Collette West's Blog, page 13

Communicate, don't just cuddle

If there's one part of GAME ON that I can personally relate to, it's the lack of communication between Hailey and Jilly. I was in a similar predicament once, but I never got the kind of resolution that Hailey and Jilly do when they finally talk about what happened between them, years later. Through their love story, I wanted to tell every girl out there, never leave things hanging. Resolve whatever's going on between you and some guy, one way or the other. Have the guts to give yourself some peace of mind.

But I have to admit, it was fun writing this type of scenario through the eyes of my characters. Hailey and Jilly reach a a major turning point when they're finally able to get some closure on a past misunderstanding. Could all of the drama been avoided? You bet. All they had to do was hash it out with each other as soon as it happened, despite their reluctance to do so. Their situation shows how important communication is when it comes to working at a relationship. I don't know why, but the conversations that seem to be the most awkward are usually the most vital.

So ladies, be sure to talk it out, whether he wants to or not.

Is GAME ON, fact or fiction?

After reading GAME ON, a lot of you have been asking me if I'm really Hailey in real life, and I hate to break it to you but the answer is no. I don't know any Major League Baseball players. I'm not a sister, wife, girlfriend—or an ex—of any player, past or present. I'm simply a writer with a vivid imagination for creating fictional stories that seem believable and relatable.

I take it as a huge compliment that readers think that my writing is realistic enough to make that leap. Yeah, Hailey's a character who writes sports romance novels, but she's not me. I don't have a Jilly in my life. Although I wish I did—LOL! My aim with Hailey was to show some of the behind the scenes stuff that writers go through that readers might not know about.

Do authors frequently check their Amazon sales rankings? Yes. Do novelists hate to let go of a manuscript, never feeling like it's truly finished? Yes. Do writers write anywhere and everywhere whenever inspiration strikes? Absolutely.

I love how one of my beta readers, Ambur Hostyn from the blog, Burning Impossibly Bright, put it. She said that reading GAME ON was like watching the movie INCEPTION, but instead of a dream within a dream, it was a sports romance written inside a sports romance. And for me that was the coolest way of describing of what I was trying to do.

It's a perfect summation of GAME ON's dedication: "This one's for those who read and write instead of play the game."

Why do guys gossip in the locker room?

As a girl, wouldn't you love to be a fly on the wall inside a men's locker room? Sure, who wouldn't want to catch a glimpse of some hot, chiseled bodies? But I'm sure the banter alone would be worth the price of admission. Girls usually get a bad rap when it comes to commiserating over, "Why didn't he call me?" or "Was it wrong to sleep with him on the first date?" But guys are just as guilty. They just do it in a different way.

I always like to include locker room scenes in my sports romance novels because it's a setting where guys tend to let down their guard, and open up a little. They're jockeying for position when it comes to bragging rights. It's where they find out who's getting laid and who's not. It's the place where sexual escapades get exaggerated and distorted. Guys say stuff to each other that they'd never say in front of their wives or girlfriends. They're not being PC in this type of environment, because it kind of goes with the territory.

When you get that much testosterone in a room and naked physiques are exposed and compared, things are bound to get a little heated. Some guys intentionally stir things up, while others remain tight-lipped, but no one gets away unscathed. Had a hot date on Saturday night? Get ready to face the firing squad. Some guys have the knack of just saying enough, without saying too much. Others tend to stick their foot in their mouths, looking to impress, embellishing details that should've remained private.

All guys want to be seen as the stud who scores. So does that involve some kissing and telling? What do you think? :)

GAME ON is now available!

Game On
by Collette West

My latest sports romance is now available.

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Read the emotional plea from Grey from NIGHT GAMES (in her own words): "Why My Mom Wouldn’t Want You to Smoke"

Why My Mom Wouldn’t Want You to Smoke
by Grey from NIGHT GAMES

When I was twenty-three, my mom was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Before that, she had smoked a pack a day for nearly twenty years. Growing up, I remember bringing her that all too familiar red and white Marlboro box with the cheap BIC lighter rubber-banded around the middle. Looking back, I wish I’d thrown them away or hid them somewhere where she’d never find them. Then maybe she’d still be with us.

But my mom wasn’t a quitter. No siree, she never gave up on anything. She fought cancer with everything she had in her. Too bad it wasn’t a fair fight. The cancer metastasized so quickly in her lungs that the chemo and radiation she received just couldn’t contain it. It spread, making her follow-up PET scan light up like the night sky on the Fourth of July. It was everywhere, all through her body from her intestines to her brain. The invader had taken hold with no intention of yielding to whatever modern medicine had to throw at it.

