Page 45 of Wild Pitch
I grunt in response.
“How you feeling?”
I marinate it for a second, and the strongest response comes from my midriff. “Hungry.”
He does a double take.
Lucky leans his arm on my shoulder. “Guys, I think our pitcher broke.”
“Maybe.” I shrug him off me. “But if I’m not allowed to fight these guys with my best weapon, there’s no other outcome than this. Instead, I’m really looking forward to dinner.”
Miller, our first baseman, bursts into guffaws. “Practical as ever, Cowboy.”
Kim tilts his head, studying me. “What do you want to eat?”
“Are we really going to have a food conversation in the middle of a game?” O’Brian, right outfielder, asks from behind me.
“Pizza,” I respond clearly. “The greasiest pie we can find. The kind that turns the damn box transparent.”
“Oh, man.”
“That’s the stuff.”
Someone else’s stomach roars.
“Tell you what.” Kim steps closer and narrows his eyes at me. “I’ll buy you that disgusting thing people pass off as food, but you have to do something for me in exchange.”
I put a hand on my chest. “Keep it PG, man. There are witnesses.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “What you’re going to do is hold off the rest of their lineup this inning. And the next. And the next until you’re subbed out. Can you do that, Cowboy?”
Silence befalls the team.
I blink, zeroing in on the dead serious face of the half Korean half Swedish all American catcher. He looks intense on a normal moment with his long hair, Sauron eyes that see everything, ‘70s goatie, and tattoos all over his arms. But he looks positively unhinged right now. Like he’s testing me to see if I can hold up the end of such a steep bargain. Like maybe the asshole drove me to this corner to see if I break.
I want to punch him in his GQ face. I’m so pissed but amused at his clever tactic, that it all bubbles out in an unhinged laugh that no doubt will make the social media highlights of the game. Probably even more than the grand slam.
Pinching my glove between my left elbow and my side, I free my right hand to offer it to him for a handshake. “Deal.”
He grasps it with his paw. “Transparent box.”
“Triple cheese.”
“Cholesterol infested.”
“Stuffed border.”
“Personal size or large?”
“Jumbo, you douchebag. Don’t be cheap.”
“You guys scare me,” Lucky says behind me.
“This is the most bizarre battery this team has ever had,” declares Brown, our third baseman.
Lucky pats my back. “Hang in there, Cade. Don’t let that master manipulator play you like a fiddle.”
Too late and we all know it. This is what makes Logan Kim one of the best catchers in the league, that unmatched deviousness of his. And I have no option but to dance to his tune during Spring Training if I want to make it as a starter pitcher.
