Catching to Win (Over the Fence #3) (11 page)

T
he past week
days have been a total whirlwind. Between press conferences, media days, signings, team bonding, practice and all of the travel…I’ve barely had time to think.

We’ve won three games straight so far against the other finalist, a college team from Arkansas who was rated number one. Everyone is freaking out — the media, our fans, even the team — no one expected us to sweep this team. Now we are one game away from being the best college team in the country, and I can hardly believe it.

On the field, I just feel so ON. There is nothing that can distract me, it’s like I can read every player on the field before they even react. I have some sixth baseball sense and nothing is going to come in between me and this trophy.

In all of my spare time, the only things I’ve done are sleep and eat. Which is why, when I finally flop down on my bed Saturday night, I have 11 unanswered texts from Kelsey.

“Fuck…” I hadn’t even remembered to keep checking my phone.

The rest of the texts are much of the same, until I come to the last one.

This last one is from a couple of hours ago, and my heart plummets straight into my feet. I dial her before I realize I’m even doing it. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you didn’t burn the house down. I left my favorite pair of sneakers there.”

I hear her throaty laugh. “Nice to know your best friend and cat don’t mean one thing to you. Fine, let us burn. We don’t care about your stupid bats and balls either.”

God, her voice warms my chest up. I’ve been going full throttle, hitting, catching, throwing and watching film every damn second of the last four days. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed her.

I leaned back on my king size hotel bed and wished she was cradled into the nook of my shoulder. “Seriously, why did you need the fire extinguisher?”

“Oh, I didn’t. I just wanted to get a response. I was starting to feel like you’d found some other hot redheaded best friend with a great ass out in bumfuck Omaha. Either that or you took a bounce up pitch to the head and were bleeding in some two-bit ER in a cornfield.”

Shit, I’d missed her humor. I stuck my hand under my head, stretching my sore body out. I’d stripped down to nothing but my boxers after sweating my ass off in my uniform this afternoon. My dick was already beginning to form a tent in the material, just from her raspy voice.

“I’m sorry I haven’t really been by my phone. It has been so crazy out here. You know, you had the option to come out.”

“I know. But then who would have taken care of this damn cat. Did you know that when you live with an animal full time, you have to take care of it full time? Who knew a little orange fluff ball needed to be fed so many times a day? And have you ever smelt a litterbox? Gross.”

“This coming from the girl who stuck her hands up a zebra’s ass as it was in labor.”

“That’s different. That’s a medical miracle. Science. This? I never knew a tiny kitten could shit so much.”

I hear Marnie in the background. “Well, I wish I was there to help. I miss you.”

There is a beat of silence. “I miss you guys too, it’s too damn quiet here. I have to blast my music just to feel sane. You’ve all domesticated me. Christ.”

I know she’s avoiding saying she misses only me. That she can’t let herself openly admit it.

“So, are you nervous for the big game tomorrow?” She’s changing the topic. But any reason to stay on the phone with her to hear that sexy voice, I’ll take it.

“To be honest, a little. It’s the closest Grover has ever been. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“That’s just so Clint of you.” I hear the warmth in her voice. “You say nothing about winning or being the best. Doesn’t a small part of you want to be a champion? To bring home the trophy?”

I thought about what she’d asked, and didn’t miss the fact that she knew exactly why it didn’t matter whether I won a trophy or not. “You already know that answer. You know baseball has never been about winning or losing for me. I love to play the game. And if that means winning and my teammates being happy, then great. But I’m going out on that field tomorrow to give the game I love my all. Maybe for one last time. The outcome doesn’t matter.”

I heard her content sigh through the phone. “So, have you made up your mind then? No majors like we talked about?”

We’d had this conversation a couple of times before when she was in Africa. She was so all over the place that she could never predict what she’d be doing the next day, so we always ended talking about my future.

“I don’t know. Do I dream about it? Sure. But it’s a lot of work. A lot of hard, challenging, time-consuming work. My body is worn down. I feel like an 80-year-old trapped in a 22-year-old’s body. And when I think about doing it, I just don’t feel happy. I don’t need huge sums of money. I just want to do something that will help someone. Give someone the chances I got.

“Well that, Mr. Bellows, is definitely something I can relate to. It will come to you, what you want to do.”

“I guess.” I rolled over onto my side, imagining her laying on her box spring set on the floor with Marnie milling around her. “So what are you doing?”

“Oh, trying not to blow my brains out because I’m so bored. I used to be fun. What the hell is happening to me?”

I didn’t want to attribute her change to me, but I couldn’t help feel the ego jump in my body that she wasn’t out partying right now.

