Stealing Home

A Vera Roberts Novel-2


The first rule of being a sports physical therapist: Do not sleep with an athlete.

The second rule of being a sports physical therapist: Do not fall in love with an athlete.

The third rule of being a sports physical therapist: Ignore Rules #1 and #2.

Bobbi Gibson has enough on her plate with her new position of being a physical therapist to the Los Angeles Dodgers. Dealing with egos and injuries, and sometimes not sure which is the bigger headache, the last thing she needs is a distraction from the rising pitcher who simply goes by The Answer. Yet, he’s the only sane human in her crazy world.

Quinn “The Answer” Riordan knows he’s not like most pitchers. After all, most pitchers don’t know every Backstreet Boys song by heart nor do they sleep with a stuffed giraffe at night.

He also knows most pitchers can’t easily throw a record-breaking and break-neck speed pitch of 100 mph on a regular basis. But what Quinn does know is he’s head over heels in love with the new physical therapist. Now just he has to convince her she feels the same.

Stealing Home is a baseball romance short series. It features an *NSYNC v. Backstreet Boys battle, late-night drive-thru runs, more giraffes than Geoffrey at Toys R Us, and how Legos are the best invention ever.


“Tearin’ Up My Heart” softly played overhead and Bobbi nodded as she twirled a maraschino cherry in her mouth. “The best boy band to have ever done it.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed at Bobbi’s tongue twirl action. He was positive she was not flirting with him, but he really wanted to see what that tongue could do. “Oh, I think the Backstreet Boys and their hundred million records sold might beg to differ.”

Bobbi’s eyes cut to Quinn. “Do not tell you’re a Backstreet Boys fan.”

“I won’t.” Quinn replied with a smile.

“You’re a Backstreet Boys fan.” Bobbi said without a smile. “I’m assuming you’re a straight male?”

“Last time I checked,” Quinn nodded. “Good music is good music.”

“I just don’t know any straight men who are Backstreet Boys fans.” Bobbi shrugged.

“If I told you I was a fan of Boyz II Men, you wouldn’t blink an eye, but some songs mostly white boys make you question my sexuality?” Quinn cocked his head.

Bobbi swallowed. “I stand corrected.”

“Besides they have better songs than Justin T. and the Four Forgettable Ones.”

“And I know you’re not talking shit about my boys!” Bobbi scoffed as Quinn shrugged and took a pull from his beer. “I know that didn’t just come out of your mouth!”

“But where’s the lie, though?” Quinn asked. The server came by with their food and they both thanked her. “I mean, where is the lie?”

“Like any of the Backstreet Boys are memorable on their own. They don’t even have a standout member!” Bobbi dusted her hair from her neck. “Nick Carter wishes he could be Justin Timberlake.”

Quinn was too focused on Bobbi’s bare neck, and how much he wanted to suck it that he almost forgot it was his turn to speak. “So, you do know the guys?” Quinn prodded. “It’s okay to like the opposing team. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Whatever!” Bobbi laughed.

Through the course of the night, Bobbi and Quinn never left each other’s side. She learned how much he loved baseball. He learned her favorite color was green. She was astonished to know how much of a music fanatic he was. He was surprised to see she was a music festival junkie.

They migrated from the bar to a nearby pool table and took part in a few games. Even after a few games and talking loads of smack to each other, Quinn knew Bobbi had no idea who he was. He couldn’t bear to tell her, neither. She was a fun woman and he wanted to keep the momentum going.

He knew – as well as she did – the moment she found out who he was, things wouldn’t be the same between them. It was best they were just strangers having fun.

Still, he couldn’t help the twitch in his jeans every time she was near him. Granted, he could say that about any woman, but Bobbi, though…Bobbi made Quinn’s heart pounce and the need to just fuck her, not make love, took over.

“So, your family went to Berkeley but you went to Howard instead,” Quinn began as he watched Bobbi prepare for another shot. He particularly liked the way her ass jiggled. “Any reason why?”

