Synopsis: This is a Modern AU in the first person, present tense pov of Anakin Skywalker. He's a starting pitcher for the Boston Red Sox, twenty-four years old and is in the prime of his life, and a player both on and off the field, when he lays his eyes on the most beautiful woman he's ever seen... this is an Anidala story.

This is rated T for now but will become M rated either next chapter or within the next few.

Game Plan: Chapter 1

It's a full count with three balls and two strikes. The bases are loaded in the top of the ninth inning, and all I need to do is throw one more strike to end this game. That's it. We're up by one run, four to three, and if they get a base hit, then the game is tied, and I'll be pulled from the game. The same thing will happen if I throw a ball. Of course, a small part of my brain also reminds me that the batter can hit a home run, and it'll be a grand slam with them up by three and, more than likely, a third loss on my record for the season thus far. Ain't no way I'm letting that happen.

However, I smother that reminder and push it out of my mind.

I can do this. I have done this, and I will do it again. No problem.

This isn't my first game, after all. This also isn't my first complete game. I'm a veteran, a seasoned pro. Like I just said…I can do this. I just need to concentrate, focus, and forget about everyone and everything else. Right now, it's only the batter, the catcher, the ump, and myself. Nobody else exists or matters in this moment. I can't hear the fans screaming madly all around the stadium or the yells of encouragement from my teammates around the field.

Nope. I tune it all out.

Shaking my head at the catcher's pitch suggestions, I finally nod when he signals for the four-seam fastball. Ryan Lawson, the catcher, doesn't seem to think I have it in me to throw another one after I already threw over a hundred pitches this game, but I know I can do this. I can feel it. This isn't me being cocky or arrogant with my abilities; it's just a statement of fact, and even though this is just a regular season game and not a major one at that, I still wouldn't allow my arrogance or stubbornness to overrule good sense just for me to stay in the game. Not if I didn't think I could do this, nor would I risk a loss on my record and the team's record because of it.

I know I can do this, which is the reason why I asked Ben, our manager, to let me finish what I started when he visited the mound. He believes in me. He knows what I can and can't do, and he knows I've got it in me to finish this game off for us. I know this, and for that reason, I wouldn't do anything to make him question his belief or his trust in me. Or the team's owner either.

I am one of the Red Sox's star pitchers, after all.

Shaking off my thoughts again, I refocus on the batter and turn to face the runner on third, as I stand back up straight and tall before turning my attention back to Ryan. I exhale a big breath, wind up my pitch, bringing my right hand back, my left leg up, and then step forward throwing the ball with every ounce of strength I have left in me, knowing that I'll need to throw the ball fast enough to fly right by him. The ball flies towards Ryan, going slightly to the upper right corner of the invisible strike zone towards the batter's elbow but still far enough away to not hit him- it's his weak spot, which is exactly why I aimed for it. The batter sees this the second the ball leaves my hand, and he prepares himself as his wide eyes narrow down on the ball, and he starts to swing, but the ball zooms right by him going faster than he thought it would, and he hits nothing but air.

Yeah! Fucking sweet, man!

The crowd breaks out into yells, whistles, chants, and cheers of approval, and I can't help the grin that breaks out on my face…or my fist pump of triumph. Every win is a reason to celebrate, of course. Doesn't matter if it was spring training, the regular season, playoffs or the World Series. To me, every game counts. I nod to the crowd that is still shouting and cheering, and I take my Boston Red Sox hat off and hold it in the air to salute the fans, as I walk towards the dugout from the pitcher's mound. The crowd gets even louder, and my grin grows wider knowing that they're all cheering for me and my teammates. Their support and love for us and the game is what makes this all worthwhile. As much as I love the game - as much as we all love the game - it means nothing without the loyal fans who buy the tickets and the team merchandise to keep us all employed, as well as by watching us on TV.

Without the fans, we have nothing, and that is why I love them and give it my all whenever I'm out on the mound. I do it for them to show my appreciation for their support and love for me and the Red Sox, and I do it to prove that I really am worth the huge ass sum of money that the Red Sox offered me in the latest contract that I signed with them. I do it all to prove it to the Red Sox organization, to the MLB, to the fans, but also to myself.

I want to show people that I'm no flash in the pan or fluke.

I worked my ass off from the time I was five and first held a baseball to build and develop my skills to the level that they are today, I also do it to prove to everyone that told me when I was growing up that I couldn't do this wrong. You can do anything if you put your mind to it and take advantage and capitalize on every opportunity that comes your way, and that is what I prove and will continue to prove every day until the last day of my MLB career.

Ryan catches up to me as we walk to the dugout, and he removes his catcher's mask. Even before he does, I can see the grin on his tanned sweaty face smudged with the eyeblack running down his cheeks. "Nice throw, Bro!" He says slapping my back harder than necessary, like usual.

I grin right back. "Four-seams are my specialty." Something that he knows damn well, but he does have a point that after throwing over a hundred pitches today that my arm would be protesting anything like that four-seamer, which is why he was hesitant to suggest my signature pitch in the first place. He didn't want me to throw out my arm or throw a wild pitch and potentially cost us the game.

"I'm aware, Skywalker," Ryan smirks and places his left hand on my right shoulder, giving it a squeeze, as we continue our walk. "But, even you get tired, and wild pitches do happen, even to the best of 'em. I didn't want this to be a wild pitch, as I'd have to be the one listening to you bitch about it and waking me up early to practice with you when you don't need any more damn practice than normal. You're a great pitcher, and wework great as a team. That is why I look out for your best interests…even when you don't."

And, I truly appreciate that. I do.

