(Chasing Victory)

Publication date: January 2nd 2025

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

Synopsis:

They’re chasing the same dream…
Too bad they’re not on the same team.

When Breslin Cooper’s major league dreams go up in flames, he’s left with his backup plan: college baseball at Texas State Tech in Vanquer, Texas. But his public altercation with a reporter saddles him with mandated community service, therapy–and a toxic “Storm Cooper” reputation that no professional baseball scout will touch.

Liv Milline’s family name is practically synonymous with IML baseball. Yet despite her love for the game (the tight pants aren’t bad, either) and her dreams of becoming a baseball scout–her father holds one, ironclad rule: No baseball for Olivia (the corollary: no baseball players for Olivia is just downright mean).

Her one loophole? Playing baseball beat reporter for Texas State Tech.

Chasing similar dreams, Liv attempts to befriend Breslin. But the amazingly talented, pain in her aperture has only two words to say whenever she’s around: “No comment”.

Still, she can’t help but notice the troubled ballplayer’s running on overload. Emotionally wounded and reeling from his mother’s death, the only time Breslin seems close to “ok” is on the ballfield. Liv and his new teammates can’t seem to get through.

When a lapse in judgment catches Breslin in a real-world rundown, jeopardizing his probation and his baseball scholarship, his only choice may be to rely on Liv–the aggravating, attractive, and utterly relentless reporter, chasing her latest headline.

[Book one of a series, Chasing Headlines ends with a HFN, no cliffhanger, but lingering / unresolved issues waiting to bite them in the butt in Book 2.]

Excerpt

Breslin POV

I threw my glove in my locker and grabbed my backpack from the hook. I imagined myself bounding out of the room, but my legs barely managed more than a shuffle.

Still, I must have gotten going a bit too fast because, the next thing I knew, Rally Girl was on the ground, phone skittering across the tile.

And I was the asshole. Shit.

She sat on her rear in the center of the hallway, rubbed her hip and winced. Fuck, is she going to claim I injured her—to get back at me for earlier? I glanced behind me at the locker room door. She can follow me. I looked at the exit door. I’d have to step over her. That would be ridiculous. I had more integrity than that.

Still . . .

She hissed through clenched teeth.

“You . . .” Dammit, what was her name? I had not been paying attention to anything other than, well, my shirt. On her body. Idiot.

“Well, what’s left of me. Geez, do you eat bricks for breakfast or what?”

Her legs, long and tan and open—they bent at the knee as she rested her elbows on them. And apparently, my body was not too tired to enjoy the view.

“I’m not hurt and I’m not upset. But maybe you could help me up?” She spoke in a soft voice. Dark eyelashes framed bright blue-green eyes.

I extended a hand and tugged her to her feet. She stood for a breath, two. So close. Connected. Something about the feel of her skin against mine . . . A small, but soothing warmth tingled through the nerves in my hand, sparking a heated rush from my palm to my neck.

A sharp breath, and then her fingers slid from my grasp. I missed the warmth of her.

“. . . maybe offer an apology?” She moved her hand up and down in a phantom handshake. “Sure, Coop. No hard feelings.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. Can this be over? I panted for air and shifted back a step. Her being the hot chick in the water fountain had been one thing. I could have tried to find her, always wondered, haunted the student center in the hopes I’d run into her again.

Her being a reporter meant all of those things went on the “no fucking way, ever” list.

“I don’t know what you’re over there thinking, but, I wouldn’t hurt you. You mean too much to the team.” She frowned. “This was an accident. Not that it didn’t jar me to the bone. You missed your calling as a linebacker.”

I blinked. Opened my mouth. Re-ran the words through my brain. She just said a shit ton of stuff, and what the fuck was any of it about?

“I’m fine, really. You need to stop gushing over me. All the upset is really beneath you.” One eyebrow rose and she crossed her arms. How did she breathe while saying all those words?

“Um, are you OK?” She leaned closer.

I stared at her mouth. “You talk a lot.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “That’s what you have to say? Not a ‘You OK?’ or ‘So sorry, I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with your things?’”

I didn’t catch all of it, but, maybe, if I did the last thing, she’d move out of my way? And I could get food, drink a gallon of water, take a shower? I stunk to hell and back.

Help her with her stuff. I set my backpack down and knelt at her feet. I tried not to think about those short running shorts or how good it’d feel to slide my fingers over the curve of her calf, up to her hip. I shoved her shit into her bag and tossed it to her. I retrieved her phone from the tile floor.

“That’s, um. Yeah. Thanks.” She pulled the device from my grip.

I pushed my sweat-soaked hair from my forehead. “You’re OK?”

“Yeah.” She pulled the bag over her shoulder. “Got bowled over by a human freight train, but lived to tell the tale. I pity any catcher that tries to get in your way.” She gave me a tight-lipped smile.

So many words. No wonder she had to write them all down. “But you’re fine?”

“What, do you need me to sign a waiver?”

Red hazed into my vision. “I’d say yes, but reporters are lying snakes in the grass. Wouldn’t matter.”

“I . . .” Her jaw worked, but no sound came out.

An errant thought about her mouth working flit through my brain.

“But, I–We’re on the same team, Coop.” She pointed at her jersey as if that was “proof”. It sure as hell wasn’t.

“We’re not.” I hefted my backpack onto my shoulder. “But you were right about one thing.”

“What do you mean?”

I leaned down and stared at her head on. She turned a deep dark pink.