“Not really,” Bobbi made the shot and studied the table. She walked around and prepared for another shot. “What I wanted was in Howard and not in Berkeley.”

“What was in Howard?”

“Home.” Bobbi replied and made a shot. “Simple as that. It’s also where I learned how to play pool. When I didn’t want to study or needed a break from looking at my paper for the umpteenth time, I played pool.” She walked around and prepared to take another shot but missed.

“You need to arch your hips more.”

Bobbi turned around and stared at Quinn. She cursed at herself for doing so. His blue eyes sparkled under the hot lamp. She felt her cunt thump in response and blinked away the feelings. “Excuse you?”

“People think all of the shot is in the hands and arms, but it’s really in the hips.” Quinn chalked his stick and leaned over the table. He made a shot. “Like so.”

Bobbi was too busy watching at how perfectly round Quinn’s ass was. It was luscious and squeezable. She immediately thought about how much she would squeeze when he was on top of her. “I missed one shot out of how many and you’re giving me advice?” Bobbi blinked the thought of her head.

“You were struggling to make the other shots,” Quinn mentioned as he stood back up, “Here, let me show you.” He stood behind Bobbi. “Lean over.” Bobbi’s eyebrows arched and Quinn shook his head. “I think I would be a bit cornier if I wanted to get behind you.”

Quinn had a plethora of corny jokes the entire night. She didn’t want to admit to him how much she found them endearing. “Duly noted.” She positioned herself to make a shot. “Okay, Sir. Now what?”

Quinn felt his cock stir again upon hearing Sir. He wasn’t into BDSM and all of that stuff, but he wouldn’t mind a woman bowing down and worshipping his cock. Actually, no. He wouldn’t mind if Bobbi did it. That made the difference.

Quinn put his hands on Bobbi’s hips and bit back a groan. Images of getting her into the doggystyle position flooded his brain and he had to quickly remember who he was, and where they were. “Arch your hips like so,” he gently nudged her and she followed.

He leaned over her and felt a twitch in his jeans. Her hair smelled like strawberries. Her skin was soft, supple, and smelled like vanilla. Her body fit perfectly into his and all Quinn wanted to do was to eat her…

…food. He replaced the nasty thoughts with Bobbi’s chicken wings. They did look delicious.

“Now raise your head so you’re looking over the table, not directly at it.” His deep voice purred in her ears. “Now shoot.”

Bobbi had a bit of trouble focusing with Quinn practically on top of her. His muscular body felt perfect against hers. The soft roughness of his beard tickled her cheek and that musky scent of cologne made her realize she was dealing with a grown-ass man and not a little boy.

So, she could forgive him for having horrible taste in music for loving the Backstreet Boys when NSYNC was clearly superior. All she wanted was him on top of her in every which way, sliding in and out of every hole in her body.

Her pussy quivered with want and Bobbi didn’t know why this man had her sprung. She wanted to have some twisted, fucked up sex that was illegal in all 50 states with that man.


“Huh?” She blinked the images out of her head. “What?”

“Practice shooting now.” He mentioned.

“Oh, yeah.” She narrowed her eyes and shot. Not only did she make it, but it was also easier for her. “I like that.”

“It’s all in the hips,” Quinn pried himself off Bobbi before he couldn’t. “Once you get that down, you’ll be unstoppable in every pool hall across the world.”

“Giving me pool shark tips?” She stood up and smiled at him.

Bobbi’s smile made her even more gorgeous. It traveled up to her eyes, making them sparkle and he suddenly felt like a giddy child in a candy store.

Quinn slightly shook his head and wondered what was his luck. A gorgeous woman who wouldn’t give her last name and barely mentioned a generic occupation – physical therapist – and he probably wouldn’t see her again.

No woman would be that understanding about dating a baseball player, no matter how much she pretends to love the sport. “Of course.” He grinned.


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