Truth is, my arm is sore, and that fastball probably wasn't necessary, but the way I see things is simple: Go big or go home. There's no in between. I wanted to end that game on a high note, to end it with my signature pitch, and that is exactly what I did. I'm not going to regret doing that or throw something else when I knew that I had it in me to throw that pitch. Still, I do appreciate Ryan always looking out for me and being there for me…even if he does takes his self-appointed role as my 'big brother' a little too seriously.

Shit, he isn't even three weeks older than me, but he does have three younger siblings and really is the big brother in his family, and he considers me to be the little brother he always wished he had growing up instead of his three little sisters, who don't share our passion for baseball.

"I appreciate that Ry, I really do." I look over at his sweaty face. "But, you know me and what I'm capable of. I wouldn't do anything that would risk a loss for our team if I didn't think I could honestly do it. I may be a stubborn asshole, and I may also be cocky as hell, but that is because I know my limits and when to push and when not to push them. He was oh-for-three tonight and struck out twice on my curveball. That's what he was expecting, since it was already successful against him tonight, and when I threw my fastball, he - and everyone else - thought I was worn out. He swung a little too late and that time cost him. I like to go out with a bang, as you well know, and that bang tonight was the sound of my one hundred and two mile per hour fastball landing in your glove."

He concedes my point with a nod. He of all people knows me best. We've known each other since we were nine and been playing together since we were twelve, and he was always my catcher- on and off the field. He's my best friend, has been since we met in seventh grade, and it's nice to see him worry about me, but he has his own life to worry about, and I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself.

Even if he doesn't think I can.

"Well done, Anakin." Ben, our manager or coach, as we sometimes call him, says as we walk down the stairs of the dugout. "You used his weakness against him, something every great pitcher does. Use your strengths against their weaknesses. That is how you win a game." Something that he's drilled into me since I was just a little boy, know your enemy. That is why we always watch video of our opponents before a game. We get to know their strengths and their weaknesses and know exactly how to exploit them. It has served us well, not to mention it's standard operating procedure for most professional teams in most sports.

I nod, taking my hat off and run my biceps across my sweaty face. Sweat trickles into my eyes and stings. I wipe it away with the front of my jersey and walk with the guys into the clubhouse. "I thought for sure you'd pull me out of the game. I mean, I probably would've if I was you." I can't help but say. He was tempted to pull me out and put in the closer but didn't because I asked- more like told- him to let me stay in and finish the game.

And, finished the game, I did.

"I would've had you been anyone else," he admits, walking on my left with Ryan on my right. "But, I know you better than anyone else on the team, you and Ryan both. I know both of your limits and how well you both operate under pressure, and I know you both take every game personally. You wouldn't let your team down if you thought you were done. If I thought you were past your limits, then you would've been pulled when it was just a man on first and second, but you're a stubborn son of a bitch, and your eyes and body told me you still had some game left in you." He turns his head to face me, his light blue, almost gray eyes, landing on mine, "That is why I let you stay in, and you would've too, if you were able to see the determined look you gave me."

He always did have faith in me, but I've also known him for fifteen years now. I've known the man for as long as I've known Ryan, and Ben helped me become the pitcher that I am today, and he taught me much about the game from when he played in the MLB himself. If he hadn't torn his ACL all of those years ago, he no doubt would've been a Hall of Fame pitcher by now instead of our manager.

"Well, thanks," I say, nodding to the security guards at the entrance to our clubhouse and walk in. Most of the guys are already in here and taking off their dirty uniforms that are covered in grass stains, dirt, and plain old sweat. Three very beautiful elements of baseball. They all slap me on the back or swat my ass, congratulating me on a game well done, as I walk over to my locker and unbutton my shirt, pull it off and throw it down on the bench behind me. Next, I take off my red undershirt, throw it on the bench, then step out of my cleats and unbuckle my belt, unbutton my pants and step out of them putting them down with my shirt and undershirt. Finally, I remove my jock strap and my socks then grab a clean towel from my locker and tie it round my hips and make my way toward the showers. After every game, I take a shower like all of the guys do to clean up before changing into clean clothes, eating and heading out, or heading out and grabbing something to eat before heading home for the night (or to our hotel if we're playing an away game).

This night is no different. I shower, wash my hair, dry off, and once I'm back at my locker, I change into some clean comfortable clothes. A baby blue polo shirt, dark brown belt, and lightly faded blue jeans and some socks and my white Nike sneakers is what I put on, and I grab my gray and black backpack, which holds all of my essentials, slinging it over my shoulder and exit the locker room and prepare to move out to the dining hall to grab some grub, when I'm stopped in my tracks by the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

She's standing next to another knock out gorgeous woman whom I know to be Dormé, Ryan's fiancée. I've been over to their house on many occasions and have seen Dormé many times over the last two years since she and Ryan began dating, but I've never seen this woman with them before. My mouth opens slightly, my breath hitches in my chest, and I feel sweat suddenly break out across my top lip, and a fine tremor sweeps across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Fuck me! She is simply stunning!

She's obviously petite. Dormé is a svelte five foot nine, and this woman is maybe about five feet three, nice and tiny compared to my own six foot two frame. She's also most likely less than half my weight, probably not even a hundred pounds soaking wet - and that is definitely something I'd like to see. Her dark curly chestnut hair reflects the lighting of the clubhouse making it appear to shimmer, as it frames her face with these beautiful long ringlets going down past her shoulders to about her bra line. Wow. I suddenly want to run my fingers through it and see if it's as silky soft as it looks. I bet it is. Her skin is only slightly tan, her cheeks have a faint rosy tint to them, giving her a healthy glowing look. Her dark chocolate colored eyes are wide and looking around the clubhouse with keen interest, and almost like she knows I'm ogling her, her eyes suddenly turn and lock with mine, and I swear I feel electricity passing between us. I suddenly feel all tingly and warm, really alert and alive in a way I hadn't before. She's by far the single most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I don't make that statement lightly, especially considering I've dated supermodels, Playboy Playmates, and Hollywood actresses on far more occasions than I care to count.

