Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2)

by Celia Aaron

  Easton whipped his head around and shot him a glare. “What? A couple guys can’t talk out a compromise in the locker room? This is conflict resolution 101. It says so in this book I’ve been read—” He froze and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Ramirez and I both glanced to each other and shook our heads back and forth. Then we both eyed the gigantic woman standing between us.

  “Reading what?” I smirked.

  Easton’s face turned pinker than Nik’s pussy. “Fuck you guys.”

  Ramirez scratched his chin. “Hey E, speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

  I waited for the punchline. Ramirez was a jokester like us, and his shit was usually gold.

  “What’s that?” Easton sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Do you ever use that subscribe feature on Amazon?” Ramirez’s face was stone cold. He nearly made me a believer.

  Easton wrinkled his nose and leaned in as though he didn’t hear the question. “Umm, no. Why?”

  “You can save like five dollars a month on your tampons if you subscribe. I’m being for real right now. My girl does that shit. It gets me like two extra beers a month at happy hour. You should look into it.” His deadpan delivery had me on the brink of a full-blown seizure while I tried not to laugh.

  Easton balled his hands into fists and I noticed a vein bulging from his neck. Ramirez held his hands up once more as a peace offering. He walked over toward Easton as if it were an Aaron Sorkin style monologue.

  “You think I’m teasing you, but I’m not.” He stopped in front of Easton and began showing signs that he might break character, twitching slightly, but somehow he maintained. His head tilted up to meet Easton’s eyes as Easton’s chest started to rise and fall in heavy waves. “They’ll deliver that shit right to the clubhouse if you put the address in.” Ramirez glanced over at me and flipped two fingers up at me. “In two days if you got Prime shipping.” He turned back to Easton. “Extra heavy flow tampons in two days, man. You believe that?”

  I was nearly dead on the floor. Ramirez’s Oscar-worthy performances during his jokes were legend.

  He reached up and pretended to brush some dust off of Easton’s shoulders. “Anyway. Just thought you should know. Spreading the love and what not. You two gentlemen have yourselves a wonderful afternoon.” He tipped his cap to Easton and started to walk away.

  Easton turned to me with the set of crazy eyes he used when he was about to start up some shenanigans. I laughed, clutching my side as he motioned toward Ramirez’s back. I stood and pointed to my shin guards, alerting Easton they’d make noise if I moved too suddenly.

  He gave me a thumbs up and a huge grin spread across his face. “Ramirez?”

  “Yes, sir!” Ramirez came walking back over.

  Easton reached back and put his fist on the back of his thigh where Ramirez couldn’t see, and held one finger down. “Tell me more about this prime shipping. I don’t get on Amazon much.”

  Ramirez looked at me like the giant was a strange alien. “He umm, he knows I was making fun of him, right? I can’t ever tell with this one here.”

  Easton put a second finger down. Three meant it was time to unleash hell. “Do they have like, all kinds of stuff on Amazon? Like anything you could want?”

  Ramirez gave in, seemingly convinced E hadn’t caught on to his tomfoolery. “Yeah man, anything you want is on there. Seriously.”

  Easton’s hand on his leg started to tremble. It was almost go time. “What about say...Chinese finger traps!” He shot the third finger down and snagged Ramirez by the waist. He whipped the smaller man around and held him from behind.

  Easton dry humped him from the back, and I grabbed the top of his head and started hip thrusting at his face.

  “Goddamn, he’s tight as fuck. Switch-a-roo?” Easton laughed, unable to fight it any longer.

  I nodded and we both started to shout. “Switch that ass from front to back, slap that ass and fuck the crack!”

  We flipped him around as he tried to swing at us. E took the mouth and I took the ass. Ramirez squirmed, and tried to get away. After E and I had our fill, we finally let him break free from our assault.

