Pitch Perfect: Boys of Summer, Book 1 by Sierra Dean Read Free Book Online

stops being fun when you’re all making a few million bucks a year.” Tucker shrugged, like Emmy would understand what it felt like to make a seven-figure income.
    She did not.
    “So what’s the point?”
    “Basically you play until someone can’t come up with a name, then Alex gets bored and we stop playing.”
    “I’ll start!” Alex crowed.
    Tucker leaned back in his chair and gave Emmy a nod. She too leaned back. He mouthed the words Milton Bradley to her, then they both looked at Alex.
    “Milton Bradley.”
    Chet was next to Alex and offered, “Yogi Berra.”
    That put Emmy next. “Um…Coco Crisp.”
    Tucker smiled, and her heart went all fluttery.
    Alice, who’d thought the game was stupid, suggested Homer Bailey. Though not a funny name, the group agreed it was a great baseball name and accepted the turn.
    “Buster Posey,” Tucker added, going on the same vein Alice had begun.
    “Catfish Hunter,” someone offered.
    “Dizzy Trout!” Ramon said, going off the fish-named theme.
    They went around the table twice, polishing off both pitchers in that time, until Chet was stumped. “I got nothing.”
    “How about Chet Appleton ,” someone said, then laughed.
    The bar crowd had begun to dwindle—none of the major leaguers stayed up late during training—so even though it was still early, it felt more like closing time.
    “I gotta go.” Alice got to her feet, the first to admit defeat and call it a night. “See you boys later.”
    Any harbored grudges over her profession were forgotten, and the men wished her a good night. A few followed shortly behind her, making the quick walk back to the Hyatt.
    “Are you staying at the hotel?” Tucker asked Emmy when only he, Chet and Alex remained at the table with her.
    “No, I rented one of the little cottages at Lakeland Villa. I don’t like hotels. The laundry detergent they use gives me a rash. On road games I have to ask for hypoallergenic linens, but for training it’s just easier to do my own laundry.” Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at the admission. Maybe she should have stopped after two beers.
    “Those aren’t far, I’ll walk you.” He got to his feet, all six-foot-three-inches and two hundred and ten pounds of glorious Tucker Lloyd stretched up in front of her face. She might have reviewed his stats once or twice before coming out for the evening.
    “You don’t have to. Really. It’s so close.” Don’t listen to me. You should definitely walk me home. Please don’t listen to me.
    “Nice try.” He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet like she weighed nothing. He was almost a foot taller than her, so even on solid ground she still had to look up at him. “I’m walking you home.”

Chapter Seven
    They fell into a bashful silence as soon as they left The Low Ball, neither quite sure where to pick up the conversation. During the evening they hadn’t spent much time talking to each other directly, and it made it tricky to start on a topic when they hadn’t left one unfinished.
    Tucker got tired of listening to his internal monologue and settled on the first thing he could think of.
    “Do you miss Chicago much?”
    Emmy tugged her thin coat around her shoulders, fending off the nighttime chill that had crept into the air. Palm fronds still dry from winter rustled overhead, whispering dirty little secrets in the darkness.
    “I’m not sure yet. Everything happened so quickly, getting the call. I barely had time to dump all my boxes at the new place before we had to fly out here. Kind of hard to figure out if I miss anything, you know?”
    Tucker had spent such a long time living in the same city he didn’t think he could relate to her cavalier attitude about being uprooted.
    “Actually, scratch that. I miss Giordano’s.”
    No stranger to Chicago, Tucker chuckled. “The pizza place?”
    Emmy nodded enthusiastically. She seemed to forget her chills for a moment and started speaking animatedly with her hands,