Rookie Move

by KB Winters

  With a crooked grin, I turned my attention back to Delgado with his cock, stick-up-his-ass stance.

  “You ready to go, big shot?”

  The cheers quieted down and I could feel the shift in the energy. Everyone was sitting on the edge of their seat.

  This was it.

  The big moment. The Warriors’ big moment.

  My big moment.

  I wound up the pitch and threw the ball. The release felt good. I would be shocked to see it clock anything less than 100 mph.

  The crowd took a collective gasp and then I heard it.

  Crack!

  Mother fucker swung at it! And hit it!

  The crowd groaned and then the groans turned to gasps. The ball was gone, long fucking gone. Delgado was running, an arrogant smile on his face as our eyes met across the field, and the rest of his teammates bolted out of the dugout to meet him at home plate.

  “Fuck!”

  I looked up and my stomach sank. The ball was gone, streaking through the sky so fast that I lost track of it. The outfielders were scrambling for the back wall but it didn’t matter. My eyes stung from the glare of the sun as I searched the sky for any sign of the ball.

  With a horrified gasp, I spotted the ball flying over the upper deck seats in right field. The damn thing was gone. As Delgado rounded third and headed for home, I thought I heard the faint sound of a car alarm blaring off in the distance.

  The announcer gasped along with the crowd, the sound unpleasant over the sound system. “It’s outta the park, ladies and gents! I hope y’all have good insurance cause that baby’s headed to the south side parking lot! Holy guacamole! Have you ever seen anything like it? We need to get the measurement on that one Hal, we might have ourselves a record there. Trey Delgado just hit his first grand slam of the season, and I'm thinking that may be a record for the longest hit ball on record!”

  I winced at the announcement and the booing of the crowd that followed. I gripped the bill of my hat and ducked my chin. I took a swift kick at the mound. “Fuck!”

  3

  Chelsea

  “The south side parking lot?” I whined at the announcement.

  Paris shook her head. “Damn. That was a rough first day.”

  I followed her gaze and saw Cody Wright kicking the shit out of the pitching mound. “Paris, focus, our car—correction, my car—is in the south lot!”

  “Cool your jets, babe. There’s no way that ball actually made it that far. All right? Now, come on, let’s go down to the tunnel and wait for Robby. He’s gonna be pissed off and I’ll need to cheer him up.”

  Before I could object and insist that we go see whose car got smashed, Paris was tugging me into the crowd of disappointed Warriors fans.

  “Fuckin’ Wright. Why the front office even picked him up is beyond me,” one fan grumbled to another in front of us.

  The guy to his right nodded in agreement as we all shuffled towards the exit. “I heard he can pitch a one-oh-two fastball though.”

  The first fan shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Don’t matter if he pitches it to the wrong guy! Did you see that swing? Dayum!”

  I tuned it out and stuck close to Paris as she led the way out of the bleachers and down a hallway, a couple flights of stairs, and after flashing an ID badge at a cluster of security guards who all looked to be too busy bitching about the game to care, we walked down a deserted hallway that smelled like sweat and stale ballpark peanuts.

  “This way,” she said, grabbing my arm before I walked right past the right hallway. “The locker room is at the end of this hall and when they’re done with their post-game shit, they all come this way. You’ll get to see the whole team!”

  “Swell.”

  Paris shot me a dark look. “Come on, let’s sit over there.”

  “I’ll stand. If I do any more sitting today, I think my ass is going to go into a permanent hibernation. Baseball games are too damn long.” I massaged my ass cheeks through my dark wash skinny jeans.

  “Says the woman who spends eighty hours a day at her computer…”

  “I have a standing desk, thank-you-very-much,” I retorted, resisting the urge to shoot my tongue out in her direction.

  My first year as a full time programmer, I’d packed on fifteen pounds from too much snacking and lack of exercise. When I got the funding for the new game I was building, the first investment I made was in an adjustable desk so I could stand up and work. Between that and one of those horribly complicated home gym machines, I’d melted off most of that weight gain and was back in my normal jeans.

