Page 73 of The Sweet Spot

JB Calling...

Whit: JB... those gifts. Thank you! 🥹

JB: You got them?!

Whit: Of course I did. My dad gave them to me. Granted, he was very confused by the rat plushie, but I LOVE it.

JB: Well, I wanted you to have something to sleep with until you can sleep with your favorite companion.

Whit: Who's that?

JB: 😳

Whit: I'm joking. I can't wait until then, too. I miss you, JB.

JB: I miss you, too. Now, go and win that tournament.

Week Five

JB: What the hell is wrong with me? I'm 0 for my last 14. I keep getting under everything, and it doesn't matter how many times I tap my hat for luck—I'm missing EVERYTHING.

Whit: You're tired. The team's still winning. .600 is good, JB.

JB: The team's winning because Grayson's filthy right now and Tate's bat is on fire. It's not me. I'm the boring part again, remember? The framing guy. Nobody's worried about my bat because nobody expected my bat.

JB: Nobody but me.

Whit: Why not try loosening your grip a little? I watched your game last night, and you looked a little tighter than usual.

JB: Are you about to tell me that my finger placement is the issue?

Whit: If the shoe fits... 😉

JB: I miss you so much it's affecting my swing. That's the only explanation. I've got missing Whitney-itis. The only cure: two days in bed, slathering Whitney Marlow juices all over me.🌊

Whit: 🤨I don't think that's how it works.

JB: Um, did you forget the golf cart, Coach? Your juices make me play better. It's science. Whit: You cannot finger your way out of a slump, JB.

JB: I can DREAM, Whit.

Week Six

Whit: Denver treating you okay?

JB: I'm tired. So tired. I love this game, and I'm so fortunate to get paid to play it, but right now it's a grind. I can't tell if I'm bad or just exhausted.

Whit: It can be both. The good news: neither is permanent. You'll find the bat again.

JB: Not without your juices...

Whit: I walked into that one, didn't I?

JB: You liked it.

Whit: I did, but you’ll get there. I know it.

JB: Thanks, Coach.