by Anna
“Sure,” I say. “The movies are good.”
After practice Adrian corners Bird while I clean up the field, hanging bats on the racks and carrying the bucket of baseballs into the supply shed. Adrian is the only one left around here full time. Everyone else went to college or enlisted. That’s what happens in a military town. The pressure to follow your father’s footsteps into the career is strong.
Unless you’re a baseball star. One with a professional career in your future. Unless your father was one of the men that never came back. Unless your family needs you.
I set the bucket on the floor of the shed and glance over at Adrian. He’s alright. We played together in school but he busted his knee in a car accident. Got him out of the military, and he’s not smart enough for college. So now we hang out. Coach this team. He works here, at the rec. Me? I’m a volunteer for now. While I figure it out.
Bird likes the attention from Adrian. I can tell by her smile. The way she sways hip to hip. I think about setting my hands there, on her hips, and pulling her close. She looks in my direction and I stare back, because even though I play it cool, I’m not going to be the first to look away. Ever.
We hold eye contact for a beat and through it all, Adrian never stops talking. I can’t hear him, but I see his mouth moving and I see her eyebrow arch just a little bit in my direction. I realize then that even though she’s nodding yes to Adrian, she’s staring at me.
*
“Can you give me a ride to Lindsay’s tonight?” Joe asks from my bedroom doorway, phone clutched in his hand.
“Yeah.”
Not for the first time, I consider that I’ve turned into a chauffeur. Or a stay-at-home Dad. I’m not even sure how it exactly started. Necessity, I guess. Mom kept it all together when Dad was on duty, but the minute he was gone, she, and everything else, fell apart.
Joe sits in the passenger seat of the Jeep. His knee bounces out of nervousness and he keeps messing with the door lock. He must like this girl. I keep my eyes forward and ask, “So, you have condoms, right?”
He looks at me in shock. I can see him from the corner of my eye. I sigh and rub the back of my neck. “Look, Dad’s not here so I have to ask because no way we’re having another Jensen baby.”
“It’s not like that,” is all he says, but I help with the laundry. I’ve seen his sheets. Fucking hormones.
“I know it’s not now and that’s cool—good even, but don’t be stupid.”
Joe nods and gives me directions to the house. I pull in the driveway. “Do you need me to pick you up?”
“I’ll text you, okay?”
“Okay,” I tell him. He hops out of the car and I stop him. “Joe, wait. Listen, there’s one other thing Dad would want me to tell you.”
He gives me a wary look. We don’t talk about Dad often, but now I’ve brought him up twice. “Treat her nice. Really nice. And don’t pressure her. Don’t be a dick.”
“I won’t,” he promises, looking at his shoes.
“Good,” I say. “Let me know if you need a ride.”
He’s still slack jawed from my advice so I shift the Jeep into gear and leave him standing on the sidewalk outside of his girl’s house.
*
Crack
Chink
Crack
Chink
“You’re pretty good.”
Whiff
Thud
I look back and there she is. Bird.
Easing back into position, I hit the remainder of the baseballs, connecting with each one in the sweet spot. When the machine slows, I take off the helmet and look back.
She’s still here.
“What’s up?” I ask, opening the door to the cage.
“Just watching you.”
I sit next to her on the picnic table. “Yeah?”
“You’re pretty accurate.”
“I should be,” I laugh. “I’ve been living and breathing this game since I was four.”
Bird has been running again. A thin layer of sweat covers her arms and chest. She has one some kind of running top, like a tank but no bra. Again her nipples poke through the purple fabric and it’s all I can do not to rub my thumb across. I wonder what her skin tastes like. “How many miles do you run?”
“Four or five. Depends on how I’m feeling. Today was a six-miler, though.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How come?”
“I like to push myself, I guess. You’re an athlete, I’m sure you know the feeling.”
We’re sitting close together and even her sweat smells good. I can’t tell if she’s flirting with me or not. If she was one of the sports groupies, my pants would be around my knees now, but she’s not. I don’t know what she is.
“I used to push myself, but not so much anymore.”
“How come?”
I rest the bat on its head and spin it in a circle. “No reason to. Coming here is just an old habit. Somewhere to go that’s not home.”
She lets my comment hang, which makes me feel self-conscious. Before I can do anything about it she stands up and grabs the bat. “Want to give me a lesson?”
“Batting?”
“Sure. You coach the kids. Coach me.”
“If you say so,” I laugh.
I open the gate, letting her go in first
“First you need to stand like this.” I demonstrate and she copies me.
“Like this?” she asks, sticking her ass out. Yes. Exactly.
“Elbows out,” I direct. “And feet spread apart.”
I stand behind her and touch her elbows. “Higher,” I say. I can smell the shampoo in her hair and see the small bird tattoo on her neck. She shifts so our bodies touch. Damn.
“Okay, you need to wear this.” Needing space, I reach for the helmet and place it on her head. I then shove a handful of quarters into the slot.
She whiffs the first three balls. “Move back a little, you’re too close to the plate.” She gets a little bit of wood on the next two. “Elbows up.”
