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Cleat Catcher - Release Day


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What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?











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I shot back against the cushion, doing my best to act normal. Nik pushed the door open. “Hey, babe. I was waiting for my dessert course.” I made a show of scrubbing my hand across my mouth and face like I was clearing her a space.
“I’m good.” Her tone was flat, and she didn’t even look at me.
What the hell?
Her usual spark was gone. She sauntered over to the side table, and dropped her keys and bag on it.
I glanced down at the laptop screen full of porn. Fuck! I’d been researching some new shit to try out with her, but there was no way she’d believe me. My gaze drifted to the mouse way up under the table. There was no chance I could get to it without giving away my knee situation.
Using my good leg, I tried to gently kick the computer screen closed, and, of course, it only opened wider.
“Have you moved from the couch all night? Did you even shower?” She sighed, still facing the wall like she had no interest in looking at me.
“What’s wrong, babe? What happened?” My mind raced. A lot could have occurred at Estate de CuntMuffin that would set her off. I’d been worried the whole time she was gone.
“I’m fine.” She turned around, and I watched her eyes dart straight to the computer screen. Her brows pinched together and her hands went to her hips.
Fuck me. This won’t be good.
“Nice, Braden. Real fucking nice.”
“It’s not what you think. I don’t look at porn.” I stared in the other direction and mumbled. “Often.”
“Your fingers slip and accidentally type in ‘fuckmedaddy.com?’” She scowled and began to pace back and forth.
I’d expected her to be upset about the porn, but not this much. I was halfway hoping she’d want to look at it with me. “No. I was trying to find new stuff to try out on you. If you must know.”
Her lips curled like she might smile, and then they mashed back into a thin line.
So close.
“Have they said if you’re going to be traded or not?” She took another step toward me, ignoring all of the pussy acrobatics flashing on the laptop.
“No.” I tilted my head to my lap and ground my teeth while I tried to compose myself. I’d been trying to forget about that shit all day, but the pain in my knee kept it front and center in my mind.
She made a pfft sound and threw her arms in the air.
“Babe, I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to have a clue what you’re upset about. I just don’t.”
A million things rocketed through my mind at once and brought my entire thought process to a crashing halt. My brain buffered slower than the inverted cowgirl pussy nomming scene I’d attempted to watch earlier.
Nik scowled, and then folded her arms across her chest. She stared me down like a closer in the ninth inning. “Think really really hard about the problem we have.”
My eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “Uhh, your parents?” I glanced back and tried to judge her reaction.
She made a loud sound like a buzzer that startled me.
“Fucking hell. I mean, umm, me being traded?” I held my hands up and shrugged.
“Warmer.” She took another step toward me.
I hated this fucking guessing game. Why couldn’t she just say it? Heat rushed into my face, and my body tensed.
“Can you just tell me? Please. Stop fucking around with me.” I smacked my hand against the back of the sofa, and Nik jumped.
“Maybe my parents were right. Maybe you do have anger issues.” She stomped off a few steps and whipped back around. “Easton!
“Take that shit back. You know I don’t. Maybe your goddamn family just brings it out of everyone. Maybe you’re more like your mo—” I froze stiff on the couch, and my eyes bugged out. I held up my hands. “I stopped myself. You heard me. I did not say it.”
It was too late. I thought my head was going to explode the way Nik glowered in my direction. Her hands were squeezed into fists at her sides, and I could see all the whites of her knuckles. She started toward me like a possessed demon. “Did you say what I think you said?”
Do not answer, Braden. That shit is rhetorical. Adapt and survive.
I shook my head quickly and braced myself in case she resorted to physical violence.










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Celia Aaron

Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

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Sloane Howell

Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

Visit his web page www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.

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