Rookie Move

by KB Winters

  “So, they shipping your sorry ass back to Holdenville?”

  I turned at the question and saw Robby Brown standing off to one side of Coach’s office, leaning back against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. “Not yet. What are you doing out here?”

  He grinned. “Waiting for you, dumbass.”

  “Why?”

  Robby pushed off the wall and came over to me. “Cause I’ve decided we’re friends now. You obviously need some around here.”

  I shrugged. “Why do I care?”

  Robby ginned wider and shook his head. “You’re something else, man. I’ll give you that much.”

  “I’m going to hit the gym. You can come with if you want.”

  “Cool. I could use a good workout. Gotta tell you though, my ass is sore from fucking the shit outta my lady last night.” He jabbed me with his elbow.

  “Was that before or after the entrees were served?” I retorted, remembering their vivid behavior at the sushi bar the night before. Normally I wouldn’t have even cared, but I was frustrated and edgy after the game, and Chelsea hadn’t been enough of a release to take that pent-up aggression off, leaving me even more pissed off.

  “Sorry about that, brother. We just don’t know when to quit.”

  “How about this for a general rule then, when two or more people are around…simple guideline.”

  Robby laughed. “Fair enough. Unless I can talk her into swinging…”

  A smile tugged at my lips. I didn’t want to laugh. I preferred my broody facade. It would be better for tomorrow night’s game if I could keep all the rage and anger bottled up and unleash it on schedule. But Robby was making it hard not to crack up.

  “Swinging huh? Why not just a three way? More fun for you.”

  “Ho ho! You say that like you have some experience. Come on, give me the deets.” He slapped me on the back and we started off toward the team gym facility.

  I shot him a sideways grin. “I could make your head spin around like that thing on The Exorcist, Brown.”

  “See? I knew this friends thing would work out just fine.”

  “Maybe. Tell me what you know about Chelsea, Paris’ friend.”

  Robby threw his head back and laughed loud enough the entire team could probably hear him coming. He slammed open the door to the gym and we entered to the attention of half a dozen players already mid-workout. As soon as they saw Robby, they all shook their head and went back to what they were doing before his grand entrance.

  This was apparently normal behavior from him. Shows over, folks, nothing to see here.

  “Come on, I’ll spot ya,” Robby said, ushering the way forward.

  We got settled at the bench and after loading it up, Robby spotted me through a set and then we switched roles.

  “So, you like our little Chels, huh?” Robby said, grinning up at me once he got situated on the bench.

  “How well do you know her?”

  “Her and Paris are best friends. So pretty well. What do you want to know?”

  How to get her to strip naked and call me daddy…

  “Everything,” I said, going with the safe answer.

  “All right. She’s a nerd girl. In a good way—”

  I laughed. “Hot nerd. Got it.”

  “Yeah, she spends most of her days glued to her computer and Paris has to pull teeth to get her to come out with us most of the time. But when she does, she’s a good time. Very funny. Smart wit. Obviously, doesn’t know she’s hot.”

  I riled at Robby’s statement. For some reason, I was already incredibly possessive of her. She was going to be mine and no one else on this team was allowed to have her once I was done.

  Hah! I grinned to myself. She wouldn’t want them anyway. None of them could live up to me.

  “She date any of these losers?” I glanced around the room.

  “Nah. Paris has tried to set her up over the last year and a half that I’ve been with her, but Chelsea always finds something wrong. Picky. Or scared. I don’t know which.”

  “Picky.”

  She wasn’t scared.

  “Probably.” Robby grunted as he forced out his last rep and I guided the bar back into its set position. “Switch.”

  We switched positions again, my arms fresh and ready for another round. “So, wait, you’ve known her a year and a half and she hasn’t dated anyone?”

  Robby thought for a minute and then shook his head. “Not that I can think of. Dates, yes. Dated? No.”

  “Hmm.” This might be tougher than I thought.

  Good. The challenge would make it all the sweeter to enjoy the spoils once I won her over.

