Page 3 of Scoring Position

I laugh, hoping he doesn’t hear how nervous I am about this even being the topic of our conversation. “Nah. I think I’m going to have to do the homework the old-fashioned way for this one.”

“At least it’s not something hard like calculus,” he says. “This won’t break your focus from the game. I need you sharp out there to make the right calls so I can look like a star.”

I chuckle. Riggs got himself into some trouble earlier this season, but now that his girlfriend, Monroe, is living with him in Daytona, he’s calmed down a lot. I’m not sure he really needs me to look like a star, but I’m happy he’s giving me some of the credit. It feels good to be a part of the team.

“Right,” I agree, resting my head back on my neck pillow and closing my eyes. Although I do need to keep my head in the game, he’s far from the truth in thinking this class will be a cakewalk for me. I definitely give off the impression that I knowa lot more about human sexuality than I do, which will make passing a little more difficult. Hopefully, I can figure out a way to get this over with before it starts affecting the way I catch.

At twenty-one years old, I’m still young in this league, and I know my spot on the Fury roster is not guaranteed. There are plenty of other catchers who have more experience than I do, and if I lose the competitive edge that’s carried me this far, there’s a strong possibility I could see myself back in the minors. Since I was a kid, I’ve dedicated every waking moment to becoming the best, so that someday, I could make it to the MLB. It’s a dream to be here, and I can’t let any distractions get in my way. I just need to get through this class so I can graduate and focus on my career.

I have to admit that when I looked at the syllabus for the semester, I almost shit my pants. It’s taken me three years to get through a two-year degree because of how demanding my baseball schedule is, and that’s with classes that have three-month curriculums. This one still has the same amount of work, but the course only runs for six weeks. So, if I thought it was hard before, this is going to be nearly impossible.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to give up on graduating since I started. But I understand why it was so important to my grandmother that I see it through. When my mom had me, she was only sixteen years old. She dropped out of school before I was born, but for her, having a social life became more important than taking care of her son. She left me at home with her mom almost every weekend, until she finally moved out when she was eighteen. The problem was, she didn't want to take me with her.

My grandma stepped up, being the best parent she could possibly be. We lived just a couple hours from Daytona, in a small town where a lot of people never get the opportunity to leave. But from the very first t-ball game I played, I knewI wanted more—and she did everything she could to make it happen. Baseball is an expensive sport, so she had to work several odd jobs to pay for everything, and somehow still managed to make sure she never missed a game. Even though a career in the MLB was the only option I gave myself, she wanted me to have a backup plan. She agreed to continue to foot the bill for all my lessons, equipment and traveling fees as long as I promised to get a college degree, no matter what.

I could’ve given up after she passed away, but it just didn’t feel right. She bent over backward and worked her fingers to the bone to make sure she held up her end of the bargain—the least I could do was hold up mine. Plus, I was already almost there. The spring semester should’ve made me eligible for graduation, but the hiccup with my final elective was a setback I didn’t see coming.

I sit up, reach into my bag, and remove the Human Sexuality textbook again. Opening to chapter one, I get about three paragraphs in before the words start melting together in front of me. After closing my eyes tightly, I attempt once more to read through the cloudiness that seems to be overtaking the pages. I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired or if it’s just a lost cause, but I might end up needing some extra help to get through this. I’m not even off the first page, and none of the shit makes sense. Failure isn’t an option this time. I need to pass this class and finish school before it starts affecting my job.

That’ll have to be a problem for future Ace. Right now, I have a game to play.

THREE

LARK

“What the fuck?”I mumble to myself, waving my lanyard over the keyless entry screen to the building. I just got to work, and for some reason, the door won’t open for me. It’s a brand-new security system, so I suppose there could be some bugs that need to be worked out. But if I don’t get in there in the next five minutes, I’m going to be late. And I’mneverlate. In fact, in the three years I’ve worked in the university’s registration department, I haven’t missed a single day.

“Hey, Lark,” Hailey says, her heels clicking along the sidewalk as she approaches with her venti coffee in hand. On a normal day, said coffee would have her strolling in fifteen minutes late, but I’m not going to question it because at least I’ll be clocked in before eight. “Is that stupid thing not working?”

