. The mask he had on
slipped. I’m certain he was nervous.
“You can sit wherever you feel comfortable,” I suggested,
gesturing to the chairs and couches around the room.
“I’ll feel more comfortable outside of the office,” he
muttered.
His gaze held mine from the moment we made eye contact.
There was a crackle in the air between us.
“We can go for a walk instead of staying in here if that
would help you feel comfortable.”
“Sure.” He nodded, putting his hands in his pocket.
“I’ll need to record our walk with my phone since I won’t
be able to take notes. Would you be okay with that?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure.” His answers were clipped.
This was going to be a fun session indeed. I internally
rolled my eyes.
“The recording starts now.” I grabbed my phone and
pressed the red button, then we headed out. The Chicago
Angels Baseball Organization building was mostly deserted
this time of day in the late afternoon. There was a concrete
path in the courtyard and around the multiple buildings of this
campus.
“So, you’re unconventional, but still play by the rules,” he
said. “For a minute, I hoped you’d be a rule breaker. Then we
might actually get along.” Alaric twisted his head, looking in
my direction.
I glanced at him only to find him wearing a sly grin across
his face.
“Mr. King, I think I can follow the rules and we’ll still find
some common ground.” My lips curled to a small smile, then I
turned my head to face the front. From the way he looked at
me, I felt a magnetic pull to get closer to him. I knew that was
a bad idea, but I couldn’t help it. I kept close to him while we
walked the grounds of the building. I could smell the spicy
scent of his cologne and it was intoxicating. I could get drunk
off of it.
“Is this where we talk about our childhoods?” he said;
mockingly. His voice was deep and raspy.
“Only if you want,” I said. I didn’t want to pressure him to
talk. I’ll go at his pace and hopefully he’d open up to me
sooner or later—I was really hoping sooner.
“I want to find the common ground,” he noted.
“Alright, we’ll try to find the common ground. Have you
always played baseball?” I asked.
“Yeah, since I was in pre-school playing tee ball.
Baseball’s a sport that I enjoyed both watching and playing.
It’s a sport I’m good at,” he said, proudly.
“Are you parents supportive with your choice in career?” I
twisted my head to glance at him.
“They’re great and have been supportive since day one. I
don’t get to see them often since they live in San Diego. I talk
to them every week and will visit if we have an away game in
the area.” His tone softened as he spoke about his parents. “I
think it’s my turn to ask you questions.”
“You’re my patient. I’m supposed to be assisting you and
find out more about you.”
“Well, I told you that I wanted to find the common ground,
so asking questions about you could help me become
comfortable with my therapist and sessions.”
My phone buzzed, interrupting our conversation. It was
my brother. I ignored the call since I was in a session with my
patient. My phone rang again soon after I ignored the call the
first time. I huffed out a breath, annoyed.
“Do you need to take that?” Alaric asked, a tinge of
annoyance in his tone.
 “Sorry. Just give me a minute please.” I eyed Alaric and he
gestured his hand toward me, giving me permission to take the
call.
We stopped in the middle of the courtyard and I picked up
the call after the third time Kuya Tyler tried to get through to
me.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Celine,” Kuya Tyler said with a stern tone to his voice.
“Kuya Tyler, can we talk later? I’m in a session with a
patient.” I stressed the urgency that I needed to get off the
phone to tend to my patient.
“No,” he said.
My eyebrows knitted to the center. Seriously?
“It’ll be quick.”
I sighed, frowning. At the corner of my eye, I saw Alaric
watching me.
“Alright, what is it?” I asked.
“Auntie Lucy is bugging me about Mom and Dad’s five-
year death anniversary. She keeps asking when and where
we’re going to get the family together to celebrate Mom and
Dad’s lives. I can’t deal with her anymore. Help me,” he
pleaded, whining.
“You made me interrupt a session with my patient for
this?” I huffed. “I’ll call Auntie Lucy later and deal with her.
The event won’t be for another few months. Just ignore her for
now, okay Kuya?” I rolled my eyes.
“Thanks sis. I knew I can count on you,” he mocked. “Talk
to you soon.”
