And we’re back to square one.
We’ve ordered room servicetwiceby the time our conversation circles back to my brothers.
“Why do you think they’re ready?” Cooper asks, looking at my laptop. “What numbers are you seeing that convince you that they’re a better bet than keeping Jessup and calling up Betancourt?”
“They’re some of the top prospects in the Minors. We could at least put them on the extended roster.”
Cooper’s eyes flash. “You know they’re not ready.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You know they telegraph their pitches, don’t you!” I squeeze my fists, not wanting to answer. But he pushes. “Admit it! You know!”
“Yes!” I blurt. “And it drives mecrazy! They never listen to me when I talk baseball! No matter what I say, what feedback I give them, they shut it down instantly.” Now that the words are out, I can’t take them back. And I don’t want to. “They could hang in the majors. Idohave the stats to back me up on that. Their mechanics are top tier. But they don’t think they need to control themselves, and they don’t accept feedback, and it’s going to stop them from greatness.”
Cooper slams his hand on the table. “Liesel Fischer. Atta girl.”
I scorch him with my gaze. “Don’t ‘attagirl’ me. Literally all they need to do is listen to me.”
“But they don’t.”
“They’re ready.”
“But so is Betancourt. And Jessup is still strong, even if he’s on the decline,” he says.
“I like how you’re pretending the guy you hate isn’t even an option. He’s a surer bet than any of them.”
Cooper leans back in his dining room chair and a baseball materializes. He throws it into the air and catches it with his non-dominant hand. It’s easy to forget he was ever injured, but he’s only eight weeks out from surgery. He still has probably sixteen months of rehab and strength training to go. “You were serious about wanting that guy? He’s a bigger jerk than I am.”
I stand up and start pacing around the dining room. “Toss me the ball,” I say.
He does, and I catch it with one hand. He raises his eyebrows.
“Oh, stop,” I say. “There’s nothing surprising about a woman being able to catch a baseball from ten feet away.”
“You’re right.”
I throw the ball back to him as I walk, playing catch.
“Why are you so interested in Colt?” he asks. There’s a note in his voice that couldn’t possibly be jealousy, but is definitelysomething.
“I’m notinterestedin him. He’s really good, and because he only started pitching in college, his arm will be good for a long time.”
“He’s a trash talker.”
I laugh. “He’s professional and even-keeled.”
“He runs his mouth constantly.”
“No, he doesn’t!”
“Do you have a crush on him, or something?” Cooper asks.
I could shake this guy like a can of soda. “What is with you always asking if I have a crush on a guy you don’t like?”
I mean it as a joke, but Coop’s brow pinches together, almost like he’s wondering the same thing. “Colt’s a womanizer. I take pictures with fans. He does a lot more than that.”
Ew. “That’s gross but irrelevant. He’s good, and you know it.”