  The crowd was noticeably thinner than the last game. Either the Pioneers didn’t draw a crowd, or it was because of my major fuck up. TV cameras and sideline reporters still dotted the outskirts of the diamond, and I’d done enough pre-game bobbing and weaving to avoid photographers and nosy sports reporters to know the eyes of the MLB world were on the game, regardless of how many asses were actually in the bleachers.

  I scanned the crowd once more, only interested in one particular spectator.

  Chelsea Brooks.

  Robby had called me last night, after we wound up practice, to tell me that when he got home, Paris told him that she and Chelsea would be at the game tonight. I was shocked she was coming back so soon—especially after everything Robby had told me about her. There could be only one reason she was there.

  To see me.

  And if I had it my way, she’d be getting an eye full. Both on, and off, the field.

  The pressure on my shoulders was enormous but I was taking it all in stride. I was going to use Coach Robinson’s opportunity to show the crowd, the networks, Chelsea, my father, and the rest of the world who Cody fuckin’ Wright was and silence the haters once and for all. Tonight, I’d walk into any damn bar I chose and instead of a rain of hecklers and venom, I’d receive a hero’s welcome with cheers and autograph requests.

  End of the fuckin’ story.

  This was my true coming out party and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.

  I spotted Paris in the crowd. She was a hard woman to miss in her red top that displayed what I already knew—Robby Brown was a lucky son of a bitch. I quickly shifted my eyes from her to the knockout sitting beside her. A smile spread across my face.

  She dressed up for me.

  The first night we met, she’d worn a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a baseball cap. Totally normal. Typical. Nothing spectacular—well, aside from the way her ass filled out those jeans. Tonight though, she was wearing a skintight red tank top that was not only the team color but dipped low in the front and a bra that gave her cleavage that was visible from the diamond. Damn it, Chelsea. You’re killing me. On top of that, her hair was pulled back, showing off her kissable neck, collarbone, and the silver hoops in her ears. I couldn’t see below her waist but in my mind, she was wearing a short, black skirt that showed off her legs and curvy hips and a pair of sick heels that I’d make her leave on while I fucked her over the side of my bed.

  She caught me watching her and ducked her chin before glancing at Paris and whispering something. My eyes snagged on her ruby red lips and—

  “Yo, Wright? Pay fuckin’ attention!”

  I snapped from the image of Chelsea’s red lips wrapped around my cock and tuned into what Coach was rambling on about. The rest of the team glared at me. They didn’t understand why I was being started and I held back my tongue before I could put them all on blast and remind them that while I fucked up and gave up a grand slam, they’d fucked up the first eight and a half innings and loaded up the bases before I even showed up.

  But that wasn’t going to win me any points.

  As promised, I started the game on the mound, and by the seventh inning, we were up two nothing and my confidence was at an all-time high. Which was saying something. Up to that point, I’d only allowed three hits and none of them had converted into any traction for the Pioneers. It wa
s actually fun watching them scramble to try and get their shit together while I blew fastballs clocking over 100 MPH at them.

  Throughout the game, I kept sneaking peeks of Chelsea in the stands. She’d plopped a floppy sun hat on her head at some point, but I could still see her face and on a few occasions caught her staring right at me. Each time sent a rush of heat through me, and the mental timer in my head was counting down the minutes until the game would be over and I could get her to myself.

  “Okay, Wright, this is your game, you own it. Just hold onto this momentum and the meatball you gave up last night will be a faded memory,” Coach told me as I guzzled from my Gatorade bottle. He continued, rattling off stats and strategy for the next guy up to bat.

  “Send them my way, Coach. I got it.” I tossed the bottle down, dusted my hands, and took off to my place on the pitcher’s mound.

  The Pioneers got their batter set, I reminded myself of what Coach had told me, and set a grin on my face.

  “Time to have some fun,” I said to myself. I flicked my eyes to Chelsea. “You better be watchin’, baby.”

