Page 7 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

Trying to find a moment to chat with Erica on the field is like trying to find a needle in a haystack—nearly impossible.

Any other practice, we might be able to get a few minutes while Erica’s warming up in the bullpen, but this being the first practice of the season, the entire team is together running through a bevy of basic drills.

While far from being tryouts, I know it’s a way for Coach Golding and our two assistant coaches, Monique Smith and London Rickman, to make final selections on starting positions and batting lineup.

With five new people in the mix, things are definitely going to be different from last year, and as much as I want to steal Erica away for a private moment, I want to solidify my spot as the Storm’s starting catcher even more.

After fielding drills, we split for batting practice and pitching warmups.

Conceding the catching spot on the field to Scarlett Lowell, my biggest competition for the starting position, I head to the bullpen with Erica, Haven, and Lexi, the pitchers on our team, as well as two other utility players who throw on masks to catch while our pitchers warm up .

I try not to pay attention to what’s going on on the field, even though I want to know how Scarlett, a trade from the Mayhem, is doing. But with the other two pitchers warming up with us, I still don’t feel comfortable talking to Erica.

Once the pitchers are warm, we head back to the field, where we’ll be running through some in-game situations in addition to batting practice.

“Hey, I need to talk to you after practice. It’s about—” I slow my steps as we walk down the left field foul line back to the dugout, making sure the other ladies are out of earshot. “Trace and Duke.”

Erica raises her eyebrows, but I shake my head. Two outfielders run past us, and it’s clear I won’t have a private moment with her until we leave the stadium.

I replace Scarlett as catcher, and we finish off practice with in-game situations, including throwdowns, my favorite part of these kinds of practices.

In the four years I’ve played with the Storm, only three of my teammates have successfully stolen on me in a practice like this, and I want to keep it that way.

By the time Coach calls an end to practice and sends us back to the clubhouse, we’re covered in sweat, and most of us have some level of dirt coating our arms as well.

Despite the fact that it’s still early in the season, it’s hot here in southern Texas, and while most of us do some kind of workout program through the off season, acclimatizing to actual gameplay in the heat of summer is important.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” Erica asks when we make it back to the cool locker room.

The faster players, also known as nearly everyone who doesn’t have to pack up a bagful of catcher’s gear, have already come and gone, some leaving their bags waiting at their lockers for tomorrow’s practice .

“You will never guess what Duke said to me last weekend,” I begin, knowing that the beginning of my tale is vague enough that a few listening ears won’t matter—especially since our remaining teammates head out before I can even get my cleats off.

“That you need to lose weight?” Erica guesses, stripping off her sky blue practice jersey and throwing on a t-shirt that looks four sizes too big.

I gasp. “No! Duke would never!” Because if Trace ever caught whiff of that, Duke would be out of a very well-paying client.

“Then what? Because I don’t think you’d make me guess if it were something like crazy out there.”

“He said,” I lower my voice even more, “I should date Trace.”

Erica stops messing with her bag to look at me like a Big Mouth Billy Bass: eyes bugging out and her mouth gaping so far open, I could stick a softball in it. “NO.”

“Oh yes, and—”

“I told you that first!”

“Well, to be fair, you asked why I’m not dating him yet, and Duke told me I should date him. Well”—I pause, thinking about it—“fake date him.”

The excitement on Erica’s face drops away to confusion. “What?”

I roll my lips over my teeth. How much info can I give away here?

While Erica is one of the few people in my life who knows about my friendship with Trace, it’s still his business, and I’m not going to wave his dirty laundry around like a flag.

I try to keep Trace’s personal details out of my interactions with others, usually by keeping Trace out of my interactions with others, but…

“Duke,” I say slowly, lowering my voice now that I’m going into details, “wants me to pretend to date Trace for a few weeks for…a PR thing.” Come to think of it, I don’t actually know how lo ng Duke was suggesting we date, just that we date.

But with the idea that’s been brewing in my head all through practice, a few weeks should be long enough.

Worst case scenario is through the whole season.

Erica nods a few times before that nod switches directions, becoming a shake of her head. “I still don’t get it. Are you going to date Trace or not?”

“I wasn’t going to at first, but then Duke started making sense, so I tried to convince Trace of it, but he wasn’t sure either. Buut…” I draw out the word and lean closer to Erica. “I think I figured out a way to make it work. For both of us.”

Erica turns and sits on the bench to take off her cleats. I join her so I’m not towering over her and tell her my plan.

“Trace needs a temporary girlfriend for his private PR reason”—Erica nods in understanding, even though I’m being very cryptic—“and I need a temporary boyfriend with a huge social media following who would be willing to post about the team…” I dangle my words in front of her like a carrot on a stick, leading her to the same conclusion I came to earlier today.

Erica catches on, grinning as she strips off her socks and tosses them in her bag. “So you’ll date Trace to bring publicity to the team and the league, and at the same time, it helps him out with his… PR problem .”

I nod. It’s pretty much A+B=C in my book.

I’ll be Trace’s pretend girlfriend long enough to get Millie off his back.