  He swiped his hat from his head and pointed back and forth at both of us, obviously faking his anger. “Y’all motherfuckers ain’t right. You need Jesus.” He stormed away, mumbling. “Can’t nobody ever be serious in this place.” He faced us from the doorway. “This is a place of business, gentlemen. A commercial enterprise. It’s to be respected!” He scoffed and disappeared into the tunnel that led out to the field.

  “Did you at least get to finish?” I plopped back down onto the bench.

  “Yeah, he’s a swallower, so no evidence.” Easton’s big melon of a head rotated toward me, and we both doubled over.

  “That guy is fucking insane.” Easton sat down on the bench next to me as I pulled my chest protector over my head.

  “Yup. Fucking hilarious. Fits right in.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Nice. What was that all about anyway?” I sat down on the stool in front of my locker, facing Easton.

  “Just some hazing.” Easton’s eyes darted away from me, toward the other side of the locker room.

  “Cut the shit. All that compromise bullshit. Relationship stuff. You been doing some reading?” I cocked my head sideways and stared at him.

  His face went pale. “Please don’t make me tell you.” He paused for a second and shrugged. “Yeah, you’re gonna make me tell you.” He let out a long sigh. “I’ve been reading some relationship books.”

  I tried to hold back a laugh, but I’m certain he could see it building in my cheeks.

  “Fuck it. Never mind.” He shot to his feet.

  “Nah man. I’ll be cool. I swear. You can tell me. Sit back down.”

  He lowered back to the bench, but with caution. “I’m thinking—” He drew out the last word. “—about, well, you know?”

  “No, actually I have no clue what you are saying right now.” I truly didn’t.

  “About proposing. And I’ve been trying to work on conflict resolution. I want to be the best man I can be for Kyrie, and I know I have kind of a temper. So I’ve been reading books and stuff on it. Also, to umm—”

  “Go on.” I mashed my lips together to keep from erupting in laughter. It wasn’t the fact that he was doing this. It was a good thing. But, there was just something funny about how uncomfortable it made him, and the fact he was the size of a really cut Andre the Giant.

  “Work on some of my blow ups. When I get mad.” He dropped his face into his palms, but then quickly turned his head back up at me. “Which reminds me. This conversation isn’t about me and my temper. It’s about you and your dip-shittery. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about the trade talk with Coach? And why the fuck did you blow up on Nik? They had to keep me from driving to your house and beating your ass in the middle of the night.”

  Regret ripped through my bones and landed in my stomach. “I don’t know, okay. I didn’t want to worry people. All I have to do is—”

  “Tell the people who care about you. So they can help you shoulder some of this shit. You can’t carry it all around. And you love Nik. Why the fuck would you tell her that all you care about is baseball? Do you know what that did to her? She jokes and brushes things off, but it destroyed her.”

  Fuck me. I hadn’t thought about the way she might’ve interpreted that. Even when she asked me the question in the driveway it didn’t fully sink in. I was caught up in my own head—my own bullshit. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know what I’m saying? Right? Like, this has been the dream since we were kids. We worked our whole lives for it. I guess I just assumed, I don’t know, that it was compartmentalized from everything else, if that makes sense? Of course Nik is a huge part of my life. I love her.”

  “Well, like I said. You can use your ‘sit on my dick’ tricks, but that doesn’t mean she’ll forgive and forget, even if she s
ays that. Women are funny that way. They say ‘oh yeah, everything is great’. But it isn’t. They don’t forget anything. Ever. And don’t think you don’t owe me. Your girlfriend hogged Kyrie’s tits all night.”

  “I do apologize, as that is a mortal sin. A tit-free evening is no bueno, at all. But seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” I rose. It was almost game time. I’d gone the past few days thinking Nik and I were good. Apparently, I thought wrong.

  “I don’t know, man. You need to talk to a chick. Buying Kyrie a Kindle was like, the extent of my creativity. I’d usually say flowers and chocolate. But that is only good for one fuck up. I’m assuming you’ve already used up that freebie?”

