Page 41 of A Whole New Game

Her lips taste just as delicious as when I was eighteen. No, that’s a lie. They taste better now.

My hands slide up to cup Carlee’s smooth cheeks as my tongue runs along the seam of her lips. That’s when she comes alive.

Her hands dive into my hair and hang on for dear life as she deepens our kiss. Her body arches to press into mine. I band an arm around her back, relishing the feel of every dip and curve as I press her body more firmly against mine.

I kiss the girl of my dreams like a man dying of thirst and her lips are the only thing that can save me. Her fervor matches mine, and for the first time, I truly allow myself to hope that I can make this work—that she will actually give me a chance…

SLAM.

The sound of the locker room door crashing openyanks me out of the memory. The kiss occurred six weeks ago, and it’d been abruptly interrupted when the ball boy came back with the ice I’d sent him to find.

“Alright, men. Gather around. We have a few things we need to discuss before we dismiss for the day.” Coach Hawk walks to the middle of the visitor’s locker room where the team is gathered. Four of his six coaches flank him. The other two are still out on the field with the rookies who are getting in some extra batting practice.

It’s the end of February, and the Lonestars just finished our first preseason game. We played Detroit and barely got away with a win despite my decent performance on the mound. With twelve strikeouts in a row, I kept their score to zero going into the fifth inning, but our lead was swiftly overcome in the sixth inning when my replacement entered the game for some reps. If it wasn’t for Kendrick’s home run in the ninth, we would’ve lost the game.

Playing on the Loons for so many years made me forget what it’s like to be on a team that isn’t in sync. The Lonestars have skill, but they lack finesse. And the youth on the team is a disadvantage. The Texas team lost valuable experience and maturity when Lawrence retired, and his absence was felt today.

Coach Hawk waits for the majority of the players to settle on the benches in front of the lockers before he begins, “The good news is, we won today. The bad news is, the game was close. Too close considering Detroit ranked the second worst team in the league last year.”

Grumbles sound around me, but no one argues with the coach. At least the players don’t have an inflated sense of their abilities…

“If our performance today is any indication of how we’ll play in the regular season, we’re in for a rough go,” the manager states with a grim expression.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, hanging my head as Eddie, one of the athletic trainers, digs his fingers into my shoulder. It’s part of my usual cooldown routine after pitching a game. Even though I didn’t throw much tonight, it’s important to make sure the muscles relax so they don’t cramp up and damage my throwing arm.

Coach Hawk continues, “We’re going to continue with the player rotation we’d planned for the next three games. After that, the other coaches and I will discuss switching up our starting lineup. I suggest each of you play your best every time you step out onto that field if you want to guarantee yourself a roster spot this season.”

I look up and see his stern gaze travel over the locker room, meeting the eye of each player, including mine. “Any questions?”

No one makes a sound.

“Good.” He nods. “Enjoy your night. We have our second game with Detroit at noon tomorrow. Players will report here by nine a.m. to warm up.”

All of the coaches except for Vaughn file out of the room. The players talk amongst themselves, but I don’t hear anyone discussing what Hawk just said. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from calling them out for their indifference.

Eddie extends my arm and lifts it above my head. “How’s that feel?”

“Loose.”

“Excellent. If it locks up tonight, wrap a heating pad around it and keep it moving.”

“Understood.”

The trainer moves away to check on Kendrick’s leg. He slid to steal a base tonight, and it looks like he might’ve twisted his knee.

After a quick shower, I toss my uniform and towel into the team’s rolling laundry bin and change into a pair of jeans and a team t-shirt. I stuff the rest of my things into my duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder. Right before I’m about to leave the locker room, I hear, “Johnson, hang back for a second.”

Coach Vaughn motions me to the small office adjacent to the locker room. I follow him inside, moving to stand with my back against the far wall as he closes the door. “How can I help you, Coach?”

He turns and leans against the door with his arms crossed. “You did well today.”

I tuck my hands into my front pockets. “Thanks.” There’s got to be more to this meeting than that.

“But we need more from you.”

There it is.

I lift a brow. “Excuse me?”

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