And that made me angry. I blamed the oncologists for not being good enough to cure her. I blamed the technicians for putting her through all that torture for nothing. I blamed myself for being a terrible daughter, turning to destructive means to cope with the fact that I was about to lose my mother.

In my mind, someone had to be held accountable for all of this pain and suffering. I just didn’t want to see whose fault it really was. But she knew. She bore the burden, coming to terms that she’d imposed this self-inflicted death sentence on herself. She didn’t chalk it up to the addictiveness of the nicotine that had coursed through her veins. She didn’t bemoan the cigarette companies who made smoking seem so hip and cool back when she was a teenager and all her friends were doing it. Instead, she bravely accepted the consequences of her actions, and her honesty just made me cry even harder at her bedside, losing myself in her emaciated embrace.

She related that she had smoked to stay thin, and at the end of her life she weighed less than eighty pounds, a veritable human skeleton. She told me that when my sister, Erin and I were little, she’d take a drag on the back porch every now and then to steady her nerves whenever we’d get too rambunctious, or whenever we’d give her lip once we got older. It was her form of stress relief that in her final days left her without enough strength to lift her head off her pillow. If I could only go back in time and stomp out all those ciggies she was turning to because of the spoiled, snotty remarks that fell from my lips, I’d tell her not to do it and that I was sorry for causing her grief because deep down I didn’t mean it. If I could, I would in a heartbeat.

But that’s the thing with cancer, you can’t go back. Because once it gets its hooks in deep enough, the only direction it marches is forward.

That’s why the last year of my mom’s life made it feel like all of the others never happened. I could no longer remember the vibrant woman who’d belt out “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” louder than anyone else in the stadium. I had a hard time picturing the playful grandma who’d spend hours outside with Erin’s boys, teaching them how to swing an aluminum bat. I couldn’t recall the fun-loving woman who’d tease my dad at every opportunity whenever he’d forget how many outs there were in the game they were watching on TV. Because all I could see was her wasting away before me, and how scared I was to watch her go.

But the part of cancer that no one can prepare you for revolves around the years that are still to come. Before my mom got sick, I had always imagined her at my wedding, fluffing my veil and straightening my train. Whenever I daydreamed about that perfect day, I’d see her sitting next to my dad, smiling up at me as I walked down the aisle. I never thought that she wouldn’t be there, that wasn’t part of the scenario. Until, it was.

I feel lucky that my mom got to meet the man I married before she passed away because they got along so well together, Chase and my mom. They’d team up to tease me, and I was no match for the two of them. My mom was a shameless flirt and Chase ate it up. Yeah, my husband turned out to be her favorite ballplayer on the New York Kings, but I think she would’ve fallen for him regardless. Seeing how much they enjoyed each other’s company, even in the few short months they had together, makes me ache to think of the numerous holidays and special occasions ahead when I won’t have the both of them there to celebrate. The first half of my life was dominated by the love of my parents and sister, especially my mother, the second half by the love of my husband and the family that we’re creating together. I only wish I could combine the two splintered halves of my life again, if only for a day.

Because I’m a mom now, too, and it’s scary not having my mom around to help me whenever I feel lost or confused about what to do. She wasn’t in the delivery room with me when I gave birth. She wasn’t there to welcome her new granddaughter into the world. She wasn’t there when Nan took her first step, or said her first word, or cut her first tooth—and things like that hurt. All of those missed opportunities add up to one giant void that can never be filled.

I know my mom didn’t smoke to punish those she loved, or to punish herself. She just didn’t believe it would end up killing her. It was a habit she just couldn’t shake. I’m sure if she fully realized what it would do to her, she would have stopped a whole lot sooner looking back on the dozens of times she tried to quit, and not just because the cost per pack went up or her favorite restaurant no longer had a smoking section. She wouldn’t have given in to the temptation, if she knew ahead of time what it would ultimately cost her. But in the moment, I guess it didn’t seem possible until it actually happened. I suppose it’s hard to fathom that everything can be taken away just for making the same bad decision, over and over again.

I know before she died, my mom regretted her choice to keep smoking through the years. I could see it in her eyes. For a woman who never cried uncle, cancer was the only thing that packed a great enough punch to defeat her. The sticks of tobacco she stuck in her mouth, provided the means, one puff at a time. Everyone has a weakness, hers just happened to be deadly.