Yet, she's unlike any woman I've ever met before. The models and actresses that I've dated always had a flair to them, some wild side, and she doesn't even look like she's capable of having a wild side. She looks like the proverbial 'girl next door.' It's probably sacrilege just using the word 'wild' around her. She just looks too good, too pure and innocent for a guy like me. And, she definitely doesn't look like the hookup type of girl, and trust me, I would know if she was.

I'm an expert on those.

Ryan looks over at me and smiles, motioning at me to join them. "Anakin," he calls me over. I walk over to him and Dormé, reluctantly taking my eyes off their friend. They know me well, and I doubt very seriously they'd want me anywhere near her. "This is Padmé. She's Dormé's best friend."

Ahhh…I've heard her name mentioned by Ryan and Dormé before, but I've never actually seen her until now. Trust me, I would've remembered if I'd ever met this gorgeous creature before.

Padmé. Damn, her name could roll off my tongue like honey. She's definitely too much of an angel for a sinner like me.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you, Padmé." I stutter, kicking myself mentally for that slip up. Way to go, Sky-fucking-walker, real smooth. "Nice jersey." I add with a smile, nodding at the shirt she's wearing, trying to redeem myself when I notice she's wearing my jersey, number 21.

"It's nice to meet you, too," she says with a dazzling smile, showing off her perfect white teeth. Her voice is soft and sweet, one that I could fall asleep listening to her talk, not in like a boring way where she puts me to sleep because of boring conversation but because of how smooth and soothing her voice is. She extends her delicate tiny hand for a handshake, and I meet her halfway, engulfing her soft fingers in my much larger and calloused ones. Her hand is so soft and tender that, I'm not gonna lie, I'd like her to rub it up and down my naked body, and maybe- just maybe - use it to touch other...more intimate parts of my body as well.

Fuck have mercy!…It's a wonder I don't rage a boner just thinking about that.

"Would you, uh, like me to sign your jersey?" I cough lightly and ask her, raising my eyebrows and releasing her hand after a moment or two of enjoying the feeling of her soft hand in mine. Honestly, I'd just like to hear her talk. Her soft voice just has a way of penetrating through to me, and even though it isn't loud or commanding like mine is, it reverberates through my head anyway.

She nods, a slight curve of her pretty pink lips encompassing her flawless, perfect round face. "Thank you. I'd like that."

So would I. Anything just to get closer to you and to imagine how you'd feel under me, as I fu-...Whoa! Stop that! I shake away my dirty thoughts forcefully. Those are two things I'd love to experience with her, and it isn't not like me to sleep with a girl that I just met. I mean, I don't have a player reputation off the field for nothing, but Padmé isn't just any girl to fuck, and I'm a little shocked to realize I don't want to just sleep with her like all the others. No. She interests me in a way none of them never did, and for that reason alone, she intrigues me, and I find I want to unravel the beautiful puzzle that is Padmé.

Removing a black Sharpie from my backpack, I ask her where she'd like me to sign it, and she sweeps her long curls over one shoulder and says on her back above the numbers, and that's where I sign my autograph. Pressing lightly against her back, I feel her soft tender silky skin as I sign my name just above her shoulder blades, and it gets me close enough to smell her scent. I can't help taking a deep breath in. Oh fuck, she smells wonderful! She smells of warm exotic spices with a touch of floral accents that I can't quite place and pure woman, pure beautiful Padmé.

God, I want to bury my nose against the crook of her neck and nuzzle her skin slowly, committing her richly feminine scent to memory.

"We're heading out for drinks and some grub, care to join us?" Dormé asks with a raise of one brow. Stepping back from signing Padmé's shirt, I turn to stare at Dormé. I'm at a loss for words here. Doesn't she know you can't put a drink in front of an alcoholic, pills or powder in front a drug addict, or a beautiful woman in front of me? I'm definitely no drunk or junkie, but I do love women, and women love me, but I'll admit, they're not usually women like her, like Padmé.

Still, how can I pass up an opportunity to spend more time with her when she about knocked me out of the ballpark the moment I laid eyes on her? I can't, so I nod helplessly, knowing full well that this isn't a good idea. Anakin Skywalker doesn't date, no longer than one night anyway, and I'm entering foreign territory just by agreeing to go with them, but I can't stop the words from falling out of my mouth. "I'd love to," I answer, trying to be all suave and cool about it and knowing I probably look like a damn deer in headlights instead, just staring at Padmé, earning myself a knowing grin from Ryan and a smile from both Dormé and Padmé. "Where we going?"

"The Bullpen."

I nod, knowing the place very well. It's a sports bar that's only a few blocks away. A lot of us on the team frequent there. It's also got a dance floor and some great steak tips. "Nice, I'll meet you there."

We walk out to the players' private parking lot where players and the coaching staff park our cars, and Ryan gets in his new gray Audi Q7 fully loaded SUV with Dormé and Padmé and pulls away as I smile at my car. It's kinda hard not to. She's a brand new 2017 Lamborghini Centenario Roadster. Gray with light tan interiors, she cost me over two million dollars, but I believe that she's well worth the price I paid for her, especially since there have only been a limited supply of forty manufactured, and mine was one of the first ones released.

