Just absolutely perfect.
Chapter Five
KNOX
“Gentry, my office, now.”
“Yikes, that doesn’t sound good,” Carson says as he sits next to me, tying his shoes before we head into the weight room.
“He always sounds like that, like he has clamps on his nipples and doesn’t know how to take them off.”
“Maybe you can assist him while you’re in the office.” Carson laughs.
“Little nipple play with Coach Disik? Don’t mind if I do.” I rub my hands together and then stand. “Meet you in the weight room. Don’t get started on the bench until I get there.”
“Be gentle on the old-man nipples, you don’t want them falling off.”
I cringe, thinking of dusty, old nipples falling to the floor and curse my friend under my breath for bringing that image into my head right before walking into our coach’s office.
Brentwood University, well known for their athletic department, was the top school I wanted to attend when being recruited. I knew fresh out of high school I wasn’t ready to be drafted, so it’s why I chose to be recruited by colleges. When Brentwood offered me a full ride, I knew exactly where I was going. The biggest reason? Coach Disik.
A legend for putting ball players straight from Brentwood into the major league, I wanted to be another notch on his belt of players who came from his “farm system.” Even though these last two years have been hell on earth with the commitment I’ve made to bettering my game, the difference in my play is astronomical, and I can only thank Coach Disik, even if he’s a crotchety bastard with . . . dusty, old-man nipples.
I knock on his office and wait for his gruff voice to yell out, “Come in.”
I pull the door open and take a seat in one of the black leather chairs across from his desk. No need for an invitation; I’ve been in his office enough to know the drill. The door clicks behind me and Coach Disik looks up from his computer and folds his hands over his stomach.
The white goatee that frames his mouth stands out against the deep tan of his skin from being outside for most of his profession. And under the brim of his hat are the scariest pair of light blue eyes you’ll ever see, especially when there’s an error on the field.
He can make your balls shrivel up to your belly button real fucking quick.
He lifts his hat and adjusts it back on his head before saying, “What are your plans for your senior year?”
“Uh . . .” I try to hold back my laugh. “Coach, I’m a junior this year.”
“I’m not a fucking idiot, Gentry.” Did I mention Coach Disik has no qualms about swearing at his players? You probably gathered that from the goatee and life-threatening eyes though. “I’m wondering if you plan on entering the draft after this year or not.”
“Oh, well, my mom always said earning a degree should be a priority.”
“And what do you want?”
“I want to be as prepared as possible.”
“And do you think another two years under my coaching will prepare you?”
I shrug, wondering why we’re talking about this. “I want to gain as much knowledge as possible.”
He nods and leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “I think you’re a damn fool if you don’t turn your name in for the draft after this year.”
I wasn’t expecting that, but tell me like it is, Coach.
He leans forward. “You can earn your degree over time while still playing, so that shouldn’t hold you back. Scouts from all over are looking at you, wondering if you’re going to put in for this coming draft. Your stats are among the best in the country, and you’re more than ready to take the next step in your baseball career. There isn’t much more I can teach you here. You need the experience, the challenge, and you’re not going to get that playing college ball. Because you took the college route, you’re eligible for next year’s draft. What I’d like to see you do is take this year to build your strength and agility, perfect your technique, and then after the year is over, jump into the draft. You’ll be picked up in the first round, if not a top pick.”
“You think so?” My pulse is racing. Playing professionally has been my goal ever since I can remember, and now Coach says it’s a possibility next year . . . hell, my nipples just got hard.
“Yes. I’ve spoken with scouts. They have their eyes on you.”
“Who?” I ask, a little too excited.
“The Bobcats for one.”
“The Bobcats?” I ask, nearly falling out of my chair. Fuck. “You serious? That’s my fucking dream team.” Growing up just outside of Dallas, I had no right being a Bobcats fan, but my mom was born and raised in Chicago, a huge baseball fan, so I’ve been a diehard Bobcats fan since I can remember. Whenever I played baseball in my backyard, I always pretended I was the starting shortstop for the Bobcats, and to even think that could be a possibility gives me goddamn chills.
Feel my nipples, seriously, so fucking hard.
“Keep it in your pants, Gentry,” Coach says, making me chuckle. “It’s a possibility, but you have to continue to work hard, don’t let up, and don’t settle.”
“I won’t, Coach, you know I won’t. I’m the first one to show up for practice and the last one to leave. I spend more hours in the batting cages than anyone, I practically have a marriage with one of the batting tees.”
“I do recall you proposed to it last year.”
“She’s been so loyal, I had to do something.”
He shakes his head and then pushes a few papers around on his desk. “Enough with the bullshit. Stay focused, set a good example, and show the underclassmen what it takes to make it to the majors.”
“I can do that.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, that’s why I’m naming you captain this year.”
“Seriously?” I ask, my brows raising in surprise. I had an inkling I’d be named captain, but it still surprises me.
Seriously, when Coach called me into his office, I had the brief thought that maybe he heard about the stupid jungle party and wanted to lecture me about it. Not this.
“Yes, you’ve earned the title, just don’t fuck it up now.”
“I won’t.” I grab the back of my neck. “Wow, Coach, I’m honored.”
“You know the title comes with responsibility, right? Not only showing up on the field, but off it too. You’re in charge of Thursday study hall, making sure all the underclassmen are paired up with an upperclassman so our team is succeeding in the classroom as well as on the field.”
“Yes, just like Justin last year.”
“Exactly. Keep the boys in line, which means tamping down the . . . jungle parties.”
My face blanches as Coach rolls his eyes.
“You guys think I’m an idiot, but everything you do in that loft is reported back to me, so don’t be fucking morons, you understand?”
“Yeah, sure. I mean . . . we can party still, right?”
“As long as it’s not under the twenty-four-hour rule when the season starts and you do it responsibly. If I hear any stories about shit going wrong at one of your parties, I will break up that loft quicker than you can saddle your dick in your jockstrap. Understood?”