Page 32 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

The fastball comes in chest high. Buckley slaps it to right field for a single. I call for the ball from the cutoff, and walk out to Dane.

“He hits your fastball every time, dumbass.” I toss the ball back to him. “He’s going to try to take second on the first pitch. Throw your heater low and then get the fuck out of my way.”

Buckley’s got a huge ego and absolutely no common sense. After our exchange before the game, I know he’s itching to run on me.

Dane throws the perfect pitch—low and away—and then hits the deck. I see Buckley take off out of the corner of my eye. I throw a rocket to our shortstop who’s waiting for Buckley as he slides in. He’s out by a mile. I throw my mask up and take a few steps toward the visiting dugout as Buckley walks that way. He keeps his head down.

“Say something about her again and it’s going at your head,” I growl as our third baseman jogs over to me.

“You got some extra juice tonight, Seb?” he says, pushing me back toward our dugout. “Keep it on the field, man. We need you in the game.”

As I walk back to the dugout, I glance up at Sophie. She’s still looking at me—smiling. Yeah, I definitely have some extra juice tonight.

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