Page 149 of The Perfect Love

“He’s our ball bitch.”

I throw my hand out. “Ball bitch? Really? You’re going to use that term?”

“Don’t mind him. He considers it a fun little inside joke between us. Don’t you, Dick?”

Ricky rolls his eyes, but the guy ignores him and looks at me.

“You must be the new volunteer coach. I’m Kyle Mielewczyk.” He sticks out his hand.

I shake it as I say, “Ah, Coach M’s son.”

His brows pinch together. “My second favorite name after ‘ball bitch.’”

“Sorry. Trevor Matteny, but if you prefer to call me an asshole, that’s fine, too.”

He laughs and waves a hand. “You’re fine. Certainly nowhere near the biggest asshole on the team!” he calls over his shoulder at Ricky.

I walk with him toward the dugout as Ricky grumbles in the background.

“Things okay there? I can make him run extra laps for being a pain in the ass if you want—I’m sure your dad would too, but I wouldn’t make it look like favoritism. I learned from my high school coach that if you act like an asshole, you’ll pay for it.”

Kyle laughs but shakes his head. “No. It’s harmless. We have some classes together. He’s a pain in the ass but we’re friends ish.”

“Got it.”

We grab a couple of bags from the dugout.

“So, what’s your story? How’d you end up coaching?”

“Bounced my snowboard off a few trees and ended my chance at pro ball, but I’m becoming more okay with that. I’m remembering how much I love the sport even when I’m not playing. What about you?”

“I grew up loving the game without a shred of talent for it. I have horrible hand-eye coordination thanks to my mom, and by middle school I gave it up. But I like being a part of the game and spending time with my dad.”

“But you don’t help coach?”

He snorts. “I do a bit of everything. Whatever Dad wants me to help with. Since I understand the mechanics of the game, I’m good at sussing out problems, and Dad knows if I help out with that now, he’ll hear less of it from the booth during games.”

I perk up at that. “The booth?”

“Yeah. I’m the commentator for all home games.”

“That’s awesome. I had a chance to do a bit of that—”

“Ah at the game against the Metros.”

“You know about that?”

“I was invited, but I was doing a semester abroad. I’m jealous I missed that, though I saw plenty of videos.” He tilts his head and takes me in. “I’ve considered having a co-commentator before, but no one met my high standards of loving this game as much as I do. If you’re interested, we could try it out.”

“Fuck yeah, man. I’d love that.”

“Cool. I’ll grab your number from Dad and get you some details. Just so you know, one requirement is calling out dumbshit the players do, even our own team. You going to be okay with doing that to your friends?”

All I can do is laugh. “Trust me. I’ll be fine. Hey, by the way, don’t mention this to them. I’d rather let them be surprised.”

He nods in understanding. “You’re a shit-stirrer. Got it. We’re going to get along fine.”

He heads back toward the dugout as I aim for Coach M and Aaron, even more excited about the upcoming season than I was before.

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