“Yeah, and she’s clearly never coached before. She’s got my kid in right field. He’s a third baseman.” The man shakes his head in disgust.
“And mine plays second, but she’s got him in as catcher. He hates playing catcher.”
“That’s a tough position,” Decker chimes in.
“Not as a professional, but at this age, yeah. Kids can’t throw strikes. Jack is going to be exhausted tonight. I’ll have to ice his legs.”
Easton laughs but masks it with a cough.
“Who’s your kid?” one of the dads asks.
I scan the field. “Second base.”
Right then, a kid hits the ball, and it goes right to Lincoln. He fields it and throws it to the first baseman, who misses the catch, so the runner is safe. I’m super proud of Lincoln, and I’m going to tell him it was a great play.
“That’s all me,” Easton brags.
“At least she got your kid’s position right,” the dad says. “Maybe we should vote her out or something?”
Easton puts his hand on my back. “I want a closer look, come on.”
It takes every ounce of my willpower to walk away from these dipshits who think their kids are preparing for the major leagues at nine years old.
As we walk along the fence line, the inning ends, and the guy at first goes over to Leighton. He almost looks as though he’s whispering, his arm around her back, resting on the top of the fence behind her.
“Oh shit, things are about to go down,” Easton says.
My jaw clenches, but Decker knocks his shoulder to mine and shakes his head. He’d probably die if I made a scene at rec baseball.
Lincoln is up to bat, and I stand back from the other parents, so he doesn’t see us. I don’t want him any more nervous than he probably already is.
“What is he doing?” Easton asks.
“Did you tell him how to position his bat?” Decker turns his head to look at me.
“He’s nine. We’ve only ever worked on fielding and catching.” Even I bite my cheek.
Lincoln swings and misses. He’s pulling his head out, and his upright stance isn’t doing him any favors.
“We have to get our boy to the cages,” Easton says, crossing his arms.
“We’ll start with the tee,” Decker adds.
“And then soft toss,” I say.
Poor Lincoln strikes out with only three pitches, and some guy in a Perfect Game T-shirt says the game is over.
All the boys line up, and Leighton does too. The jackass talking to her earlier walks behind her, and if I see his eyes stray to her ass even once, I’m going to be over the fence.
We finally walk the rest of the way over, and Monroe spots us immediately.
“You came!” She jumps up from the blanket where she’s playing with another girl her age. A paperclip necklace swings around her neck as she runs over to us.
Lily stands and folds up her camping chair, not offering us a smile.
I squat and wait for Monroe to run into my arms, but she attaches herself to Decker’s legs instead, squeezing hard and closing her eyes.
“Damn, you’ve definitely been replaced.” Easton laughs and walks over to the dugout. He nods to the moms gawking at him as he passes by.