  The first batter stepped into the box and tapped the plate with the tip of his bat before pointing it at me. He flashed a jeering smile and my lips curled back into an even wider grin. “Oh, you don’t wanna do that, son.”

  Once the batter got set, I reared back and delivered a blazing fastball right down the middle to an eruption of cheers from the crowd.

  The grin slid right from the cocky bastard’s face as the first strike was called over the PA.

  The crowd cheered harder as the speed of the pitch lit up the scoreboard with pixelated fireworks flashing around the number.

  100 MPH. “Who’s your daddy, bitch?”

  Chelsea clapped, a smile cracking that beautiful face. I’d never wanted her more.

  Damn it, let’s get this thing over with.

  The next pitch clocked in at 101 and caught the lower inside corner of the plate for strike two. The crowd jumped to their feet and my name was chanted from top to bottom as the stadium of fans joined in. Across the diamond, the batter looked like he was about to piss his pants. Odds were, he wouldn’t try for the next one. I slowed it down and threw him a changeup that he swung at before the ball even got to him.

  “Strike Three! You’re out!” the umpire behind the plate screamed over the roar of the crowd.

  I kept my excitement in check, letting the crowd revel in it while the second batter came into the box. One down, two to go.

  Then Chelsea was all mine. Suh-weet!

  The second batter went down just like the first.

  The third batter came to the plate and was shaking like a leaf on a tree in a tornado. I looked up to give Chelsea a wicked grin to make sure she was watching. The last pitch clocked in at 102 MPH and nearly knocked my catcher, Mike right off his feet. Once the crowd realized he had the ball safe in his glove the applause, cheers, and hollers reached deafening heights.

  “Game over, folks! Cody Wright has recorded his first Major League win with a two to zero shutout, nice job Cody!”

  The team started racing for me, the man single-handedly responsible for snapping a downer of a losing streak, Cody fuckin’ Wright! Robby was the first one to greet me, his smile as wide as ever. He clapped me on the back. “Welcome to Oklahoma City, my brother! Now let's go party our fuckin’ asses off!”

  “Only if you can rope those two into coming with us,” I said, throwing my chin in the direction of Chelsea and Paris.

  “Done and done, my man!”

  I cocked a grin and waved up at her. “Tonight, baby, you’re all mine.”

  10

  Chelsea

  By the time the announcer called the game over, I was on my feet, cheering and hollering just like the rest of the fans in the stadium. The roar was deafening, which was impressive considering a third of the seats were vacant. Paris was screaming for Robby—though he couldn’t hear her—and although I didn’t dare let his name slip past my lips, my eyes were locked on only one player on the field.

  “Hot damn! That was amazing. Your man did good, babe!” Paris yelled over the crowd.

  I tore my eyes from Cody and threw them her way. “My man?”

  She grinned and tossed a glance at Cody. “I can see the way you’ve been eye fucking him from up here.”

  “Paris!” I whirled around, hoping the two boys in the seats behind us hadn’t heard. Judging by the sour look on their mother’s face, that hope was in vein. “Quit it.”

  She cackled and tugged my arm. “Come on. Let’s go hit the bathroom for a touch up before we head to the locker room.”

  “Sorry,” I mouthed to the parents of the small boys. The boys were still cheering their little hearts out and probably hadn’t heard, but I still felt guilty. Paris plowed through life without much thought to the sensitivities of others. A free spirit with a seriously unfiltered mouth.

  Paris tugged at me again and I followed after her. We stopped at the stairs, waiting for the opportunity to merge into the crowd, and I glanced down at the field. Cody was still being piled on by his teammates.

  “For fuck’s sake, it’s not like they won the World Series,” a disgruntled Pioneers fan mumbled to his friend. I snickered into my hand a little. “Calm it the fuck down!”

  The cluster of people behind us—all Warriors fans—caught wind of the Pioneers fans words and started to fire barbs back. I ducked, as though under physical attack to not get caught in the middle of what was likely to turn into a fist fight.