I cannot accept the years that have been taken away from us, but I can forgive her for the mistakes that she made. Whenever I feel her looking down on me, I plead with her to forgive herself, too, because no one was harder on herself than my mother. I only wish she had gotten to know Chase better. I wish she had gotten to see my daughter, Nan, and Erin’s boys, Randy and Jacob, grow into adulthood. I wish she had gotten to spend retirement with my dad, so he wouldn’t have to wander through his golden years alone.

But above all, I’m grateful for the time that I had with her, and the type of person she influenced me to be. Someone good. Someone strong. Someone not afraid to love with all her heart.

And I know if you’re reading this, she’d want you to take her story and learn from it, too. If you’re a smoker, she’d urge you to stop because of what it did to her. I know she couldn’t bear the thought of someone else going through the terrible ordeal she had to go through at the end. If you know someone who smokes, she’d want you to get them to quit, if not for themselves, than for you and all of the loved ones they’d be hurting by cheating themselves out of a long and healthy life. She wouldn’t want what happened to our family, to happen to yours. She had too much heart for that, and that’s something that cancer will never be able to take away from her. It might have destroyed her body, but the love she shared with the world goes on.

Nancy Kelleher, cancer victim, could never be her lasting legacy. Her abiding love is so much stronger than that. I felt it then, I feel it now, and I know I’ll continue to feel it every time I see her smiling back at me through my daughter’s eyes.

If you’re blessed enough to still have your mom with you, give her the hug I can no longer give my own, and if you’re a mom who smokes, please quit for the sake of your children. Don’t let cancer steal any of the precious moments that you’re able to spend with them. Life’s too short to waste one second with your lips wrapped around a cigarette. Use them to kiss someone you care about instead. I’m sure my mom would want you to do the same.

Night Games

Read two bonus chapters that take place before GAME ON begins on the night of Jilly & Hailey's high school graduation

Game On
by Collette West
BONUS CONTENT

Flashback Chapter One
High School Hailey

Four years earlier

"I can't believe you talked me into this," I mutter, sitting next to Jilly on the couch, and watching Matt Travers guzzle beer into his mouth straight from the keg.

"C'mon. Give it a chance." He stares at me intently. "You have my undivided attention. What more do you want?"

"Stop it." I jab him in the ribs as the ball they're using to play beer pong goes skidding by our feet.

Jilly grabs it and throws it back so hard that it ends up in the kitchen, forcing Beth Altell, my ‘frenemy’ turned reluctant hostess for the evening, to go chasing after it.

"Nice," I chuckle into his shoulder. "See, now that was entertaining."

"If it comes over here again, I'll throw it to goddamn China if I have to," Jilly growls, staring down some of his fellow teammates. "I'm not gonna let anyone bother you."

"I love when you get all protective of me." I smile up at him but falter when I see the way that he's looking at me—like he's not fooling around, like he means it. I hold his gaze, unsure of where he's going with this. He's not teasing me like he always does. This feels serious.

"You look really pretty tonight, Hailey." He reaches forward to play with a strand of my hair, and I swallow hard. Is he really doing this right now?

"Thanks," I respond, blushing and turning my head toward the TV, blanking on whatever reality show MTV is playing.

A few people who are sprawled out on the floor glance up at us curiously, probably wondering if Hailey Halpert and Jilly Gillette are finally going to get it on.

I hear soft moaning coming from the loveseat across the room, where Rebecca Silver and Vinny Wargo are making out. I try not to look when Vinny unhooks her bra beneath her shirt, giving his hands free access to go to second base with all of us watching. They seem fine with it, but it's making me feel uncomfortable. That's why I don't go to these kinds of parties. Not like I'm ever invited. Tonight, I'm tagging along because Jilly wanted me to, and the only reason I agreed is because, hopefully, this is the last time I'll ever have to see most of these people.

Jilly's hand trails through my hair, and I know immediately what he's up to. A smile tugs at my lips as I scoot around and bring my legs up beneath me. He twists my hair around his fingers as he begins to braid it, never pulling too hard or getting any of the strands tangled. He's a lot gentler than I am when I do it; that’s why it feels so good. There's something about having someone else do something you normally have to do yourself. It's so comforting. I let out a yawn when he taps me on the shoulder.

"Oh yeah. Sorry," I mumble, slipping the hair tie from around my wrist, handing it back to him.

