Series: Haircuts and Heartthrobs Series
Author: Swati M.H.
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Tropes: Single Mom; Single Dad; Baseball Romance; Blended Family; He Falls First
Release Date: May 1, 2025
Cover Design: Cover Me Darling
Illustrations: Anna Noel Books
I had a one-night stand with a gorgeous stranger, believing I’d never see him again. Except who did he turn out to be? Troy Winters, starting pitcher for the MLB and the hottest single dad to grace the planet.What’s worse, he’s now my son’s new baseball coach.
In my defense, Troy and I had agreed to exchange fake names and occupations that fateful night in a seedy Colorado bar. One perfect night of no strings and a quick escape from my busy single mom life. . . Right?
Fast forward to a re-meet-cute that had me diving under a chair, an injury that sidelined him for a year, and now Troy is coaching my son’s team while he recovers.
His smoldering golden-hued gaze makes one thing clear: he’s not letting me disappear again.
But after a highly publicized divorce from a narcissistic pro-golfer, I’m done with the spotlight and athletes. No matter how cute their rear end looks in a uniform.
Yet Troy is relentless. Between his bond with my boy, his tenderness for his daughter, and our scorching chemistry, my walls are crumbling.
So I offer a compromise: a friends-with-benefits situation while he recovers. Once he returns to the MLB, we’ll go back to being just friends.
Simple enough, right?
Except, the more time I spend wrapped in his arms, the less simple everything becomes.
Now, with the MLB calling him back, I have a choice to make: stick to our deal and protect my heart or risk everything for the spotlight I’d vowed to avoid.
Once again, Swati M.H. hit another one out the park (see what I did there?)
Loved this book from start to finish! I do enjoy a good single parent story, and the fact that both Troy and Sarina are single parents? Yes please! I loved the connection and chemistry between these two parents, Troy's actions to show and prove to Sarina what she and her son have come to mean to both himself and his daughter was a mix of sweet and swoony. Of course there's plenty of hilarious banter between Sarina and Troy, and I loved the parent-child relationship they had with both their own respective offspring as well as the child of the other adult. I liked that Sarina was willing to give Troy a chance, given his current career and the fact that her ex is also a professional asshat....I mean athlete.
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I turn toward the sound before I think better of it, and there he is–-Mr. Troy Winters, no longer wearing a brace and in all his gorgeously gorgeous glory. He’s wearing a tan henley that stretches across his shoulders like it’s holding on for dear life.
What is he doing here?
I mean, obviously, I know what he’s doing here, but why was I not alerted by someone that he was coming? Why was I not alerted that he’d become a client of ours?
Why do I smell planned deceit here from my best friend and my sister?
Troy’s gaze catches mine, holding momentarily, before mine disconnects and lands on an adorable little girl at his side, holding his hand. Her cherub cheeks seem naturally pink, and while her eyes are the same color as her father’s, her hair has various shades of auburn, copper, and maroon.
I’m just about to speak—though I have no idea what I’m about to say; I was just going to let my mouth take the lead—when I see Dad’s eyes spark, and he zeroes in on Troy like a heat-seeking missile.
“Well, hello, handsome,” he practically purrs, walking toward Troy and his daughter. “You look vaguely familiar. Are you one of my daughters’ clients?”
“Dad,” I manage, feeling my cheeks heat. “This is Troy Winters, the pitcher for the Blazers. He’s also Rome’s temporary assistant baseball coach while he recovers from his surgery.”
Dad extends his multi-ringed hand in Troy’s direction, as if he’s expecting Troy to bow and press a kiss. “Suraj Arora.” He eyes Troy's arms appreciatively. “My boyfriend Emanuel is a huge fan of the Blazers.” My dad bends to greet the little girl, now scooting behind Troy’s leg. I don’t blame her; I’m planning another escape underneath one of the tables myself. “And who is this little darling?”
And that’s when my heart thuds against my chest once again. Troy kneels down to his daughter’s level and signs to her.
Signs!
My hands tingle with muscle memory and suddenly, I feel like I’m ten again, signing jokes to my mother while sitting next to her on the sofa.
“Can you tell him what your name is?” Troy’s fingers move with precision, and I find myself walking toward them before I even realize I’m doing it.
The little girl watches me approach and something about her tugs at my chest, begging for me to be near her—perhaps it’s her shy and angelic face, or perhaps it’s her vibrant eyes that speak louder than any spoken words could.
I drop to my knees, my hands moving on their own. “Hi,” I sign, my hands recalling how to speak fluidly, despite not doing so on a daily basis anymore.
What is he doing here?
I mean, obviously, I know what he’s doing here, but why was I not alerted by someone that he was coming? Why was I not alerted that he’d become a client of ours?
Why do I smell planned deceit here from my best friend and my sister?
Troy’s gaze catches mine, holding momentarily, before mine disconnects and lands on an adorable little girl at his side, holding his hand. Her cherub cheeks seem naturally pink, and while her eyes are the same color as her father’s, her hair has various shades of auburn, copper, and maroon.
I’m just about to speak—though I have no idea what I’m about to say; I was just going to let my mouth take the lead—when I see Dad’s eyes spark, and he zeroes in on Troy like a heat-seeking missile.
“Well, hello, handsome,” he practically purrs, walking toward Troy and his daughter. “You look vaguely familiar. Are you one of my daughters’ clients?”
“Dad,” I manage, feeling my cheeks heat. “This is Troy Winters, the pitcher for the Blazers. He’s also Rome’s temporary assistant baseball coach while he recovers from his surgery.”
Dad extends his multi-ringed hand in Troy’s direction, as if he’s expecting Troy to bow and press a kiss. “Suraj Arora.” He eyes Troy's arms appreciatively. “My boyfriend Emanuel is a huge fan of the Blazers.” My dad bends to greet the little girl, now scooting behind Troy’s leg. I don’t blame her; I’m planning another escape underneath one of the tables myself. “And who is this little darling?”
And that’s when my heart thuds against my chest once again. Troy kneels down to his daughter’s level and signs to her.
Signs!
My hands tingle with muscle memory and suddenly, I feel like I’m ten again, signing jokes to my mother while sitting next to her on the sofa.
“Can you tell him what your name is?” Troy’s fingers move with precision, and I find myself walking toward them before I even realize I’m doing it.
The little girl watches me approach and something about her tugs at my chest, begging for me to be near her—perhaps it’s her shy and angelic face, or perhaps it’s her vibrant eyes that speak louder than any spoken words could.
I drop to my knees, my hands moving on their own. “Hi,” I sign, my hands recalling how to speak fluidly, despite not doing so on a daily basis anymore.
Swati MH is a Texas raised contemporary romance author living in the Bay Area with her very own book husband and two beautiful daughters. When she's not writing stories full of humor, heart, and heartbreak, she's likely thinking about doing so . . . preferably while holding a glass of wine.
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