Starting her up, she purrs like a kitten, and by that, I mean roars like a hungry lion, and I love every bit of it. The security guard opens the parking gate and waves bye to me as I pull out and turn onto the crowded city streets. There are people mulling about everywhere still, and they all recognize me immediately as I drive past, occasionally waving at the fans and being careful not to hit anyone as I head away from FP. It's well known that I drive this car, and I'm the only one on the team who drives a Lamborghini. I continue to wave to the crowds, as I weave through traffic for a few blocks before arriving at the restaurant and a valet rushes over to greet me.

"Welcome to The Bullpen, Mister Skywalker," the valet, Angelo, says with a smile. "I'll take good care of her, Sir."

"You'd better, Angelo," I reply, giving him a stern look. "She's a very expensive lady. If you scratch her up or get a dent in her, then you buy her. Understand?" I tilt my head at him with a knowing look.

He nods, gulping, his face turning red in embarrassment, and I slap him on the back with a grin. "Relax, I was just kidding. Just don't crash? Okay?"

He smiles in relief at me, his shoulders visibly sagging, and assures me he won't. I nod at him and head toward the entrance. A long line forms outside of the sports bar, and they all talk excitedly and point at me as I approach, but the bouncer lets me in immediately. "Welcome back, Anakin," he says with a smile, opening the door for me and ushering me inside.

"Thanks, George," I grin and pat him on the back as I pass him and head inside where a waitress greets me with a smile and leads me back to where Ryan, Dormé and Padmé are already sitting in a four person booth, Ryan and Dormé on one side and Padmé on the other where I will obviously sit, and my guard is immediately raised.

Are they trying to set us up? It wouldn't be the first time they tried that, but none of their female friends have ever lasted me longer than one satisfying night. So, it makes me wonder…Is that why Padmé is wearing my jersey and why she came to the game with Dormé? Are they really trying to be subtle about this, or does Padmé know she's being set up with me, too? Or, are they setting us both up without telling us first? Never can tell with them.

But, all questions fly out of my mind once Padmé looks up at me and smiles a blinding, breathtaking smile and moves over to give me some room to sit next to her, her jean clad thigh brushing against my own as I take my seat beside her, and I feel a little thrill shoot right to my groin at the innocent contact. Suddenly, I am thankful as fuck at the rather dark interior of the place.

Clearing my throat, I thank her as I shift in my seat and notice her gaze wandering around the bar at the other patrons who are blatantly staring at our table. "Looks like everyone around here knows who you are," she says. I follow her gaze around the bar and see what she means. It isn't often when I can just walk around without being recognized, especially not here in Boston and especially not when I just pitched a winning game.

But, I'm used it and shrug, not letting the attention get to me. "I come here often after games. Besides, I'm used to the attention. It comes with the territory." I tell her, as a waitress comes up to me and places a glass of water before me. "Thanks, Arlene."

"My pleasure, Anakin." Arlene says with a smile, pulling out her notebook to take our orders. "Steak tips, like usual?" She asks me, eyebrows raised questioningly. I nod silently and take a big sip of ice cold water. She then takes everyone else's orders, and moves off to go get their drinks, her green eyes lingering rather lustfully on me as she walks out of sight.

A little boy, maybe six or seven years old, suddenly comes to stand next to me, his deep brown eyes penetrating mine as he asks, "Can I get your autograph, please?" He hands me a Sharpie and points to his jersey. He's obviously a fan of mine, considering he's wearing my jersey, and I smile and nod, taking the marker from him and sign my name on his sleeve. The little boy beams at me with a gush of thanks and takes his Sharpie back before running back to a table not far from us where his parents are sitting with a young baby girl in a high chair, presumably his little sister. The parents look over at me with a look of gratitude, and I nod, letting them know that I was happy to do it.

Fans always come up to me asking for selfies and autographs, and I'm happy to pose and sign for them, but there are times when I'd just like to be Anakin again and not have people recognize me everywhere I go. It is the price of being a well-known athlete, of course, and one that I wouldn't change for the world, but it does get tiresome sometimes.

"Awww…That was nice," Padmé says, looking over with this sweet smile at the little boy where he's still beaming and looking down at his shirt in amazement, like he can't believe that I actually signed it for him. I doubt they came here expecting to see me after the game, but it obviously made that little boy's night, and I am glad to see that bright smile on his face, and it's all because of a simple autograph.

A smile tugs at my lips at the boy for a moment, then I turn to face Padmé with a shrug. "Signing autographs and taking pictures with fans is all part of the job, the price of stardom, if you will, and we all accept that...But, I won't lie, part of the reason why I wanted to become a Major League Baseball player was for that very reason. Not so much for being recognized everywhere I go, but for being able to do little things like sign that little boy's jersey and make his night. He's one of my fans. I never turn down a fan, and now he can go home with his signed shirt, and I'm sure he'll always remember this and maybe even cherish tonight, y'know."

She nods silently at my explanation, but the penetrating look she gives me lets me know that she knows there's more to it than that, and suddenly, I feel a little uncomfortable, like I'm exposed, and she can see right through me.

Well, truth is, she's right. There is more to it than that. I was that little boy once upon a time, and I know how it is to meet your idol like that. if I turned that kid down, then it'd only make me look bad and hurt the kid, and I wouldn't want either of those things to happen, especially not the latter. Kids are the future. That kid sitting across from us and beaming at my autograph might someday be where I am today, a starting pitcher for the Red Sox. I don't want to be the guy who discourages those dreams. Growing up was really hard for me and my mother. We lived in poverty until she married my stepdad, and we moved to his farm north of Boston. Baseball is what saved me from falling in with the wrong crowd, and it was something I fell in love with from the moment I first wore a baseball glove on my hand and threw a baseball when I was just five years old. It was love at first pitch, something I saw myself doing forever, and now that I'm here in the majors, I want to be a positive influence for kids that are just like I was, and I do all I can to encourage them to play baseball.

