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“And now you are.”
“I didn’t set out to be some feminist sports icon.” Emmy’s head tilted back until she was looking straight up into the blue morning sky. “I have a ton of respect for women who set out to change things, don’t get me wrong, but that’s never what this was about for me. And Simon is trying to make it out to be something it was never intended to be. That’s why he didn’t tell me about this.”
“He didn’t tell you?” That sounded strange to Tucker.
“No. He knows me well enough to know I’d have shot the idea down.”
Tucker idly threw the ball he was holding towards the target, and the damn thing went right through one of the strike holes. “Well goddamn,” he groaned.
“You know that’s the goal, right?” Her tone had lightened significantly, some of its former stress falling away.
“Yes, thanks, genius. Problem is I can’t do it when I try.”
“Then you’re doing it wrong.” She balled up the paper and tossed it in the garbage can near the end of the bench.
“If you’re such an expert, why don’t you tell me what I’m doing wrong?” He picked up another ball and threw it at her. Without flinching, she caught it one-handed.
“You want me to teach you how to pitch?”
“Sure. Give me your wisdom. Seemed to work for Miles.”
“I’m not a pitching coach.”
“But you’re the new hope of women in baseball. You have to be amazing.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Well, it’s not like you can do any worse.”
“Harsh, Kasper.”
“You’re the one calling me the new hope of women in baseball.”
“That wasn’t me, it was your boyfriend.”
Emmy threw the ball back at him, and he almost missed the catch, but got it at the last second and bounced it back and forth from one hand to the other.
“Show me what you’ve got, Thirteen.”
What the hell was Emmy supposed to do to teach a Cy Young Award winner to pitch better? Could she walk into a five-star restaurant and teach a chef how to make a better soufflé? Could she give a rock star tips on playing a better guitar solo?
There was no way she could help Tucker, yet she was somehow offering to do it.
“Let’s make this interesting,” he said, interrupting her.
> “Interesting…how?”
“A bet.”
“If you want to bet I won’t be able to teach you anything, you’ll win.”
“Nah, I want to have fun. There’s no fun in an easy bet.”
“Thanks?”
“If you’re right and you can’t fix me, then I will write an article countering what Simon said and insist you’re not a new feminist icon.”
Emmy snorted. “Some prize. What happens if, by some miracle, I can teach you something?”
“You go out for dinner with me.”