I hung up the call and turned to Alaric.
“My apologies. Where were we?” I asked, giving the best
apologetic smile I could muster as I tried to hide my irritation
at my brother.
“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
 “Yes. Let’s get back to our session.”
We continued to walk down the path between the tall
buildings of the Angels organization.
“You’re not a good liar. The tone in your voice and the
tension in your body tell me otherwise.”
My cheeks warmed up, blushing, as his eyes raked up and
down my body slowly. It seemed he wanted me to catch him
checking me out.
“It’s just my brother Tyler, interrupting me at work for
something that could have waited until later,” I confessed.
“Your brother’s Tyler Pineda?” His brow cocked.
“Yes, is that a bad thing? You have a grudge with him or
something?” I chuckled.
Alaric laughed. “No, he’s my buddy from college. Small
world.”
“The world’s a very small place.” I gave a small smile.
“So, have you always wanted to be a sports psychologist?”
He asked.
“I wanted to be a psychologist when I started college, but
when Kuya Tyler was drafted into the majors, I thought it
would be cool to be a sports psychologist and help sports
players.” I gazed at him.
“Are your parents supportive with the choice in career for
both you and Tyler?” He asked.
I paused, thinking about the last time I saw my parents.
“They were supportive, but wasn’t able to get a chance to
watch me graduate college or Tyler get drafted. They both died
about five years ago in a car accident.” My voice cracked,
speaking softly.
Alaric was quiet. The sexual tension between us fizzled
out. The mood changed, becoming somber.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He apologized, frowning.
 “Thank you. I didn’t expect you to know about it.” I turned
my head, looking at him.
His gaze softened, lips pressed together and lifted into a
small smile. His smile wasn’t forced, it was more comforting
than anything.
“Were you and Tyler close to your parents?” he asked,
sincerely.
“Yes, we were. They were our number one cheerleader.”
My lips curled to a small smile. “Actually, that’s what the
phone call was about. My parents’ death anniversary,” I said
softly.
“Well, if you ever need to talk about whatever’s bothering
you, you can call me. I’m a great listener,” he grinned.
I giggled.
Alaric’s face fell, cocking a brow.
“I didn’t mean to laugh, but that’s my line. I’m your
therapist and have to support you, remember?” I stared into his
beautiful dark brown eyes.
“I know. I’m just putting it out there.” Alaric smirked.
“May I call you Celine?” he asked. The way my name rolled
off his tongue sent a shiver down my spine.
“I normally wouldn’t allow it as it’s a professional
courtesy. I’ll consider it though. Will that make you more
comfortable during our therapy sessions if you referred me by
my first name?” I tilted my head, waiting for him to answer.
“Yes, it would, and I would like you to refer to me as
Alaric. No more ‘Mr. King,’ alright?”
“If this is common ground, then I’ll make an exception.” I
grinned.
Checking the time on my phone, I noticed our session was
almost done. We continued our stroll around the building,
making our way back to my office. That wasn’t too bad.
Hopefully he’d return next week to give therapy a try.
4
 ALARIC

W e’ve been wandering around for nearly fifty minutes. I

scanned around and realized that Celine had managed
to steer us back to her office. She opened the door,
and I paused outside her office. I gazed at her from behind,
remembering what we discussed on our walk outside.
She was smart and gorgeous—and those curves and
dimples on her cheeks already drove me wild. Celine was on
the thicker side, but it didn’t matter to me. For the brief
moment I got a glimpse in her personal life, she had a
beautiful soul and actually cared what I had to say. She made
today feel like it wasn’t a therapy session.
Celine spun around to face me.
“You’re beautiful and crafty. That’s a dangerous
combination.” My lips formed a sly grin.
Her brows knitted together.
“Crafty?” she asked. “How so?”
“We’re back at your office, right on time. And I didn’t
even notice how you managed to make it happen. That’s not
normal for me.” I have always been observant and keen with
my surroundings. This time I wasn’t paying attention to what
was going on around me.
“Why is that?” she asked.
“I’m used to people having ulterior motives,” I confessed.