  I glanced at Paris as she sat down. She was incredibly dressy for a day at the ballpark. She was wearing a short, black mini skirt that was suction-cupped to her ass and a low cut red top—the Warriors’ signature color—that was just as tight. I wondered if the outfit was like one of those space saving bags they show on late night infomercials. Did it require a vacuum cleaner to get into?

  Robby’s mansion had a full-size gym basement with everything he needed to stay in tip-top shape and Paris obviously used it just as religiously. That girl couldn’t pack on a pound if her life depended on it. Me on the other hand…

  We waited for thirty minutes and finally, footsteps and voices sounded at the opposite end of the hallway. Paris shot to her feet and smoothed her hands over her skirt and then fluffed her waves before plastering a broad smile on her fiercely red lips. “Baby!” she shouted, before flinging her arms open wide and shuffling in the direction of her man.

  “Hey, sexy mama,” Robby growled, gathering her into his arms and planting a wet sounding kiss on her lips.

  “How are you?” she cooed, wiping the trace of her secondhand lipstick from his mouth.

  He shrugged. “I’m fine. This is just our year, I guess.” He paused and nodded at me. “Hey Chels. How’d this one convince you to tag along?”

  “Oh…she promised me we could go have sushi.”

  Robby laughed. “Aha. Well that sounds awesome to me. I need to go finish a couple of things but I’ll meet you there, okay?”

  “Of course, baby!” Paris pressed another lingering kiss to his lips, repeated the clean-up job, and sent him on his way with a firm slap to his backside.

  “Oh. My. Gawd! Paris!”

  Not only had the grand slam ball made its way out of the park, into the parking lot, but it had flown as far as row C, parking space 321. AKA where my Mazda was parked. The ball had blown right through my windshield and was chilling on the driver’s seat—taunting me.

  “Oh shit!” Paris said, coming up behind me. She had stopped to chat with another one of the team wives but caught up at the sound of my rattled cry. “Chelsea, I’m so sorry! I had no idea…wow.”

  I ripped the door open and gasped at the smattering of safety glass spread all over the front seat. “This is a fucking train wreck! I knew I should’ve stayed home.”

  “Oh, come on. We’ll call AAA and they’ll come tow you to a shop. Windshields go in just like that,” she made a pop sound with her lips. “Easy peasy. In the meantime, we’ll go get some sushi and take your mind off of it.”

  My temples pulsed and I rubbed lightly at my forehead. I was starting to get a headache.

  “Besides, just think about how much this ball could be worth.” She reached past me and plucked it from the glittering pile of glass. She shook it off and handed it to me. “Delgado was the MVP of the league last year. You could throw this thing up on eBay and make a bundle. Some crazy fan will want it.”

  I dropped the ball into my oversize shoulder bag. I would deal with it later.

  “Come on, babe. I’ll get this sorted out.” Paris grabbed her phone from her little black purse and flipped through her contacts. “Here are my keys. I’m in the next row over. Go crank up the AC, put on some tunes, and I’ll be there in a hot minute.”

  I knew I was an adult and should be able to deal with the situation myself, but her offer to do it for me was too tempting. God knows she had the time and the mo
ney.

  I took her keys and sauntered over to her enormous SUV in olive green that Robby had gifted her on her twenty-fifth birthday. I climbed inside and turned on the AC and retrieved a water bottle from the cold climate compartment under the glove box. I downed the bottle in four chugs and relaxed my head back on the smooth leather.

  As promised, Paris joined me a few minutes later and told me it was handled. A tow truck was on the way and would take the car to a local shop that could replace the windshield and drop the car off at my townhouse the next morning before ten am.

  “Wow. How’d you wrangle that?” I asked.

  “I threw in tickets to tomorrow night’s game if they put a rush on it.” She tossed me a wink and threw the SUV into reverse. “Now let’s go get some Saki!”

