Page 37 of Caught Stealing

Outside of confirming our Saturday drum lesson via text message, I’ve had zero contact with Lottie. It isn’t because I don’t want to take up every moment of her time. I do, but I haven’t had a single thing to say that warranted reaching out to her as a friend. Maybe a simple message asking how she’s doing would have been okay, but I did that just before leading into confirming the lesson. She kept it short and simple, so I didn’t push for more.

Fortunately, a few days of rest and icing my shoulder have drastically improved mobility. If I can manage to keep it up, I might be able to pitch in another week or two. Owen informed me that my dramatics about my injury and my failing love life were beginning to annoy him, so I took his suggestion and accepted an invitation out with the guys tonight.

The Salty Dog is a pirate-themed pub that serves burgers and hot dogs, which never made much sense to me but it seems to keep the place open. I suspect the after-game gatherings the Sharks and other local teams provide is what really keeps them in business. I’ve seen the Charleston Timberwolves football players pack the house when they’re playing in Savannah, not to mention the hockey team whose name I refuse to utter. Maybe it’s petty, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Koa Keaton and his best friend, Spencer Pruitt, stand out front chatting while people move in and out of the pub. Boone Cox, a former Sharks player turned batting coach, leans against the window scrolling on his phone. When I approach, Koa nods my way.

“Hey, thought you might not show,” he says.

“Sorry I’m late. Couldn’t find a safe place to park my bike.” I accept Koa’s hand and lean in for a very manly chest bump hug. I’m not a guy who is ashamed to show affection to his male friends, but when I gave Koa a full-on hug once, he almost beheaded me. I’ve stuck to less intimate ones ever since.

Spencer thumbs over his shoulder. “Asher and Josh are inside holding a table for us, but we better get in and order if we want to eat. There’s some kind of engagement party or something happening.”

“Cool. I’m starving anyway.” I yank the door open and head inside. It’s packed, but not only because there’s a party. There’s also a lot of regulars hanging out and it appears to be a game show night. I can already tell Koa won’t want to stay long, but if we can get through dinner without him storming out I’ll call it a win. Koa is our hotheaded charmer, the one all the ladies love, but he can’t seem to settle on one. He’s not a player by any means, but dates are usually singular with him. If there is a follow-up date, it’s once in a blue moon.

“It’s too crowded in here. Let’s eat and go bowling or something,” Spencer says.

“Not really something I can do,” I say.

“Might as well stick it out here. I don’t feel like running all over town,” Koa says.

Boone is always up for whatever we decide, so he does little more than grunt and pulls up a stool when we reach the table. Asher and Josh jump into a deep conversation about how buffalo wings got their name while Koa scans the room. Spencer is more interested in the menu than the potentially single women in the pub.

Out of the blue, Spencer drops the menu and says, “Anyone else feel like teaching Martinez a lesson in humility?” Eyebrows raise, so he elaborates. “Rossi has been pitching since Martinez was in diapers. His bragging about pitching in the next game is getting old.”

At this point, I can do one of two things. I can whine about how my career is almost over and get the guys worked up about Martinez taking my spot, or I can be professional. Long after I retire, the guys at the table will still be playing. They’ll have to depend on each other, Marco Martinez included.

“We were all annoying rookies. He’ll find his place and level out,” I say.

Boone’s brows knit together and he grunts. “You might be right, but the way he runs his mouth is gonna get him repeatedly hit in the face before he levels out. This ain’t your usual rookie stupidity. He’s got an attitude problem that can’t be solved by anything less than—”

“A long day plowing fields. Yeah, we know, farm boy,” Koa says.

Boone lifts his arms in a wide shrug. “I’m not wrong. There’s something humbling about the Georgia sun beating down on your neck while you cross a hundred acre field turning up peanuts. No one but you and God working the earth.”

“Your childhood sucked,” Koa teases.

“Say what you want about my childhood, but ain’t no one sittin’ around a table at a pub talkin’ about my poor attitude and spirit of ungratefulness.”

Boone’s not wrong. If there is a perfect gentleman among us, it’s him. However, Boone’s manners and childhood are not the topic that’s got me rumbling deep in the pit of my stomach. Martinez has the ability, that’s for sure, but he’s gonna squash it with that mouth. The Sharks are my family, and one bad apple spoiling it for everyone isn’t my idea of a team player.

“There’s not much I can do about it,” I admit. “I’ve tried working with him, but all I get are smart remarks and jokes about my age. Just pray that my shoulder heals and I can finish the season.”

“What good does that do us? He’s not getting traded,” Josh says. “Kid’s a thorn in everyone’s side but he’s a great pitcher. There’s no chance the Dawson brothers will let the coach trade him, not with the money they have invested in making this team the best.”

“Listen,” Asher chimes in. “Being a good player is only part of it. If he keeps rocking the boat like he does, he’ll get traded. There’s no player good enough to cause that much trouble with the team, and even the Dawsons know that. Remember when Johannsen got his contract shredded for his behavior off the field?”

Ivan Johannsen was a great hitter, scored a home run almost every time at bat, but his mouth and off field antics—primarily his repeated brushes with the law—got him traded from the Sharks. He went to Los Angeles and lasted for all of a month before they dissolved his contract for the same behavior.

“Martinez is a far cry from Johannsen, but your point does stand,” Koa admits.

The waitress takes our orders and brings us water while we chat a bit more about our team dynamics, Koa’s most recent date, and exactly how peanuts are harvested in the hundred degree Georgia heat. Everything goes along as usual until I hear an unmistakable laugh. My head snaps up from my dinner like it’s a rubber band and that laugh springs it into action.

The women attending the engagement party were merely a buzz in the background until that laugh, and now, they have all of my attention.

“What’s up?” Koa asks as his gaze follows mine. “See someone who catches your interest?”

“For sure,” I admit. “That beautiful woman across the room is Charlotte Clarke.”

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