In doing so, he’ll post about me and the team on his social media, bringing professional softball to the forefront of a whole new demographic.

It might not be much in the long run, but if this is the part I can play in bringing attention to the San Antonio Storm and the Women’s Fastpitch League…

I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do to give back to the sport that has given me so much .

“And this fake dating,” Erica says, pulling me out of my thoughts, “does it include, y’know…regular dating activities?”

I shrug. “Well, yeah. Probably.”

A bright smile appears on her face. “Then I’m happy for you and your new boyfriend.”

I drop my voice low. “Fake boyfriend.”

Erica squints a little, making her smile seem more suspicious. “Yes, of course.”

She slips her feet into a pair of slides. “I’m headed to the showers; I’ll catch you tomorrow.” She lifts her shower bag onto her shoulder and heads out of the main clubhouse, leaving me alone to work out the specifics of my plan.

Freshly showered and with a new pep in my step, I call Trace on my way out to my car.

“Hey, Sugar,” he drawls.

“Let’s do it.”

The moment of silence on the other end of the line can only be confusion. “What?”

“Let’s fake date,” I say, reminding him of the weekend’s conversation with Duke as I infuse my voice with as much surety as I can muster.

“I’m still not so sure about it, Naomi.” Trace hesitates. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will work, and I’ll tell you why.” I pause to hoist my bag into the trunk, then get into the car. “It will work,” I repeat, “because I need a fake boyfriend.”

A short laugh comes through the phone. “Why? You got some stalker ex-boyfriend bothering you I don’t know about?”

“No,” I laugh, “but I do need a fake boyfriend who has a bigger presence than me on social media to help boost the visibility of the team and the league so we can solidify the future for some new expansion teams.” The words rush out of me in an excited whoosh.

“What?” Trace asks, more stunned than confused. “Who said anything about expansion teams?”

“Leah Mercer brought word down from the league office. They’re working on securing funding for forming a few new expansion teams sometime in the coming years.

She asked us to do everything we can to get more visibility for the sport.

And I figured, with your little issue with Millie, that we could help each other out. ”

“Naomi, that’s great! Did they say how many teams? Locations?” Trace sounds more excited than I am for the possibility for new teams in the league.

“Nothing yet. It sounds like things are just in talks right now—no solid plans, but a lot of hope. Does that mean you’ll do it?

You’ll fake date me during my season?” We never really talked about a timeline, but I figure having Trace as my boyfriend until the championship is over will cover all of my bases. Pun intended.

Bringing it back around to the real crux of the situation makes Trace go quiet. “You’re sure that this will help your league?”

“I’m positive. It’ll totally work.” I have no idea if it will work—if people at large will care enough about who Trace is dating for it to make an impact on the WFL. But I have to try .

Trace is quiet, which doesn’t surprise me. He shut Duke down pretty quickly when the idea was first brought up. But we talked about it—it seemed like he wasn’t totally against it. It might be a last resort for him, but I don’t think it’s a hard no .

After what feels like a year and a day, Trace clears his throat, and movement sounds in the background. “Are you sure about this, Naomi?”

I give myself a few more seconds to think about it.

“I’m sure,” I say with more confidence than I’m actually feeling. If there were any other way for me to get thousands more eyes on the league, I’d do it. But this is it. Besides, this way I’ll be helping Trace, too, which is a point he seems to be forgetting.

“If you’re sure, then I’m sure,” he responds with matching confidence.

A grin breaks across my face, and I start my car, giving myself another moment to gather my thoughts while I wait for my phone's Bluetooth to connect. I finally pull out of the parking lot to head home when the call goes live on my car’s system.

Now that we’re agreed…we need to take the first steps.

“So, what do we do now?”

Trace hmms , and I focus on the road, waiting for him to come up with an answer.

“I’ll give Duke a call,” he finally says after a minute of random sounds coming through the phone, “and see what he thinks is best. But my guess is to just put something out there.”

I nod, even though Trace can’t see it. “Got it.” I pause. “You know, I don’t think I have any pictures of us together. But I can’t look until I get home.”

“Don’t worry, Sugar, I’ll figure something out. ”

While his words ease a fraction of the tension in my chest, they simultaneously put me on edge.

“What do you mean ‘figure something out’?”

I swear I can hear the smirk that’s sure to be spreading on his face right now. “I mean,” he says slowly, his accent pulling on the word like taffy, “I’ll figure something out. I think I have some pictures from your freshman Halloween game where you wore that chicken costume.”

I snort and silently beg that those pictures are lost to some digital blackhole. But I won’t react—that would only serve to give him ammunition to tease me, or worse: actually go looking for those truly horrendous pictures.

The sound of Trace breathing fills my car, followed by a soft thud and whispered, “Ow.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m figuring something out,” he breathes. “I’ll text you after I talk to Duke. In the meantime, don’t worry about it.”

“If you’re sure?” I’m starting to sound less sure by the minute.

“Don’t worry, Sugar. You go ice your arm or whatever it is you do after practice. I’ll take care of it. And those chicken pictures are safe with me.”

Before I can spit out a protest, Trace ends the call.