  Forty minutes later and we were parked on posh stools around the bar of our favorite upscale sushi spot. We each had a drink and I was finally starting to relax. The car would be taken care of, and I’d escaped a day at the ballpark without getting a sunburn.

  Small victories.

  “There they are!” Paris announced, as though addressing the entire establishment.

  They? Aww, shit.

  In the chaos over my smashed up car I’d forgotten all about my impending set-up. I should have insisted on going to the car shop. Surely the outdated magazines littering their waiting room would prove to be more interesting than whatever meathead Robby scrounged up for me to double-date with.

  I turned to face the front doors and the air evaporated from my lungs as Robby entered and I saw that the meathead in question was none other than Cody Wright. The pitcher that actually wielded the power to make me want to watch a baseball game for more than thirty seconds.

  And also, the reason why I was carting around a busted up baseball in the bottom of my vintage bag.

  Cody was even hotter than the image blasted on the giant billboard. He was right at Robby’s height, so somewhere between 6 and 6’1. Solidly built with killer arms that filled out the sleeves of his t-shirt with panty-dropping results. His dark hair was just long enough to make my fingers ache to weave through it. Full lips led to a charming smile, and as he approached, I noticed a cleft in his chin that I hadn’t noticed before.

  And then there were his arresting eyes that were a mix between forest and army green.

  Heart. Fucking. Stopping.

  “Hello ladies,” Robby said, sweeping over to the bar. He and Paris got tangled up immediately and Cody and I both found other places to look as they exchanged several audible kisses. When they broke apart for oxygen, Robby made the introductions. “Chelsea, this is Cody Wright. Cody, this is Paris, my fiancée and her best friend Chelsea Brooks.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” Cody drawled.

  Well shit. His voice was just as sexy as the rest of him. Thick and commanding with honey smoothness.

  Stop staring, Chelsea.

  “Thanks for letting me crash your party,” he added after shaking Paris’ hand.

  He reached for mine and I took it firmly. I refuse to be one of those girls with the weak-ass handshake. But as soon as our palms met, my heart raced and my arm went limp. Cody’s hand was smooth, strong, and had a hint of calloused skin that reminded me he was a strong athlete, and I went a little weak in the knees. Or was that because of the way his green eyes locked with mine and lit up? Or was it the way his full, kissable lips spread into a quirked grin?

  “You’re welcome any time, Cody,” Paris replied. She patted at the bar stool she’d just abandoned and scooted herself up into Robby’s lap on the seat beside it, nearly giving the bar a pretty decent show before fixing her skirt. She giggled in Robby’s ear and his finger disappeared under the hem.

  Good grief. Thank goodness the swanky restaurant was dimly light.

  Then again, as I glanced over at Cody, who slid into place beside me, I thought maybe a little more light might be a good thing.

  4

  Cody

  What started out as one of the shittiest nights of my life was taking a quick turn in the other direction. Chelsea Brooks’ sweet smile, wide doe-eyed stare, and fidgeting fingers were all pointing to my night having a happy ending after all. I just needed a few minutes to size her up, locate the objections, and close the deal.

  I’d taken some marketing classes in college. It was amazing how many of the lessons applied in the pursuit of the fairer sex.

  Bedroom, boardroom, or front office contract negotiations, it was all the same to me.

  I had something Chelsea wanted. Something she looked like she needed.

  The bartender approached me and I ordered a Guinness. Normally, after a bomb game like that, I’d need something stronger but I wanted to keep it together so I could remember every detail of Chelsea and the night that lay ahead of us.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked her, gesturing at her empty tumbler.

  “It was a hurricane but I’m good. I’m switching to sparkling water.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at her. “The night is young.”

  She laughed. “Exactly. I have a lot of work to do when I get home. If I get silly now, I’ll go home and crash and wake up tomorrow in a bad mood.”

  I laughed, surprised by her answer. “Work? On a Saturday night? Nah, that ain’t right. It’s time to live it up a little.”

  She pursed her lips. “I work from home.”

  “What do you do?” My Guinness arrived and I took a long sip off the top.