"Somebody's getting tired," he chuckles, grabbing one of the pillows on the couch and placing it on his lap. "Why don't you lie down and relax?"

My eyes widen. Is he making a move on me? Jilly and I have hung out practically every day all through high school, and not once has he ever indicated that he views me as anything more than a friend.

"Uh, okay," I say uncertainly, slowly lowering my head onto his lap and curling up my legs.

This feels so weird, and I don't know if it's because I hear people start to snicker or if it's because I'm not used to getting intimate with a guy, let alone Jilly. I don't know what I'm doing, and it shows.

Beth ends the beer pong game and starts turning most of the lights off, making me feel not so exposed. The flickering of the TV glows around us, and people start to pair up, finding shadow-filled nooks to get lost in. There's still a pretty boisterous group in the kitchen, but the vibe in the living room has certainly changed in a hurry. I hear the sound of lips on flesh, the telltale smack of mouth-on-mouth action as couples start to get hot and heavy all around us.

Jilly shifts beneath me, and my head goes up and down with his knees. I'm glad that he's big enough that his body requires the whole couch, so we have it all to ourselves. I don't move, remaining as still as I can. He doesn't say anything. It's like he's immersed in the TV program and doesn't want to be interrupted or something.

This is not how I imagined this playing out between us. Don't get me wrong—I always hoped that it would, just not like this. It's like he needed an audience in order to find the courage to actually touch me, like he's used to performing on the field in front of a crowd.

I'm starting to feel hot, so I roll up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. He takes advantage of the opportunity, stretching out beside me and tossing the pillow aside so now I'm flush against his chest.

"You don't mind if I get more comfortable, do you?" he asks after the fact.

"No, that's okay," I respond shyly when his hand glides down my arm, giving me goose bumps.

"Good," he whispers softly.

His fingers find the tender area of skin on the inside of my elbow, making me shiver, and he continues downward until his fingers interlock with mine and he’s holding my hand. I try to contain a sigh when his thumb moves against my palm in a lazy sort of way like he couldn't be happier or more content than being right where he is at this very moment.

It's a welcome sensation getting to feel his body this way, being so close to him. His fingers are large and long, graceful even, the hair on his arm soft, the span of his wrist strong. I never realized how comfy his flannel shirts were until I laid my cheek against one, and now I know I could cuddle next to it all night long. Even though I'm probably not going to get a wink of sleep, I'm so revved up.

The throbbing between my legs becomes unbearable as I squeeze them tightly together, curling my toes. My breathing becomes heavy, and my body feels like it's on fire, making me want to tear off all my clothes and just go at him.

But I can't.

I hear the sexy noises increase all around us, and it ignites something primal in me, like I need him to kiss me, to do something to me, but he remains ignorant of my distress, not knowing what his touch is doing to me. I shimmy against him and all he does is lift our interlocked hands and rest them on my hip, grinding a bit beneath me. I bite my lip, wanting to cry out, needing more from him.

But then I hear my name coming from the kitchen.

"Who knew? Hailey Halpert?" a male voice says, whistling loudly.

"Oh, please!" I hear Beth respond. "That's about all Jilly's gonna get outta a stone-cold bitch like that. Come here. You gotta see the look on his face. It's priceless."

A chorus of laughter breaks out.

"That's so sad," another guy remarks.

"I think it's cute," a girl's voice pipes up.

"You would," someone responds.

"Would ya shut the fuck up already?" Vinny bellows from the loveseat. "I'm trying to get laid here!" He grabs Rebecca, hauling her off the loveseat, and she giggles, flinging her legs around his waist as he storms out of the living room and up the steps, no doubt taking her to one of the bedrooms to finish what they started.

Jilly tenses, watching them go, but he doesn't make a move to follow them and find an empty bedroom of our own. Not that I want to have sex with him. I don't intend to rush into anything, but some privacy would be nice.

But we remain on the couch, frozen against each other except for his wandering hand that has me as horny as hell and dying for more.


Flashback Chapter Two
High School Jilly

I've never taken Viagra, and now, I’m glad I'll never have to. Who knew an unassisted erection could last for hours?

Hailey Halpert… God, the things you do to me.

I'm a mass of conflicting emotions. I've wanted to try this with Hailey for so long, and while I made a bold first step, I chickened out halfway through, too timid to take things any further. She's lying on top of me, so still that, at times, I don't know if she's fallen asleep, and I don't want to wake her. But then, she surprises me, returning the pressure of her hand in mine.

