Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6 by Roz Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

management hadn’t told the captain what was up, Royce damn sure wasn’t going to mention it. He let the lie roll off his tongue without thinking twice. “Training room. Coach thought it might help to get in some extra stretches before the game.”
    Jason clapped him on the back. “Whatever works for you. If you’ve been stretching, then you’re probably ahead of the rest of us.” He pulled the door open. “Take your time.”
    Royce sat down on the chair in front of his locker. Taped skin protested every move he made, but he managed to get his cleats on and grab his glove. Maybe once he got out on the field, had something else to occupy his mind, he’d forget about how uncomfortable he was. Like having a blister on your heel. It’s annoying and painful, but you have to walk, so you learn to live with it. Pleased with his reasoning, he slipped his hat on and went out to take some warm-up throws.

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    As soon as the door closed behind Royce’s magnificent ass, Tricia sank into the desk chair. Her elbows came down on the desktop, her palms perfect supports for her head which seemed to weigh ten tons all of a sudden.
    Royce Stryker was going to be the death of her. No doubt about it.
    “This is only the second day,” she muttered. “I’ll never survive a month without losing my mind.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the same time she clenched her thighs together, seeking relief from the insistent throbbing in both places. Headache brought on by sexual frustration. That was one for the record books. Had any clinical studies been done on the subject? If not, she could start one. She already had a test subject—her.
    Day one. Subject exhibits signs of sexual attraction. Wet palms, dry mouth alternating with periods of drooling, slight tremors along extremities, shortness of breath. Typical signs of arousal noted—pebbled nipples, swollen genitalia, and excessive fluid secretion. Aching.
    Day two. Subject can’t keep her eyes off male subject’s cock. Tremors are more pronounced, possibly interfering with subject’s ability to do her job. Irrational daydreaming bordering on delusional fantasies. All other symptoms noted previously remain constant, if not elevated. Subject reports throbbing sensation behind her eyes that seems to be linked to a matching, though no less painful feeling in her genitals. Symptoms abate somewhat when male subject is removed from the room, but do not altogether disappear.
    Day three. Subject died of mortification and/or sexual frustration.
    Tricia groaned. She let her forehead drop to the desk, giving in to the weight of self-pity dragging her down. Royce’s physical response was nothing more than primal instinct. She understood the reaction on a professional level, but on a personal level she wanted to believe the man was as affected by her as she was by him. It was nothing but pure feminine vanity on her part, but there it was. Proof that deep down inside she was just like every other woman on the planet. She wanted a man to see her for who she was, not just a convenient receptacle to appease his sexual needs.
    If she gave Royce any indication she was attracted, she felt certain the man would scratch her itch. She wasn’t exactly a troll, and he did react to her touch.
    As quickly as the thought entered her head, she pushed it right back out. Sanity returned in direct proportion to her ebbing arousal.
    I’ve got a job to do. Just do it, and get the hell out of here. Royce was only the first of dozens of sexy athletes she’d have to touch before she collected enough data to make her research viable. No doubt, he wasn’t the last who would have a physical reaction to her touch, or the last she would find sexually attractive.
    I can’t sleep with all of them.
    Strike that. I can’t sleep with any of them.
    End of story.
    If word got out she was sleeping with the players she was supposed to be using as human guinea pigs, she’d be shut down faster than