Heidi is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author.
Originally from Portland, Oregon and raised in the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup and a Highland Westie/Mini Schnauzer, JiLL and her brother, Racicot.
When she isn’t writing one of the many stories planned for release, you’ll find her sitting courtside during either daughter’s basketball games.
Heidi’s first novel, Forever My Girl, is currently in production for a major motion picture.
Top 5 favorite baseball songs or books
Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond (not really baseball but played at the Red Sox games)
Centerfield by John Fogerty
Cheap Seats by Alabama
The Greatest by Kenny Rogers
Glory Days by Bruce Springsteen
Win the game. Lose your heart.Everyone knows who I am and that I could have any female fan I want. That's supposed to be the "perk" of playing left field for the Boston Renegades. But I don't want just any woman; I want her.She should be just another face in the crowd, but I can't stop thinking about the one night we spent together-and her look of regret the morning after.Because Saylor Blackwell is the kind of woman who haunts a man. Smart, sexy as hell, and one of the best managers in the business. She's every ballplayer's dream woman. And I'd do anything to make things right with her.I'm done sitting on the bench when it comes to Saylor Blackwell. Time to swing for the fences.
Check out the Boys of Summer series:
Whenever I wake up with a hangover, I often ask myself why I drank so much and promise that I’ll never do it again. That promise is something I’ve been breaking for the past few days, and up until now, I didn’t care.
I had hoped the booze would muddy my memory of last night, but it hasn’t. Every word she said, every expression she had, every punch to my chest to get me out of her apartment is crystal clear. I fucked up, and I don’t even know how. All I know is that the sobs I heard on the other side of Saylor’s door last night were enough to sober my stupid ass up.
For hours, I sat against her door, until a resident suggested I leave or they were going to call the police. If I hadn’t been arrested ear- lier, I probably would have encouraged them to dial Boston’s Finest. Another man might understand my plight. The woman that I want to be with kicked me out of her house, and while I probably deserved it, I didn’t want to leave until she stopped crying. I didn’t want to be the one to walk away in her time of need.
But as egos go—and believe me, mine is huge—I couldn’t let it get in the way any longer, so I walked my drunk ass back home with my tail between my legs, only to stay up all night while the booze wore off, knowing that I had to live with whatever I’d done to Saylor.
She’s the last person in the world who I want to hurt, and she’s the one person who can save me. Not only from a life behind bars, but from myself. When I’m with her, I’m a different person. The cocky son of a bitch whom everyone is used to doesn’t exist when she’s near me, and frankly, that is the man I like, or at least I used to. It’s easier being a fucking douche. It’s second nature to me and comes with the territory of being named one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.
Except when I’m with Saylor, I can be the man who hides in the shadow of that Travis Kidd. I can be the kind of man who doesn’t have to have a one-liner available or wink in order to get a phone number. When I’m with her, life outside of baseball starts to have a meaning, a fucking purpose.
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