Cleat Chaser, a recently released Sports Romantic Comedy title, by Celia Aaron and Sloane Howell, strikes out for me. I’m actually a sports fan and I love sports romances, but while this story was plodding along I found myself wanting to follow behind its butt with a switch, applying a few well-intentioned whacks of encouragement and motivation to pick up its feet and get going, but it never did. Not for me… but, first, the good. The writing is solid and descriptive. I can literally see the action as it occurs in the story. The idea of a hot extrovert hero with a big bat pursuing a reluctant bookish introvert around all four bases has loads of potential, but the passion in the story eluded me. I never found myself rooting for any of the characters and the reading became a chore. It was a looonggg time before any sex came to bat, and prior to that Kyrie and Easton (H and H) simply masturbate while fantasizing about each other. Masturbation is absolutely okay, but not when I feel like I am masturbating right along with them, and not in a good way – in a sort of bored, lifeless, when-is-this-going-to-be-over way. When that happens, something has gone missing. The book’s humor also escaped me. I knew when I was supposed to laugh and smile, but I never did. I like irony and subtlety mixed in with my humor, and in this tale the humor was usually adolescent and too potty-ful for my taste. So, in my opinion, the pitching is a little wild here, with tosses dancing all around the strike zone. I never could make contact with the balls, and accepting a walk to first base just isn’t very sexy. 3.5 stars, because I can see the polish on the cleats, but what I wanted was to see the main characters get scuffed up with rough-n-tumble fun.