I’m standing outside the cage but her form is all wrong. Between a break in the pitches I slip in behind her and adjust her body with my hands. She lets me manipulate her, and with my hands over hers, we connect the bat to the ball effortlessly.
“I did it!” she laughs, turning and missing the next pitch. It hits the fence with a loud clink.
“Watch out,” I say, pulling her out of the way. I get her repositioned and she settles her butt into my crotch.
Is she doing it on purpose? It seems like it, but again…aloof.
She takes a couple more pitches, hitting fifty-fifty. When the machine stops she removes the helmet, shaking out her hair. “That was awesome.”
“You did pretty well.” I tell her. “Maybe you can start helping during practice.”
“Yeah, right. I’d be useless out there. Plus, Felix would kill me. He idolizes you and Adrian.”
“He’s a good kid.” I think about it for a minute and then ask, “Is everything okay at home? I haven’t seen his mom in a while.”
“His dad, Jeff, is my brother. He got stationed overseas for six months, so I came to help. She’s pregnant and on bed rest, so I’ll be here for a couple months.”
The idea that she’ll be around for a while excites me. She excites me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out. “My brother,” I tell her, reading the message. “He’s on a date or something but I’ve got to pick him up.”
“Not the brother on the team?”
I laugh. “No, he’s not dating yet. Thank god. I’ve got another brother, he’s sixteen.”
“You take care of them a lot, don’t you?”
“Yeah, just helping out,” I shrug, downplaying my involvement. What girl wants to hang out with a quasi-stay-at-home-dad?
I gather my bat and helmet and we start walking toward the Jeep. “You need a ride or something?”
Any other girl would
say yes. They’d say yes and I’d ditch Joe and we’d make out in my car. I’d take her back to my room and I’d tear that tiny tank off her chest and finally get my hands on her ass. I’d know every inch of her body by the end of the night, but not this one. She shakes her head. “No, I think I’ll just run,” she says. “Thanks for teaching me.”
“Any time.” I toss my stuff in the back seat and watch her, this enigma, run down the street.
*
After that I can’t get her out of my mind. I think about her when I wake up and before I go to sleep. I dream about her and wake up hard. In the shower, I jerk off thinking about that tattoo and how I want to scrape it with my teeth. I want to know what her tits would look like hanging over my body.
I know I’m good-looking. Attractive. Even when I was a kid people would comment on my looks. On my face. Girls love to run their hands down my jaw. Twist their fingers in my hair. Baseball kept me fit and I’ve spent a lifetime training for the pros, so even if I’ll never get there, the results are still visible. I see people looking at my body. My arms and my abs. Older women, younger. My mom’s friends. I’ve never met a girl I wanted that I couldn’t have. Didn’t have. But this one, Bird, with her big green eyes, has me stumped.
“How was the movie?” I ask Adrian. I’m nonchalant about it, like I don’t care. Like I’m just being polite. I shouldn’t care, but seeing her in the bleachers in a green tank top and cut off shorts stirs things I’m not used to feeling.
“Alright. Some artsy flick she picked out.”
I want to ask him if he kissed her but I’m not sure I want to know. “You going out again?”
He shrugs but I see the determination on his face. He’s not backing down, even if it didn’t go as well as he wanted. After practice, I herd Sophie and Owen to the car, passing Adrian and Bird in the parking lot.
I really should find out her name.
“Tucker will be there,” Adrian says, his eyes flashing between the two of us.
“Be where?” I say.
“The game tomorrow night.”
“The kids have a game?” she asks. “I didn’t see that on the schedule.”
Adrian shakes his head. “No, our game. Men’s league.”
“Eight o’clock,” I chime in, dropping my cool façade. I puff my chest out and tense my arm muscles. God, I’m desperate.
“We go out afterwards, too—you should come,” Adrian says hopefully.
Sophie’s tugging my hand so I start to move along. This is Adrian’s thing, not mine, but when I glance back I see her looking at me with interest. I think she’ll come. For me, not him.
Chapter 4
I feel my best after a game. The adrenaline runs high and my muscles are warm. These are the nights I welcome attention from girls like Mary (Marcy?) and non-committal sex to work off the high. I’m not in the place to be anything to anyone right now, other than for my family, and even for them I’m not sure I’m measuring up.
It’s not the same as when I played high school ball or even for my club team. But even so I still have local celebrity status. It may be all I ever have and I find myself clinging to that position desperately.
Columbus is a small town, small enough for shitty bars and bartenders who look the other way. At nineteen, I could have been serving my country with the rest of the guys in this town. Why not serve me beer? Someone shoves one in my hand the minute I walk in the door and I’ve drained half of it before I get past the entry.
“Great game,” people say when I stroll through the bar. Men clap me on the shoulder. Women rest a hand on my arm, squeezing the hard muscle beneath my shirt. They want to touch a hero and I’m the closest this town has had in a while—something positive outside the war. I failed them, but they still lift me up.
I spot Adrian by the bar talking to Bird. She’s got some sort of white filmy shirt and those raggedy cut-offs she wears all the time. My eyes glue to her chest because she’s showing a hint of cleavage and that’s all it takes, you know? A hint. Makes a guy want to see what else is under there.
