Page 2 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

I lead Trace around the side of the stadium, where the Oklahoma team will eventually come out of the facilities and head back to their hotel.

Having made it to the college championship tournament twice in my career, I’m pretty familiar with the facilities around the stadium, even though they’ve expanded quite a bit in recent years.

College softball has gained a lot of traction over the last decade, and I’m happy to see the sport grow in that space because there aren’t many opportunities beyond that level.

Unless you get selected to try out for the women’s national team, or get drafted into one of the very limited spots on the four professional teams that make up the Women’s Fastpitch League, college ball is pretty much the highest level most softball athletes can really attain.

The exiting crowd thins, and Erica eventually appears, followed closely by her parents. I give the two of them hugs before they saunter toward the parking lot, ready to head back to their hotel and get out of this Oklahoma heat.

“Sorry not sorry that your team sucks and mine doesn’t.

” Erica laughs as she bumps my hip with hers, but she hits me closer to mid-thigh.

While most dominant pitchers these days are close to six feet tall, like me, Erica is a pint-sized powerhouse at five-foot-five.

Her command of spin makes up for any lower velocity her smaller stature gives her, and she’s been a prominent force in the sport since she starred in college, a few years before me.

“Just because I went to Alabama doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate Oklahoma’s absolute dominance over the last few years.

” I sniff, pretending to be affronted. What Oklahoma Softball has done over the last several seasons is something for the history books, and even though I’m not an alum like Erica, game recognizes game.

And Alyssa and her teammates have game .

“Hey,” Trace interrupts. “Don’t forget that we have a few national championship titles, too.

Maybe not thanks to Naomi, but still.” Trace does the same hip bump as Erica but actually hits me at the hip.

While I see eye-to-eye with most men, I actually have to tip my head back—just a little bit—to look Trace in the eye.

“I did not sign up for this kind of double team!” I push my two friends away, and we laugh.

Trace glances at his watch before shaking his head and wrapping an arm around me.

“I’ve got to get going. While I wish I could stay to say hi to the infamous Alyssa—” His gaze cuts to Erica.

She smiles, knowing full well that she talks about her younger sister all the time when the three of us get together in the rare moment that we all have coinciding time off.

“I’ve got to get home and prep for minicamp this week. ”

“And talk to Duke, right?” I slyly drop in his agent’s name, hoping to glean any more information about the call from earlier.

Trace squeezes my shoulder. “Yep, and talk to Duke.”

I huff when he doesn’t let me in on any more than that .

“I’ll see you on Saturday?” I ask as he releases me from the side hug. “I’ll drive down after Oklahoma takes the championship series.” Erica’s grin could be used to warn ships away from rocks in a storm.

Trace shakes his head, laughing at me in the way only best friends can.

He knows why I drove all the way to Oklahoma City from San Antonio, even though flying would take me a fraction of the time, and he thinks it’s ridiculous.

But no matter how much he says so, it’s not worth risking losing my massive gear bag with thousands of dollars’ worth of softball equipment.

“Yeah, I’ll see you on Saturday,” he says softly. I lean my head on his shoulder once more before he steps away, walking a few steps backward and waving to us more like an awkward teenager than a charismatic professional football player.

Erica sighs dramatically and leans against the chain link fence that separates the parking lot from the path the teams take into the stadium. “I can’t believe you haven’t snatched him up yet.”

I whip around, one of my twin red braids hitting me in the face. “Who?”

Erica rolls her eyes and tips her head toward Trace’s retreating back. “Trace. The man’s a catch. I don’t know why you won’t just date him already.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Because…” I exaggerate the word. “We’re just friends. He doesn’t like me like that.”

“I see you didn’t say anything about you not liking him…” Erica’s eyes light up, a smirk pulling one side of her mouth high on her face.

My face heats, and I know the evidence is all over my cheeks.

I’ve never been a subtle blusher—one of the few curses of having this hair color and complementary skin tone.

“I did,” I rush to defend myself. “Once. It’s ancient history, and you know it.

Prehistoric. We’re talking back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.

” I suck in a deep breath through my nose, mentally begging my embarrassment to fade.

It’s true. I did have a crush on Trace. When I was eighteen.

But back then, everyone had a crush on Trace.

He was the local golden boy who earned a scholarship to play for one of the most dominant football programs in this century.

He was young, fit, and had a smile that melted hearts wherever he went.

Lucky for me, he aimed it right at me my first day on campus.

