Page 42 of Hiding in the Outfield

He bites his lip and gives me a saucy wink. “Totally looked you up on the Clippers’ site. And with the new ABS system, I know you’re not lying about any inches.”

His little purr at the end is so over-the-top suggestive we both stare at each other, fighting smiles. “Of course you did.”

“We’ll talk a bit more about the requirements to…ride…another time. But for now, let’s head downstairs. I want a drink and…” He dusts a kiss over my lips. “I’ll see you off properly.”

His sultry words curl around me, and I shiver.

“How do you do that? The way you said that…” I shiver again.

He chuckles. “Oh, babe. We are going to have so much fun.”

ANNOUNCER

JUNE 10TH

Bernie Johnson: Slater fires. Pitch is low and—it gets past Nebiolo! Here comes the runner from third. Nebiolo has no chance. And there’s another run for the Flying Squirrels off a passed ball. Speaking of Flying Squirrels…Slater’s pitches have been just as wild tonight.

Oliver Reeves: He’s throwing the heat, but the command isn’t there. Nebiolo’s been on his toes all night. He should have had that one, though.

Bernie: That extends the Flying Squirrels’ lead to ten to three. The Clippers have their backs against the wall now.

Oliver: You can say that again.

Bernie: And here is Ben Arroz up to bat. Slater sets. The pitch…hit hard down the third-base line—Trent leaves his feet! HE CAUGHT IT! A full-extension grab at third! He absolutely robbed Arroz of a base hit. What a play!

Oliver: I can barely believe my eyes! That’s all reaction. He had maybe half a second to read that ball, and he laid out for it. That’s as good as it gets over at third.

Bernie: Trent bails Slater out with a highlight-reel play, and they’ll head to the bottom of the third.

Oliver: A tough night out there for the Clippers. They needed that.

Bernie: They’ll have another crack at the playoffs in the second half if they can pull themselves together.

Oliver: They’ve got the talent. You don’t make that kind of play by accident. That’s a young third baseman making a statement after a quick climb from Single-A.

Bernie: The glove certainly looks Triple-A ready.

Oliver: And if he keeps flashing leather like that, he won’t be here long.

SIXTEEN

JACKSON

That game fucking sucked. I drop into the chair in front of my locker room cubby and let my head hit my palms. We’re so out of sync. There’ve been too many changes thrown at us all at once.

“Chin up, bros!” Michaels calls out.

I swivel my chair and lift my head.

“Things didn’t go our way tonight, and we haven’t found our rhythm yet. But this is baseball. We’re going to play around a buck fifty games this season. Go cry into a container of ice cream when you get home, then put it behind you. Show up tomorrow clean slate.”

“If I hadn’t had that passed ball,” Nebs mutters.

“Nope!” Michaels sings. “We’re not doing that. I can go around this locker room right now and point out shit each and every one of you did wrong, including myself. But we all also did a fuckton of badassery out there. We’re going to focus on that. Manifest more of that.”

He turns, searching, until he finds who he’s looking for. Miles Trent, called up from High-A to man third base and replace Dev. “Trent. That was a dirty grab in the top of the third. The way you supermanned and stole that line-drive? Man, I was fucking hot and bothered after that. What ice cream you eating tonight, bro?”

Trent’s cheeks go red. “U-um. Pistachio?”