Page 43 of Karma's Kiss

When it’s her turn at bat, Charlotte gets a hit and makes it to first base in the nick of time, and though the inning ends beforeshe can make it all the way home, Sawyer congratulates her like she’s just singlehandedly won the game for us.

“I did everything just like you said!” she says excitedly. “I kept my eye on the ball and I didn’t swing too early!”

“It was a great hit,” he tells her with a playful hair tussle.

I stare with a twisted expression on my face. Am I still drunk? Is that why none of this is making sense?

It only gets worse when Sawyer changes the field positions on us. I figured I’d be in the outfield again, left to sit in the grass and cry by myself.

“—Lindsey, third base. Charlotte, left field. Jimmy, center field. Madison, catcher.”

“That’s my position!” Jimmy O’Neal argues.

“Not today. I need you as center. These guys look like they can hit.”

Jimmy accepts this argument and my quiet protest goes totally ignored, so I’m left to put on all the catcher’s equipment with the help of Lindsey. It’s bulky and oversized, perfect for Jimmy, who’s at least a foot taller than me. There’s a chest plate and helmet, leg guards that go from my groin all the way down to my toes. I was already sweating—and reeking of rum—but all this heavy gear has the horrible effect of cranking up the earth’s thermostat. Sweat drips down my forehead, and I blink it out of my eyes.

The worst part is that I can’t easily walk or move once I have the gear on. I have to waddle out from the dugout comedically slowly. If Sawyer thought he was doing me a favor by putting me here rather than in the outfield for this inning, he was wrong. I know I had to do a lot of running last game, but at least I could feel fresh air on my face.

When I reach home plate—two hours later—I turn and see the batter from the other team is already there, smiling at me.

“You okay in there?” The guy chuckles.

“Not really.”

I look down trying to determine where to stand, but I can’t see much through the helmet because it keeps slipping around on my head. Obviously, I’ve watched baseball before, so I know the catcher kind of hovers behind home plate, but the logistics are fuzzy at the moment.

I look up to see Sawyer frowning at me from the pitcher’s mound.

“What do I—”

“Bend down, catch the pitches, throw them back.”

Is it just my imagination or is his tone a little clipped? It’s like he’s annoyed I’m not the world’s most experienced catcher.

“Okay.”

My stomach protests as I bend down into position. Then I hold my glove out in front of me like professional catchers do, but I’m not at all ready for when Sawyer’s first throw comes barreling at me at supersonic speed. I yelp as it slams into my glove.

Holy sh—

I glare down as if checking for burn marks.

OW!

“Throw it back, Madison,” Sawyer snaps impatiently.

I shake out my hand and toss the ball back, annoyed that it doesn’t make it all the way to him, but to be fair, it’s not so easy to throw well from this crouched position. Sawyer shakes his head in annoyance as he trots forward to scoop the ball up off the ground.

The second pitch heats up even more, slamming into my glove with enough force to almost topple me backward.

“Sorry,” the batter says quietly. “I’ll make sure to hit this one so you don’t have to catch it.”

Yeah…that’d be great, except he can’t manage it. Sawyer throws one more pitch and it smacks into my chest plate,flattening me out onto the ground. I blink up at the sky trying to get my bearings.

“Jesus, Sawyer. Ease up, will you?” David shouts, running home to help me back to my feet. “You okay, sis?”

“What day is it?” I tease.

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