Page 3 of Strike Zone

“Where are you thinking?”

“Already got a message from Carter. VIP lounge at Viper is the team’s if we want it.”

“Fuck, yeah. I might invite a few friends to join us.” As I step under the steaming hot flow of water, it soothes every aching muscle I didn’t know I had until now.

Anders slams on the showerhead next to mine. “Would they be friends of the female persuasion?”

“Yeah. I plan on celebrating, bro.”

“And one woman won’t suffice?”

“I don’t have a ball and chain. Why settle for one woman when many will be desperate to ride me like a bucking bronco after that last swing of the bat?”

“Thanks for the mental picture, or should I say, nightmare. You’re not wrong about that hit. As a pitcher, I’ve no fucking idea how you got wood on that ball.”

“Because I’m me.”

“Fuck, your ego is never going to be the same again.”

“Don’t give me your shit, Anders. You upped your ballcap size after last year’s winning pitch. If anything, you just have to point me to the right size in Lids now.”

“Touché.” He laughs as he reaches for his towel.

“I’m assuming your bride will be celebrating with us tonight?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t suppose she wants to invite that delectable sister of hers?”

“Dee would snap you like a twig, bro.”

“But what a way to go.” Just the thought of her makes my cock twitch. “Fine. What about her teammates?”

“Now, that I can probably swing. I’ll ask Brooke to make a few calls.”

“Sweet. I’m going to stop by my place and get changed. I’ll meet you at Viper in an hour.”

“Sounds good.”

I slam my hand against the wall, restarting the shower. As everyone else filters out, I take a few moments to let the gravity of it all sink in before heading home. So many ridiculous thoughts flash through my mind—childhood moments, conversations with my grandfather, fights with my mom, the ever-present lack of a father, and the many teammates and coaches who’ve been there for me on this journey.

Tears well in my eyes, and I’m glad that I have water raining down on my face because even though no one is around to see it, I feel like a total pussy for crying. I allow myself ten seconds to be a pathetic idiot and feel the sadness that threatens to creep in on this amazing high. Then, I stomp it down like I always have and get ready for a night of celebration and debauchery.

I head back to my place for four things—a sharp suit, my World Series ring from last year—I didn’t want to bring it today and jinx the game—cash, and condoms. Everything you need for a killer night, Nash style.

* * *

The VIP lounge at Viper doesn’t disappoint, and neither does Anders’ wife, Brooke. She delivers her entire women’s baseball team, all hot and ready to party. The drinks are flowing, and it seems like every single twenty-something female in Manhattan wants to beg, borrow, and steal her way into this party.

I’m good with the ratio of men to women, the women having us outnumbered three to one, and when you take into consideration the guys like Anders who are married, then it changes dramatically. All the more for me.

Our friend, and the owner, Carter, congratulates me with a glass of my favorite whiskey and a clap on the back when I arrive.

“You won me a lot of money tonight, Linc. Killer hit, but did you have to wait till the last second?”

“I wanted it to be memorable. Edge-of-the-seat kind of stuff.”

“Then you succeeded. Everything is on the house tonight, my friend. Enjoy. You deserve it. Just make sure you glove up.”

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