She's sideways on my body, her hip right below my belt buckle, above that most sensitive area. She has to feel it. I just wish she could help me do something about it. There's nothing better than having her in my arms for an entire night, but my dick just won't let me relax and enjoy this. Oh no, it wants more—a lot more. But I'm too afraid to go after it.

Because this isn't what I wanted for us.

I shouldn't have brought her here. My buddy, Rick, let me borrow his car so that I could pick her up, something I'm usually not able to do on my bike. I should have taken her on that back road behind the baseball field in Creekside Park where nobody goes. Even if we just sat and talked all night, it would've been better than subjecting her to this semi orgy in Beth Altell's living room. No wonder she hasn't moved a muscle in the last half hour. She's probably mortified over what's going on here. I am, too.

I could've taken it slow, maybe tried to move in for a kiss, if I had done this right. But not now. Not after the lights went out. I grip the side of the couch with the hand that's not in Hailey's until my knuckles beg for mercy. Teenage guys aren't known for their self-restraint, and I'm no exception. I should get up and pretend like I need to go to the bathroom and take care of business on my own, but that makes me feel like I'm using Hailey somehow, and I don't want to do that.

I'll hold on as long as I can.

I take a deep breath and try to think of something else to clear my head, something that has nothing to do with sex, like bunny rabbits or kittens, but Hailey tilts her head up ever so slightly and I get a whiff of her rosewater scent, making me twitch down below. I grit my teeth and concentrate on the TV.

Thankfully, the assholes in the kitchen seem to have calmed down. One more wisecrack at Hailey's expense and I was going in there no matter how much I'd hate leaving this couch. Neither of us does the party scene, but I thought that, just this once, it'd be good for us to get out and enjoy the end of our high school career just like everyone else. Big mistake.

Sure, I'm a jock, but the underage drinking thing just isn't my scene. I don't want to mess anything up when it comes to my future. One incident is all it'd take to label me for life, and it's a risk I'm not willing to take. The draft is happening in a few weeks and there's no way I'm messing that up. If I'm the only guy here not drinking tonight—good.

Besides, it's not like I’d fit in by getting loaded anyway. Everyone's always treated me more like an oddity than Loftus Central High's star baseball player. From kindergarten on, I've been the big kid in the back of the room that no one really talks to. Until Hailey glided her fingers across my face in Mrs. Gellar's art class.

She squeezes my hand again, making me smile, and I squeeze hers back. We go back and forth like this for a while, like it's a game, but she still doesn't lift her eyes to mine like I want her to. I need to have some idea about what she wants me to do. Is she on the verge of falling asleep? Would she be cool with me taking her upstairs? Does she just want to go home?

There's a dewiness to her skin now. She's all flushed beneath my fingertips. This is the first warm night we've had so far this spring, and with the number of bodies in this room, it's not surprising that the windows are fogging up. She must be roasting in that sweatshirt, but she hasn't taken it off, making me wonder if it's because she doesn't have anything on underneath.

My pulse hammers through my veins again, and I press my backside even more firmly into the couch. I can see a hint of daylight through the window, and I know I'm not going to make it until then. Fuck. My stupid body is about to betray me. One more move and I'm a goner.

And that's when Hailey slides her leg up mine, her knee hitting me in that delicate area. I jump to attention, hastily sitting up, having her fall off me onto the side of the couch. She looks at me questioningly, alarmed.

"I…I…I gotta go," I stammer over my shoulder, covering my crotch with both hands. "I forgot I have work at Rick's…a job I promised him I'd do…a leaky carburetor a customer needs fixed by this afternoon."

The excuses tumble out of my mouth one after the other, and she just stares at me with her hair sticking up and her cheeks all red.

"Go," she says, a trace of disappointment in her voice. "I'm only a block away. I can walk home once it gets light out."

"Are you sure?" I question her, knowing I'm making a big mistake by leaving her here.

"Uh huh," she responds listlessly, turning inward, already shutting me out.

I step over the bodies on the floor, careful not to crush somebody's hand or pull someone's hair. When I make it to the door, I glance back at Hailey. She’s sitting on the couch with a dazed expression on her face.

Angry with myself, I bolt out the door, colliding with a row of empty liquor bottles on the stoop, knocking them over, but I keep going. There are people asleep on the porch, draped over the wicker ottoman, and rocking to and fro on the oversized swing. I ignore them, desperate to get out of here before somebody sees the large stain on the front of my jeans.

