Page 46 of Wild Pitch
But after that? I’m going to make his life miserable.
Once everyone returns to their positions, I raise my index and call out very clearly, “One out! For the pizza!”
“For the pizza!” the fielders shout in return, and we focus on the rest of the game.
CHAPTER 17
HOPE
“Do you remember the pitches?” the cowboy asks me once he has stopped his truck at a secluded corner of the parking lot, but with the same seriousness he exudes during an important game play.
“I think so.” I tug at the sleeves of my cardigan, for lack of anything better to do.
“Run through them,” the catcher suggests from the backseat.
I swallow hard, audibly. Starr unbuckles himself to turn slightly toward me on his seat and rests his arm on the top of his steering wheel. It strikes me for the first time right now, years after working with him in the team, that he’s massive. He takes up so much space in this gigantic truck that feels like it’s swallowing me.
But I glance back and Kim and Rivera also look barely comfortable in the spacious backseat, so I don’t know why this would be a big deal.
I clear my throat. It isn’t. My mind’s just been momentarily addled by so much manly cologne wafting in the air.
“Pitch one,” I start, “Play with my hair—tuck it, twirl it, run my hands through it or whatever.” I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Starr nods. “Good. Pitch two?”
“Lean forward,” I respond, folding my arms. This one’s gonna be a challenge because my floral dress has a cleavage that’s significantly deeper than I’m used to, which isn’t a lot anyway. The key part is that I’m not used to it.
“Pitch three?”
“Find some natural way to laugh.” I cringe a little. “Maybe let’s not use that one too frequently. I don’t have one of those cute little twinkling laughs that makes guys melt.”
From the back, Rivera says, “Unfortunately this is more about him than about you. Guys like to feel like they’re smart and funny, and getting a laugh is the way to know they’re on the right track.”
“Ugh,” I grouch.
“Pitch four.” Starr’s still staring at me. We’re only illuminated by the faint lights from the dashboard and the streetlights outside, and a beam from somewhere makes his eyes look almost unnatural. Like glass that shines from within. It’s pretty freaky and mesmerizing in equal measures.
It takes a moment for my brain to restart normal function. “Right. That one is about asking him a question.”
Starr bobs his head. “I’ll use this one in the odd chance I see you talking most of the time. But pitch five?”
“The opposite. If he’s talking too much, I should ask him if he doesn’t want to know something about me.”
“That’s right. Be bold, Garcia,” says Kim right behind me.
While I huff, Starr asks, “Pitch six?”
“Pretend to use the restroom to strategize with you weirdoes.”
“Seven?”
“That’s the wild pitch,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “The one about doing something absolutely bananas to get his attention. If you call for this one I will break both of your wrists.”
Starr’s lips twitch. “Eight?”
I relax in my seat. “This one is you asking me for a sign in case I need to be bailed out.”
“And what’s the sign?”
