“Ow—what the?” She grabbed her ankle, hissing at the heat spreading above the bone. Everyone around her remained focused on the game. Nobody had noticed her crumple in pain. Not even Scott from across the diamond, even though he’d barely taken his eyes off her for five innings.

She eased onto the bench and rolled her leg sideways. A baseball-sized welt had already formed above her right ankle. The foot she used for sewing. Terrific.

“Hey, are you okay? I yelled over at you.”

“Apparently you need to get a better set of lungs, because I didn’t hear you.” The snarky response left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Sorry, that’s the pain talking, not me. I’m not always a bitch.”

“No worries, I get it. Taking a hit stings. It’s my fault anyway. I shouldn’t have drilled the ball that hard on the sidelines. Here,lemme take a look at that ankle… Damn, it’s rising faster than a twenty-year-old virgin getting a lap dance.”

Andie’s first thought was that the guy needed to shut up, there were kids nearby. Her head snapped up to tell him so and the thought fell away. Kneeling in front of her was what could only be defined as a prime candidate. Full head of light-brown hair with exactly the right amount of messy, incredible blue eyes and lips designed for making out. And since the buttons on his baseball shirt had been neglected, Andie was treated to a view of one spectacular naked chest.

“I take it back, your lungs look fine,” she said, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Major slip of the internal thought process.

The hunk looked up at her, totally amused. “They do, do they?” He scooped her foot into his hands and placed it on his thigh as he examined her ankle.

Strong fingers gently but thoroughly traced over her flesh. Yes, he was merely checking for damage he might’ve caused. It was still the best contact she’d had in forever. Her own hands got the job done, but they didn’t send a thrill through her system. Thank god she’d shaved her legs this morning. Not that he’d notice or care.

Andie’s mind headed for the scenario he’d mentioned. Except she became the dancer, gyrating over the bulge in his lap. And he was no virgin. Uh-uh. In her version of the strip-club seduction, the athletic stud beneath her was a sexual MVP.

“It’s not serious, but it needs to be iced.” The deep richness of his voice yanked her out of the premium-grade fantasy. “You bring any ice packs?”

She swallowed and shook her head. No way could she speak to him again. Not after telling him his chest looked good, and especially not after picturing herself grinding onto his cock. God, her face must be beet red. The way he grinned—he had to know. Oh, but he was pretty. And much younger than her. Too young for her to be picturing naked and sweaty.

“I’ll grab you some ice from my cooler.” He sprinted away. Baseball pants had always been one of her favorite things about the game. On this guy, they were downright erotic.

Lasha slid in beside her. “Who in the name of tasty treats was that?”

“Just some guy who hit me with a ball. A case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Just some guy, huh?” Lasha raised an eyebrow. “So switch places with me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and be in the wrong place too.”

“You don’t want one of these.” Andie turned her leg so Lasha could see the now-monstrous bump.

“No, but I’ll take one of those.” Lasha nodded toward the pure testosterone jogging their way. “I wouldn’t mind if he groped my leg like he did yours, or looked my way with those come-play-with-me eyes, either.”

“Shut up, he’ll hear you. There was no groping. No bedroom eyes. And he’s too young.”

“Not for what I had in mind.” Lasha looked at Andie’s face and laughed. “Not for what you had in mind, either.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Why don’t I go watch your offspring kick some tween butt until you’re strong enough to stand on that horribly injured foot.” Lasha moved off as the baseball hottie dropped to his knees. “Make sure you get his number, Andie, in case you need him to reimburse you for crutches or something.”

Later, she would kill Lasha for embarrassing her this way. Right this minute she had better things to do. Like soak in every detail of the specimen kneeling in front of her. Nice, round muscles filled out his shirt. Great shoulders and pecs did it for her in a big way. This man had both going on. He lifted the injured leg to his lap again, seating her foot on the fly of his uniform pants. She stared at her toes, willing them still, when all they wanted to do was jump free of their strappy sandals and wiggle against his crotch. Good god, she needed to end this before she did something stupid.

“That’s cold.” Reflexively, she tried to draw her foot away. He held it and the ice pack in place while looking up at her. With his level of hotness, the ice would be water in minutes. Boiling, even.

“Your friend is right, we should exchange numbers.”

“I’m not going to sue you for the price of ibuprofen tablets, don’t worry.” The motion from his chuckle shifted his shirt. A hint of ink on his finely shaped chest peeked out at her. Tattooed men ranked highly in her personal fantasy time. Bad, meet worse. She was so toast.

“I like these shoes. Sexy.”

And things just got toastier. “Not your size, sorry.”

“I prefer them on you.” He winked and swiped one finger across the high-gloss, hooker-red polish on her big toe. “You have very pretty feet. Nice toes.”

“Thank you, I grew them myself.” She hadn’t flexed her flirt muscle in years, but it sprang into action. Pheromones and adrenaline rushed her system, sending heat to her unmentionables and a chill to her nipples. Strange how the body worked. And utterly fantastic.

After inspecting her toes and the injury a couple minutes more, he met her eyes again. “Keep the ice on for ten minutes. I’ve gotta go, I’m playing on the other diamond and my game is about to start. But you should call me later. For ibuprofen, cold packs, a foot rub, whatever you need. I deliver, 24/7.”

“A foot rub—are you a registered massage therapist or something?”

“Strictly amateur. But I do more than feet, and I guarantee satisfaction.”

Well that about sealed it. The toys were coming out tonight. The big ones. “Thanks, but I think I’ll survive.”

“I’m going to worry about this beautiful foot unless I see for myself that it’s improving.”

Andie couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth as it stretched into a glorious, open grin. He had nice, straight teeth. Really white too. Probably a non-smoker, one of the criteria on her wish list. She had no business sizing this guy up. He couldn’t be more than thirty-two. Thirty-three at most. Way too young for her.

He pressed a scrap of paper into her hand, letting his fingers linger a little longer than necessary. “My number.” Another sizzling smile later, he was walking away, backward.

She set the ice pack aside and stood, taking a tentative step toward the chain link fence beside the diamond. Pain shot up her leg and she winced. He stopped and she waved him to keep going. “I’m okay.” She was so not okay.

He shook his head. “Call me, I’ll come over and ice it for you.”

“What if it’s the middle of the night?” Wow, she did not say that in front of all these respectable family types.

“I’ll be lying awake thinking about those pretty painted toes anyway.”