Playing the Field Read online

  Contents

  Follow Author

  Series Prologue

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  By Christina Benjamin

  The Practice Boyfriend

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Also by Christina Benjamin

  About the Author

  Note from the Author

  Keep up with Author Christina Benjamin

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2019 by Christina Benjamin

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Crown Atlantic Publishing

  Version 1.1

  November 2019

  Series Prologue

  Two years ago . . .

  One three-week summer sports camp shouldn’t have spawned such a tightknit friendship—but it did. Camp Haversham in Upstate New York was where Hannah, Jordan, and Alex met during the summer before their freshman year. Like most of the young athletes who’d flocked to the training camp, they hailed from different towns and schools. They might never have met if it hadn’t been for Camp Haversham, and they definitely wouldn’t have formed their little “Tomboy Trio” if it hadn’t been for one brainless moron by the name of Noah Ackerbaum.

  Noah and his crew were an obnoxious group of alphaholes who paraded around the grounds like they owned the place. Were they skilled at their respective sports? Yes. No one would deny that.

  But these girls were better.

  Noah and his minions were nice to the girls at the camp—particularly the hot girls—but for the most part, boys played boys and girls played girls.

  Until they didn’t.

  That was Alex’s fault. A phenom with the bat, the daughter of a professional baseball player hadn’t loved the idea of being segregated. She wanted to play the best—whatever gender that might be.

  After Jordan kicked Noah’s butt in touch football, and Hannah took him down in soccer, it was Alex who decided they ought to have a soccer scrimmage that was boys versus girls. Noah begrudgingly agreed. From the way he’d talked it was like they were still in elementary school and kids actually used phrases like “you throw like a girl” as if that were a bad thing.

  Lame.

  Led by the three top female athletes at camp, the girls’ team totally trounced the boys’ team in a humiliating defeat.

  Well, it probably wouldn’t have been quite so humiliating if the losers hadn’t been such poor sports about it.

  Hannah was putting away her equipment when Noah entered the gymnasium behind her. “We let you win, you know that, right?”

  She straightened, her dark brown ponytail swinging over her shoulder as she turned to face Noah. Two of his friends had come up behind him and were snickering—a dead giveaway that Noah was going into full bully mode.

  Anyone who’d ever seen any movie set in a high school knew how to spot a bully a mile away, and Noah fit the part to a T. Tall and handsome, he might have been charming if he had any sense of humility or dignity. As it was, he was petty and crass, his sense of humor having peaked at pranks and poop jokes.

  “Excuse me?” Hannah said politely. She wasn’t afraid of these guys, but she wouldn’t deny that she was relieved to see her new friends trailing in behind Noah and his gang.

  “What’s going on here?” Alex asked. The tall, lean brunette stepped between Hannah and the boys, her shoulders back and her chin held high.

  Jordan looked between Noah and the other girls warily before hurrying over to stand on Hannah’s other side. “You okay?” she asked Hannah under her breath. The blonde was pretty in a very girlie sort of way, almost . . . dainty. One would never guess that she rocked it in the hockey rink.

  “I’m fine,” Hannah said, not bothering to lower her voice. She waved a hand toward the guys. “Noah here was just about to explain how they let us win.” She couldn’t quite hide the amusement in her voice . . . and truth be told, she didn’t really try.

  Alex gave a little huff of amusement as well. “Oh yeah? This ought to be good.”

  “You’re girls,” Noah said.

  “Way to state the obvious,” Alex replied.

  “We’d get in trouble if we hurt you,” one of the guys behind Noah added.

  “Oh, I see,” Hannah said. “So that’s why you lost. You were being chivalrous and trying not to hurt us.”

  Even Jordan was laughing now, the idea so ludicrous. They’d all been out there on that field. No one had played dirtier than Noah.

  “Really?” Alex said. “Is that what you think happened?”

  Noah held his hands up, his head falling to the side with a smarmy smirk that made the girls’ skin crawl. “Hey, you guys go ahead and celebrate your little victory. But I thought you should know the truth.”

  “Uh huh,” Hannah said. “And what truth is that? That we wiped the field with your butts?”

  Alex snickered. “Or that you got beat by a bunch of girls?”

