Out in the Field (Out in College 4)

“Yeah, but he’s versatile like you. He can play anywhere. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I assured him, swinging my bat a couple of times in an attempt to get my smile under control.

Times like this, I sort of missed Sky. Our relationship was toxic as hell, but the sex was un-fucking-real. And it had been nice to have someone around who understood queer sex innuendos without needing an explanation or a diagram. Javi, our catcher, was a good guy, but he was straight as an arrow. And sometimes, a little clueless with it. He wasn’t homophobic, but I knew he assumed every gay dude looked, talked, and acted like Phoenix. Super colorful and extra fabulous.

Geez, I had to quit thinking about the guy. This was getting ridiculous. I adjusted my junk then glanced over at Javi curiously when he fixed me with a hopeful look.

“So what do you say? Are you free Friday night?” Javi asked before spitting on the dirt in true baseball dude fashion.

“Free for what?”

“Haven’t you been listening? Sarah’s friend’s brother is in the play. She hooked us up with some great seats for closing night. And there’s an extra ticket…for you,” he said with a crooked smile.

I chomped on my gum obnoxiously and narrowed my eyes. “A play? What’s it called?”

“I have no fucking idea. Something about a dream, I think.”

“A dream?” I repeated in a sort of weird daze.

“Hey, I promise I’m not trying to set you up with Sarah’s really hot new friend.” Javi paused to waggle his brows. “I just want to help expand your horizons and get you cultured, ya know?”

“Yeah, right. You’re setting me up, and I’m not falling for it.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “I need company. I don’t want to go either.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I can’t tell my girlfriend no. We had this long, drawn-out talk about compromise. I think this play is a test, and I don’t want to fail. You’re the only one I can ask who won’t flat-out laugh at me for suggesting it.”

“Well, I’m laughing,” I deadpanned.

Javi huffed. “C’mon, man. What are you doing instead?”

“I don’t know yet. Something will come up.”

“Hmph. I bet.” He turned away from the view of the dugout and made a nasty hand motion before swinging his bat a couple of times. “Hey, it’s two hours out of your life and at the very least, it’ll get Micah to shut up.”

I furrowed my brow. “Shut up about what?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed his stupid homo jabs. The guy’s a troublemaker. I can tell he’s one of those idiots who likes to say something explosive, then walk out of a room. Like a human grenade,” he said with a humorless half laugh. “I hope Coach puts him in the outfield. The farther he is from the plate, the better. You’re up.”

What the hell was with Micah? At any other point in my life, I would have ignored the lame-ass taunts. There was always someone on any team who liked to stir shit up for the heck of it. For some reason I felt a little vulnerable without a boyfriend. There were days Sky and I would fuck like rabbits, drive separately to practice or a game, and then ignore each other. I could smell his sweat on my skin and no doubt, I had his dried cum on my stomach. We both should have been nervous someone would catch on. We’d lived together, slept together, and spent almost every free moment we had alone naked. Best of all, we were each other’s beards. Sky would casually mention a girl he liked, and I’d ask how their date went…that kind of thing. Without him around, I felt exposed.

I pushed the feeling aside as I stepped up to bat. As Tom Hanks said in A League of Their Own, there was no crying in baseball. I had to suck it up and not let that little shit under my skin. I crouched into position with my bat raised high as I scanned the field. Not to brag, but I was by far the best hitter on the team. And with Minsky throwing puffballs to preserve his arm for Saturday’s game, I could choose a target anywhere on the field or I could knock this one out of the park.

I found my mark just as Minsky pulled the ball and his left leg to his chest before unfolding his body, cranking the ball behind him, and unleashing it over home plate. Yep. Too easy. I cracked the ball toward shortstop with just enough heat to land at Micah’s feet, then skip high above his head. Any decent infielder would have been ready to jump or dive to stop the ball, but Micah was asleep on the job. At least he was until he almost got beaned. He hopped out of the way and let left field take over. The play was over in seconds, signaling the end of practice. Javi punched my bicep and laughed like a loon.