I lumber toward Rick's car and dig the keys out of my pocket, furious at myself for screwing this up. This was my big chance and I blew it. I don't think I can face her again after this. I bash my head against the steering wheel, knowing that I probably just lost my best friend because I'm such a fuckin' head case.

I don't know how to satisfy a girl. I don't know how to give Hailey what she needs or how to even go about asking her what she needs. I'm too afraid to be alone with her to find out. What if I can't go beyond holding her hand? Or what if I do? What then?

I should just let her go. Maybe it's for the best. I’m leaving soon anyway. Then she won't have to be stuck with a loser like me, because I wouldn't wish that on anybody.

***

I keep my distance from Hailey.

I don't call. I don't text. I don't visit. Nothing. Cold turkey is the only way to do this.

I take a swig of Mountain Dew and watch everyone mingle around inside the VFW hall for Vinny Wargo's graduation party. There's a DJ playing shit like the "Macarena" and "The Electric Slide," but there's nobody under ten on the dance floor. Yeah, this party sucks ass. The only reason I'm here is because Vinny was my catcher for four years and he has the bone bruises on his hand to prove it. I owe the guy at least an appearance before I check out of Butesville for good.

I just have to pretend that Kurt Nelson from Mountain Area isn't sitting in the far corner, but I have a feeling it's going to be difficult. That prick always has to start something whenever he sees me, and I’m not in the mood.

"So you still haven't talked to her, huh?" my pal, Rick, asks, bumping my shoulder.

"Nope," I respond, scanning the room with my eyes.

"That's cold, dude," he says, and I can feel him glaring at me.

"It's the way it's gotta be, man." I take another gulp, trying to block out the pain.

"Maybe not," Rick snickers.

I finally turn and look at him. "What are you trying to say?"

"Because she's here, Jilly. I just saw her walk in." Rick points across the room, and my heart stops.

I don't reply. I just stare longingly in her direction until her eyes come to rest on me. Hailey never comes to parties. So what is she doing at this one?

"Don't just stand here." Rick smacks me on the back. "Go talk to her."

"I can't." I lick my lips, trying to get the feeling back in my legs.

"Why not?" Rick groans.

"You wouldn't understand," I mutter, unable to take my eyes off her as she strolls around, staying as far away from me as she can.

"Try me." Rick crosses his arms in front of his chest. "You never told me what really went down at Beth's sleepover. So how can I give you any manly advice if you won't even tell me what happened?"

"Manly advice?" I huff. "Talk about the blind leading the blind."

"Hey, man. I have way more experience with the ladies than you do. Or did you already forget that I got to second base with Britney Harris after the prom?" Rick remarks, and he can't keep from grinning. "That's why I lent you my car, man. That thing's a chick magnet."

"Rick, what is she doing?" My blood starts to boil when I see her take a seat at Kurt's table.

"Flirting, I'd say," Rick deadpans as we watch her toss her hair over her shoulder and giggle at whatever Kurt is saying to her. "He always used to talk to her whenever we'd play Mountain Area, didn't he? He's probably just messing with your head again. You know how he is relentless until you kick him back into the hole he crawled out of."

"Yeah, but she never used to give him the time of day." I watch her cross her legs, the skirt of her white cotton dress riding up even higher over her thighs—something Kurt doesn't fail to notice when he places his hand on her knee.

I take one step in their direction, when Rick grabs ahold of my arm. "Don't even think about it, my man. If you go over there, it's gonna end badly, and you have the draft coming up real soon. Don't be stupid."

I hold my ground, agonizing over every movement, watching Kurt bring his chair closer to hers. I can't believe what I'm seeing as he leans in, placing his hand on her cheek. My hands curl into fists when he lifts up her chin and goes in for a kiss.

I don't know what I expect—that she'd slap him, push him away, scream at him, something. I never thought she'd kiss him back. It seems to go on forever as my world comes to a screeching halt, and I feel several people turn to stare in my direction. But it's not until Kurt finally relinquishes her lips and she glances over at me that I know that it was intentional. She wanted me to see this. She came here purposely to drive me up a wall.

And it's working.

"Jilly, you gotta decide right here, right now," Rick says quietly. "If you want her, go fight for her, but it's not gonna bode well for your baseball career. Kurt fucked up his pitching arm. He won't have any problem doing the same to yours if you go over there and try to pull her away from him."