 I studied her body language and reaction. She tilted her
head, studying me in return. What did she think of me?
“Why don’t you go see my receptionist to make your next
appointment with me. Beth can assist you with it.” Celine
gestured toward the front desk and waiting room area.
I shook my head. “I only want to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry, Alaric, I have another appointment, who’s
waiting for me. I’ll see you next week.” She flashed her bright
white smile.
“See you next week, Celine.”
I headed to the receptionist area and booked my
appointment for next week. For once, I think that I might
actually enjoy therapy. I didn’t know if it would help, but I
enjoyed being around Celine. She felt familiar—warm and
inviting like family, but sexy as hell like a goddess.

F OR THE PAST WEEK , I COULDN ’ T STOP THINKING ABOUT

Celine—the way her clothes accentuated the curves of her
voluptuous body, the way she swayed her hips when she
walked, the dimples that appeared when she smiled, the way
her long, inky black hair cascaded down her shoulders and
back, layers that framed her face. I wanted to learn more about
her.
My appointment day finally arrived, and I was looking
forward to seeing her again. Her assistant escorted me to
Celine’s office, and immediately closed the door after I
entered.
Celine was standing, smiling. “Mr. King— “
“Alaric. Remember, call me Alaric,” I interrupted.
“My apologies. Alaric, go ahead and sit down where you
feel comfortable.” She gestured to the couches and chairs
around the room.
 “Where are you going to sit, Celine?” I asked, gazing at
her.
Her brows furrowed. “Why does it matter? Will it help you
feel more comfortable?”
“It would make it more comfortable for me. Wherever you
choose to sit, I’ll choose to sit right by you.” My lips tugged at
the corners; a small smile formed.
“Okay, I’ll sit over here.” Celine sat in her office chair,
positioning it next to her desk. She crossed her leg over the
other and placed her notebook on top of her lap.
She was wearing a navy-blue silk blouse and a black skirt
that ended right above her knees. Her skirt hugged her waist,
hips, and down her legs. She looked so damn good. I chose to
sit on the couch right across from her. My eyes lowered to her
bare legs. I just wanted to run my hand up between her smooth
legs. She cleared her throat, startling me. Our eyes met.
“Are you ready to begin?” She asked, tilting her head to
the side.
“Yeah, ready.” I nodded.
“Alaric, I’ve been watching videos of you at bat after your
accident with the ball,” she began, her tone was very
professional. “I want to talk about what happened on the day
when the ball hit you.”
My body stiffened, thinking about the ball smacking me in
the face and the look of the picture afterwards. Blood rushed
to my head and my hands curled into fists.
Celine carefully studied me, expressionless, then scribbled
on her notepad.
“From the way your body’s reacting to my mentioning of
that day, I could see it’s bothering you. Let’s talk about it,” she
suggested.
I gave a small nod for her to continue.
“Alaric, please tell me what happened at the time of the
incident.”
 I took a deep breath in, holding it a bit longer than I
normally did, and exhaled slowly. “Well, I was at plate. I
struck out twice. The team was counting on me to knock one
out of the ballpark. In the last pitch, I noticed the pitcher had a
glint in his eye. He threw the ball and it directly hit me right
here.” I pointed to my cheekbone and under my eye. “It hit me
so hard that it knocked me on my ass and fractured my cheek.”
Celine scribbled on her notepad again.
“The pitcher came up to me and watched me cringe in
excruciating pain with a smug look on his face. He commented
that I deserved that hit and it would teach me a lesson for
messing with his woman. I have no idea who his woman was.”
Our eyes locked, a sizzle in the air between us. Then she
broke our gaze. She looked down at her notepad, avoiding eye
contact. She shifted in her seat and switched legs to cross.
“So, now, when you’re at bat, how do you feel?” She
asked, tilting her head to the side.
“Well, now I feel anxious that the ball’s aimed for my head
like I’m target practice for the pitcher. I can’t focus when I’m
at bat. My body freezes and I can’t move.” I ran my hands
through my hair. Celine was the first person I’ve talked about
my experience with and how it affected the way I played.