  Chelsea tucked a strand of her shoulder length hair behind her ear. “I’m working on programming an app right now. I went to school for computer engineering and two years ago, my final project, a children’s game for smart phones kind of blew up and that success rolled into an investment to create a follow-up.”

  I cocked my head at her. “Really?” Chelsea nodded and fingered the thin black straw in her empty tumbler. I looked past her and flicked my eyes to the bartender. “Another one for the lady!”

  “No, no,” she protested, her dark eyes going even wider. “I really can’t.”

  “Hey, if I can show my face out in public after that clusterfuck of a game, you can have a drink with me, all right?”

  The bartender swooped in and swapped her empty tumbler with a fresh one before she could object again. The foamy pink drink was exactly what I expected her to drink. Light, fruity, sweet.

  Exactly what I needed.

  She pushed the drink aside and leaned over the back of her chair where a large, tan bag was hanging by the shoulder star from the corner. She fished around and popped back up with a busted up baseball in her hand. “You think you’re having a rough night? This obliterated my windshield.”

  “Shit.” A hot rush of humiliation flooded over me. The memory of Delgado smashing that pitch out of the fuckin’ park had been playing on repeat in my mind from the moment I walked off the field to the moment I walked into the sushi joint and my eyes landed on Chelsea. Then a new set of images had taken hold.

  She dropped the ball into my open palm. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry, sugar. Do you want me to autograph it for ya?”

  “Did you seriously just ask me that?”

  “I did.”

  “Are you always an ass?”

  “Ouch!”

  A couple of people passed behind our seats and the movement distracted me. I waited to pick up the conversation until they were gone, but suddenly a couple stopped cold and the man leaned in between Chelsea and me to look at the banged up ball. “Is that the ball from the parking lot?” His onion breath made Chelsea rear back.

  The woman on his arm stopped to gawk too. “Oh my gawd! We heard the alarm going the entire time we were in line to get out of the lot!”

  Chelsea grimaced. “Yeah. Looks like the Warriors and my Mazda are having a rough night.”

  The man glanced at me and I tugged my baseball cap lower. But it was too late. He pointed his sausage-like finger at my chest. “Wait a minute! You’re Cody Wright!”

  Shit
.

  “Oh my gawd!” The woman bounced, her tits ready to flop out of her low cut neckline. “Can I have your autograph?”

  The man at her side growled. “Autograph? Shit, Tina. Ya crazy bitch. This guy lost the game for us tonight. If we’re lucky, he’ll be cut from the team before he can do any more damage. Sorry about your car, lady. Shitty luck.” He tugged on the woman’s arm and she followed after him like a lost puppy dog.

  “Cody Wright’s here?”

  “Fuck him! Pitched Delgado a grand slam!”

  I rolled my eyes to myself at the hostile whispers spreading through the restaurant. I should have gone back to my hotel. I could be halfway through a fifth of something strong by now, ready to pass the fuck out.

  “Hey, go back to Holdenville, asshole!” a jeer came from somewhere over my shoulder.

  Robby pulled himself away from his fiancée long enough to come to my defense. He stood from his stool. “Hey y’all, chill out. It was his first night!” He raised his hands to shush the crowd. “Let’s all pipe down. Next round’s on me.”

  The tide shifted and Robby’s offer seemed to placate them all.

  “Thanks, man,” I said once he sat back down and ushered his hot fiancée back onto his lap.

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “Anytime, man! The deck was stacked against you tonight.”

  That was one way of putting it. I had no idea why Coach Robinson had waited so long to put me into the game. Maybe he thought I’d strike the guy out and be the overnight hero. After all, I’d been brought back over from the minors in Holdenville for a reason. The Warriors needed fresh blood or else they’d be forced into doing a complete rebuild and risk losing the fan base they had worked so hard to cultivate.

  A big moment was exactly what they needed and I fucked it up.

  “Damn, people. It’s just baseball,” Chelsea muttered to herself once the angry crowd quieted down.