It's a great sport, the best ever.

I keep those thoughts to myself though. There's no need for her to know how poor I was growing up. I don't need any pity from anyone. Growing up the way I did is what drove me to become who I am today, and I know my mother's proud of me. She tells me quite often she is, and I just brush it off.

It's embarrassing.

Ryan and Dormé talk to each other quietly, leaving Padmé and myself to converse on our own, and I decide to get to know her better and to talk about something other than myself and how I interact with my fans. The only things I know about her are that she's drop-dead gorgeous, that her name is Padmé, and that she's best friends with Dormé.

That isn't much to go on.

"So, Padmé," I say, looking over at her, as she turns to face me again. "What do you do to pay the bills?"

Dormé's a famous model, and a damn good one, but I don't think Padmé's a model. For one thing, she doesn't act like one. Most of the models I've met looked like models. Naturally, not all models are created equal, but what I mean is they all care too much about their appearance and look like they're trying to dress to impress no matter where they go. Ok, Dormé being the one exception I personally know of to that general rule of thumb. Padmé, however, isn't wearing any make up as far as I can tell, and she's just wearing my Red Sox jersey, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. Simple, unpretentious clothes that show off her perfect feminine shape to perfection, I must say. Don't get me wrong, she is drop-dead gorgeous and doesn't need any make up to enhance her features, but that is precisely what clues me to the conclusion that she isn't a model. She's gorgeous, but in a fresh-faced, wholesome kinda way I find infinitely more appealing. Truthfully, I'm a guy that finds makeup to be highly overrated. Especially when it gets smeared all over my face or my clothes when I'm trying to make out with a woman who's wearing a lot of it. And, if Padmé was a model, then I definitely would've seen her face before…and remembered her. Dormé is a beautiful woman, true, but Padmé is in a league of her own and would be on the cover of magazines all over the world, not to mention be seen all over the TV, if she were a model, and I know for a fact that I've never seen her before.

With a face like hers, it'd be hard not to remember her.

Now, her body also doesn't scream model to me. Most guys like big breasts, big behinds, and long legs that go on forever. Don't get me wrong. I'd be lying if I said those things didn't catch my attention, too. They do. Padmé, however, has none of those things, but I like that about her. That she's different from the busty femme fatales actually makes her stand out from the crowd in an amazingly good way. She may not have big breasts, a big behind or legs that go on for days, at least not from what I can tell, but she does have curves in all the right places that appear proportionate to her size, and she has the face, the eyes, the hair, and the voice of an angel. She doesn't need any of those other qualities to be attractive and appealing. She's perfect to me just the way she is, and I haven't even kissed her or seen her naked yet.

That I'd like to see her naked and to kiss her long and deep are givens, of course. This is me, remember?

She takes a slow sip of her white wine before answering me somewhat shyly, her eyes refusing to meet mine. "Well, I'm not a model like Dormé, obviously," she says, looking down at her body self-consciously, a rosy blush sweeping across her cheeks.

Wait…What? Ok, something strikes me wrong about her response.

I mean, yeah, it was obvious to me, of course, but I'm me. A Cy Young Award winning pitcher, MLB's most sought after (and notoriously 'bad boy') bachelor, and dashingly handsome or sexy man, depending on who you ask. But, her 'obviously not' being a model doesn't sit right with me. Not at all. I'd damn well buy any magazine she was on the cover of just so I could stare at her face and create fantasies of myself in bed with her- not like I haven't done that before. I have. Although, I was usually lucky enough to bring those fantasies to life with the women actually on those covers.

But, this isn't about me. This is about her, and I feel the need to get to the bottom of this surprising inferiority complex she's got happening, because it's so wrong and totally unnecessary.

"Why 'obviously'?" I ask her with a frown, pushing away my own thoughts and focusing solely on her, watching her change of expression intently.

She blushes again, her cheeks and face turning pink in embarrassment. "Well...let's just say I've been told that I didn't have what they were 'looking for' when I auditioned with Dormé for her first gig. I mean, it's not like I was planning on being a model, no, but she dragged me with her anyway, and I just…" She breaks off speaking and shakes her head and sighs, and I'm a little shocked to see her eyes get a little glassy, like she's holding back tears. "I'm never doing that again," she finally mutters, almost under her breath.

What the fuck?! Was the guy or woman blind?

Padmé's twisting her wine glass on the table in her left hand, and I can feel her tapping her right foot against the floor nervously. Damn. Apparently, the idiots who were doing the scouting at that gig did a real number on Padmé's psyche with their thoughtless comments, giving her some kinda Ugly Duckling complex when she's actually a beautiful and elegant swan. I suddenly decide she needs some genuine reassurance about her appearance…and I'm just the guy to give it to her. "Forget 'em. They're wrong, and that's their fucking loss. I would've signed you immediately if I was a modeling talent agent. You may not be big like most models, no, but you're hot, appealing, and attractive just the way you are, Padmé, and I'd definitely buy any magazine you were in. Big breasts and long legs may be appealing to some men, true, but not all, and to me, you're beautiful and perfect and sexy just the way you are."