“Thank you, Alaric, for opening up. I’m sure that was
difficult for you. Let’s work on techniques to help you focus
and relax when you’re at bat,” Celine offered.
“For you, I’ll try everything,” I said.
Her cheeks turned dark pink, blushing. She cleared her
throat then began teaching me ways to help me when I was up
at bat.
Focus only on the action of swinging and hitting the ball—
nothing else matters at that very moment when the pitcher
throws the ball. Just focus on finding that perfect pitch and
hitting the ball. Focus on your breathing, and pretend that
you’re at practice.
The therapy session seemed to go by so quick. It was
already the end of my session, and I booked my next
appointment.
On the way out of the building, I ran into Coach Slade
Rhodes.
“Hey King, how’s it going? How was your session with
Doctor Pineda?” the husky man with gray hair asked.
“Hey Coach. Everything’s good. The session went well.” I
reassured him as I thought about how Celine stared at me with
her big chocolate brown eyes and blushed so easily when she
was nervous.
“Good. That’s what I want to hear. It’s important for you to
work through your block when at bat. So tomorrow, I want
you to come for batting practice.” He gave a tight-lipped grin.
My blood ran cold but I forced myself to smile. “Sure
Coach. I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”
5
 CELINE

T he second therapy session that I had with Alaric a few

days ago seemed to go well. He was receptive to the
techniques I taught him that session, and I hoped that he
had been using it during batting practice this week. Today was
his first game since that session. I normally didn’t attend the
games, but this time, I had to see Alaric in action. I hoped
there would be some sign I was getting through to him. The
proof would be in the numbers. The proof would be the way
Alaric reacted at the plate.
I rarely ever asked for tickets to games, but this was a
special case, and the general manager happily provided me
two passes. There were a few perks to this job. I took Beth
with me so she could take notes for me. I dressed in tight
jeans, a Chicago Angels t-shirt, and baseball hat. After all, I
was just a fan watching my team play. We arrived at Retro
Communications Ballpark, where today, the Chicago Angels
were playing against Alaric’s former team, the New York
Titans. We sat in the stands, sitting in the first row along the
baseline, which gave me the perfect view of the players at bat.
Alaric came up to bat and I watched him carefully. His
body tensed up. I leaned forward and whispered under my
breath. “Remember what we talked about. Deep breaths. Focus
on the ball. It’s just you and the pitcher at practice. Don’t think
about anything else. You can do this.” My heart rate was
speeding up, anticipating his response to the pitch.
Alaric remained stiff and tense. The pitcher threw his first
pitch, and Alaric jumped back from the ball.
 I groaned.
Then the next pitch was a strike. I huffed out a heavy
breath.
Fans were chanting and yelling out their frustrations of the
game. I couldn’t help myself. I called out to Alaric.
“Come on, Alaric. You can do this! Focus!” I yelled. Beth
turned her head toward me, chuckling. I shrugged. It wasn’t
like he could hear me any way.
But even as I thought that, Alaric seemed to turn toward
my voice. At the completely wrong time. Slam.
He was hit in the head…again. I gasped, getting to my feet
before I could process the action. This time it was my fault. I
sprinted down to the field, showing my badge to the staff to
allow me access to the team. I reached Alaric, who was
covering the side of his face. His lips were pressed to a thin
line as he winced. He removed his helmet and chucked it
behind the umpire.
“Alaric, are you okay?” I asked, trying to look him directly
in the eyes, but he avoided any eye contact.
He mumbled curses under his breath and shook his head. I
imagined that it was because he was disappointed in himself.
“Alaric?” I said; softly.
“I’m okay,” he grunted.
He was fine. Mostly. And mad. Alaric followed the
medical staff to the locker room, and I followed behind. My
eyes raked down his body. His baseball uniform clung to the
ripped muscles of his back and arms, and his ass looked
fucking delectable in his baseball pants. I bet his body was
chiseled and looked like a Greek god. His dark brown hair was
messy from his baseball helmet, like he just got fucked and
rolled out of bed. The sound of the locker door opening pulled
me out of my inappropriate thoughts.
