“Hey, it’s all right, Hunter. We all miss our spots sometimes,” Todd mocks as he makes the slow turn toward third base.
“Ha ha,” I unload, my tone clearly full of irritation.
I walk around the mound and meet Roddy at the front, where he slaps a new ball into my glove but quickly grabs my wrist below the leather.
“I’m not out here to pull pranks and haze the new kid. That shit right there is on you. I told you to hit a spot. You missed because you got mad at being told what to do. Learn from that. You throw that pitch higher, you’re going to get swings. Especially off fastball addicts like Tyler Padilla.”
I am not the most coachable. I know this about myself, which is, I suppose, a good step toward self-improvement. I nod at Roddy and make a mental note to shore things up in front of the coaching staff when we get back in the dugout.
He lets go of my wrist.
“His name’s Tyler? I thought it was Todd,” I say, halting him before he heads back to the plate. He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Fucking starting pitchers, man. You are all the same.” He holds out a fist, and I pound mine on top of his. “His dad won the Silver Slugger the year you were born. Do your homework.”
I swallow as Roddy walks away, then shift my focus to Tyler’s back as he celebrates outside the dugout. Number twenty-three, Padilla, high fast balls. I’ll never forget.
***
Three innings of work, four strikeouts and one run. Not bad for my first outing in Sweetwater. I’d rather not have the dinger on my record, but I seem to have made headway with Roddy. At least, enough for him to buy me a beer at Earl’s Big Easy, the local pub that’s perfectly situated between the state university’s campus and Sweetwater’s minor league stadium. I didn’t want to start in Triple-A ball, but everyone starts somewhere. And Sweetwater is full of beautiful women, thanks to a thriving college scene and one of the country’s best nursing programs. My time here promises never to leave me lonely.
Speaking of . . .
“What’s her story?” I nudge Roddy with my elbow. The cutest damn blonde swivels through the crowded bar while balancing a tray of pitchers and mugs over her head.
“That’s Renleigh. She’s not for you.” He coughs out a laugh and turns back to his conversation with the other guys.
“What makes her not for me?” I interrupt Roddy as he’s talking, and he snaps his mouth shut and blinks his way to meeting my gaze.
“You’re a cocky little shit, aren’t you?” He takes a long sip from his beer, foam coating his upper lip.
I waggle my head and put my beer down, dropping my hands in my pockets as I take a step back.
“You say cocky, but nah. I’m just confident. I’ve found that women are attracted to a guy who believes in himself, and gentlemen, I might beexactlythe kind of guy this . . . Renleigh?”
Roddy nods and grunts out, “Uh huh.”
“The kind of guy Renleigh needs,” I finish.
Roddy’s lip ticks up, and I anticipate his dare before he has a chance to fish the twenty bucks out of his wallet. He slaps it on the table a second later and glances to the other catcher and the two pitchers hanging out at our table. They follow suit, all three of them laughing as they slam down twenties to match Roddy’s. He scoops them into a small, neat stack and swivels his head to meet my eyes.
“Eighty bucks. It’s all yours if you can get that girl right there to go home with you.” Roddy picks up his beer and takes a drink as he studies me. His sureness is a tad unnerving, but also, I meant what I said about having confidence when it comes to women. Iknowit’s an attractive quality. Shit, it’s been getting me laid well above my level for four years. I’m not like the other guys who pop in and out of Earl’s. I just need to get this Renleigh girl to notice.
I slide my wallet from my back pocket and pull out the hundred-dollar bill I’ve been saving for emergencies. This seems like a good use.
“Deal,” I say, dropping it on top of the pile of cash. “I’d say keep the change, but I’ll be back for that stack in a few minutes.”
I chug what’s left of my beer and slam the mug down, wiping my mouth along the sleeve of my Maverick’s long-sleeved training shirt. I’d prefer to be dressed nicer, rather than like I just got off the field, but at least I can pull off the compression-pants-under-shorts look.
There’s a decent crowd for a late afternoon, so I slip into an open space at the end of the bar and wait patiently as Renleigh returns with a tray filled with empty steins and pitchers. Shediscards the dirty dishes into a bin, then nods to an older man wearing a Harley-Davidson bandana on his head. He says something that makes her laugh enough that she leans forward and slaps her palms on her thighs before snagging a clean glass from a rack and filling it with Kentucky bourbon. He gives her a nod and a wink, then slides a twenty across the bar. She’s still chuckling softly as she heads my direction.
“Is it always this busy in here?” I ask as she punches a few keys on the register and changes out the twenty, pocketing the change in the apron around her waist.
“Sure is,” she says in a snappy tone. She doesn’t even glance up at me. “What can I get ya?”
She grabs a wet cloth from behind the bar to clean the bar top around me, and I smirk at how hard she’s working to not make eye contact. I see why Roddy thought this would be a sure bet. I’m guessing Renleigh gets hit on a lot. Why wouldn’t she? The woman is gorgeous, hair pulled up into a tight ponytail that whips against her bare shoulders when she turns. The black Earl’s tank top clings to her body, showing off the toned muscles of her arms, and her dark blue jeans hug her ass. I made note of those the first time I spotted her. So yeah, I’m certain Renleigh’s been told she’s hot, pretty, gorgeous, smokin’, fine, and every other term assholes shout as they ogle her while she’s on the job. It’s a good thing I shoot my shots differently.
“What’s good here?” I squint my eyes as I lean into the bar and pretend to read the list of specialty brews scribbled next to the TVs mounted behind the bar.