  Noah’s nostrils flared and his friends exchanged looks. “You know the trouble with tomboys?”

  “No, please tell us,” Alex said in a flat tone that made Hannah and Jordan snort with laughter.

  “You’re a bunch of freaks,” he said. “Good luck finding a guy to date you.”

  Eye rolls all around.

  “Thanks for the advice,” Alex said. “But if you’re referring to guys like you then I think I can speak for my friends here when I say we’re better off single.”

  Noah huffed. “You couldn’t get a date if your life depended on it.”

  “That’s an interesting theory,” Hannah said, her eyes n
arrowed as if giving it some serious thought. “I’ll have to ask my boyfriend what he thinks about that.”

  Noah looked disgusted by their amusement, but at least he and his friends were backing away. He sneered at Hannah. “As if we’d believe any guy would be into that. You look like my little brother.”

  Hannah didn’t seem to mind the insult but Jordan stiffened at her side.

  Alex narrowed her eyes on him. “Get out of here, losers.”

  Noah scoffed as he turned to go. “Whatever. We all know we handed you that win.”

  Jordan surprised them all by speaking up. “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind a rematch?”

  Noah turned back, staring at her as if she’d just sprouted another head. “What?”

  She took a step forward, her arms crossed over her chest. “I said, if you’re so sure we didn’t win fair and square, maybe we should have another go. The three of us versus the three of you.”

  Noah’s brows drew together and he stared at her like she was nuts but he didn’t respond.

  Alex arched her brows. “What’s the matter, boys? You scared you’ll lose again?”

  They laughed until the boys were gone. They didn’t stop laughing until they’d put away the rest of the equipment and were heading back to the girls’ dorm to shower.

  “Thanks for having my back,” Hannah said.

  “What are fellow tomboys for?” Alex said, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

  Jordan dropped her voice in a terrible impression. “You know the trouble with tomboys . . .”

  They all cracked up.

  “What a moron,” Hannah said.

  “I’m so glad you stood up to him, Alex,” Jordan added.

  Alex hitched her hip to bump Jordan, who was walking on her other side. “And you. I can’t believe you outright challenged him to a rematch.”

  Hannah leaned forward to grin at the blonde. “Seriously. Mad props, girl.”

  Jordan clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. When she dropped her hand, she said, “Honestly? I can’t believe I did that either.” She turned to Hannah. “But what about you? ‘I'll have to ask my boyfriend . . .’!”

  Alex laughed. “That was awesome. His face was priceless.” She looked down at Hannah. “Were you making that up?"

  Hannah shook her head. "No, I really do have a boyfriend. We’ve been together since middle school."

  “Wow,” Alex said. “Since middle school?”

  “He’s on my intramural soccer team,” Hannah said, as though that explained anything.

  “He plays for your team?” Jordan sounded alarmed. “Aren't you worried about messing up the team if something happens?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Not really. I mean, we’ve been friends forever and we're not one of the dramatic couples who are into PDA or big fights or anything. We just . . . get along well."

  Alex feigned a yawn. "Wow, that sounds really . . . romantic.”

  Jordan laughed as Hannah shrugged again. “It works for us. What about you guys? Any boyfriends? Crushes?”

  The answer was a unanimous ‘nah.’ Neither seemed terribly put out about it.

  “What a dumb insult,” Alex said. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “As if I couldn’t get a boyfriend if I wanted one.”

  “Seriously,” Hannah agreed. “As if any of us are desperate for a guy.”

  Jordan laughed. “I mean, we’ve got more important things to worry about, like school and our teams. Who even has time for a relationship?”

  After a brief silence, Alex made a bold statement. “Noah is an idiot.”

  “Agreed,” Jordan said.

  Hannah leaned forward to look at the other two. “You know the real trouble with tomboys?”

  Alex arched a brow, a twinkle in her eyes. “They’re afraid of us.”

  Jordan laughed, “Exactly.”

  Prologue

  Alex’s Story

  I don’t know how to describe my first kiss to you. I also don’t know if it was so incredibly mind-blowingly magical because the lips to first touch mine belonged to Grant King, but I’m not going to dwell on that. I’m going to dwell on how we finally got there. Because this play took some extra innings.