She blushes hotly at my compliment, looking demurely down at the tabletop, and thankfully, Ryan and Dormé continue on in their conversation oblivious to ours...or so it seems anyway. You never really know with them, and if they are setting us up, then they're probably listening in anyway. Let them. For once, they actually brought an intriguing woman with them that may last me longer than just one night. I don't think I'd get to bring Padmé home with me tonight anyway, because she definitely isn't that type, just as I expected. Which, for some odd reason I can't fathom, that realization actually ignites a spark of something like pride within me.

She's shy. It's endearing really, and she obviously doesn't know how beautiful she truly is, which, again, is problematic for me. Can't she see what I see? Why would she let some sleaze-ball put her down about her appearance? It makes no fucking sense to me. She's got nothing to be ashamed of. She's just as gorgeous as any Victoria's Secret model. Period. I know. I've dated quite a few of them. Still, seeing how uncomfortable she is about the current topic, I let it go and steer us back to my original question.

"So, if you're not a model, then what do you do?" I ask her, while taking a sip of my ice water.

She's visibly relieved at getting back to this question. Hmm…I'll have to work on getting her to see how beautiful she truly is but only a little at a time. I just hope I get that opportunity. "I'm a teacher," She smiles, her whole face lighting up, clearly proud and happy doing what she does for a living.

A teacher, huh? That isn't exactly what I thought she'd say but doesn't entirely surprise me either. I'm sure all the boys in her classes can't peel their eyes off of her. I know I wouldn't be able to. "Oh, yeah? What grade?" High school doesn't seem to fit her. Elementary maybe, but I'd peg her more as a middle school teacher. There's something about her that seems to lean toward middle school. I can't really tell how old she is. She's not much older than me, if she is in fact older than me. Based on her appearance, I'd say we're definitely somewhat close in age. But, it'd be rude to ask her that outright. So, I won't.

"Seventh grade," she answers, not surprising me one bit.

I nod with a smile. Yep, she definitely looks like a middle school teacher. I'm not entirely sure what middle school teachers look like compared to elementary or high school teachers, considering they could be any age, but it's just her style that made me think middle school. "Twelve-year-olds, must be a bunch of hellions." I get the chills just thinking of it, and she laughs at my reaction, and I freeze at the sound. Holy Shit! Her laugh is by far the sexiest and cutest sound I've ever heard. I could die a happy man being able to listen to her laugh for the rest of my life.

"They're not that bad," she insists, but I must not look convinced, because she continues, "They're mostly just experiencing changes in their bodies and are wrapped up in becoming teenagers. Just a bunch of misunderstood youth."

"If you say so...," I say skeptically, raising an eyebrow just as our food comes and is placed before us. "Thanks Arlene, looks great," I say, flicking a quick gaze up at our waitress before looking back down at my steaming plate of steak tips.

She smiles at me as she saunters off, leaving us to eat our meal. Padmé ordered a grilled chicken salad with lots of different types of lettuce and other veggies in it. That doesn't really surprise me either. She is small and slim. I wouldn't be surprised if she is often mistaken for a student rather than a teacher at her school.

We eat our dinner in comfortable silence until she leans her head my way and looks at my steak, pointing at it with her fork. "That looks really good," she says, matter-of-factly, causing me to smirk.

"That's because it's, y'know, real food." I say, stabbing a piece of steak with my fork and offering it to her. "Want a piece?" She nods enthusiastically and leans over, wrapping her pretty pink lips around my fork and eats the proffered piece of meat. For a moment, I just blink at her, shocked that she did that. I mean, I didn't think she'd actually eat it off my fork, but I admit, I kinda like that she did. I mean, it's sort of sexy and intimate, in a way, and it gives me hope that we may just be getting along well enough for her to want to go out with me sometime with just the two of us, and then we can put those pretty pink lips of hers to much better use...

She savors the taste of the bite, closing her eyes while she chews slowly, like she never ate steak before. Slowly, she swallows and then opens her eyes to beam at me. "Now I see why you usually order steak tips. Not only do they look good, but they are good."

"Damn right, I only get the best." It may be a little arrogant or egotistical of me to say so, but it's the truth, and I'm not about to regret how much my life has changed for the better since I made it to the pro's. Not to mention that, without baseball, I wouldn't be here right now with the most beautiful woman on the planet sitting just to my right.

She nods, her face going neutral while she sits up straighter and shifts away from me just a touch, before going back to eating her salad. "I can see that. It must be nice." The way she says it makes me raise a challenging eyebrow at her.

What exactly did she mean by that?

"Growing up the way I did, it is nice." I sigh, taking a sip of my water. The urge to drink some beer is getting pretty strong right about now, but I don't drink before or after a game, and I'm not about to start now. No matter how strong that urge is. I look over at her, a frown on my face, and when I speak, my voice has a definite defensiveness to it. "I made this great life for myself coming from literally nothing, ok. I'm not about to regret it or feel bad about living the privileged life I now live, because I worked pretty damn hard to earn it. Playing baseball, as I do, isn't easy work, no matter how easy and effortless it may seem. There are one hundred and sixty-two games a year, and I play one out of every five games, throwing about a hundred pitches each game. That takes a serious toll on my arm and shoulder, and it took a lot of hard work for me to become the great pitcher that I am today, and I'm only twenty-four." I finish my spiel with a huff, shooting her an intense look before turning back to my meal and forking another piece of steak.

Yeah, I'm going to need a beer, I think. I totally wasn't intent on telling her any of this. I don't like to bring up my poor upbringing. It's nobody else's business after all. My mother did her best and raised me right, but she had to work her ass off to do it, and I love and respect her for it. It wasn't easy for her as a single mother, but she always put me first, even if it meant she had to go without eating for a night, which happened more times than I'm sure even I'm aware of. So, no, I'm not going to feel bad about how much money I make now or about my new lifestyle.

