Page 13 of The Fall Out

Me: in the zone, pop

Pop: good, Miami is tough but their two best hitters will swing at a slider for no damn reason.

That was my dad. The guy who thought he knew the batters better than my coaches. But I loved him for it.

Me: I’ll keep that in mind

Pop: Did you relax last night like I said?

My thoughts instantly went back to Blondie. Her smile, her laugh. The feel of her skin under my lips. The way she looked writhing beneath me.

Me: Yeah, it was a good night

“What’s got you smiling like that, Dragon?” Mason Dumpty, our center fielder, called across the locker room loud enough to pierce through the noise-canceling setting of my AirPods.

I glowered at him, and in response, he chucked a sunflower seed at me. At least this one hadn’t been in his mouth first. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d pulled shit like that.

Mason tipped his chin up and hit me with a shit-eating grin. “I think it’s a chick.”

“One hundred percent,” Emerson agreed next to me.

I yanked an AirPod out and whipped in his direction. “Fucker.”

He shrugged, his eyes dancing. “What? I may not know her name, but I know she exists and that you were pissed when she disappeared on you.”

The man had no filter.

“Ooh.” Dumpty, always the shit stirrer, rubbed his hands together. “Sounds like drama.”

I crossed my arms, willing the annoyance surging in me to chill the fuck out.

“You don’t really think Dragon wanted the chick to stay, do you?” Kyle Bosco, our right fielder, jumped in. “Honestly, with yourissue with germs, I’m surprised you even let anicky girlget that close.”

I flipped him off. “She does not have germs.” The words were out of my mouth before I considered them.

“Ooh!” the guys all chanted again.

I hated them all.

“Why are we acting like assholes?” Coach walked in and crossed his arms over his chest, chin held high. “Are we focused on the game we’re playing in a few hours, or are we fucking around?” Tom Wilson scanned the room, ripping into every one of us with his signature glare. The guy acted like this was the Marine Corps and that we should all fall in line and call him sir. Fuck that. Respect had to be earned.

“But Coach T.” Mason smirked. “Dragon’s got a girlfriend. Getting laid might improve his crappy moods.”

Wilson homed in on me, and I stared back blankly. Neither of us blinked as we watched one another.

But I didn’t want to get into another pissing contest with the man. So with a huff, I shut my eyes and slammed the AirPod back into my ear. It was time to focus on the game plan, so I tuned out the teasing and all thoughts of Blondie. And then I spent the final forty minutes before I walked onto the field playing the game in my mind.

Part of me wished I could be less intense. Be like my teammates and play cards or ping-pong to alleviate stress before games. But the smiles on the faces around me during the national anthem? The joy that emanated from my teammates when they ran onto the field? That wasn’t me.

I held my hands out for the ump check. “Is that alcohol?” he asked, sniffing.

“Hand sanitizer.” I pointed to the ledge. “League checked already.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He smirked, obviously remembering that I was the weird germ guy.

“Resin bag?”

“Don’t use it.”

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