I breathe in and out, uncertain as to what I should do.

Rick talks aloud, trying to figure out the motivation behind her actions. "I don't know why she's pulling shit like this. It's not like her. You probably did something to piss her off, and she's trying to make you jealous—"

"Well, she is," I grumble, watching Kurt rest his forehead on hers. He kisses her again, and I have to look away.

"Take off. Go somewhere and cool down. Deal with this later," Rick pleads, begging me to see reason.

"No need," I respond coolly, tapping into the ice water that runs through my veins whenever I pitch. "If that's how she's gonna react, then I'm done."

"Jilly, c'mon," Rick moans. "You love the girl. She just wants you to show her that you do. That’s all. She's sick of you keeping it all inside, and frankly, so am I. You gotta put yourself out there, dude. We're talking about Hailey here."

"I gotta go," I bristle as I step past him, hurrying toward the door, cursing at the tears that are rising to the surface.

"You're gonna regret this, man," Rick calls out to me. "I'm tellin' ya. Don’t do this. Don't end things like this by walking away."

"Too late," I yell, pushing the door open with both hands, not even bothering to look back.

My mom’s gone. My dad checked out. Let’s face it. Everybody always leaves me. It was only a matter of time before Hailey bailed too. So why should I be surprised?

I only wish it didn't hurt so goddamn much.


Game On

Cover reveal of GAME ON!

Game On
by Collette West
Publication date: October 17, 2014
Genres: New Adult, Sports Romance

Synopsis:
Pitching phenom Bruce "Jilly" Gillette has a hard time talking to women. His hulking presence of tattoos and muscles is what makes him an intimidating closer on the mound, yet off the field, he's painfully shy, uncomfortable in his own skin.

Desperate to revamp his loner image, the New York Kings hold a dream date contest, granting the lucky winner a night on the town with their surly reliever, doing whatever it takes to force Jilly out of his comfort zone.

Hailey Halpert enters the contest on a whim, looking for answers as to why her high school relationship with Jilly hit the skids. Now she’s a popular romance author writing under a pen name, and her reappearance in Jilly's life is no accident. It turns out that her novels are all about the sexy players on the Kings, and Jilly has no clue that he's about to become her new leading man.

Game On

Girls can do everything boys can do…right?

A female player getting signed to a Major League Baseball contract.

Sound impossible?

In an era that boasts women in all branches of the military and female CEOs running Fortune 500 companies like Yahoo and Pepsi, it seems like integrating the sports world is the next logical step. Danica Patrick has made inroads on the NASCAR circuit. After the Sochi Olympics, Canada’s goalkeeper in women’s hockey participated in an NHL practice session. Yet for all the progress women have made in most areas of life, some doors seem forever barred against them.

I’m probably naive and overly optimistic, but I think that someday there will be a female baseball player. At least, I’d like to put the idea out there for human consumption.

Most probably feel that a girl would be physically overmatched playing against a team full of guys.

Others cringe at the notion of welcoming a woman into the jock culture of the locker room.

While a slight minority might be misogynistic enough to ridicule any mention of a woman joining “their team” as the worst thing to happen in the history of the known universe.

In GAME CHANGER, I address all of these concerns through Sasha’s eyes, once she becomes a member of the New York Kings. She clearly battles through at bats, trying to catch up to a ninety-seven-mile-per-hour fastball. She’s given a stern warning by the general manager not to get “too friendly” with her male teammates, making dating one of them out of the question. She’s even heckled by an unruly mob during her first game, in a scene that turns downright ugly.

In real life, a woman stepping foot into such an environment would not be easy, and I wanted to show that. The trials that Jackie Robinson faced in breaking the color barrier are proof enough of the courage required to stand up to such intolerance.

So what prompted me to write about it?

To put the idea in people’s minds.

Many credit the TV show 24 for paving the way for the public’s acceptance of an African American president. Not to say that a piece of entertainment can dictate politics, but it can change the way we see things, even subliminally. A lot of inconsequential factors go into forming a quantum shift when it comes to witnessing societal change on a grand scale. If we believe something can be done—even if it’s only in our imagination—it can go a long way in getting us to envision different possibilities and outcomes for our collective future.

Art, literature, music are meant to open our minds to new ideas. All it takes is striking the right person, at the right time, under the right circumstances. Each and every one of us has the power to shape the world into a better place.

We just have to believe that we do.

GAME CHANGER is now available!

My latest sports romance is now available.


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