Page 128 of Wild Pitch
CADE
“How the hell are you so good at this?”
I don’t allow myself to laugh because it would break my concentration. Instead, I wait for the machine to pitch a baseball at me and let my muscle memory take over. It’s funny how as a batter I’m on my tippy toes just the same way I am as a pitcher, but it works. I get enough momentum as I turn, and connect the bat right on the sweet spot to send the ball flying into the tarp, hitting the home run zone.
Dropping the tip of the bat on the floor, I look up at Hope. She’s in the lane beside mine, separated by a chainlink fence that she grabs onto with her fingers.
“I may not be a designated batter now, but I did have to bat when I was in school.”
“Seems like a waste.” She’s frowning like she’s annoyed. “You’re pretty damn good.”
“Wow, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”
Hope points somewhere low with her lips. “However, you should use your hips more.” I refrain from pointing out what those words can do to a man. “You’re relying too much on your shoulders and I don’t want you getting hurt on my watch.”
I touch my hand to the bill of my protective helmet. “Yes, ma’am. How about this?” I get back in positing, swinging the bat at the air and more aware of what my hips are doing than ever in my life.
“Much better.”
Yeah, not sure about that.
Fortunately, she rescues me from my own fog by resuming her batting. This place has brand new machines that you can just pause with a button, rather than having to wait for a predetermined number of balls to be pitched in succession and eat up all your coins if you’re not ready. Credit to Lucky for suggesting it when I was researching first date ideas.
I wanted to do fun stuff that Hope would appreciate, rather than sit across each other at some table in a swanky restaurant, where nerves could get the best of her again.
Although apparently I didn’t need to worry about that. She’s comfortable around me.
If I polled the team about that half of them would say that’s a bad thing, that it means I’m boring and predictable. The other half—probably consisting mostly of the married guys—would say it’s entirely the opposite. That it means she knows I’m not a dirtbag who is going to hurt her.
When she confirmed it’s the latter for her, I felt like the luckiest guy alive. Like somehow, in all my many shortcomings, I managed to prove that I’m not one such a dirtbag. And maybe twenty seven years of treading this world alone were worth it if it means they shaped me into a decent enough person to be worthy of Hope Garcia’s time.
Goner. That’s what I am.
I take a step back and bump my elbow with the button that stops my pitching machine, just so I can go hang out by the chainlink fence to stare as she gets in position for batting.
Listen, I may be a decent guy but the operating word in there is actuallyguy. I’m hard wired to admire how she spreads her legs apart into a firm stance, her butt facing me as she bends her knees loosely. Her sweatshirt has bunched above said butt, framing it perfectly for inspection. My eyes travel lower, down the length of one of her thighs. I collapse into the fence and have to grab onto it so I don’t double over.
Shit, she’s so freaking hot. I can’t deal with myself.
Her hips swing as she connects the bat with the ball, a perfect clang echoing from the impact. I don’t care where the ball goes, not when I’m fantasizing about her legs.
“Did you see?” She whirls around, her loose hair fanning around her torso, and bounces a little. “Home run, baby!”
“Come here.”
Hope tilts her head. “Why?”
“Just come here.”
I can tell she’s warring with the desire to rebel just because it’s in her nature, but she relents. Pausing her machine, she takes another side step to stand in front of me. “What?”
“So,” I start in a casual tone of voice. “Has anyone ever told you just how mind bendingly hot you are?”
“What?” Her whole body springs in surprise.
Somewhere in the distance, other people bat more balls and voices mix with the faint arcade noises from the front of the establishment. All of that fades as I look at her.
“I’m trying really hard to be a gentleman here, Hope. But my eyes keep straying.”