“Let’s play.”

“Oh my god, yes!” I can hear her shuffling on the bed, getting comfortable. “Would you rather have to shave off your eyebrows for a whole year, or live your entire life with nose hair down to your upper lip?”

Of course she knew I wasn’t talking about phone sex. We’d play “Would You Rather” when she was in Africa and couldn’t sleep.

“Um, eyebrows. I would look surprised as shit for 365 days, but no one would come near me with epic nose hairs. Your turn. Would you rather sit in the DMV with Parker for five hours, or have to sit with the WAGS at one of my games without Minka as your buffer?”

“Fuck that is a tough one.” I hear her grumble. “Alright, alright…the WAGS. Because I would make fun of them in my head. I think Parker and I, and the entire DMV staff, would end up murdered by the end of that visit.”

I let out a boom of a laugh, thinking about the two of them spending even five minutes together in the DMV.

“Would you rather be forced to eat seven cockroaches, or drink a glass full of someone else’s sweat?”

“Ew, Roo. I think I’m going to puke. I can’t even answer that.”

“HA! If you don’t answer, I win. And then you have to do something for me.”

“Oh, I’ll do whatever you want.” My tone is raw and sexual.

I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Not fair. Distracting me with phone sex will not get you out of answering.” Her throaty voice was barely above a whisper.

“Fine. The cockroaches.” I shuddered audibly and Kelsey laughed. “I wish you were here to watch us tomorrow.”

She’s silent again. I wait her out, wanting a proper acknowledgement this time. “Me too.”

Those two words make my heart beat so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

“I think I’m going to get to bed, Marnie is falling asleep as we speak.”

I let her off the hook, just happier than anything that she even admitted that. Because it was more than just wishing she was here with our friends. I knew, just from her quiet confession, that she wished she was here in this bed with me.

“Well, sweet dreams. I’ll see you in two days, Roo.”

“Night, Clint.”

I hung up and hugged the phone to my chest like some lovesick puppy. The only reason I knew I was still all man was because my cock was now begging for attention from my hand. With just our phone conversation, just hearing Kelsey’s voice, I knew I was ready for tomorrow.

T
hree outs away
. Three damn outs.

I think I’d bitten off my all my nails this week, the chipped black polish jagged and missing on portions of the enamel. My feet and legs were jiggling so hard that I think I’d scared Marnie off. She’d been hiding under the couch since the sixth inning.

My eyes had been glued to the TV for three excruciating hours, where Grover was duking it out on ESPN for the College World Series title. Every time the camera panned to Clint, I half-swooned, half-shouted. He looked so damn edible in the brand new uniforms the college had shelled out money for.

Those white pants were practically painted onto his bulging thighs and ass, and reminded me just what I’d been missing this week while he was gone. I was a complete walking boner looking to get off.

Not that I couldn’t have this week. I had my trusty left hand, which I had used once or twice. But it just wasn’t the same. Orgasms were so much better with another person, and when their junk was involved. All of the sweaty, heavy breathing just added to how sweet it was when you reached that final awesome peak.

Or I could have gone out and found a very willing participant. There were more than enough hanging around Sammy’s. But I rationalized with myself that Clint and I had just started being amazing at sex. I’d trained him, and he’d become a star student. He could read my body, we knew each other’s flow during sex. To try and start over with someone else, I would probably be disappointed.

It had nothing to do with an emotional attachment. Or the fact that just Clint’s intense blue stare could sometimes send my climax over the edge. That was just the latent silly-female buried deep inside of me being dramatic. And I never let her dictate what I thought or felt.

I’d slipped when I told him I wished I was there. I shouldn’t have told him that, because immediately I knew he knew I’d really meant I wished I was there for him. Not to see and hang out with everyone else, but that I actually really missed him.

Because I had missed him. When I hadn’t heard from him much in those first four days, I was distraught. I acted like one of those needy, clingy stereotypical chicks who texted their man about 39 times if he didn’t respond. But I couldn’t help it. I was alone at home, and even before we were getting it on like rabbits, he was always the person I talked to. He knew my favorite movies, what I sounded like when I laughed so hard I wheezed, and the way I liked to eat my eggs. I didn’t know when he’d made the transition to the most important person in my life, but he had.

Grover was up by six to Arkansas’ four runs, and the game had been back and forth to the point of insanity. Parker had driven in a two run double in the second inning, only for Arkansas to come back in the fourth with their best hitter whacking a grand slam off of Owen.