  “I have. I sure have done that. Yes.”

  “As have I. Naturally. But, figure it out. And when it comes to the trade thing, you need to tell me that shit up front next time. Don’t be a hero. You ain’t motherfucking Captain America. His dick is way bigger than yours, and much smaller than mine.”

  I snorted. “Deal.”

  “Alright then. Play the way you always do. Numbers will pick up. You’re the heart of the team. Everyone knows it. Nobody works harder than you. The front office will see that. Nut the fuck up.”

  “I already did. In Ramirez’s ass.” I laughed.

  Easton chuckled. “Yeah you did.”

  NIKKI

  I TYPED THE last few lines of my article on the terrors of too-hot wax or the lurking danger of ingrown hairs. All in all, I felt it was a solid piece for the beauty section. And I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of my name being tagged at the end.

  After emailing it over to Kyrie, I left my office and practically pranced over to hers. “Did you get it?”

  She looked up from her typing, her reading glasses balanced near the tip of her nose. “What?”

  “I sent you my wax story.”

  “When?” She went back to her work, her fingers flying across the keys.

  “I don’t know. Like, thirty seconds ago.” I plopped down onto her small love seat and stared at her city view. One day I’d have a window office and make my (attractive male) secretary get me coffee and be my little bitch.

  Her email pinged, and she smirked at me. “I got it.”

  I leaned forward, anticipation sending my left foot into a tapping frenzy. “Are you going to read it?”

  She glanced at me. “Right now?”

  “Yes right now!”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Calm down. I’ll give it a look. Hang on.” A few more clicks and her eyes flew back and forth across the screen.

  “Well?” I leaned far enough forward that there was a pretty good chance I might topple over onto the floor.

  “Shh.” Her eyes kept going back and forth like they were eating a corn cob. The corn cob of pussy pouf maintenance.

  Once finished, she leaned back and gave me a grin. “Needs a copy edit. Otherwise, I think it’s going to work perfectly.”

  I clapped and squeed. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You kept it toned down just like Graciela asked. Good work.”

  I jumped up and ran around her desk to squeeze her.

  “Can’t breathe.” She said after several moments of me pressing her face to my chest.

  “Sorry. I’m just so—oh my God, so excited!”

  “I can see that, and you should be. Your own byline in Style and Substance. Things are looking up. Soon, all this—” she waved a hand at the messy pile of papers on her desk “—can be yours.”

  “I can’t wait to make editor.”

  “It’ll happen.” Her assurances meant more to me than she knew. “Just give it time and a few more bylines.”

  Her face fell a little, and she peered up at me. “Everything is good with Braden, too, I take it?” She grabbed my hand.

  I sighed and tried to answer her as best I could. Truth was, I didn’t know where Braden and I were. Things had been so strained the past few days. “We made up. I’m just not sure if he’s completely over everything.”

  She squeezed my fingers. “Are you?”

  I wanted to say yes, that I would forgive and forget and not think about it anymore. But I could still hear his words in my head—about how baseball was the only thing he cared about. Forgiving him was one thing. Forgetting was something else entirely. “I’m working on it.” It was all I could manage and still be truthful.

  “It will all work out. You two are great together. It’s just a rough patch right now. And you did a great thing by forgiving him. Really.” Her warm green eyes held so much concern for me that I had to will myself to slap on a smile instead of tearing up.

  “I know it’ll all work out. You’re right.”

  She dropped my hand and patted me on the ass—just the way I liked. Then her tone turned back to business. “Now, the key to making editor is to, one, produce great content, and two, keep producing great content. So what’s your next story idea?”

  I walked back to her love seat and sat on the arm. “I haven’t really thought of anything.”

  “Then that’s your next goal. Think of a new topic—something fresh and fun—and bring it to me. We’ll talk it over and, if it’s a go, you can pitch it to Graciela like you did last time.” She turned back to her computer and poised her fingers over her keyboard.

