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MVP.

A second-chance romance as scorching hot as a baseball diamond in August. Slater "Savage" Harlow Winning the MVP award for the Birmingham Bandits last year was the highlight of my baseball career. It was the culmination of childhood dreams, calculated adult decisions, sacrifice, and a hell of a lot of focus. Tearing my ACL in spring training? Not what I expected at all. Now I'm home, in small town Georgia, rehabbing in the comfort of my own home, with people I know. I'm connecting with friends I haven't had time to talk to in years, spending days at home with my parents, and getting to watch my little brother play minor league baseball. What I don't expect is to see Malone Fulcher walking into Del's Diner one morning while having my coffee and egg whites. She's the old flame, the one who got away, and the woman I compare all others to. Malone Fulcher Spending the summer in my hometown wasn't what I had planned, but it's what I need. Recovering from a hard year, both personally and professionally, I need to reconnect with who I am. When my mom encouraged me to come home and do some soul searching, I can't say no. Memories are all over this small town, from the Baptist Church to the east field on my parents farm, to the diner. On my second day in town, I decide to go in, memories be damned. I lost my breath as soon as I saw "Savage" Harlow sitting alone at a booth. Our eyes lock, my heart flutters, and my hands shake - all the same way they did back in high school. But back then we couldn't make it work. Going our separate ways to differing colleges, we decided we weren't meant to be. A decade later, as soon as our eyes meet, I'm wondering if we were right, because those green eyes of his do nothing but take me to a past that I can see being my future. MVP was created by Laramie Briscoe, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

Laramie Briscoe · Thành thị
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53 Chs

Chapter 14

Savage

<strong>Late June</strong>

“You still have this old truck?” Malone laughs as she comes out of her childhood home, laughing when she sees the same truck I picked her up in for our first date. This Chevy has seen a lot, seen <em>me</em> through a lot.

“I do.” I wave at her parents as she walks down the steps. They’re peeking out of the front door, obviously spying on us. She comes to a stop at the passenger side door. “It’s got almost four-hundred thousand miles on it and a lifetime of memories.” Our eyes meet and I can tell she’s remembering the same thing I am. The hot summer night we lost our virginity in the back on a mattress made of old blankets and a pool float. 

“How many other girls have you had in here since I left?” She tilts her head to the side, her curls falling down her back.

“That shotgun seats still yours, Mal. Nobody else has ever sat in it but you.”