Owen had been so mad after that inning that he’d thrown an entire Gatorade cooler on the ground and almost been thrown out by the umpire. I don’t think I’d ever seen Owen so mad, he was usually the picture of golden boy grace. The commentators made small talk as the cameras had followed Clint pulling Owen aside. I knew he was whispering calming sentences to his pitcher, trying to cool his best friend off. That was Clint, always cool in the midst of the storm. You could put the guy in the middle of a hostage situation and he’d walk out whistling promising the criminal a cup of coffee.

In the sixth, Arkansas’ catcher took a pitch to the stomach and was temporarily on his back. My heart had completely stopped. Not for that poor schmuck, but because in my mind, that was Clint laying in the dirt. I didn’t know what I would do if he ever got hurt and I wasn’t there. It was then I started to realize I was in over my head.

Now our offensive part of the game was over. The only thing standing between Grover and the championship trophy were three measly outs.

I shoved a handful of popcorn in my face trying to calm my nerves. Glancing around the house, I knew I had to go into full maid mode after the game was over. The gang arrived home tomorrow, and let’s just say my style of a clean house and theirs definitely did not match up. I could practically smell the sugary milk in the four dirty bowls in the sink. There were two empty pizza boxes sitting on the stove and my various items of clothing were strewn across the living room. Whoops.

Marnie jumped up onto the back of the couch and curled into my neck like she was some mink stole. She was such a goofy cat and I couldn’t imagine Clint picking one out that fit my personality more than her. It made me smile, but then I remember Minka’s words. I hated to accept it, but he’d surely bought this cat for me. And then I smiled again. I was allowed, no one was around to see it.

The camera panned to Owen, who was still somehow in the game. Here I thought they would have taken him out, Minka had explained to me a while ago about the closing pitcher when I’d accidentally booed at a game when the coach took Owen out.

Then the shot moved to the batter, with Clint behind him. Even through the screen and his mask I could see those magnificent turquoise pools, so honed in on the goal. He shot his left finger down between his legs, and I couldn’t help but stare at the spot his hand rested on. I missed what lay just between those really hot pants in between his legs. I should dress up in those at some point, see if Clint thought they were as hot on me as I thought they were on him.

Owen wound up, rocketing a speeding curveball at home plate. The batter swung for the fences, only to be duped when the ball connected with a loud smack in Clint’s glove. Clint took it out and tossed it back to Owen, all of the muscles in his arm tensing and contracting. Who knew baseball was such great foreplay? I was ready for marathon sex right about now.

The ump ruled the next two pitches balls, but Owen came through in the clutch and eventually sent the batter packing with all three strikes. One down, two outs to go.

On the first pitch, the next batter hits a line drive right the hole where Parker stands on the between second and third and makes it to first safely before Parker can throw him out. Owen sighs, shaking his head out of anger and annoyance.

“Come on boys, you got this.” I say to no one but myself. I can only think about how freaked out Minka must be right now.

Clint lifts his mask to nod at Owen from where he kneels at home plate. It's a “you can do this” nod. My heart jack hammers in my chest.

Owen sinks a strike on the first pitch, causing a giddy yelp from me. On the second pitch, the batter swings and catches a piece of the ball, but it ricochets off his bat and ends up hitting hard in the dirt, which causes it to bounce up and hit Clint squarely in his catcher’s mask.

I gasp and shoot to my feet, throwing Marnie off the couch, as I watch Clint tumble backwards. The coach and trainer spring from the dugout, but a flood of relief and adrenaline wash through my body as Clint waves them off. He rises to his feet, dusting himself off and taking a few steps. After being checked out by the ump, everyone gets back into place.

I slowly lower to the couch, picking up Marnie and holding her to my heart.

Clint does another hand motion, signaling a pitch to Owen, who waves it off. He also waves the next suggestion off. Finally they settle on a pitch, and Owen winds up. But the batter is quicker.

He anticipates the throw and hits the ball hard, sending it careening toward second base. Parker grabs it out of midair, stepping on the bag and forcing the out. Then, he hurls it towards first, hoping to make the double play. The runner is advancing on the first baseman, it’s going to be so close I can practically feel my lungs burn I’m breathing so hard in anticipation.

“You’re OUT!” The first base umpire cries.

And then the Grover team is running out of the dugout towards the pitching mound, where Clint and Owen have met in an epic bro hug. The pile collides into them and players fall over, chest bump, and cry. I can feel the tears streaming down my own cheeks. They did it. They fucking won the College World Series.

And I wish I was there to celebrate. I look around the empty house, nuzzling Marnie in congratulations, and can’t wait until Clint and the others return.