  “A new topic.” I chewed my lip, trying to think of something that would interest Style and Substance readers.

  “Get to it. I’ll send your piece on over to copy editing and let you know what Graciela says, if she doesn’t let you know herself.” She gave me one more smile. “I’m proud of you on all fronts.”

  “Thanks, bestie.”

  “Any time, bestie.”

  I left her office feeling better about my career. She’d given me concrete feedback and shown me the way forward.

  My love life didn’t get such direct instructions, but I held on to her assurances that Braden and I belonged together, no matter what.

  BRADEN

  IT WAS THE bottom of the ninth, and I found myself in the same position I was in the last time I fucked up the game. There were runners on second and third, and we were down by one run. The opposing team’s coach had just called in their closer, and he was warming up. I strolled over to Coach.

  “Just do what you did last time. The guy got lucky. You played it right.” Coach spit some sunflower seeds into the grass.

  “I know.”

  “Good. Well go win the fucking game then.” He swatted me on the ass.

  “At least cup the balls if you’re gonna spank me, Coach.” I winked at him as I walked away toward the plate.

  He starts three out of four hitters with a first pitch slider. Eight out of nine who bat my spot in the order.

  I always did my homework. I’d studied this guy over and over. Charts, pitch selections—every piece of information we had. If he threw that slider where I wanted, I knew exactly what to do with it.

  I stepped into the batter’s box, and the crowd came alive around me.

  “Crush this shit, B!”

  I wasn’t sure how Easton’s voice always made it above the crowd, but I could always hear it from the dugout. With both of my feet planted in the soft dirt, it was time to go to work.

  Focus.

  The pitcher came set and everything disappeared but the two of us. I wasn’t losing today.

  He kicked his leg up to his chin and exploded off of his back leg toward the plate.

  Slider. Slider.

  His arm whipped around, and he released the ball. It was the pitch I wanted.

  I rolled my shoulders back and took an inside-out swing just as the ball broke sharp toward the outside corner.

  I smashed it.

  It was a hard shot down the first base line. I dropped the bat and sprinted toward the bag as the first baseman laid out, reaching for the ball. It cleared his glove by a matter of inches and curved hard. It landed roughly two feet inside the foul line and then bounced into the right field corner.


  Air rushed into my lungs as I sprinted toward first. The crowd thundered around me.

  What the fuck? I felt a soft pop in my knee and I stumbled, suspended in the air like I was in slow motion, before planting face first in the chalk line.

  I raised my head up to see the right fielder scoop up the ball next to the foul pole. My teammate that was on second was rounding third and heading for the plate to score the winning run. But there were two outs, and I had to make it to first base, or the game was over. We’d lose.

  I sprang to my feet and a dull pain radiated from my thigh down to my toes.

  The front office is watching. An injury and they will cut you for sure.

  I ran as hard as I could to first base, somehow fighting through the pain ripping through my leg. The right fielder fired the ball toward first base, knowing that throwing me out was their last chance at getting the win. I leapt for the bag just as the ball arrived.

  I couldn’t see anything above me as I stared at the base and stretched my arms as far out as humanly possible. My fingers slid over the top of the hard plastic, and my body followed right behind. Unable to see the umpire, I listened for the crowd to tell me if I’d made it in time.

  A split second seemed like a thousand years. Then the place went fucking insane.

  Safe.

  I clapped my hands out in front of my face, sending a dusty dirt cloud straight up my nose. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I hoped it would carry me off the field without limping. I had to keep everything normal until I could figure out what to do about my knee.

  My teammates were rushing after me, smiles plastered to their faces, some of them screaming and jumping.

  Fuck a goddamn duck.

  I had to play it just right. If they tackled me they might fuck up my knee worse, but if I didn’t let them, the front office would know I was possibly injured. Easton was in the front of the pack and I locked eyes with him. I glanced to my knee, before holding my hand up slightly to let him know to slow down when he got to me.

  He nodded.