Page 22 of Wild Pitch
I rub my chin, feeling the rasp of facial hair. “Fine, let’s talk again after the game.”
“What? I’ve been waiting for this conversation for hours and you want me to suffer for longer? No, say it right now, Cowboy. Are you in, or not?” She presses her lips in a stubborn line and stabs her finger at the bench to punctuate her words.
I have a feeling the next one stabbed will be me if I don’t finish this conversation now. After another swig of protein shake, I say, “Okay, I’ll help you. But there are two conditions.”
Her expression cracks and some panic seeps through. “I was actually kidding when I said I could pay you. I can barely afford rent and my student loans.”
I ignore that and raise my index finger. “First, my priority is baseball, no matter what.” Then I raise my middle finger. “And second, no falling for my southern charm and making this all awkward.”
She sticks her tongue out in the universal expression ofyuck. “That’s easy.”
“At least have the decency to look more heartbroken.”
“I’m not one of your Annies, Cowboy.”
I shudder. Unlike the stalker around my neighborhood, Garcia could probably catch up to me and tackle me to the ground.
She frowns. “Okay, no need to look so disgusted at the idea.”
I bark a laugh. This time it does garner a few looks of curiosity. Huffing, Garcia gets to her feet and strides over to her collection of equipment. When it’s clear that I’ve been dismissed, I reach over for a discarded iPad to run through whatever film we got of my pitching while I finish up my drink. The coaches were right in not letting me throw any cutters today, especially because I don’t have the form down pat yet. I’m trying to see if the cutter form has seeped through my normal one when a shadow descends over me.
It’s Garcia again. She grabs my wrist and jerks my hand toward her, slapping a piece of paper on the palm of my hand before walking away. Confused, I rub it open and read.
We’re not in middle school, you bonehead. Here’s my phone number.
Smart girl that she is, she wrote it in pencil. The digits won’t smear with my sweat once I stuff the note in my pocket. I temper my face to hide a smile and focus on the screen again.
CHAPTER 9
HOPE
The team won the first game and I have secured a dating coach. No one should blame me for dancing to some salsa in my hotel bathroom while I blow dry my hair. The cord stops me from doing a full spin, but I keep humming an old timey song I remember seeing my parents dance in the kitchen when I was a kid.
My clown of an ex used to make fun of me when I sang or danced from a tune playing in my head. At first either he made it seem like he was laughing with me, enjoying my joy out of the goodness of his heart—or that’s simply what I wanted to believe all on my own. Thinking about that asshole, I dance even harder and work up a sweat even though I just showered.
“Whew.” I shut off the dryer, leaving still a lot of wet hair to just air dry while I watch TV and order some room service.
We travel tomorrow morning bright and early to the next away game, which is going to be in the middle of Kansas. I have no doubt several of the players are going out to enjoy the nightlife of Clearwater, but I have zero desire to join them. What’s in my future is salad and a brownie—a perfectly balanced menu—and HGTV.
I make an Olympic jump and release a little squeal at how much I bounce on the soft mattress. So what if I have the hotel’s tiniest room with a twin bed because I’m the only woman who regularly travels with the team? At least I don’t have to share with anyone stinky. And when Rose is allowed to travel with the team for certain games, where we do share rooms, I have no complaints because she’snotstinky.
I paw around the bed until I find the remote and click the TV on. Right as I find the channel I want, my phone buzzes on my nightstand. After a brief moment of no further buzzing, I figure the text can wait and focus on the show with the cute twin brothers who flip houses. And then my phone buzzes again.
“Ugh.” I drop my hand on the phone and pick it up.
Annoying Cowboy
Evening, darlin’
Would you like to start our lessons now?
I sit up straight, heart hammering in my throat.
Me
What?
NOW?
