“Really? Going with that one? That’s a strike.” I laughed and swatted his arm. He’d used such a ridiculous line and yet I laughed.
“Back to that? I like our little game.” He leaned in closer and I waited on his every word. He roamed his stare across my face, each second feeling like a slow caress. I bit my lip, anticipating the kiss I had dreamed about for days. His breath hit my face. “Callie…you have flour on your face.”
“Huh?” I sat back, unsure I’d heard him right. “I-I do not.”
“Sure do. Right here.” He dragged his large finger down my cheek and held up white powder. “Thought you’d want to know.”
“You dick.” I picked up a pillow and hit him square in the chest with it. “I thought, hell, I don’t know what I thought, but damn you.”
“We’rejustfriends, Callie.” He lowered his voice, enjoying using my words against me a little bit too much. “Did you think I leaned in to kiss you?”
“It’s time for you to go.” I stood, pointing at the door. “Get out.” I blushed. He was right on all counts and he’d played me like a fiddle. And I’d let him.
“Ah, don’t be mad. I was having fun.” He walked toward me and I held up a hand.
“No, no you don’t.” A smile broke out on its own and I laughed, despite the embarrassment.
“Just admit I win the round. I’ll head out but the score is 1-0.”
“It’s only the first inning, though. I have time.” I jutted out my chin in challenge.
“The thing is, though, Callie, I want us both to win the game.”
Chapter Eight
Zade
Christopher Fitzpatrick paced the office in front of me, coffee in hand and a flat expression on his face. I sat straight up, still as a board, and waited. He only spoke when he was damn well ready. I’d waited for him, like, countless times before. I had no choice, really. I respected the hell out of him and he had my back no matter what. He was a player’s coach. He protected his players and went to the ends of the earth for them. I’d told him my Freshman year that I’d chosen this school because of him. His response had been a gruff clap on the back and that had been that.
“We need to discuss your future.” He continued to pace, still holding his black coffee in his hand. “You have options, son, but I want you to take the best route.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to fuck it up any more than he wanted me to. “Coach, I want the same thing.”
“Good. Good. I’ll admit that after your success last season, I became worried. You never know. Success can get into your head.” He sat down, set the mug on the desk and studied me with his laser-sharp stare. “What’s your plan? Are you trying to get drafted after your junior year? It’s never too early to talk about this.”
“Coach, I made a promise to my mom to get a degree. My plan hasn’t changed.” I meant it. I had three years left until I graduated, yet the taste of the majors tempted me. I questioned my plan every other day and I understood his trepidation. “I’ll put off the draft until my senior year.”
“I can’t tell you what to do, but I hope you stick to your plan. I got a call that your name is being tossed around and while that makes me happy, you’re still young. I’ve seen it happen enough where the thrill is too much, too exciting, and players have left. They left without a backup plan and end up screwing themselves over.”
“I want it more than my next breath. But I need a degree. I know pitching is a long shot and I know that I need a backup plan if something happens. I’ve experienced what it’s like, sir, to be hungry. I never want that to happen, ever, and having a degree is one step in that direction.” I thought about the years we’d struggled as a family, right after my dad had left. It was a bitter taste because while that time had helped form who I was, it still infuriated me because it had hurt my mom and sister. I didn’t have any father issues, surprisingly, but that was because the two women in my life were strong as hell.
“Good. Now, we need to plan your training when classes start. I gave you the summer off. You and Jeff need to throw twice a week and you need to start Pilates.”
“Pilates?” I asked, not certain what the hell that was. “Yoga shit or something?”
“It’s a new thing some major athletes are doing. I met with Nicole and she’s on board. We have enough funds to hire a full-time Pilates instructor or some shit like that to work with you on individual goals. You need to stop in Monday sometime to meet with the new instructor and Nicole. It will build arm strength and ideally get you a couple notches higher on the gun.”
“Damn, really?”Is that possible?My goal was to reach ninety-five miles an hour, but I’d been stuck at ninety-three the past two years.
“That is the plan. I read up on that shit and the bands and weights work muscles that normal training can’t get to.”
“I’m in.”
“I knew it. Now, how are your classes?”
“Uh, okay. I’m booked with classes all day Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursdays, I have two discussions and Friday is one morning class.” I wished had no classes on Friday, but the schedule didn’t work out that way. I wanted to major in sports management, the thrill of working with athletes and helping them find their future sounding way too good a backup plan. I wanted to knock out the gen eds the first two years and I was also able to take two classes that interested me. Classes were hard for me, specifically math and sciences. I’d worked my ass off to get straight As and I planned on continuing just that.
“Thursday and Saturday you are throwing. I’ll call Jeff.” He glanced at his calendar and clicked his tongue in thought. “We’ll aim for Monday or Tuesday to throw battle practice and build in some workouts between that. Sound good?”
