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

“You mean when she starts accusing you of cheating on her?” I raised a brow at him as I offered him my boob-sweat covered phone.

He sneered slightly when I handed it off, but otherwise didn’t comment about the fact that I’d had it stored in my bra.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered.

I rolled my eyes and started cleaning up, beginning first with the ice tub that Hancock had just exited.

Once the drain was pulled, I moved to the other tubs and wiped them down with disinfectant wipes before moving to the tables.

Once everything was clean and orderly, I snatched up my purse and keys, and headed to my uncle’s office.

“No, I’m not with anyone else,” Siggy mumbled under his breath. “Margaret. Jesus Christ. I’m at fuckin’ work.”

I rolled my eyes and walked up to Siggy, holding my hand out for the phone.

“Hold on,” he mumbled, then handed it to me with a grateful look in his eyes.

“Aunt Marge,” I interrupted the tirade I could hear coming through the phone without even having it up to my ear yet. “This is Sway. Uncle Siggy used my phone, but I have to go. I’ll have to have him call you back later.”

Without waiting for her negative response to my words, I hung up and dropped my phone into my purse.

“You really need to leave that woman, Siggy. That’s not a healthy relationship,” I admonished him.

“We have two kids together, a paid off house, and a grandkid on the way. Even if I did leave her, I’d still have to see her, so what’s the fuckin’ point of leaving her? At least, this way, I get regular sex,” he explained.

I gagged.

“Gross,” I grumbled. “Are you coming to dinner tomorrow?”

He gave me a look that clearly said he wasn’t stupid.

“What?” I stifled a laugh.

“You damn well know I come to the dinners every Sunday night when I’m here,” he grumbled. “Nobody can get out of it, not even me.”

I agreed.

Every Sunday, Grams had a dinner that she expected every single one of her children and grandchildren to attend.

If they didn’t, hell hath no fury and all that fun shit.

Grams was hell on wheels, and she would drive over to your house and yank your ass out of bed if that’s what it took to get you there. On top of making everyone else wait.

I’d been on the receiving end of that quite a few times, and it’d gotten to the point where I knew better.

So did Siggy.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Exiting the office, I headed for the door that led to the employee parking lot, stopping the moment I made it out the door to find Hancock leaning heavily against my car. I continued to about midway into the lot before getting close enough to speak to him.

“What’s going on?” I questioned him.

He looked up at me and studied me as I walked towards him.

“I want you to take care of me,” he ordered once I was close enough to hear what he had to say. “I’m sick. Possibly dying.”

I snorted.

“Why me?” I laughed.

“Because you’ll actually take care of me,” he smiled so pitifully that my lips twitched.

I rolled my eyes and walked to my car.

“Your house or mine?” I asked him.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

I wasn’t this type of forward girl, and I most definitely didn’t bring men to my place very often…or at all.

In the end, the moment he got into my car, he passed out, and I chose to take him to my house.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice that I was a crazy cat lady. Maybe he wouldn’t care.

Maybe he found crazy cat ladies sexy.Chapter 7How do I stop eating chips and salsa? Do they run out or do I just die?

-Sway’s secret thoughts

Hancock

“I’m dying,” I muttered into the pillow, moving my face in between the beautiful pillows that felt like clouds.

The pillows that smelled like flowers and something else I couldn’t quite identify.

Though that had a lot to do with the fact that my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and that I couldn’t breathe through my nostrils.

“You’re not dying,” the angel of mercy whispered into my ear. “Are you going to play in your game today?”

I cracked my eyes open and stared at my angel.

“I like your eyes, Angel,” I told her. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“You’re in my bed,” the angel corrected. “And you were in the other room up until about an hour ago. I’m not really sure why the hell you’re in my room at this point.”

She placed her hand in the middle of my chest and pushed.

Deciding to let her have her way, since she was an angel and all, I rolled over so I was no longer directly on top of her.

“I like your pillows,” I muttered.

“Well, you gave my pillows beard burn,” she grumbled. “Try not to put your beard on my breasts again, please. I think I’m allergic to your beard.”