Flair was my middle name.
“Fiona. I can’t… I can’t breathe.” The bastard leaned over and made awful, wheezing sounds that rivaled a hyena. I went about setting the line and paid no attention when he got on the ground and slammed his fist, his laughter growing louder by the second.
I couldn’t really blame him, though—I was a hot mess.
“Coach Fiona, why are you all white?”
“Well, Big Al, I dropped the chalk.”
“You look ridiculous. Can I pick some up, too?”
“Yes.” An idea struck. It was brilliant. Genius, even. “Go ahead and take a handful and take it over to Coach Titan. He just asked me for some.”
“Okay!” I felt a miniscule amount of shame for using the young kid to punk Gideon, but it was worth it when the kid threw an entire handful onto his pullover. He swung his head over toward me and I shrugged.
“You’re dead,” he mouthed and a thrill went through me.Wait, what? A thrill? Why? Why am I excited?
I avoided him for a good half an hour. It wasn’t until all the kids showed up, Big Al beating Garth for the cheer, and they were started on their warmup when I faced the barbarian. “King Titan.”
“Ah, I do love that nickname.” He smoldered. Like a damn cartoon character. Those eyessmolderedat me and I put up all my blockers.No, sir. He is not going to get in my head or my pants.“You’re going to regret your little act earlier.”
“I doubt it.” I pointed to home plate. “Can you show me how to line home?”
“Can I trust you around chalk?” He leaned against the wooden post and looked like a model. His hair reflected the sun perfectly, and a small part of me wished I didn’t hate him. “Hello? Are you having a blonde moment?”
There. He’s back. Phew.“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Wow—that was a snarky teenager reply if I ever heard one.” I chuckled and was tempted to hit him in the shoulder. But that would have been friendly. “But yes. You can trust me. I won’t throw chalk at you, yourhighness.”
He didn’t react besides a slight flair of his nostrils. “Let’s keep it at four inches. Easier for them to see. Did you set the chalker at it?”
“This thing has a name?” I eyed the chalker. “I didn’t set it at anything.”
“Here.” He bent down, low enough for me to take a long glance at his ass. Damn, it was toned. “This switch down here moves to four or two inches. You’re lucky it was already set at four. Now, you need to make a rectangle on either side of the plate. Size doesn’t matter at this point for practice.”
“I thought we had a liner or a stencil to do that?”
“A stencil? Jesus. No. You make two rectangles for each side. That’s it. And technically, you do this first and line the corners up to the foul lines. But hey…we can’t all know everything.”
The smug bastard winked at me and took the chalker right out of my hands. I could either watch him with chagrin or check on the kids. I preferred the kids. They were easier. But Gideon couldn’t let me have control.
“Okay, guys, get into two lines. I’m going to hit fly balls in the middle. You have to communicate and catch the ball. If you both miss it, you do a lap. If one of you misses it, you do a lap. Got it?” They took off from his directions and he pointed to the chalker. “I’ll get it later.”
Gideon snatched a bat from the fence and hollered for them to hustle. The drill seemed rough.Running if you miss it? Shit.“Are you sure this is the best drill?”
“Most errors in the outfield are because of communication. They need to learn how to call the ball. Trust me. After they’re gassed from running, they’ll learn.”
I didn’t believe him, but it didn’t matter. Ten minutes into the drill, two kids asked to sit out a round and two others had their hands on their knees. But I chose to not say anything, although that was hard.
“You need a drink break?”
“Yes, Coach. Please.” Garth panted.
“Three minutes then hustle back out here.” Gideon set the bat against the fence and met my gaze. “Any comments, Fiona?”
“Nope. Not one.”
