Page 4 of Players and Pages
I’d call it charisma.
“You say that every game,” Griff accused playfully as he tugged on his jersey. Henry, one of our rookies, was walking around with a tub of aqua blue face paint that matched our silver and blue uniforms, holding it out for everyone to put streaks on their cheeks.
We weren’t just professional baseball players, but entertainers. It took a lot of energy and effort to hype up the crowd, and tonight was no different.
Especially since we were facing off with our biggest rivals, the Steel City Strikers. They were full of energy, but also some of the biggest assholes I’d ever met. They took the game from simply fun and full of life, to full of tension.
When he got to us, Henry held it out to me, letting me put it on myself and my pack.
Henry and I were civil, but not friends. He was far too arrogant and I didn’t have time for jealousy.
I worked my ass off for my position and I wasn’t going to let a newbie come in with too much ego and audacity, to throw me off my game.
“Thanks, rookie,” Griff snarked as he tilted his face my way. I brushed the paint over his bronzed skin, before turning to Jackson and doing the same on his pale cheeks.
“I’m not a fucking rookie,” Henry growled as he snatched the paint and stomped off in his usual fashion.
“At some point, you’ll have to give the rookie thing up,” Jackson warned Griff, bumping his shoulder into the other alpha.
I’d found these two during college baseball. We’d had a few rounds of minors before finding our love for entertainment baseball.
The Knuckleball Knockouts were our home now and I’d never leave for another team. The money was good, we had each other, and we loved the area.
Coach Santiago stepped out of his office and let out a sharp whistle. We all finished pulling on our uniforms and gear, before stepping up to the usual pep talk spot.
Though, Coach and I were very different people in that regard.
“I know your Captain gave you some encouraging words. I’m here to tell you that we better wipe that field with the Strikers. That coach is a dick and I want nothing more than to see the smug bastard’s smirk fall. Got it? Don’t let me down,” he growled.
The old alpha was all bark. He might sound mean, but he was an old softie somewhere deep down.
His pale gray eyes skipped over each of us, a silent warning to play our best, be our best, and do right by our team.
How this man ended up in this league was beyond me, but I was grateful. He was the kind of coach that pushed you to your limits but made sure you didn’t take it too far or lose your head.
Hopefully, he’d work a bit more on Henry’s attitude.
As we walked out onto the field, music was already blaring and the crowd was going crazy. There was just something amazing about the ballpark. The music, the crowd, the cheers, the scents, it was all this incredible combination of pure magic I couldn’t get enough of.
The only thing that would make this day even better would be if my mate was watching from the stands. She was the one missing puzzle piece in this life we’ve built.
I wanted an omega. We’d spent our twenties thriving in this career, and now I was ready to start a real pack. One centered around a sweet smelling omega that had curves I could bite into.
"Earth to Cy," Griff said from beside me. "Where'd you go?"
"Just soaking it all in before those asshats start their shit at the plate," I answered him as we headed to the dugout to check our battling gear.
Jackson was already in the bullpen warming up with Henry. Good, let the rookie wear out his knees and I'll save mine for the game.
Not only being captain, but also the catcher was stressful. Yet, that was where I thrived. I loved the chaos of it all.
Griff and I finished checking our gear and headed out to the field. Since we were the home team, the Strikers were up to bat and the smack talking was about to begin.
"You ready for this?" Griff asked as we walked in sync to home plate.
"I am. My knees? I'll let you know after the game," I joked. It wasn’t something that had bothered me when we started.
Now? Well, now we were older.