I wanted a chance to talk to him to find out where his
head’s at and to also apologize. I needed to make sure he was
okay both physically and mentally as his therapist.
 Alaric sat on the bench in the locker room while the doctor
examined him. He checked if Alaric had a concussion and any
injuries to his face as well as reflexes.
“It doesn’t look like anything’s broken. You’ll have one
hell of a bruise, but you’re good to go back and play,” the team
doctor said, then left the room.
Alaric and I were alone in the locker room. There was a
musky scent, a combination of sweat, deodorant, dirt, and soap
that had my tummy twisted. I usually don’t follow patients to
the locker room, but for Alaric, I felt inclined to check on him
since I was the one who distracted him.
“I’m so sorry, Alaric.” Our eyes locked.
He stood up and closed the distance between us. My
stomach fluttered and my heartbeat sped up.
His eyes weren’t filled with anger anymore. He looked
disappointed as he sighed a heavy breath. The side of his face
was a dark pink, but it didn’t look too bad. He just stared at
me, silent.
“I shouldn’t have yelled out to you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t
think you could hear me.” My voice faltered, guilt swallowing
me up.
He placed his hands on my upper arms. “It’s you, Celine.
How could I not? I could pick you out of any crowd. Always.”
Alaric’s gaze softened; a small smile formed on his lips.
My body froze and eyes widened. I wasn’t sure what to
say. I knew this could go so badly if I acted on it in any way. If
I wasn’t his psychologist, then things may be different.
Alaric quickly dropped his hands to his side and stepped
back. His brows furrowed and a lopsided grin appeared across
his face.
The team’s trainer pushed the locker door open, and both
Alaric and I jumped and stepped even further away from each
other.
“Hey Alaric. I spoke with Doc, and he said you’re good to
go back—” The muscular man, who reminded me of someone
who competed in Mister Olympia competitions, stopped and
stared. He frowned. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something.”
“No, you’re not.” I was quick to answer.
“Alaric, I came to check on you and get you back in the
dugout with the team,” the trainer said.
Alaric twisted his head toward me. I glanced at him, then
swiftly left the locker room and stadium. I couldn’t stay to
watch the rest of the game. As much as I wished something
could happen between Alaric and I, I knew it couldn’t.
6
 ALARIC

I knew I had crossed the line the minute Celine’s face fell.
She’d stood there shocked and speechless. I would do
anything to erase the fear in her eyes. What I told her came
out of my mouth so naturally because it was true. I could spot
Celine and hear her in any crowd—she was all I cared about
and everything around her became unimportant to me.
The trainer interrupted Celine and I when he came into the
locker room to check on me and urge me back to the dugout. I
wanted to stop her from leaving, but I didn’t. It wasn’t the time
or place for me to tell Celine how I felt about her. I didn’t
know her that well—hell, I didn’t know her at all. But she
knew more about me from the last two sessions than I ever let
another therapist or woman learn about. Other than a career in
the major league, there was little I ever wanted in life. Now, I
found something else I had to have. Her.
I returned back to the game against the Titans, but I
couldn’t focus. All I thought about was how Celine reacted
and left so quickly. She wanted to run away from me. I tried so
hard to get my shit together and use the techniques I learned
from therapy but struck out. I didn’t want to get benched or
have the Angels trade me again. I’d lose a chance at Celine
and my career altogether.
Time dragged as we played inning after inning. It was the
bottom of the ninth inning, one man on base, two outs, and we
were tied. I was next at the bat and stepped up at the plate.
Talk about being under pressure. I took a deep breath and got
into position. My eyes narrowed in at the pitcher, waiting for
him to throw the ball. My heart rate was speeding up. Focus
Alaric. I tried to remember what Celine had taught me but her
walking away was too prominent in my mind. He threw the
ball, and I stepped back, flinching. I cursed under my breath.
Damnit.
“Strike!” the gruff voice of the umpire yelled out.
Back at the plate, I got into my stance. The pitcher threw
the ball and I swung.
“Strike!” The umpire called out.
