Page 14 of Bad Call

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Do you know that red one with the bubblegum flavors in it? I think they call it superhero,” he laughed.

The guys filed out of the locker room one by one, headed for the dugout. Leaving me for last, the students rounded on me. “Coach, you’re an alumnus of this school, aren’t you?”

Like a good journalist, he’d done his homework. “I sure am. Go Muskrats.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Rum raisin.”

“Thanks, Coach. Good luck tonight.”

Using my teeth, I ripped open the plastic bag and popped a piece of saltwater taffy in my mouth, chewing my anxieties away. I’d been known to finish off an entire bag before the seventh inning. We had a two-run lead on the Cougars, but we could lose it at any moment. I started to whistle to keep from jumping out of my skin, focusing on the rush of air moving over my lips. Then my team started to act up, mooing like cows. Turning, I glared, in no mood for roughhousing.

“Enough, this isn’t a goddamn barn.”

“You’re singing the farm song, Coach, the one we sang as kids.”

God dammit, Baylor. He was to blame for that stupid song getting stuck in my head.

Austin glanced over his shoulder, moving faster than I could blink, and beaned the ball toward the second baseman, trying to catch the runner stealing second. The runner dove for the base just as the ball slammed into the second baseman’s glove.

“Safe,” Baylor called.

“Bullshit,” I erupted, my face heating. “He was out by a mile. You saw that,” I accused, jabbing my finger at him. “Who saw that?” I asked, checking around me. The fans of the home team booed loudly.

“Safe,” he said again.

“He was out,” I insisted, getting right up in Baylor’s face. “You can’t be that blind, Blue. I know you’re not that blind.” Because earlier at the diner, he’d stared at mycock until it kicked and then he’d licked his lips.

“Watch it,” he warned, widening his stance with his hands on his hips. Baylor was challenging me, but I knew I was right.

“The runner was out. It was a bad call. I’m not gonna let your bullshit bias cost me this game or the season. He was out,” I insisted. “O.U.T. In case you spell as bad as you see.” I watched with satisfaction as his nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw ticking repeatedly.

“Back to your dugout, Coach.”

I could feel my blood pressure rising, making my heart beat wildly. I was beginning to sweat. “Don’t order me around like a fucking toddler. I’ll go back to my dugout when you change your call.”

“I called him safe. It’s final.” My temper exploded in a rush of foul curses. “You’re out of here,” he yelled, pointing at the clubhouse. “Get off my field.”

“You’re kicking me out of the game?” I asked incredulously.

“You bet I am. Out,” he insisted with satisfaction, “O.U.T. In case you spell as bad as you hear.”

Asswipe. “That was one bad call too many, Buchanan. You’re gonna pay for that,” I warned.

“I look forward to it,” he called out to my retreating back.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BAYLOR

“Is this really necessary?”

Marcus shot me a dubious glare. “Austin’s team just won, largely due to his arm and talent, and this is where his team chose to celebrate.”

“Yeah,histeam, not yours, and not mine. I threw their coach out of the game.”

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