Page 55 of Perfect Catch (Boys of Summer 2)

After he hung up with Alice, Alex got a second call almost immediately.

“Hey, beautiful, miss me already?”

“Get your dick outta your hand, Ross, I ain’t calling to hear any goddamn sweet talk.” The Skipper’s voice came through loud and clear, all gravelly and rough.

“Sir, sorry, I thought you were somebody else.”

“I should frickin’ hope so, otherwise you’re a damned dirty pervert. And you ain’t my goddamn type, you hairy beast.” Chuck made a hock noise and spit something out. Alex was glad video calling wasn’t a popular option. “I’ve been talking to the GM. We’ve been watching the tapes out of Lakeland, and you’re looking good, kid, really good.”

“Thank you.”

“Where was all that piss and vinegar when we had you here? You need daily hummers or something to get you going? Jee-sus. Anyway, like I was saying, GM says you’re doing fine work, he’s liking the look of your swing. You keep things up another week or so, and we’ll be welcoming you back with open arms, got it?”

Alex’s heart skipped. He’d known his game was picking up. Ever since the sage old guy in the ballpark batting cage had told him to grow a pair, he’d been improving by steady measures. He felt it, like the difference was a physical entity coming with him to the plate. If baseball had a Holy Spirit, he was taking it with him every time he held a bat in his hands.

Good to know someone else was watching.

He was momentarily ashamed of his own happiness. Getting back to the big show was what he wanted, it was the whole reason he’d come back to Florida, and now he was within reach of having it back. Only, returning to San Francisco and the Felons would mean leaving Alice behind again.

One more big bad reality they were going to have to deal with when she showed up tonight.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me, Ross. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and don’t fuck it all up. This Angel kid”—he pronounced it as angel instead of the proper Spanish an-hell—“he’s good, he’s got some zest in his swing, but he ain’t you. So get your ass back here A-sap, get my drift?”

As if he was being subtle and there was a secret message Alex was supposed to find difficult to decipher. The Skipper was about as subtle as a dick slap to the face.

“I understand.”

“Good. See you in a week.”

“Thank—” But there was no point in finishing the sentence. The line was already dead.

Too stunned to consider sleeping, Alex sat on his bed staring at the phone. He’d turned on the TV earlier to catch the end of that night’s Felons game, but now found himself too distracted to pay much attention to the post-game. It took a soft rapping at the door to draw him out of his thoughts and back into the real world.

Alice’s smiling face greeted him when he opened the door. “I tried calling, but the line was busy. Hope you got rid of the other girls already.”

“It’s okay, I hid them in the closet when I heard you knock.”

Alice didn’t need to be persuaded to come in. She ducked under his arm and into the suite, heading directly for the bed. Was she planning to distract him from the serious discussion by seducing him? He was exhausted but not opposed to the idea.

Where he was beat, Alice looked wired, her fingers twisting around each other with nervous energy while her knees bobbed up and down. He’d seen her come-hither face, and this wasn’t it.

So they’d be going directly into the talk, then.

He pulled up a chair and sat across from her, thinking she might want the bed to herself. “I guess we need to talk about some stuff,” he said, hoping it would ease her into the conversation.

“We do.”

“Some Matt Hernandez stuff.”

“Yes.”

“And then some other stuff.”

“Oh?”

Alex held up his phone as evidence of the other stuff. “We’ll get to that after.”

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