  Paris, on the other hand, joined in. “Go back to your cows!” she shouted, raising her middle finger at the two men in blue Pioneers t-shirts and ball caps.

  I tugged on her arm. “Paris, let it go.”

  “Oh yeah? We’ll see you at the finals and see if your guy Wright can show up or if he’ll choke like he did the other night! You all saw that right? He pitched Delgado a grand-fuckin’-slam on his debut night!” The two men laughed loudly and the sound of their jeers made the hairs on the back of my arms stand up.

  “Fuck you! You don’t know anything!” I shouted before my inner nice-girl could stop me.

  Paris glanced back at me; her thin eyebrows raised halfway up her forehead. She grinned at me and then wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “That’s right! Fuck you guys!”

  The larger of the two fans started towards us and we both shrieked. Luckily, the group of Warriors fans in the row in front of us jumped at him. A tall man in a Warriors shirt held him back and his buddy tossed the remnants of his beer on him.

  “Security!” Paris bellowed over the noise and chaos.

  I stood back in shock that I’d helped start a fist fight in the bleachers. Two days ago, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about baseball, and now, I was fighting and arguing with the opponents. What in the world…?

  Security guards swooped in and broke up the fight. No one got in trouble but they ushered the Pioneers fans out of the stadium while Paris and the other Warriors fans, including the two guys who stepped in on our behalf, all shouted insults at them as they were taken away.

  “Thanks, boys,” Paris said to the Warriors fans once the guards were gone. She popped a hip. “Nice move with the beer. Let me buy you another one.”

  The tall man who had stepped in, shook his head. “Nah, we’re good. I can’t believe he was going at you like that.”

  His buddy agreed with a nod. “Crazy shit, man!”

  “People are crazy,” Paris said with a shrug. “At least come hang with us tonight. My fiancé is Robby Brown and we’re going to meet him and some of the other guys at the Charcoal, that new grill. It’s just a few blocks from here.”

  The two men glanced at each other and then nodded in unison. “Sure! Thanks!”

  “We’ll meet you there in about an hour. We gotta wait for the press stuff to be done.” She turned to me. “Unless you want to go with them now?”

  I blinked hard. What was she up to now? “No, that’s all right. I’ll ride
with you.”

  “Okay. We’ll see you there!” The shorter of the two said and then they walked up the stairs to the nearest exit.

  “What the hell was that?” I demanded, grabbing Paris’ elbow once they were gone.

  “You don’t think we should have invited them?” she asked, creasing her brow.

  “No, that part was fine. I’m talking about trying to send me to hang with them until you and Robby get there.”

  Paris shrugged. “The tall one is kinda hot. I figured you might be interested in getting to know him a little before the team arrives and soaks up all the attention. He did just come to our defense. If I was single, I’d be taking him back to my place and riding him hard for the effort.”

  I groaned and mentally swiped at the image to try and clear it from my mind. “Paris, you know that’s not my style.”

  She fisted her hands and set them on her hips. “I don’t understand you sometimes, babe. You say that you don’t want Cody—even though you think he’s hot and clearly want to ride that horse—but then when another guy comes along, handsome, heroic, and yummy yum tall—you don’t freakin’ want him either!”

  I sighed and cut my glance away from her. I licked my lips. “I don’t want a man right now. I’ve already told you that.”

  “I’m not saying you have to shack up and start talking babies and diamond rings. But come on…” She narrowed her eyes at me. “When was the last time you were good and properly fucked?”

  “Paris!” My cheeks warmed even though the stadium around us was nearly emptied.

  “Answer the question and I’ll leave you alone.”

  I sighed loudly. “It’s been…” I paused, thinking back. “Ten months.”

  “Ten fuckin’ months!” her voice boomed throughout the section.

  “Stop it.” I shook my head at her and then stomped past her. “I’m going home.”

  Paris was hot on my heels but I kept walking, ignoring her yelling for me.

  The inside of the stadium was wall-to-wall people and I quickly got disoriented as I searched for the exit. “Damn it!”