Page 4 of Wild Pitch
“Fine.” He rolls his eyes as if I was being impatient and not him being late. “No, you’re still with the Orlando Wild. No trades in your future.”
I stay quiet because I don’t know if to file that under Bummer or under Yay. My run with the Wild hasn’t been exactly… wild so far. And not because I’ve played like shit or anything—I’ve been a damn fine closer pitcher. But that’s not enough for me, and the team hasn’t been enough for the fans. Last season we ended up near the bottom of the league.
This is why theSPORTYfeature felt like such a big deal. I was kinda hoping it would lead to a trade into a better team. Except in that case I might’ve been relegated to pitching relief. Or maybe sent to the minors. So, lose-win?
“The big news is…” His lips twitch like he’s holding back glee, and immediately my heart rate escalates. “Williams is the one getting traded.”
I blink. Lean back on my chair. Hold the water glass for emotional support.
“Huh.”
Despite my lukewarm reaction, I’m hootin’ and tootin’ in my heart.
This is major freaking news. Ben Williams has been the starter pitcher for the past couple of years. What edged him in the position over me is his annoying curveball that he can control at will. But other than that, he’s not really a better pitcher than me. He gasses out on average one inning less than I do, and his fastballs are pretty average. But somehow he’smanaged to command the attention of our GM and the media much better than me, even though he’s a grade-A doucheturd.
“Where to?” I ask, even though it’s not my main question.
“The Denver Riders,” he responds, now fully smirking. “Guess what that means for you?”
“A chance?”
“Thechance.” He laces his fingers in his classic shush-boy-I’m-about-to-negotiate-on-your-behalf pose. “That’s why I came in person. I spent the afternoon meeting with your coach and GM. You’re next in line for starter pitcherifyou perform well during Spring Training. And it will come with a salary increase too.”
“If,” I clarify and he nods. “What happens if I don’t wow them?”
“Are you planning to play like some pee wee, or something? What kind of question is that?” He blows a forceful puff of air. “Obviously in that case they’ll trade in some other hotshot. This is your chance, Starr, so don’t screw it up.”
“A’ight, I won’t.”
I catch movement from the corner of my eye. The guy from the first date table gesticulates widely with his hands and his face is a mask of annoyance. A voice distracts me again.
“Are you ready to place your orders?” It’s the waiter again.
Lou pushes away from the table before reaching for the pocket in his jacket. “Actually, I just checked the time and need to head out. Can you put whatever he wants under my card?”
“Certainly, sir.” The waiter takes the card and heads over to the register.
“Geez, people are going to think I make a terrible date,” I drawl.
“Your string of Annies tells me otherwise—Which reminds me, focus on baseball more than on women this season, yeah?”
“Right.”
Lou tips his head. “I mean it, Starr. Don’t blow this chance.”
The waiter saves me from having to acknowledge that by gliding over. “Here’s your card, sir.”
Lou packs it away in his wallet and gives me one last look before stomping his way out of the restaurant. This time he doesn’t run into anyone, though.
“Sir, are you ready to place your order?”
I tamper down my expression into placid disinterest. “What’s the most expensive item in the menu?”
“That would be our marinated wagyu beef with truffle mashed potatoes, and tender vegetables with house aioli on sourdough.”
So, an average meal made to sound pretentious. Perfect.
“Two of those to go, please.” And just to be annoying, I add, “And a glass of orange juice.”
