My nostrils flared as I palmed another ball. "Concentrate," I muttered under my breath.
"What was that?" he asked as he leaned against the chain-link fence.
"Nothing."
"She whispers under her breath. Don't worry. She does it all the time."
"Thank you, Hoffer," I said over my shoulder.
"Enough," Trip barked. "Pitch."
Channeling all my anger, forgetting my aching shoulder and my exhaustion, I pitched the ball into the backdrop. The loud pop it created was more satisfying than it should have been. I was never a competitive person, but there was something about today that had me wanting to show someone I was the best.
"Damn, Raine. I haven't seen you pitch like that since your first season." Coach Mae whistled, her smile so wide I could see her back molars.
I shrugged my shoulders, not having an answer. My eyes cut to Trip. My anger skyrocketed when I noticed he was scowling at me. I squeezed my face together and his scowl deepened.
"Do it again," Trip ordered when Coach Mae returned back to practice.
"Shouldn't you be worried about the pitcher who's starting?" I asked him.
Claire huffed out an annoyed breath, but nodded her head in agreement.
"Who says you're not starting?" His body was turned toward me, and I reminded myself to breathe.
I had all his attention, from the set of his shoulders, to the direction of his cleats on his wide-stanced legs. It was too much for me to concentrate on not peeing myself and breathing, let alone speaking.
"Because I'm not as good as Claire." My back teeth were smashed together. "Claire's your starter." I tossed the ball to Claire and headed to the secondary pitching mound.
"I'm not done talking to you." The crunch of his cleats were right behind me.
I threw my hands up and turned. My feet tangled together in the quick movement and I landed on my ass with a thud. Trip stood over me, the side of his mouth pulled up as he stared down at me. Claire howled with laughter behind us.
Trip snapped his head around and the laughter stopped at the contact of his gaze. "Do some warm up pitches," he demanded before turning back to me.
He extended his hand and I swatted it away. Trip was having none of it. His long fingers wrapped around my wrist and hauled me up. The calluses on his palm were rough against my skin and it shot lightning across my nerves. I yanked my hand back and rubbed the skin he had ignited with his touch.
When I ventured to look up at him, his scowl was back. With a scowl of my own I grabbed a ball from the bucket, launching it to the target. Over and over again in mechanical efficiency. I bent, grabbed a ball, focused, and pitched it until I heard the satisfying smack, before doing it again.
My hand blindly searched for another ball.
"The bucket's empty, Raine." Trip's voice held a hint of amusement.
"Good, because the next one might ruin your pretty face," I murmured, going to retrieve the balls.
"What did you say?"
"I said, good because the next one was going into space," I answered.
My fingers were numb as I gathered the balls. When my bucket was full I moved back to the mound. Anger, frustration, and confusion simmered at the surface. I didn't want to be around anyone, especially a certain man plastered on my walls at home.
"Enough," Trip announced when I moved to the mound after collecting the balls for the fifth time.
My eyes closed with relief. I hadn't worked that hard in a long time, and everything hurt.
"Hit the locker room. Meet me in Coach Hans’ old office before you go.
Claire sauntered off, her ponytail swinging behind her as her ass moved in a seductive gait. If I tried to swing my hips like her I would’ve fallen on my ass, and I already met my ass to ground quota for the day.