  Chapter One

  Alex

  “What do you mean there’s no softball team?” I demanded, my hands instantly balling into fists.

  “Calm down, sweetie,” my mom said, brushing off my outrage like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “Your dad will put a call into the school. We’ll get this sorted out.”

  “Mom!” I exclaimed. “Softball is my life! I’m a junior this year. If I don’t play softball my chances to get an athletic scholarship will be nonexistent!”

  “I know, sweetheart. No need to be so dramatic. We’ll sort something out for you.”

  I bit my nails as I glared out the car window. I hated when my mom talked about my future in sports like it was no more pressing than her grocery list. She probably thought she could swap items out just as easily as replacing Double Stuf Oreos for chocolate chip cookies. ‘No softball at your new school, sweetie? No problem. We’ll just swap it out for scrapbook club.’

  Why didn’t she understand, for some things in life, there were no substitutions?

  My mom would never dare treat my brothers this way. But then again everything in life was easier for boys, wasn’t it?

  I was still trying to absorb the bitter reality my mom had just served as my new high school came into view. The unimpressive brick building was barely visible between the lush, green pine trees. It was a stark difference from my last school in Arizona, and the one before that in California. Before that was New York, then Massachusetts, then California again, then Nevada, then . . .

  Honestly, it’s too exhausting to recount.

  To say I was used to starting over was an understatement. Each year brought a new school, a new start, a new team. That’s the deal when your dad is David Prince, retired MLB legend turned college baseball coach. He had to go where the jobs were and we had to go with him.

  Well, not all of us.

  Not anymore.

  This was the first time I’d be starting at a new school alone. I was used to having my brothers with me to help ease the transition. But as of last year, I’m the last of the Prince kids without a high school diploma.

  Sometimes being the youngest is the worst. Actually, it’s always the worst.

  I love my family don’t get me wrong, but there are a few things you probably need to know to understand where I’m coming from.

  First of all, I’m the youngest of five children. All of them boys. Except me of course. The funny thing is, I was supposed to be a boy. Or at least that’s what the doctors thought.

  How they could get something like that wrong in this day and age is beyond me, but it’s just my luck that they did.

  My parents were expecting baby number five to be another bouncing baby boy. One more to add to the Prince brood of blue-eyed boys; Sam, Zach, Luke and Will. But what they got was a big old surprise.

  Me.

  The crazy thing is . . . sometimes I think my life would be a heck of a lot easier if I’d just been born the boy everyone was expecting. Because being a tomboy isn’t easy.

  By the time I was born my name had already been painted on my blue nursery wall and printed on my token Prince infant-sized baseball jersey. Luckily, my parents picked a name a girl could rock—Alex.

  That’s me—Alex Prince.

  Actually, my name is one of my favorite things about me. It has swagger. It’s probably the best thing to come out of my doctor’s gender blunder. If my mom had known she was having a baby girl, she would’ve named me something ridiculous like Rosebud or Petunia. As it was, she’d made my dad repaint my room pink, and traded out all my practical baby boy clothes for frilly things made of ruffles and lace.

  I get it. I really do. My mom had been an army of one in a house of testosterone for a long time. When I came along, she thought sh
e was finally getting reinforcements. The trouble was, she got me, a total tomboy.

  By the time I could walk she knew she could kiss her ideas of pedicures and princess parties goodbye. My idea of dress-up was putting on my dad’s old baseball jersey and playing catch with the boys.

  At sixteen, not much has changed.

  My mom still desperately decorated every new bedroom of mine in powdery pink pastels and I still wore baseball hand-me-downs and played catch with boys. But now, I wasn’t toddling after them—more like running circles around them.

  The truth was, I was a good athlete. More than good. Thanks to the tough love of my brothers and tutelage of my dad, I could outplay just about anyone who stepped foot on a baseball field with me—male or female.

  But if the sinking feeling in my chest was any indicator, I wouldn’t be doing any of that at this new softball-less school of mine.

  I wasn’t sure how my dad was going to pull a softball team out of thin air, but he’d never let me down before. He didn’t seem as bothered as my mom that his daughter had turned out to be a tomboy. I decided not to waste time dwelling on my current sports dilemma. I had other things to worry about. Like not being pegged as the sheltered new girl.