Page 95 of The Golden Scoop

“Have you ever done this before?”

“A couple of times,” he says casually, stepping in behind me.

“Good. This might be quick then,” I shoot back.

My confidence survives exactly one round.

As soon as Matt steps up to the plate, I know I’ve made a catastrophic error.

His stance is a clear giveaway he knows exactly what he’s doing. He adjusts the helmet, taps the bat on the floor a couple of times, then squares up like a pro.

The ball shoots toward him at an indecent speed. Legally questionable, if you ask me. I’m halfway ducked behind the net when Matt swings.

Clean hit, straight to the back.

He didn’t even flinch. Barely any effort. There’s no way he has that much beginner’s luck.

“…okay, what was that?” I demand.

“What?”

“That was not ‘a couple times.’”

“I never specified how many,” he says, maddeningly calm. “You also didn’t ask.”

Oh, he’s cocky now.

Fine.

I march in determined to prove I can do better. I can restore my dignity. Sure, that machine launches the baseballs like military missiles, but I’ve volleyed worse. This is all about timing and concentration. That’s the key.

The bat settles over my shoulder like I’m setting up for a slightly elevated backhand. I step on the ‘go’ button in front of me and wait.

The pitch echoes. My eyes track it. I swing.

Miss.

“Fuck, too slow,” I mutter under my breath. “Again.”

Matt raises his hands, wisely deciding not to get between me and my stubbornness. Smart man.

I go again.

And again.

Four more times.

By the sixth swing, I don’t even know if I’m going early, late, high or low anymore.

“Mills,” Matt says carefully after another spectacular miss. “I thought you were right-handed.”

“I am,” I grumble.

“You’re batting lefty.” He pushes off the fence and stands. “Want to call it?”

“Yeah. No way.”

“It’s getting a little painful to watch.”