I start in their direction but come face to face with Shelly (Shelby?) a girl I hang around with some. Her hand cinches around my waist and she says, “Nice double.”
I smile down at her. Shiny black hair. Firm tits. She’s a lot of fun. “Thanks.”
She links her fingers with mine. “Maybe later…”
“Yeah, I’ll find you,” I say, but my eyes are across the bar. On her. I tug away.
“Awesome game,” Adrian says when I approach them.
“You too, man. How’s the shoulder?” He took a pitch to the arm in the third inning.
Adrian rolls up his sleeve and reveals a fresh, red bruise. It hasn’t even turned purple yet. “Pretty wicked.”
I laugh and reach for the bottle the bartender slides in my direction. “That’s gonna hurt like a mother.”
“It already does.” He grimaces. Adrian looks at Bird, whose been watching the two of us. “Hollis wants to know why the hell you’re hanging around Columbus and not in the big leagues?”
“Who’s Hollis?”
They both look at me like I’m an idiot and I realize that Bird’s real name is Hollis.
Hollis.
I like it.
Once that’s cleared up I narrow my eye at Adrian. His comment is a low blow and it makes me wonder if he realizes she’s been watching me and not him. “Yeah, well I want to know when you’re going to stop pussy-ing out and not take a hit every fucking week.” I tag him on the shoulder for good measure and he winces in pain.
“Wow.”
We both turn and stare at Hollis. I look away and take a sip of my beer.
“So this is what a lifetime of testosterone-fueled sports does to a guy?” she asks, looking irritated.
Whatever.
I empty the bottle and place it on the bar top. I don’t need this. Adrian’s shit and this girl’s judgment. I don’t even know her and she sure as hell doesn’t know me. I walk away.
It doesn’t take me long to find another group to settle in with, one that doesn’t pressure me or ask questions. Shelby (Shelly?) sticks to my side and her hands are soft and warm. I should be leaving with her any time now, heading out for a good time, but Hollis lingers around the edge of the bar, distracting me. She mingles easily with this crowd of unfamiliar faces like she’s a regular. I wonder if she asks any of them about me. I wonder what they tell her.
“So,” the girl with jet-black hair says.
I lift an eyebrow.
“You want to go back with me?”
The pressure in my pants says I do. And my fingers drunkenly tangled in the hair resting on her back agree, but one look at Hollis standing near the door in that gauzy shirt makes me say, “I’d better not.”
I leave with the same fanfare. Congratulations. Excellent hit. Nice save. I avoid their eyes because they’re hopeful, something I let go of long ago. The outside air is warm and muggy but for the first time all night, I can breathe.
How long can I do this?
Hollis approaches me near my Jeep. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I didn’t get the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed the game, you know, before you and Adrian started acting like jerks.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” I reach in my pocket for my keys. They drop to the ground with a clink.
Hollis picks them up first. When she bends over I get a peek down her shirt. White lace. Nice.
“Maybe I should drive?”
“My Jeep?” I shake my head. “No.”
“You’re drunk, Tucker.”
I lean against the car. Hollis reaches for my hand. “I’ve got a car, let me drive. You can pick up the Jeep tomorrow.”
Her hand in mine feels nice and I let it stay as she maneuvers us through the parking lot. She has an old Volvo, more rust than yellow paint. I settle in the seat next to her. “You drive a stick?”
�
��Sure.”
She starts the car and the engine is loud but soothing. I watch her hand grip around the knob of the gear shift, imagining what it would feel like to have her hand on me. The idea makes me shift in my seat.
“What?” she asks, looking over at me. She smiles and I realize I, too, have a grin on my face.
“Nothing.” I give her directions and stare at the city, then rows of houses as we drive.
“So what’s your story, Tucker Jensen?”
I shrug. “Army brat. Baseball star. Big brother.”
“You’re a brat?” she asks.
“Spoiled rotten.”
I look over at this girl and her hair blowing around from the open top. I want her but she plays me with a level of aloofness I can’t get a handle on. “What about you?”
Hollis stares out the window. I stare at her. “Wanderer. Adrift. Rolling stone.”
“That’s your story now or always.”
“Always,” she says. “I left home at sixteen. Went to school for a while, dropped out, traveled a bit. I kind of just go where life takes me.”
I snort. “And life brought you here? To Columbus?”
“My family needed me. My brother is all I have left.” She tilts her head. “Plus, I’ve never been here before and I like meeting new people.”
“Sounds like most the people around here. Moving a lot. New people all the time.”
“Sort of,” she agrees.
My tongue feels loose and I’m warm and comfortable next to her. Before I think better of it, I say, “I had a scholarship.”
“In baseball?”
“To Harvard.”
“What happened?”
“I passed it up for my shot at pro.”
“And…”
I look at her. She’s so pretty. So different. She seems sort of flighty but not now. Now she’s entirely focused. On me. I rub my hand over my head and turn back to the window.
“And my father never came back from Iraq,” I say to the wind. “I stayed home to help my mom.”
“Oh, Tucker,” she says. “That seems improbably unfair.”
