“Get under it,” I mumble. Then I holler, “Get under it!”
Chris, the right-fielder, can’t find the ball and fucking loses sight of it in the lights. The baseball bounces off the wall behind him and rolls away. Chris quickly runs after it and grabs it, chucking it to Nico at second base. But it’s too late. Two runners have scored, putting the other team up by one point. Son of a bitch! We’ve been leading 3-2 since the second inning. And now we’re down by one going into the ninth, the score now 4-3.
Looking at the pitcher, I think to myself, he’s got this. He’s kept the other team at arm’s length. Only one inning to go. We can tie it up, then score one more and win this thing. Jake nods to the catcher, agreeing on a pitch. He winds up and lets it fly towards home plate, David behind the plate. With a crack of the bat, the batter swings and hits a line drive towards the mound and Jake has barely any time to react. Jake tries to knock it down, and does, but then it dribbles towards Sapara at third base. Jake can’t get to it in time and Sapara can’t either. A perfect shitstorm ensues and the other team sends their man home, where he scores. Fuck! Now we’re down two runs. That’s tough to come back from. But not impossible.
Adam, the pitching coach, signals and makes his way to the mound. I’m right behind him. It’s time for Jake to come out. A few moments later, the infield players join us at the mound.
“Keep me in, coach. I’ve got this.”
“You’ve had a helluva game,” Adam tells Jake, clapping him on the back. Turning to Joe, our bullpen coach, he signals him to bring in the closer, José.
Jake smacks his glove and walks off, a chip on his shoulder. He’s not mad, he’s just pissed that fate decided to fuck with him. Otherwise, his pitching was exactly what we needed tonight. José jogs from the bullpen to the mound, joining us. Adam claps him on the shoulder and I do the same. He knows how much is at stake tonight. If we lose this one, we only have one shot left; one game to prove that we deserve to be in the division series. José starts to warm up, and we all disburse, the players jogging back to their place on the field and Adam and I walking back to the dugout.
Standing in the dugout, I rest my arms along the railing. I’m not going to lie. Our chances at winning this game are slim to none. But, it’s not over yet. José finishes his warmup pitches and the batter steps back into the batter’s box. The umpire signals and David, our catcher, calls the pitch. José nods and throws his first pitch: a curveball. The batter swings and misses, anticipating a fastball. Strike one. José winds up again and this time, throws a cutter. The batter swings and fouls it off. Strike two. José throws another pitch, another curveball. The batter swings, sending it foul. José winds up and throws again, this time throwing a fastball. The batter anticipates this and swings like he’s going to knock it out of the park. And he does. Fuck me, we’re toast. The batter runs the bases and another runner scores. In the end, it was too much and we don’t come back from that. We lose 6-3.
Layla
I text Gabe the next evening.
Layla: Tough loss last night.
Gabe: Understatement. But thanks. And yes, I’m okay. This isn’t my first time
Layla: Of course! But you’re human.
Gabe: That I am. How are you?
Layla: Good. Busy. The usual.
Gabe: Where are you?
Layla: Soaking in my tub. Why?
Gabe: You’re killing me. All that beautiful skin exposed…
Layla:
Sends a pic with her bare leg propped up on the side of the tub, bubbles clinging to her shapely calf and thighs.
Gabe: Dammit, Layla.
Layla: Just a little tease…
Gabe: More!
Layla: ???
Gabe: Show me those ripe tits…
Layla: Here you go [Sends pic]
Sends a pic showing her nipples playing peek-a-boo through the bubbles.
Gabe: Fuck me, woman. Those nipples and the bubbles.
Layla: You like?
Gabe: Very much. I’m a little sad I’m not there to suck on them