I let out a heavy breath. Argh! One more pitch. I needed to
get a hit. Just me and the pitcher. No one else but me and the
pitcher…and the ball.
Getting into position, I waited for a second, then the
pitcher threw the ball. My eyes intensely watched the fast ball
coming in my direction, timing my swing. I gripped the bat
tightly and swung.
“You’re out!” the husky man screamed out from behind.
“Fuck!” I grunted and threw my bat.
We went into the tenth inning and scored two runs,
winning the game. The Angels would’ve won even if I wasn’t
playing. I was useless to the team until I could get over my
fucking issues. The team headed back to the locker room after
the game to clean up and go home.
“Hey Alaric,” the Angels’ outfielder, Jake Delaney, said,
grabbing my attention.
I looked up at him as I tied my shoe.
“Some of us are going to Zion Bar and Lounge after. Hang
out with us. It’s just the single guys tonight.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, sure,” I said huskily and nodded.
“Alright.” Jake grinned.
We all finished getting ready and headed to Zion. It was a
busy Friday night but a few of the guys and I found seats at the
bar. People recognized us as soon as we walked into the
modern and swanky lounge. Beautiful women swarmed
around us, flirting and trying to hang out with the players. I
just wanted to drink some beers and go home. I wasn’t paying
any attention to any woman here—all I thought of was Celine
and how much I wanted her.
“Dude, Alaric. You need to relax. The women here want
you,” one of my teammates said.
“I think Alaric has a thing for the therapist. I don’t blame
him—Celine’s hot. I bet she hypnotized him during therapy,”
another teammate jibed in.
I rolled my eyes and chuckled. The guys knew that Celine
was the team’s therapist, and they all wanted to reconsider
how they viewed mental health.
I drank a huge gulp of the cold blonde ale, listening to the
guys talk about baseball, the latest sports news, and about
Celine.
“I’m feeling a little mentally exhausted. Maybe I should
make an appointment,” Jake mentioned.
I nodded, understanding him. “I think everyone should get
the help they need for peak performance.” I tried to give my
best sales line to get the guys to see mental health differently.
Because of Celine, I was finally giving therapy a chance to
be a better person and baseball player.
“I think staring at her for an hour would make me feel a lot
better. And I’d definitely want to perform, if you know what I
mean.” Jake plastered a sly smirk that I wanted to knock off
his face and while wiggling his eyebrows up and down a
couple times.
I glared at him, my veins pulsating hard like it was going
to beat out of my neck. My blood boiled inside me. One of my
hands curled into a fist. I observed the other guys at the table,
and one of them recognized what was going on—Tucker.
He looked at me, cocking a brow. “You know that you
can’t do anything with her, right? You’ll both lose your jobs.”
he said. “And I don’t know anyone worth that.”
 I nodded in agreement, then took a gulp of my beer. I was
already doubting whether or not I felt that way. Sometimes
feeling comfortable behind the plate seemed impossible. Being
with Celine…that was something I could absolutely see
happening.
7
 CELINE

“A laric’s here for his appointment, Doctor Pineda,”

Beth announced over the phone.
“Send him in,” I said flatly.
My palms were getting damp as I anxiously waited for
Alaric to walk through my door. I hadn’t seen him since the
game this past weekend. After he mentioned how he could
hear and see me in any crowd. I wiped my palms on my black
skirt, preparing myself.
There was a knock on the door and then Alaric strolled
through the doorway. I sat behind my desk, needing some
barrier between Alaric and me. He was like a magnet, and I
gravitated to him—which was dangerous.
Alaric’s gaze met mine, then he paused for a moment. He
shook his head and flashed his perfect, white smile.
“Now who’s hiding?” he said; teasingly.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I huffed out.
“Celine, you can lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me. Your
fear is as transparent as the blouse you were wearing the first
time we met.” His gaze never left mine.
I pretended not to feel my cheeks burning. “Look, people
think I’m a goody two-shoes, and they’re right. I never broke
the rules—” I tried explaining to him.
“Well, I’m something of a bad boy and I could definitely
teach you about breaking the rules.” He winked and a
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