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Right as I lose hope of knowing anyone, my gaze lands on a familiar set of eyes staring back at me—Carter Drews. The corners of his mouth push to a grin the moment I spot him.
“Dalton Boyd.” The only friendly face in the room comes up and shakes my hand. “Glad you made it. It was rumored that Coach ate you for dinner last night.”
“He tried.” I don’t even try to hide my smirk. “Glad to see a familiar face.”
Carter glances around the room, seemingly noticing the hostility tossed my way. “Yeah, I imagine. Anyway, are you ready to win some games?”
“You know it.”
Carter is an incoming sophomore and catcher for the Wildcats junior varsity team. He didn’t accompany us to the College World Series, but his stats are impressive enough to fill Noah’s position. I imagine we’ll get plenty of playtime together next season.
“Come on. There’s a locker next to mine you can have.”
No one else bothers to introduce themselves. It’s as if I have the plague. Their distance would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic.
“Seems like a friendly crowd.”
Carter shrugs. “Your skills will win them over.”
“Didn’t realize that needed to happen,” I say dryly.
“Yeah, well, everyone knows to watch out for the player staying at the coach’s house.” He raises an eyebrow. “Since they’re juvenile delinquents with talent.”
“Fuck off. There’s nothing wrong with my attitude.”
“You better not let Coach hear you cuss. There’ll be another strike against you.” The slight tease in the stranger’s voice keeps me chill, and we turn to face the burly guy easing upon us. A playful grin dances on his lips as his fist meets mine. “Javier Tavarez. I’m theleadcatcher.” He smirks at Carter. “Congrats on one hell of a season. Your stats were phenomenal.”
“Thanks.” I fall silent, unable to add anything of value. Really, what more can be said? We both know my stats were good enough for me to get drafted. Yet, here I am, and we both know the reason why—or at least presumably so. It’s probably why the team gave me such a wide berth when I arrived.
“I’m looking forward to winning some games, so I’m glad you’re here. We could use your bat.”
“That’s no shit,” Carter says.
I smirk. So far this season, the Crushers haven’t crushed anyone, going four for ten.
“Who’s the first baseman?” No better time to scope out my competition. I should know the roster by now, but unlike Javier, I haven’t studied any teammates. If I had, I would’ve known who Jason Fowler is and maybe understand the look Javier and Carter just shared.
“He’s going to be tough to dethrone,” Carter says, resting his hand on the back of his neck.
“Why? Is he good?”
Another uncomfortable glance occurs between them. Their gazes dart around the emptied locker room.
“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion,” Javier says.
“Then what’s the problem?” I fail to understand where their trepidation comes from. If he’s not a fantastic player, there shouldn’t be any question about why I can’t take over the starting position.
“He’s sort of the team’s darling,” Carter says.
“And Coach’s little bitch boy.” The disdain in Javier’s voice is obvious, and I get it. They don’t care for him.
“I’m not worried.” I wink to drive home my point. I’ll do anything in my power to get noticed, but I won’t be an ass kisser. My sheer talent will make sure I’m the starting player. Despite what my sorry-excuse-of-a-father wants to call me, I am talented. I just wish my stats would’ve impressed the major league scouts. But the guys still haven’t told me his name, so I ask again. “What’s his name?”
“Jason Fowler.”
Well, fuck me.
Chapter Six
