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“What the hell are you doing, Chatham?” Coach shouts from the dugout.
I didn’t see the ball coming. I’m frozen in my batting stance when the ball hit Danke’s catcher’s mitt. “Sorry, Coach.”
He spits and turns his back to me scraping the red dirt with his cleat. Five more pitches and five more solid hits and then it’s time to change batters. Joe and I walk toward the dugout together so I can unload the helmet and retrieve my glove and so Joe can take his catcher’s gear off.
“Adalee told Ginger that you two made out. Her exact words were ‘Adalee was swooning.’” Joe laughs.
I chuckle too thinking about how bad she is at swooning. “I’m not sure she was swooning. Aren’t girls supposed to bat their eyelashes and have big doe eyes?”
“Brother, she’s not like most girls. She doesn’t party or date much other than ass-wipe.”
We both down a bottle of sports drink. We ran three miles before hitting practice, and we’ll follow it up with a scrimmage. Joe grabs his bat and puts it on his shoulders rotating his torso from side to side, stretching.
I lean against the blue painted concrete wall. “That’s what has drawn me to her. I can’t anticipate what she’s going to do or say. When we were in the suite, I was ready to give up.”
“She’s not worth it, Transfer,” Chaz heckles. “I was in there for months and believe me, she’s fruitless. She should be called the Ice Queen.”
I push off the aluminum bench, charging him. “You motherfucker.” The whole time he’s laughing like the freaking penguin fromBatman. It’s maniacal. I push him to the ground and rare back to swing as Joe jerks me off the ground.
Coach’s eyes dart between us. “Chatham, shower and see me in my office in thirty minutes.”
“But—”
He gives me an icy glare, and I shut my mouth. I gather my gear and sling my backpack over my shoulder. I should have ripped him apart. Everyone likes Adalee. What happened between them?
I tap out a message to Adalee.
Me:We need to talk.
She still hasn’t answered after I’ve showered and changed. I knock on Coach’s door, and I hear a gruff voice. “Come in.”
Coach’s office is filled with photos of him playing for the Cobras. Then accolades from his coaching career. He has a baseball in his hand and tosses it back and forth between them…left to right.
The motion would have been hypnotic if I my mouth wasn’t as dry as cotton. Coach took a chance on me and I’m causing problems on the team. My hands sweat as I rub them against my royal blue baseball pants.
Just say something, Coach. Put me in my place.
“Hagan. I’m in a precarious position. I can’t have my players fighting. He did nothing and you pounced on him like a lion.”
“Sorry, sir. But he was talking about my girlfriend.” Did girlfriend just come out of my mouth?
Hell, am I fighting over someone thatisn’tmy girlfriend?
Coach puts his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together. Then he straightens his fingers and rubs then up and down before pushing them together in a triangle. I’ve seen my dad and Archer do this. It’s a power move—letting me know he’s in charge.
I notice his baseball cap is on the desk. Mine covers my wet hair, so I take it off in respect of being in his office and hold it in one hand, tapping it on my knee.
Finally, he speaks. “Coaching fucking college turns you into a therapist.” A grin threatens as the corner of his lips trend upward. “My understanding is that your girl is Chaz’s ex-girlfriend. Are there not enough beautiful girls on this campus? You just had to pick the same one?”
He has a point. “Coach, I didn’t pick her. It’s been months since they dated. We’re working on a class project together and Joe dates her roommate.”
“Ginger. Yes, he’s mentioned her.”
“He’s in love.” I laugh because he’s all about her. Ninety percent of our conversations have been about Ginger in the last couple of months.
“Are you?” he asks.
I don’t know how to answer his question. I loved Julia but this is different, stronger, almost like I require her to breathe.