“Guess not,” I reply with a shrug, stepping aside so she can try her key card. She pulls her lanyard from her tote bag, and as soon as it hovers over the pad, the bulb blinks green and the lock on the door disengages. My brows pull together in confusion, and I make a mental note to swing by IT during lunch to have them check it out. But right now, I just want to get to mycomputer and sign in so I don’t get in trouble for not being on time.

I speedwalk down the corridor, leaving Hailey and her gigantic cup in my dust. I don’t even bother saying hello to anyone as I rush to my cubicle, frantically jiggling my mouse to wake up my monitor. When it comes to life, the bright welcome screen prompts me to enter my username and password to clock in. I type as fast as I can, hitting the enter button with one minute to spare before I’m officially late. But when the red error message pops up, telling me my access has been denied, panic sets in. I watch as the digital number at the bottom of the display turns to one past eight.

Fuck.

You know what? It’s fine. It’s the first time this has ever happened, and if they really want to make it an issue, they can see me enter the building on the security cameras. I just need to figure out why none of my stuff is working so I can get started on my tasks for the day.

I pull my messenger bag off my shoulder, setting it on my desk before exiting my cubicle. Just as I round the corner, I run into a tall, lanky wall of bones. “Oh, hey Craig,” I say in greeting to the head IT guy. He’s about six-foot-five, weighs roughly the same amount as I do, and always smells like pencil shavings. That’s probably why it takes him so long to answer our tickets on a regular basis. He’s probably just in his office sharpening pencils for no reason.

“Lark?” he says, turning his head slightly as if he wasn’t expecting to see me in my own office. “What are you doing here?”

“Umm,” I say, becausewhy wouldn’t I be here? “I’m on the schedule every weekday from eight to four.”

He laughs nervously, pushing his slipping glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, I was told to disable your key card and login last night. I thought maybe you got fired or something.”

Fired?That’s ridiculous. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m the best worker they have here. Even though I’ve been taking night classes on campus for the past three years, I’ve never slacked off on my responsibilities. As a matter of fact, I’ve been more dedicated to my job because it’s the only way I can afford to earn my degree.

This school offers free part-time courses to its employees, which was one of the main reasons I took the job. Although I got my bachelor’s in accounting, I never really wanted it as a permanent career. I was initially undeclared, but after I met Ryan, he talked me into majoring in the same thing as him so we could do everything together. It was dumb of me to agree, but at that point, I couldn’t put my finger on what I really wanted to do with my life, so I settled. I hated every minute of my job before, so when I finally decided to become a sex therapist, I didn’t hesitate to make the necessary changes. I quit my job at the accounting firm and used my connection with Gail to get in here so I could earn my degree for free. I swear, it's the only kind thing she ever did for me, but I’m guessing it’s because I only said that I was entering the psychology program. What specialty I intended to pursue wasn’t her business, and I knew she’d judge me for it, so I kept it to myself. Since the day she found out, she’s been doing everything possible to get me to change my mind.

“Who told you to disable my credentials?” I ask, trying to remain calm. Either this is a mistake, or I knowexactlywho’s behind it. “Umm…” Craig says nervously, trailing off while looking everywhere but at me, which confirms my assumption.

I exhale harshly, throwing my head back in exasperation as I turn without a word and head through the department door. The dean’s office is in this building, which I’m grateful for, becausewithout a working key card, I won’t be able to enter anywhere else on campus until this is sorted out. This is the last fucking straw, and I’m about to put an end to this bullshit.

I push the door to her office open roughly, startling the receptionist as it bounces off the wall behind it. “Oh my God, Lark!” she says, standing abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise. “Can I help you?”

“Nope,” I reply, blowing past her and down the hall, turning into the first door on the left with her hot on my heels, yelling my name in an attempt to stop me.

“What’s going on, Gail?” I say as she looks up at me from behind her desk. The nonchalant look on her face tells me this visit isn’t exactly a surprise to her. “Why aren’t my key card or computer login working? Craig said he was told to disable them, but the funny thing is, I never got a call explaining why.” I’m practically vibrating with anger as she stares back at me, completely unaffected. It’s taking all my self-restraint not to walk over and rip that ugly brown paisley scarf off her neck.

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