There’s a light breeze coming from the nearby lake and faint music of today’s hits playing in the background. Currently Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy” is bumping through the wireless speaker. Twinkle lights hang above us, and the conversation of baseball surrounds us.
“Sorry, we must be boring you,” Jason says, after they ran through the competition for the upcoming run for the college baseball World Series. The college baseball season is an odd one and extends past the school year, the regular season not ending until the end of May with regionals picking up at the beginning of June.
Carson chuckles. “Are you kidding me, she’s probably in heaven right now, aren’t you?”
Shamelessly, I nod. “Yes, I am but I have to say, I believe you’re underestimating the strength behind Fairfax’s bats. Their pitching is average, they can pull together some outs in the right moments, but they do give up a lot of hits. What you should fear is their ability to string together multiple doubles in a row. Looking back at their season, they have a fifty percent chance of winning a game by multiple double innings. Their lineup is lethal.”
The guys are silent and they all exchange glances. Romeo is the first to speak when he says, “Shit, I think I just got a boner.” He shifts in his seat, adjusting himself as Carson throws an M&M at him.
“Jesus, dude.”
“What?” He shrugs. “That was really hot. Coach Disik should hire you.”
“I told her that too,” Carson agrees, but I just laugh.
“You guys are sweet, but Brentwood baseball is a boys’ club, always has been, always will be with Disik at the helm.”
“He does tend to hate women,” Jason says. “Remember last year when he told Gentry to break up with his girl? He gave Holt the same speech. He thinks women are a distraction.” Jason laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I know Disik would never hire Milly even if she’s valuable to the team. He would be too worried about all the guys trying to hit on her.”
“Huh,” Carson says behind me. “I didn’t think about that. Yeah, they’re a bunch of horny bastards. I wouldn’t trust them not to hit on you, especially after you strike them out with your killer change-up.”
“Which I’m still waiting to see,” Jason says, popping an M&M in his mouth. He’s been picking out the peanut ones, while I’ve been searching for the caramel, occasionally getting surprised by a pretzel M&M. “When are you going to let her pitch to us?”
“Have you been asking?” I ask and then turn to Carson who looks guilty.
“Listen, I wanted to keep you to myself. Is that such a bad thing?”
“Yeah, when your boys want a challenge.” Romeo pops up from the couch. “Let’s grab the stickball and go to the basketball court.”
“Yeah,” Jason says, standing as well while stretching out his wrists. “Let’s see what this coach has.”
Carson stiffens behind me. “You guys, it’s late and—”
“I’d love to.” I smile and pat Carson on the cheek before following them back into the loft, Carson grumbling behind me the entire time. I always love a good challenge.
“Let’s go, Milly.” Clap, clap . . . clap, clap, clap.
The boys chant together as I have two strikes on Carson, a line of them already taken out by my slider and change-up.
Looking very serious, Carson stares at the broken-off broomstick in his hands and then back at me, his light blue eyes blazing at me. My heart flips in my chest as adrenaline pumps through my veins.
Once news spread that we were heading to the loft’s basketball court, the boys all gathered, lined up, and took their shot at hitting against me.
I’ve struck out every one of them, but to their defense, I’m standing pretty close and they’re trying to hit a tennis ball with a broomstick—which I’m sure feels like a toothpick in their hands. Stickball is no joke and only the best of the best can get a hit.
“Two balls, two strikes,” Romeo calls out. “There’s fatigue in Coach’s arm, but there’s also determination to strike out the guy she calls her man.” Romeo and Jason both commentate, holding fake microphones to their mouths. “I don’t know if she has what it takes to deposit one more strike, especially against the team’s blue-eyed dreamboat.”
Cutting in, Jason says, “She’s going to have to really dig deep, but there’s a chance. Look at the sweat on Stone’s brow, the nervous shiver in his panties—”
“Fuck. Off,” Carson says, making all the guys laugh, even me.
“He’s nervous, scared, intimidated by the five-foot-three ball of power on the mound.”
“Five four,” I say.
“I stand corrected. Pop one more inch on her and now she’s a true menace out there.” Romeo leans in. “Only time will tell who will win this battle. Quiet on the field.”
Everyone hushes. I focus on the freshman’s glove, as Carson’s tall stature stands in the box, his forearms flexing, his eyes fixed on me.
I’ve been in this position many times. Face to face with Carson’s serious zeroing in. The focus, the intention in his body to put everything behind one powerful swing. I know his weaknesses by now and he knows mine. We’ve practiced so many times together that at this point, I’m surprised he hasn’t been able to hit the ball off me tonight. Then again, I’m throwing with more speed than I usually do, which will only lead to ugly pain tomorrow, but I’m ready to take it on, to become a part of the group of men surrounding us.
I get into my pitching stance. I glance at the guys who have huge smiles on their faces, and then focus back on the mitt. I’ve thrown two sliders in a row, so he’s expecting a change-up. It would be a classic move, to throw him off balance, but he knows that’s what’s coming, so he’ll have his hands locked, waiting for the off-speed ball. I need to get him where it counts.
Sending a mental apology to the freshman behind the plate, who has no idea what I’m throwing, I split my fingers over the seams and chuck a fastball in the top right of the strike zone, completely freezing Carson.
The “umpire,” also known as Gunner, bellows out a loud strike and makes a show of punching Carson out as all the guys rush the mound and hoist me over their shoulders, chanting my name and making a spectacle. Worried because I struck out my boyfriend in front of all his guys, I wince when I go to take him in. But instead of being greeted with anger, Carson, with the “bat” hanging over his shoulders and a huge smile on his face, has pride rolling off him in waves.
He gives me a wink and then watches as the guys praise my pitching and troll Carson relentlessly.
And of course, he takes it like a champ.
Teeth brushed and ready for bed, I slip into Carson’s cool sheets and welcoming arms. He pulls me tight into his embrace and I rest my cheek and hand on his bare chest, hearing his heartbeat beneath me.
It’s late, later than expected, and I’m just about ready to pass out. After hours of the guys taking their turn at trying to strike me out—Gunner was the only one I couldn’t get a stick on his pitch—we retired for the night. But it was a challenge getting to where we are right now. The boys begged for one more shot, asked for another chance to hit against me, but Carson finally stepped in and took charge, shutting everyone down.