But I didn’t work my butt off for my own scholarship and position on the softball team to get swept off my feet by the first attractive, athletic guy who looked at me.

I had work to do and a point to prove, so I friend-zoned the most eligible bachelor at my university.

And I can’t say I regretted that decision in any of the years since.

“We’ve been friends for too long for anything like that anyway, so there’s no use trying to convince me to go out with him.” I look away and turn to rest my back against the fence, hoping that she’ll drop the subject.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I went out with him?” Erica prods, raising an eyebrow at me.

The crunch of metal cleats on concrete is the only warning we get before Alyssa’s fingers wrap around the chain link fence between me and Erica.

“Go out with who?” she asks, glancing back and forth between us.

Erica opens her big mouth, but I beat her to it.

“Great game today, Alyssa! You guys deserved that win,” I say brightly before shooting Erica a dirty glare.

After years of being a duo, we’re pretty good at picking up on each other’s non-verbal cues, and Erica shrugs in acquiescence to my silent drop it .

Alyssa smiles and accepts the compliment. “Thanks, Naomi. ”

“You were a little flat-footed in the third inning,” Erica says, referencing the hard-hit grounder that snuck past Alyssa and into the outfield. But the smile on her face when she turns is indication that her observations are all in good fun.

“Says the queen of flat feet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you field a ball cleanly in your entire career .”

Erica brushes off the insult and flips her long black hair over one shoulder. “That,” she says, looking down her nose at her younger sister, “is not my job.”

Alyssa and I snort and share a look. I might not know Alyssa very well because she’s several years younger than me, but we understand each other in that moment because we both have to put up with her big sister.

“Torres!” one of her teammates shouts as they drift farther away down the sidewalk.

“Thanks again, Naomi.” Alyssa glares at Erica through the fence, her older sister’s snarky grin a catalyst for the look. “We’ll talk later.” She waves as she hustles off after her team.

I fold my arms and glare down at Erica as she turns away from the fence. “What?” she asks, raising her hands defensively. “Oh, come on. You know he’s not my type, anyway.”

I release the tension in my shoulders. “Right. Because you prefer your men’s butts to be clad in tight baseball pants.”

I snort as she flashes a wicked grin at me as we start walking toward my car. “Exactly. I just wanted to know why you’ve sat on anything with him for how long? Eight years?”

“Back to Trace? Really?”

Erica nods.

“Because we’re friends. We date other people. ”

“Right, right.” We take a few steps in silence, the crowd already thinning around us. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

“No,” I answer, already not liking the direction this conversation is going.

“And is Trace dating anyone right now?”

“Well, no. He and Millie broke up in, like, February.” I don’t say that I remember exactly when Trace and Millie broke up. Trace ended up staying at my apartment for a week just to get out of Dallas, away from his ex-girlfriend and the press surrounding their very public breakup.

“Then why don’t you date him?”

“We’re done talking about this.” I shoot a look at Erica, and she shuts her mouth. We walk in silence, going against the flow of traffic on the paved path to the overflow parking.

After a few minutes, she pipes up again. “Do you really think Oklahoma is going to take the national championship this year?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course they are.”

Oklahoma wins its fifth consecutive national title in a stunning fashion on Friday night.

After dropping the second game of the series, they came back tonight and shut out their opponent, only giving up three hits in seven innings.

After the last out, the entire team piles on the pitcher and catcher in the circle, and Erica and I lose our minds, jumping up and down with her parents as we celebrate with the rest of the families of the team who sit near us .

The team celebration continues as the field staff brings out the tables with the championship and tournament trophies, and after Alyssa and her team are presented with the tournament trophy, give interviews, and take pictures, the team slowly files back into the dugout to collect their gear.

Erica and her parents have already been admitted onto the field for pictures with Alyssa, who, as a graduating senior, has claimed a championship ring every year she played with Oklahoma and is now moving on to play professionally for the Oklahoma City Mayhem.

I get Erica’s attention, and she jogs over to the backstop. “I’m going to head out.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner with us?”

I shake my head. “I’ve got a long drive tomorrow, and you hooligans look like you’re going to be partying all night long.” Erica’s wild grin is a mirror of mine. “You go celebrate with Alyssa, and I’ll catch you at practice on Monday.”

“You go have fun with your not boyfriend .” Erica’s eyebrows bounce suggestively, and I shoot her a narrow look. She wiggles her fingers at me as she turns to rejoin her parents. The championship team and their families file off the field as I jog up to the concourse and out the main gates.