“Full count?”
I looked at her and she shrugged. “I don’t watch much baseball.”
“Two strikes and three balls. Unless the hitter fouls than the next pitch ends the at bat.”
“Oh, and you’re the pitcher, right?”
This was kind of refreshing. Usually people tried to impress me with their knowledge of the game. Even women. I rolled my shoulder. “Yeah. I’m a pitcher.”
“Does it hurt? Your shoulder?”
“Sometimes. But that’s okay. It’s not a bad hurt.” God, I hated when it felt bad in a weird way.
“So, what happened then? After that full count thing?”
Yes. Back to my epic fail. “I just needed to finish this guy out. Ya know? Coach came in. He said he could bring in a reliever but nah, I told him. ‘I’ve got this.’” I thought I did. One more fucking pitch.
“So, he let you stay. Did you pitch a lot already? Like, the whole game?”
I nodded and then shook my head. “Fast ball, low and outside. I knew this guy’s weaknesses. I had him.”
“You thought.” She reminded me.
I slid her a sideways glance. “Am I telling this story, or are you?”
She giggled. This was the first time anyone had ever laughed about this whole fucking thing. Sure as hell was the first time I’d joked about it.
She swiped her fingers across her mouth and made like she was turning a key. Which unfortunately drew my attention to her lips again.
“I wind up. I’ve thrown this damn pitch a thousand times. Except for some reason I release early.” Saying it sucks all the air out of my lungs. Because as soon as I let go of that ball I knew it was over. I hadn’t even had to hear the bat make contact to know it. “It was a fucking sloppy pitch.”
“Hold up a minute.” She stopped and stepped out of her shoes. “I just can’t do this anymore tonight. I think I’d rather walk across glass.” When she stepped out of those shoes the top of her head dropped to a few inches shy of my shoulders. How had such a tiny thing twisted me up?
“Your coach should have pulled you,” she said the words casually as she began walking again. We walked even slower now. Even though I had to get up early the next morning I didn’t mind. All her craziness earlier had lightened my heart somehow. I shook my head at such an idiotic thought.
“Except I told him I could close it out.”
“Not your decision.” She picked her way around some gravel. “I mean, did you consciously decide to pitch sloppy?”
“Of course not.”
“And you’d pitched a lot already?”
“Nine innings. But I told him I was good.” I didn’t want sympathy from her.
“Doesn’t matter.” She sounded so sure of herself. “Look, I don’t really follow baseball, but I used to play basketball.”
I laughed at that.
“Don’t laugh man, I have a heck of a lay-up.”
I could have so much fun playing basketball with her. The thought of some illegal contact turned me on all over again.
She wasn’t finished though. “It’s the coaches job to have the best players in when he needs them. It’s their job to know when a player is running on fumes. Of course, you’re gonna tell your coach you can do it. That’s a player’s job– leave everything on the court… or in your case, the field. Which is what you did. You just didn’t have enough left. Your coach should have seen it. He should have known better. It’s not like you decided to throw a sloppy pitch. Your body was done.” She shrugged. “But I get it. Some opportunities don’t come around a second time.” Regret tinged her voice when she said this last part. Like she’d missed a big opportunity herself.
“Sorry about the whole auction fiasco.” I hoped she didn’t lose her job. I felt like it was my fault. I’d been eye fucking her the entire time I’d been on stage. I’d been so god damn thrilled to see her sitting down there. Bidding on me… How pathetic was that?
She contemplated her words and then surprised me. “I’ll live. It’s just a job.” And then she scrunched her nose up. “You think I can get sued for something like this?” And then she winced and stopped to brush a sharp rock from the bottom of her foot.