I've worked my ass off since I was little to get here. I think I earned it.

"I didn't mean any offense by it," she says, calmly, eyebrows arched. Okay, maybe I overreacted a little but that's one topic I'm sensitive about. Talking about money is another, even if I'm well off now. But, I'm not going to mention it. Before I can respond to her comment, though, she continues speaking, "I grew up in a wealthy upper middle class family. We never had any financial problems to speak of. So, I am the lastperson to judge anyone about money or living extravagantly. I just meant that it must be nice only getting the best."

I'm not so sure she meant that, not with her tone and the way she said it. If she did have a privileged life like she said she did growing up, then she should just say she understands and not say it as a cynical comment, but nevertheless, I'll let it drop. How is she supposed to know me and my sore topics? I doubt she's that into sports, and if she is into sports and knows who I am, I doubt she knows that much about my childhood. It isn't a secret per se. It is known, and I have talked publicly about it before some, but I don't like to speak much about how unfortunate our circumstances were.

Fortunately, Ryan and Dormé speak up at that point, and we turn our attention to them. "Anakin, no," Ryan says looking at me with a smirk. "We're not here trying to set you two up." He must've known what I was thinking. I mean, what else was I supposed to think when they've done this before? More than once, as a matter of fact. "We asked you both here to ask if you'd be my best man..."

"And, you be my maid of honor," Dormé adds, looking at Padmé with a huge smile, before she smirks and adds, "However, if you two do want to see each other again and alone...then sure, that was our intention all along. We'll take the credit as matchmakers."

I didn't see that coming. At least not tonight.

Well, of course Ryan was going to ask me to be his best man. That was a given, but I didn't think he'd ask me to join them tonight with the drop-dead gorgeous teacher in tow to ask us together to be their best man and maid of honor.

"I'd be honored," I say with a huge grin looking between the happy couple. It sometimes makes me sick seeing the way they look at each other, but then I met Padmé and may have just screwed that up royally by snapping at her about a comment that I probably misheard or misunderstood. People have brought it up before, the whole rags to riches deal about me as a kid from the slums to my multimillion dollar MLB contract today. It was mostly those cable gossip shows on the celebrity channels and wasn't supposed to be insulting, but that's how I took it in my insecurity about my childhood.

Ryan grins at me, as I stand up and pull him into a hug. He's like a brother to me. Why wouldn't I accept? I know for sure that if I ever get married, I'd want him to be my best man.

"I knew you'd agree," he says, just inches away from my ear. "I also knew you'd agree to come to dinner tonight with us. She's hot, isn't she?"

I snort. I knew that was why he asked me here. To be his best man and to hook me up. Figures. "Yeah, you asshole. She definitely is that. Next time, why don't you give me a heads up beforehand, huh?" I pull out of the hug to see him grinning wolfishly at me.

"Will there be a next time?" He asks with a devilish glint in his eye, as we retake our seats. Padmé and Dormé are excitedly talking to each other, basically ignoring us guys and leaving us to talk while we continue to eat.

Padmé definitely is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, no doubt about it, and if I could, I would love to see her again. But, I may have just ruined that by snapping at her. I'll probably need to do some repair work on that, like pronto, to ensure I didn't alienate her and ruin my chances of scoring a date with her, and hearing the music and looking over and seeing people out on the dance floor...I get an idea.

"Padmé," she looks over at me, her beautiful chocolate brown eyes landing on my azure blue ones. "Would you like to dance with me?"

I admit, I've kinda got butterflies here. What if she says no?

"I'd love to. Thank you."

Fuck, yeah! I actually held my breath waiting for her answer, and I release it in a silent whoosh in relief.

She smiles a breathtaking smile and places her hand in mine when I stand up and extend it to her, and we walk out to the dance floor. With each step, I vow to capitalize on this chance for me to do some repair work here. I don't even pay attention to the slow song that's playing. This might be a sports bar, true, but the music isn't always so adrenaline pumping.

We stand out on the floor, and I take her soft tender hand in mine and place my other hand on her waist enjoying the extremely close contact between us. She's so small the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder, but I like that, I like her...a lot. Enough that I'd like to see her again, or I wouldn't be ready to tell her any of this as she presses up closer against me, and we sway slowly with the music.

"I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier," I say quietly. She looks up at me, and her brown eyes sparkle. "I had a shitty childhood, ok. My mother was a single parent. I never knew my father, and we didn't have any money. Baseball is all I really had besides my mom. It was my passion, my love, and I worked my ass off to make it to where I am today. I'm just a bit touchy when it comes to people talking about my financial situation and my childhood. You probably didn't know that. I mean, how could you? But, I'm sorry for practically biting your head off. You didn't deserve having me snap at you like I did."

I don't deserve her! She shouldn't even want to dance with me. I don't exactly have the best reputation when it comes to women. I know that, but I'm not going to give her any more reasons to doubt me or to not want to see me. She is definitely a woman I'd like to continue seeing. She's actually the first woman ever in my life, well since my first year in the minors anyway, that I'd like to see for more than just one date...which we didn't even go on yet. And, may not ever go on...

"Apology accepted." She says with a beautiful smile, looking up at me in a way that makes me want to lean down and capture her pretty pink lips with mine. "But, you have no reason to be sorry. If anything, I should be apologizing to you for my comment. I really didn't mean any offense by it, it's just...I work at a public school, and many kids there aren't fortunate. It's hard for me to draw that line between teacher and...I don't know, someone who wants to help them more, I guess. I just can't help but want to help people succeed in life. These kids need a good role model, someone to teach them that dreams really can and do come true, and that if they want something bad enough, they can make it happen." She sighs and shakes her head. "Sorry, I get a little too caught up and rant. I just feel passionate about what I do and about wanting to help people that grew up less fortunate than I did."