“To pity the person who tries to get in my way.”

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About the Author

J. Rose Black weaves stories about obsession, redemption, and the transcendental power of love. From her early days writing fanfiction for a passionate following of international readers, to crafting novels with her own characters, Rose has always been drawn to broody protectors and plucky, no-nonsense women ready to fight for what they believe in.

When Rose isn’t deeply immersed in her latest manuscript, she’s working in cyber security and thwarting the next generation of internet bad guys. Out of the office, she’s #Shipping with friends over her favorite, swoon-worthy couples, heading to the gym to battle the great evil that is Unmovable Baby Weight, or complaining about her husband’s addiction to 3D printing. Also: nagging her children to eat something other than cheese.

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Genre: Contemporary Romance

A Marine never says die.

Neither does his princess.

Battle lines are drawn when sheltered debutante Meridian Daly moves across the hall from grumpy former special forces Marine Callan Brand. Situated a bit closer than advertised to 'crime alley', Meridian’s neighbor finds himself grudgingly guarding the pampered princess out of habit. But with her sharp wit and killer curves, he can’t help but surrender to temptation…

When their relationship evolves from casual courtship to something more, Callan finds that Meridian's already discovered his closely-guarded secret. But can he let go of his pride, and tell her the whole truth of who he is and what he’s done—in the name of honor and country?

As Callan’s scars start to reveal themselves, his life spirals beyond the careful control that's helped him survive—and kept those he cares about safe.

From him.

But this tough-in-a-tiara princess won't back down, even in Callan’s darkest hours. And Meridian just might prove to be more tenacious than a never-say-die Marine!

Excerpt

“You’re following me.” Callan placed the dumbbells on the mat and straightened.

His neighbor rolled her eyes as she stood. “I happen to work out every Tuesday and Thursday at this time.” She flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve seen you here.” She pointed at him with her water bottle.

Nice of her to offer. He grabbed the beverage, uncapped it, and took a nice long drink. “Thanks,” he said, and handed it back.

She glared. “Are you this big of a jerk to everyone here, or do I get some special treatment for living across the hall from you?”

“I thought you were offering it to me. It’s bad manners to point,” he said with a chuckle.

“You’re lecturing me on manners? The guy who can’t even introduce himself?” The frown on her face wasn’t even close to cross. She was clearly too good-natured for her own sake, and—if their interactions were any indication—she was also far too naïve. She shouldn’t be in a place like this. Maybe locked in some ivory princess tower, guarded by a monster.

Prissy Neighbor huffed as she stepped around him. She bent down, in those short running shorts with the open sides—to whip a pair of fifteen-pound dumbbells off the rack.

He sighed. Yet another one I’ll need to keep an eye on. Trouble will find her. I have zero doubts about that. The only question is: How bad will it be when it does?

He grimaced. It’s like she doesn’t even live in the same world. Where dark and twisted people exist, killing and preying on the weak. Innocents. She hefted one weight up to her shoulder, turning the grip as she went. But she slung the other dumbbell—engaging back muscles and using momentum to help propel the heavy weight.

She’s mad at me. So she’ll end up injuring herself. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your form is wrong.”

She met his gaze in the mirror. Sweat dripping from her temples like the rain on that day . .

His eyes drifted to his own reflection. A hard-assed former Marine glared back. She turned her back to him and repeated the awkward movement.

He sighed. “You should lower the weight and go slower. You’re slinging the dumbbell and not getting the full benefit of the effort.”

Prissy Neighbor pivoted and faced the mirror again. He could see her brain processing the information. Her first instinct, the stubborn side of her, stuck out her chin and glared, again, at his reflection. But her more reasonable side must have won out. She put the dumbbell back on the rack—with a loud clatter. Then she repeated the hammer-curl movement with the lower weight.

“You’ll get better results if—”

“What now?” She planted her free hand on her hip. Her lip curled into a snarl.

What do you know? She has some fight in her after all. “I can show you,” he offered.

She flipped the weight to her free hand, then met his gaze. One light-colored eyebrow rose. Another wave of heat flared in his abdomen.

He moved behind her, sliding his fingers along her tricep toward her forearm. He lifted the weight from her hand and set it beside her, then held her wrist in a straight line out from her shoulder. “Hold, right there.”

Warmth radiated from her skin in waves. Her pulse beneath his fingertips. The telltale flutter in her neck. Life. It mattered, was precious. And could be taken away in an instant. The urge to remain there, connected to another human being, stirred an ache in his chest. Her hair smells like strawberries and coconuts.

He fitted one palm against the back of her hand; the other held on to her elbow. “This isolates the bicep.” He helped her complete the movement without a weight.

“One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.” Her knuckles tapped her shoulder. “Now down in one fluid movement.”

He helped her repeat it once more before retrieving the weight at her feet. She performed eight full reps, then switched hands. She met his gaze in the mirror as she executed the same movement—working the other bicep. He gave her a slight nod, and his reflection added an even smaller smile.

After finishing sixteen reps, she lifted one side of her mouth. “Thanks, Umbrella Guy.”

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About the Author

J. Rose Black weaves stories about obsession, redemption, and the transcendental power of love. From her early days writing fanfiction for a passionate following of international readers, to crafting novels with her own characters, Rose has always been drawn to broody protectors and plucky, nononsense women ready to fight for what they believe in.

To learn more about Rose’s stories and the characters and worlds visited in this book, check out her website: jroseblack.com

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