Page 104 of Wild Pitch
“Anyway, there’s one more thing.” He puts his hands in the pockets of his white pants that have seen better days. “Beau said Thomason and I should get ice baths because we pitched hard today. But I saw the other trainers are busy right now, so I figured you could do it.”
“Yeah, of course.” I leave my phone face down at my desk just in case and get up. “Let’s go.” We walk out of the office together, my sneakers making a normal sound with every step, but his feet are shockingly silent for how large they are.
Not far off is the younger relief pitcher, Josh Thomason, hanging around waiting for us. I motion at him with my finger and he follows along right away. It’s not like the players have ever been uncooperative with me before—in fact, fellow staffhave been much harder to work with—but the eagerness stands out.
I hope it’s because he knows I’m a go getter and not because he caught a glimpse of my boobs earlier.
We march into the space with all the massage beds and physical therapy equipment for anyone recovering from injury. At the back, we have an area that looks like a bathroom, tiled floors and walls, with state of the art ice bathtubs that look like something out of a sci-fi movie. Years ago, staff had to cart buckets of ice to each tub and then fill them with water, old school, but now the machines take care of everything themselves. All I have to do is press a few buttons on a control panel to adjust the settings, and voila, they start whirring away.
Once I’m done, I turn around and open my mouth to say something. But now I don’t know what. Both players are removing their clothes and I’m a professional—it should be whatever. Besides, the white ceiling lights are harsh and not flattering.
But Cade Starr doesn’t need any cozy lighting to look amazing.
I’m almost sorry for Thomason, but he barely registers as he stands in his sports underwear, waiting for his tub, and chatting with Cade about their game today.
“—And when you threw that last cutter, I really tried to look at it and see if I can get some pointers, but man?—”
Meanwhile, Cade’s peeling off the undershirt, his muscles bunching like poetry in motion. I wish I could particularly congratulate him for his posterior deltoids. Chef’s kiss, no notes.
Oh shit, he’s taking off his pants.
I whirl around to check the screens. The ice levels are not high enough yet.
“It’s all about the legs,” Cade explains behind me. “Everybody thinks it’s about the grip and of course that’s a key aspect, but you put the power with your legs.”
Thomason sighs. “Yeah, I gotta work on them. Mine are some of the scrawniest in the team.” They’re really not scrawny for anyone’s standards, but it’s true that his legs are the reason his stamina isn’t where it should be, if he wants to shoot for the starter pitcher position.
“You have a great trainer here who can get you to that level,” Cade says, followed by a very long pause.
They’re both staring pointedly at me. “Oh, me?”
“No, the ice tub,” Cade says, his words drawling even thicker with the sarcasm.
I’m happy that I can still recognize how annoying he is, even though he makes me salivate.
The tubs beep and I clap. “All right, boys. Hop in.”
Thomason is already whining before his foot even touches the surface of the icy water. In contrast, Cade dives right in like this is a hot tub instead. He’s not even trying to be macho about it, it’s how he’s always done it. The only sign that it does affect him is by how his body tightens with the temperature shock.
“Arms in, down to the neck,” I command to him, because he’s being sneaky by keeping his arms around the edge of the tub.
“Do we have to?” Thomason whispers.
“Yep.” I fold my arms. “I’m not above pushing you down with my own hands if I have to.” At that, the two of them do exactly as told and sink all the way down to their necks. “Atta boys. Now, I’m going to set my timer for fifteen minutes. Try to make it.”
“Good luck,” Cade grunts.
In contrast, Thomason squeaks, “You too.”
Otto would leave and come back in fifteen minutes, not really caring that sometimes players get out of the tubs, lounge for a bit, and jump back in when they hear him coming.
Not me. I pull up a chair and sit between the tubs, facing the players. Thomason keeps his eyes shut tight, no longer capable of any chatter. He lasts for eight minutes and thirty four seconds before he allegedly feels like he’s dying. He gets up shivering like a leaf, steps out of the tub, picks up his clothes and power walks away.
Shaking my head, I set about draining his tub and starting the self cleaning cycle.
Meanwhile, Cade rises higher and makes his ice water slosh out of the tub. “Hope?”
I keep my back to him on purpose. “Hmm?”