She really doesn't see what I see, now does she? And, fuck, if I'm not more impressed by her by the minute. I smile down at her and lean down to whisper in her ear, "Don't apologize for being you." Fuck, I think I'm falling in love with her already. "You're a good person, a great person rather. You care. And, that is more than a lot of people can say. And, I happen to do the exact same thing in my foundation. I help kids that are in a similar situation as I was in my youth. We give out scholarships for kids to go to college, and we help fund youth baseball teams, even donating the equipment to go along with it. I also run a charity celebrity softball game every year, and we donate the money to programs that help inner city youth achieve their dreams."

Starting a foundation was one of the first things I did when I got called up to the Majors from the AAA league. Mom actually runs it for me while I play during the season. It's one of my favorite things to do as a pro baseball player, and I constantly promote it whenever I'm out and about.

"Really?" She asks me, seeming surprised that I'd so such a thing or is she surprised that I like to see her rant about what she's passionate about? "That's amazing." She smiles up at me with her sexy breathtaking smile, and I return it as best I can, because suddenly I'm feeling weak in the knees.

"You're amazing," I can't help but say softly. She blushes, turning her head to the side giving me a look at her profile. It's something I've stared at all night and realize with a jolt I'd love to see every day for the rest of my life. "Padmé?" She looks back up at me, her cheeks still stained pink. "Go out with me. On a date, I mean. Just you and me."

Her jaw drops and her eyes grow big as saucers, as she looks up at me in shock. I smile at her reaction, and the impossibly strong urge to kiss her is coming back. "Y-you want to go out on a date…with me?" Is she really that surprised? How can she not see what I see? Her reaction solidifies my resolve.

Yes, I want this. So damn much it's almost scary.

"Yes, I do." I simply say before continuing. "Like I said, you're amazing, Padmé, and I'd like to get to know you better. What do you say? Will you go on a date with me? Just the two of us?"

She still looks shocked, but then her lips curl up into a beautiful smile, and she nods. "I'd love, too. We'll just have to exchange numbers when we get back to the table." I have the sudden urge to jump up and pump my fist into the air in celebration. It feels like I just fucking won the World Series!

Grinning back at her, I tuck my head next to hers, pressing my cheek next to her ear and hold her closer in triumph. Man, this feels so right with her.

We continue dancing for a few more minutes before returning to our table. Dormé and Ryan look at us like they know what we talked about, but we don't pay them any mind. We opt not to get dessert, instead just finishing our meal and drinks and pay our bill. Ryan says he'll pay for it since they invited us here, but naturally, I insist that I pay for at least my food. He just gives me a pointed look and pays for it anyway without any further debate.

We stand up to leave, and Padmé and I pause to exchange numbers. Dormé and Ryan walk out ahead of us, hand-in-hand, as Padmé and I walk side by side, taking our time walking out of the restaurant, still ignoring all the stares coming my way. "I had fun," I tell her, enjoying the comfortable silence but wanting to hear her beautiful voice some more.

She smiles up at me, "Me too. More fun than I thought I'd have actually." There's a mischievous glint in her eye that makes me smile. Fuck, this woman is magnetizing.

"I'm glad I didn't bore you," I tease with a grin, making her laugh. We head outside, and the valet goes off to get my car. Ryan and Dormé are already waiting for theirs, too. "When are you free next?" I ask her.

She pulls out her phone and looks through her calendar. I do the same and notice that for the next week we'll be out of town for a few away games. "I have all summer off. I'm pretty much free most evenings right now. I just have some things to do during the day. Anytime works for me really."

I nod and smile, seeing the perfect day. "We'll be away for most of the coming week on a road trip. I pitch next week, our first home game back since we'll be gone for the next four games. How about you come to my game with Dormé, and then we'll head out afterwards? Just the two of us. Unless you want to wait until another day when I don't have a game?"

She shrugs, not seeming to mind either way. "I'll leave that up to you, just call me a few days before to make plans."

Just to hear you talk? Count me in. "Until then," I take her hand in mine and lift it to my lips and kiss the back of her hand, enjoying the feel of her soft, tender, and silky skin under my lips. I am also pleased to note the rosy blush that sweeps across her cheeks once more and how her eyes dilate. I also notice her pulse has sped up, hammering away in her wrist.

Good. This all bodes well for us. Of that, I'm sure.

The valets return with our cars, and after helping Padmé into the backseat of Ryan's SUV, I climb in my car, and we all depart, leaving me with the biggestfucking grin of my life. I blast the music as I pull away, seeing nothing but that beautiful angel that just unknowingly stole my heart.

I wish this road trip was already over because I can't fucking wait to get back home and see Padmé again.

A/N: Thank for you reading Chapter One! I hope you enjoyed it!

I really wasn't sure how to write their first outing but I think it goes to show who they both are as people at first glance. I didn't want to spoil too much since they're just getting to know one another and since this wasn't really a date. I figured I'd just give you a taste of the blossoming romance before it really develops.

I'm also a big fan of baseball, just like I am football and therefore enjoy writing fanfics where Anakin is an athlete. I can totally vision him being a pitcher like he is here and just as cocky and arrogant, yet skilled at what he does. I can also totally see him being a ladies man and a player, its fun writing him as a player at least until he finds the one who makes him want to play another type of game...He isn't the dating type, but if he wants Padmé as bad as he does then he'll have to learn how to play that game and learn how to play it, he will.

Thanks again for reading! Please follow, favorite and review!