Page 58 of Pitcher Us
“Cals, we've never lived anywhere but up north. How are you always cold?” Adam huffs. “It’s nowhere near what we normally experience.”
“I don’t like the cold. I like to be warm,” she states, clearly unamused.
“I brought a sweatshirt that I don’t think I’ll need if you want it,” I state in the most nonchalant way I can. I knew she’d be cold, so yeah I planned ahead. I might havecoincidentallybrought the one with my number on the back.
Oh, you’re cold? Put this on, because I want to send a fucking message.
“It should warm up pretty soon, Cals,” Jett promises. Dream crusher.
“We’ll see.” Callie rocks on her feet and crosses her arms. “I’m going to go get organized in one of the dugouts.”
I give her a slight smile as she walks by. I overhear Adam say something to Jett, but I don’t really pay that much attention because there’s only been one person occupying my thoughts as of late.
“You might want to dim the lights on the heart eyes a bit, Will?” Jett says.
Looking over at him, I realize Adam’s halfway to the parking lot now. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, I'll be blunt about it. I don’t know if there’s something going on between you and Callie. I don’t need to know, but either way, if you’re trying to be subtle about liking her, you’re not.”
“Thanks for the tip, but Callie and I are just friends.”
“That ‘just’ you threw in there really made it sound believable.” Jett laughs. “And I’mjustWyla’s baby daddy. The statement itself is true but the added ‘just’ is so very false.”
“Right, you’re also her ticket for the senior discounts, right?”
Any upper hand Jett felt he had was lost in that moment because he knows Wyla begged us to make all the old jokes we could today. She’s seven years younger than Jett. They met in their twenties, so it really isn’t that bad, but she lives to call him old.
“That woman,” he grumbles under his breath, but there’s a hint of a smile.
“Hey, Jett, some more of the guys are here,” Adam says, walking back up with three other guys. I recognize them all immediately. There’s Damon Moreitti, the Chicago Knights shortstop, and Logan Pettersen, an outfielder and one of our old teammates back in Seattle. Both of them are great, never had any problems. The third guy, however, is the Knight’s new designated hitter and a complete asshole, Nic Collins.
I may or may not have intentionally hit him with a ball in Chicago last season.
Logan makes his way to Jett, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, Ellison, did you lose all your good contacts after retirement because I know these assholes lost their edge the moment they became a part of the Blues.”
“Yeah, I was desperate, so I called you too,” Jett throws back, then turns to Nic. “No offense, I don’t remember inviting you.”
“That’s on me,” Damon says. “I don’t think you guys have formally met Nic. Well, I think Will has… He got called up midseason as our designated hitter.”
“Oh, shit. He’s the guy you intentionally hit.” Adam hits my shoulder and jokes, “Go on, say you're sorry.”
Not fucking likely.
“Nah, I deserved it. Plus, it didn’t even leave a bruise.” Nic shrugs to cover up the obvious lie. I pitch ninety-six miles per hour on an off day. Didn’t leave a bruise, my ass.
“Not that it matters anymore,” Damon cuts back in. “When Jett mentioned the Blues’ team photographer was going to be here, we thought this could be some good PR exposure. That is, if you guys don’t mind.”
“You’ll have to talk to her about it,” Adam replies. I know Jett talked to Callie about taking pictures of the fundraiser as a whole, but I’m relieved that Adam isn’t straight up volunteering Callie for more work. Adam’s also been sizing up Nic like he’s trying to place him from somewhere.
“I can do that,” Nic says, a little too enthusiastic for my liking.
As if she knew we were talking about her, Callie walks up to us while looking down at her camera. “Hey, Jett, can I get your car keys? I think I will get—Nic?”
Callie looks as white as a ghost.
“Hey, Cupcake, long time no see.” And with those words it’s like the whole atmosphere changes. You could hear a pin drop on the dirt right now.
Callie’s mouth gapes and the only conclusion I can make is that this has to be her ex. The ex who made her swear off baseball players—before me that is.
