Pitch Please (There's No Crying in Baseball 1)

“I’m glad you’re back, man,” Gentry broke the tension.

My brows rose.

“Gentry,” I looked at him fully. “I haven’t missed any games.”

He shrugged.

“But you missed all the practices,” he said. “There’ve been two that I’ve had to go through without you.”

I snorted. “That’s why you should re-sign with the ‘Jacks,” I told him. “When your contract expires at the end of the season, you should remember the feeling you’re having right now.”

He rolled his eyes.

“My family’s been bugging the shit out of me to come back to Oakland,” he commented. “I told them I’d think about it if I got the offer from them.”

I sighed.

“I already told you,” I crossed my arms. “That you would hate living there. Think of all the snow.”

“There’s no snow in California, well, most of the state, anyway.” Sway decided to drop her attitude and join in on the conversation.

I held my wrists out to her and she immediately started wrapping them without needing to be asked.

Gentry watched in amusement as I answered her silly comment.

“There’s more possibility of snow there than there is here,” I pointed out. “We only had one instance of snow last year, and that was one day and less than a quarter of an inch. Oakland got a foot last year.”

Sway started to laugh.

“You’re impossible,” she informed me, patting my wrists. “You know they didn’t get any snow.” She paused before she got even a step away. “What’s this?” she asked, touching my newest acquisition.

“A new glove I picked up from the equipment shed,” I explained.

The equipment shed was more of a store of sorts. Sponsors donated items that they hoped we’d use, such as shoes, bats, balls, and tools of the trade.

“What are you doing to it?” She touched it.

I lifted the glove into my hand and unwound the five rubber bands I had holding the glove closed around the ball and showed her.

She frowned. “Why are you doing that?”

“You have to break a glove in. You can’t just start using it during a game and expect it to perform to your liking,” I told her. “So, you break it in, and this is one of the ways of doing it.”

“What are the other ways?” she questioned.

“Some people beat it with a mallet to loosen up the leather,” Gentry added in. “I used to drag mine behind my bike when I was younger.”

“And you don’t do that anymore?” Sway teased.

I shook my head.

“No,” I disagreed. “The best way to break it in is to play with it. However, that ain’t gonna happen during a game, and especially a game that’s against the little fucker who tried to separate my head from my neck.”

“He’s not playing tonight,” Sway said. “Or was I wrong about that?”

“You’re not.” I stood up and tucked my glove underneath my arm as I picked up my hat. “But that doesn’t mean that the other players won’t be on edge over what happened. They’ll be waiting for me to try something…and, who knows? They might be right.”

Sway sighed.

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” she smacked my ass lightly. “Now, get out of here. I have other players besides you to take care of.”

My eyes widened, and a fierce sort of jealousy tore through me at the idea of her doing any other player than me.

Of course, I knew what she’d meant by the comment, but it didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow as my mind chose that moment to race.

But then she had to go and ruin my anger by one simple comment that she tossed out offhandedly.

“Doesn’t that beard bother you in the summer?” Sway asked, running a finger along the edge of my beard.

My brows rose. “Manliness isn’t seasonal, Sway.”

She tilted her head down and laughed, and I couldn’t help but watch the way her breasts jiggled with each breath of laugher.

“Be good. You know where to find me before the game.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

I snorted and smacked her ass, taking great joy in the resounding smack and the sting in my hand as I did it.

She squawked in outrage, and I tossed her a grin that couldn’t be misinterpreted.

I wanted her.

I wanted her badly.

And I would have her.

By the end of the night.

She would be mine.

***

Was it possible to run the bases with a hard on?

Yes, yes it was.

But it was not easy to slide.

I stood up and dusted the dirt off my pants, glaring at the umpire.

“I was safe, and you damn well know it, Henderson!” I yelled. “You saw it, I saw it. Hell, even my eighty-year-old grandmother saw it from all the way up in the stands.”

I gestured to the stands where my family was standing and yelling about the shitty call that was just made.

But that was just how the entire game went.

“You didn’t touch second base,” he said. “And Rhys touched it, meaning you’re out.”