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I forced myself to switch to my role as baseball coach. “Hi, Hunter. How long have you played?”
His gaze lifted to his mother’s. “Three seasons?”
“That’s right,” Abby said encouragingly.
It wasn’t a long time, but I’d see what he could do. Some kids had played since kindergarten. Three seasons meant he hadn’t started until spring of first grade. Some kids got better with each season; others had a natural talent. I wondered which one he’d be.
“Grab your glove and a ball, and warm up with the other kids.” I gestured toward the outfield where the others were already warming up.
Hunter nodded and took off for the dugout with his bag. He seemed eager to get started.
“I’ll help them warm up,” Ethan said, following him.
“How long are tryouts?” Abby asked tentatively.
“Two hours. Maybe less, depending on how it goes.” Thirty-four kids had checked in. We only needed twelve, maybe thirteen, to make a team. I needed a couple of pitchers, another catcher, and a couple of good fielders and hitters.
Hunter jogged over to the two lines of kids lobbing balls back and forth. He spoke to a group of three, the one kid separating from his group to pass to Hunter.
“Is it okay if the parents stay and watch?” Abby asked.
“Of course,” I said, tipping my head toward the other parents. A couple leaned on the fence to watch the progress, and others sat on the bleachers talking to each other. It was clear some of them already knew each other. It was likely a few had played together before.
The key was figuring out which ones had potential and were motivated to learn.
Instead of walking away, Abby moved closer. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t affect your decision today.”
My brow raised, and I lowered my voice. “Are you asking if our one night together would influence my decision about your son’s ability to play baseball?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “He’s obsessed with baseball. I don’t want to mess this up for him.”
“It won’t affect my decision.” I kept my tone even. I didn’t like that she thought I’d be influenced by what happened. At the same time, we didn’t know each other. That night was purely physical. I hadn’t known she’d had a son, and I was fairly positive I hadn’t told her about my nephew because he wasn’t living with me at the time.
I shouldn’t want a repeat of that night, even if it was the only thing I’d thought about for months. She was the mother of one of my potential players, and this was my home now. Besides she’d made her intentions clear—it was only one night.
Her gaze slid away; her expression uncertain. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m picking the players solely on ability. I don’t know anyone.”Except for you.And I didn’t really know her at all.
I knew how soft her skin was, what her shampoo smelled like, and what it was like to slide inside her. How warm and tight she was. The sounds she made when she came. But I shouldn’t be thinking about any of that while I was in the middle of tryouts.
“I should get back to it,” I said, gruffer than I intended.
I was hyperaware that other parents were watching us, and the last thing I wanted was any murmurings that I was playing favorites with someone’s kid. Tryouts for travel sports could be fierce. I didn’t intend to make it that way, but who knew how the other parents would react if they found out we’d slept together.
“Of course.” Abby moved away to stand with the other parents on the outside of the fence, and I was able to draw in a deep breath.
I moved closer to where the kids were throwing practice tosses to each other. A few had backed up to throw a larger distance. My gaze settled on Abby’s son, Hunter. He had a strong arm. When it left his hand, it literally sailed through the air.
I’d have to keep an eye on him.
After having the kids run a lap and stretch, we moved to the infield, where the children formed a line at each base. I hit grounders to them, watching as they fielded the balls and threw to first.
There were a few missed balls and a lot of poor throws to first. I stopped occasionally to give instructions and praise. A few of the kids showed potential, but others seemed raw, unaware of what to do with the ball once they had it in their glove.
When I hit one to Hunter on third base, he gloved the grounder but rushed his throw to first, and it bounced.
I rested the bat on my shoulder. “Hunter, I know you can throw harder than that. I watched you in warm-ups.”
