“Stone, get your ass over here.” He pulls us into a corner of the dugout. I’m assuming so we can have a semblance of privacy while he reams us. “I don’t know what the hell you two are doing out there, but it sure ain’tplaying ball. That looked more like a fucking slapstick routine than a baseball game.”
He turns to Stone. “You think you’ll get the call-up playing like that? You’re better than this, Stone.”
I wince. Fuckingouch.Dominguez may be shorter than both of us, but right now he’s towering. I glance discreetly at Stone. He’s completely void of emotion. I almost think the less emotion you see on his face, the more emotion he’s feeling.
“You two need to get on the same fucking page. There’s no communication, no understanding. This goes further than practice on the field. After this game is over, you two are doing something—I honestly don’t give a shit what it is; you can braid each other’s hair for all I care. But you will hang out. You will bond. You will get your shit together.”
Oh dear. There’s evenlessemotion in Stone’s face now.
“You got it, Skip,” I say, sliding my smile back on. I throw my thumb Stone’s way. “This one has a hot date with me tonight. We’ll be so in sync tomorrow, you won’t even believe something like today happened.”
He glances at Stone—who I haven’t failed to notice hasn’t responded to Dominguez’s orders, nor my proclamation.
“Understood, Stone?” Dominguez wings a brow.
“Yes, Coach,” he grunts.
Dominguez nods, and Stone stiffly makes his way to the other side of the dugout.
Woo. Looks like I have a hot date with Jed Stone Jr. tonight. I just had to…fail miserably at baseball for it to happen. Go me!
Wait. I have to be alone with Jed Stone Jr. tonight.
My pulse takes off.
Shit.
SEVENTEEN
JED
I somehow manageto get my shower in, snag some post-game grub, and sneak out of the clubhouse without running into Michaels. Aided by the fact that I’m avoiding him.
We’ve lost our last six games. It’s dark in that locker room right now. The guys are either subdued or on edge. I’ve never seen Olander and Devereux so quiet. I’d appreciate it if the reason for it didn’t suck so bad. Even Araujo and Thompson have been sniping at each other, and those two are tight as fuck.
I throw my keys in the bowl on my kitchen island and head straight for the living area a few steps away. It’s a small open-concept one-bedroom apartment with the bedroom and bathroom down the small hall at the back of the kitchen. It’s in an old factory converted into living spaces—industrial and minimalistic with lots of brick. Serves its purpose as a place to crash at night.
The Clippers provide furnished housing for us, but I wanted my own private space, and even though I make jackall shit as a minor league ballplayer…money’s something I won’t ever have to worry about because of Dad.
I fall back onto my couch and stare at the blank TV screen that takes up nearly the entire wall. It’s been a shit fucking day. That was probably the worst baseball I’ve ever played in my life. The skipper’s words slice through me.You think you’ll get the call-up playing like that?I definitely fucking won’t.
Everything was going so well with Henderson. I let out a strangled yell.God fucking dammit!
I know Dominguez said tonight, but if I were to see that sunshine smile, I have a feeling we’d be making the opposite of progress. The last thing I can handle is spending time with that ball of energy. Another time. Another day. When my anger has cooled and rationality has drifted back in.
He’s so damn infuriating. Is it really necessary to smile that much? Though he did snap at me at training on Monday. It was only a second before hislife is full of sparkles and cupcakesexpression was firmly back in place. Which only irked me more. I don’t even know why.
I bang my head against the back of the couch a couple times. All I’ve got in me right now is the ability to be an asshole. Maybe I should just go to bed. Theif only’s are creeping in.If onlyI hadn’t fallen for that curveball when I had bases loaded in front of me in the fourth.If onlymy throw had been closer to the bag in the sixth when we had two outs and I could have ended the inning—before they went on to score three more runs. Missed the out by inches. Less than that. That’s what this game comes down to.
If onlyMichaels and I could get on the same fucking page.
There’s a knock on my door, and I blink at it for what must be an entire minute. The knock sounds again. No oneever knocks on my door. I’m not sure how many people even have my address. On the third knock, I finally get myself off my ass and answer the door.
My shoulders slump.
“Sup, Pebbles.” Michaels throws me that mile-wide grin. His golden curls brush the collar of his black jacket, and he ruffles a hand through them, scattering the curls and my brain along with them.
I growl, and his grin widens. I really cannot handle him right now. I go to close the door in his face because I’m polite like that. He catches it with his foot and somehow slithers himself through the opening.
