Page 142 of Stolen Bases

“Have you talked to him about her?” It’s been months since he caught me with Talia and told me to talk to Romero.

“No, sir.”

“You don’t strike me as a chicken-shit. Why are you waiting? Shit or get off the pot.”

“I forgot how romantic you are, Coach. Will you please show me your wise ways?”

Anson’s mustache twitches. “I save the pretty words for my wife, Miller. Not for you lot of meatheads.”

A bark of laughter slips out of me. “Fair enough.”

“The way you’re burning a hole in that picture, you need to tell him soon. Why haven’t you?”

“It’s complicated,” I answer, staring down at the floor to avoid Anson’s disappointed gaze.

“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. What are you waiting for?” he prods.

Anson has always been an involved guy. I feel like if I tell him what’s going on, he can help or at least give me some good advice.

I haven’t told a soul about Nico’s accusation. Every time I tried to tell Talia, I just couldn’t get the words out. I’m afraid that once she hears what a piece of crap I am, she’ll never look at me the same and it will be the end of us.

I can’t even bring myself to tell my brothers. It will be rounds ofI told you soand endless jokes about my dating life. This will just be another reason for them to think I’m nothing more than a good time. That I can’t be serious about anything aside from baseball.

Fuck it. I need to get this shit off my chest before the game.

“He accused me of sleeping with his girlfriend,” I rush out.

I have wracked my brain, trying to figure out who the mystery woman is. Romero and I don’t exactly run in the same circles. Not even in college. He was two years ahead of me.

Coach Anson catches me off guard and smacks me upside the head. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“Jesus fuck, Coach.” I rub at the smart. “I didn’t do it. There’s no way. I’ve slept with a lot of women, but sleeping with someone’s girlfriend is a no-go for me.”

“Just their sisters, right?”

I place a hand on my chest, wounded. “Damn, cheap shot.”

“You deserved it.” He lifts his hat and runs a hand through his hair. Up close, the silver around his hairline and temples is more prominent. “When did Romero have a girlfriend? I thought he was worse than you and put his dick in anything that walked.”

“Umm, thanks for the back-handed compliment.” See, this is the shit that has me worried that Talia won’t be able to see past my mistakes.

“Eh, you only have yourself to blame.”

He’s got me there. “I know.”

Anson smooths down his thick mustache, thinking. “We’re hot right now, and as much as I don’t want to fuck up our streak, tell him now. Then maybe you two can move past it and still get us to the playoffs. If it’s not all dead and buried by then, we might as well kiss the trophy goodbye. I’ve seen teams crumble for less. I don’t want that for our organization. We all need a win this season. But if you fuck it up, I’ll trade both your asses off to a farm team in Alaska to play until you two dumb fucks retire.”

“Duly noted. Got any advice for me, Coach?”

“Just rip off the band-aid and tell him you love her.” Coach stands, knees cracking, and pats my shoulder. He looks down at me with sympathy. “When he punches you—because he will punch you—don’t hit back. Take your lumps like a man, Miller. You owe him that.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s the top of the eighth, and the Sun Rays are out for blood. We’re up by three thanks to Nico’s two-run homer in the fifth inning.

McKay was right. There’s a vibe in the air tonight, and I’m feeding off it like a hungry man. I’m four batters away from pitching a perfect game, having struck out sixteen and my team taking care of the other seven.

We’re on freaking fire tonight.

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