Page 37 of Endgame

Joy.

Bless thee.

Praise.

Mayday. Abort. Abort. Abort.

I could have prepared for this. I mean I only had ample time. However, that was before I all but ate at Callaway’s earlobe and dry humped the shit out of his leg in an attempt to get him to sleep with me.

“Looking forward to it, Jack.”

Dreading itwould be a much better description.

16

CALLAWAY

“Graves,what kind of play was that? You had a runner on second. You stop the ball, take the runner out, and make the out at first. It’s as simple as that. Two outs and we would have cleared the bases. This Little League shit from you is getting old.”

The Striker’s first base coach, Tate Myer, is a prick.

He’s also a prick who knows the game and pushes us to be better. His one fault is being foul-mouthed and an unapologetic shit talker when plays head south. There’s nothing wrong with having expectations and accountability, but his execution could land a little softer.

Thankfully, Gus is made of indestructible steel because he thinks nothing of it before hollering back in a carefree tone, “You got it, Coach. My bad.”

My bad, my ass. He thinks he’s fooling us with this carefree facade he puts on, but I’m on to him.

Tonight’s scrimmage is my off night to pitch, leaving me with front-row seats in the dugout and giving me a bird's eye view of our third baseman absentmindedly distracted by the team's Social Media Coordinator, Tenley Abrams. I can’tthink of one dude on this entire team who hasn’t been distracted by Tenley. She’s drop dead gorgeous and kind.Sweetmay be a better word to describe her, seeing as how she knows no stranger.

She’s every man’s description of a bad ass babe, which is why when my teammate, Gus, attempts to find every reason to get her attention, it’s blatantly obvious, although she doesn’t spare him a second glance. Not that I haven’t broken my neck a time or two to give Tenley a once over, but she does nothing for me in the sense of someone I would even consider for more.

My sights are set on an unattainable angry angel.

Can’t make it easy for yourself, Cal?

The lineup enters the dugout to hydrate and load up any personal items brought onto the field. My body is aching immensely, so I thank my pitching coach for the much-needed rest. I hustle to leave the dugout with my one-track mind solely focused on a massage to relieve these achy joints. After the off-season, getting back into the game is a struggle. There’s no chance of slowly easing yourself in. We “go balls to the wall” from the start of pre-season and full-steam ahead into the playoffs and World Series if we make it that far.

It’s a motherfucking high.

Coincidentally, it’s nothing quite like the high I’m feeling right this second, a high I never saw coming and one that looks like a perfect fantasy. Her hair lies in long silky waves around her face. She’s dressed impeccably in the sexiest red pantsuit, layered with a cream lace top and my newly discovered weakness, red Dunks.

She’s modest yet embodies the confidence of a pornstar.

I’m also noting that she fancies lace.

Her eyes have yet to notice me, but if our previous interactions mean anything for today, she feels me.

As the team makes our way to the front of the bullpen entrance, my sights lock in on Dakota, and I feel my body fighting the urge to claim her in front of my teammates. I know the guys are thinking the same thing because the second she comes into view, howling interrupts my focus on Dakota.

“Ow Ow Owwww, what do we have here, boys? Another beauty in our midst to create some friendly competition?” Jethro, our newest rookie, vibrates with anticipation.

King jumps in before I have a chance. “Man, shut up and show some respect. We don’t talk about our women like that.”

That has my ears on high alert.

“Our women? How do you know she’s a part of the league now? And since when do we call womenours?”

He catches me shooting him a look.

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