Page 87 of The Shake Off

“Okay,” I nodded, because I didn’t know what more to say. “Well, that’s good. I’m sure Penn is happy.”

“Yeah.”

“But seriously, congratulations for these pancakes. They’re pretty damn good.” I wiped my loaded fork around the plate to mop up the remaining syrup. “And I have to say this has been excellent service.”

“You’re welcome at Casa Greyskull anytime,” Lux grinned, loading up his plate with another stack and pouring more syrup out.

“Where?”

“Our apartment. We’re the Masters of the Baseball Universe.” Lux picked up his plate and reached for his book, while I was still trying to figure out what he’d said, and looked at Ace. “I’m taking these back to bed. Leave in a couple of hours?”

“Sounds good, dude,” Ace replied and winked at me. “We’re going back to bed too.”

Lux dropped his head with a shake and a smile. “Good to meet you, Payton.”

“You too. Thank you, again, for the pancakes.”

“Hey, I owed you.” He saluted, and disappeared through the arch.

I stretched out in the stool with a loud groan. “I am so full.”

Ace jumped off his stool and took my hands. “I’m not. Let’s go.”

The way he was looking at me didn’t take any guesses we weren’t going back to sleep.

“I’m going to get a cramp.”

“Let me do the hard work. Pancakes were just the start of my breakfast.” He swiped the bottle of maple syrup off the counter, and his brows raised over a devilish smirk. “I’m planning to get you all sticky, then clean you up real good in the shower.”

I followed silently as he took my hand and led me back to his bedroom.

If this is what Lowe meant about taking one for the team, then sign me up.

I just wish that damn butterfly in my chest wasn’t still fluttering.

SIXTEEN

ACE

“OUT!”

The umpire’s right fist shot in the air.

Behind him, Parker stood, pulled up his mask, threw the ball back to me, and we walked off the field for the changeover.

“Nice work, Watson,” called Coach Chase as I stepped into the dugout.

“Thanks, sir.”

“You got one more inning, then Michaels is going on.”

I was about to sit down, but immediately stood back up. “No, Coach, I’m good. I feel good. I don’t need to come off. Lemme stay in.”

But Coach shook his head. “Nope. One more. You’ll have done five innings, and we’re in the lead. Michaels is going in.”

I threw my glove onto the pitcher’s chair, which was always positioned by the water cooler. Anyone else could sit where they wanted, but the pitcher got this chair.

“Fuck’s sake,” I mumbled, quiet enough that Coach wouldn’t hear me and subsequently fine me for swearing and/or being disrespectful about the fact he already wanted to send in one of The Lions relief pitchers. “Bullshit. That’s what this is. Bullshit.”

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