Page 7

MEGHAN TRAINOR & T-PAIN

I never thought that baseball could be utter torture.

And then I saw the Sillys play.

I mean sure, the games were over in a blink of an eye, but it was absolute unbridled chaos that happened in between the first and last pitch. It turned my stomach. How was this even considered a sport? And ownership thought this was a good idea? They had to be off their multi-million-dollar rockers.

Two straight weeks of watching this nonsense and I could barely keep track of the rules. A time limit on a baseball game? Insane. And the fact that you scored “points” instead of runs every inning? Complete lunacy.

Aside from the dancing, the games were mostly like normal baseball games. There was a batter and a pitcher along with a full field of players. But instead of doing everything normally, the guys went out of their way to try a trick catch or throw. During the last home game, left fielder Arlow caught the ball down the front of his uniform. Kellan at shortstop did a front flip as he threw the ball to home plate. The catcher, Schmidt, didn’t blink an eye as he caught the ball and did a little spin on the ball of his foot before easily tagging the guy out .

While the game was chaotic, I had to admit, they looked like they had a lot of fun. Most of the time they were doing two things at once, playing baseball and dancing. It took a lot of skill to manage both. This game suited their personalities to a T. Whoever did the Sillys recruiting had done a stand-up job.

Coach Topper kept me benched for the games as he knew that I still was green around the gills with this whole endeavor. Even with this dumbass excuse for baseball, I was itching to get back into the game.

Maybe the change of scenery would knock me out of my batting funk. Or maybe I’d be the worst I’ve ever been due to the fact I was stressed out of my gourd about dancing in front of people. But the longer I sat in hesitation about officially joining the Sillys ranks, the longer it was going to take to get back to my rightful place in the majors’ roster.

The Sillys guys were cool though. They were perhaps the only saving grace of my sanity. Even though they were rather insane themselves. I was pretty sure that you had to have some degree of insanity to play Entertainment League ball.

A few of my teammates from my old team checked on me from time to time. One even had a case of beer delivered to me to help “drown my sorrows”. I think he also was hoping for an invite to tackle said case of beer. Because of that unexpected drink delivery, I did overindulge a bit more than I usually do during the season.

Playing ball while hungover sucked, but being hungover and then doing dance choreography? That was a brand-new circle of hell for me. Since then, the rest of the case of beer remained untouched. I figured I could save it for the end of the season. Whether it be next week or sometime in September or October. Whichever end of my life came first.

My new coach was relentless. A real pain in the ass drill sergeant. For some reason, it seemed that she had it out for me. I knew I was the new guy. I’ll admit that I fucking sucked at dancing, but she had a real kink for public shaming. Public shaming me specifically. I was legit terrified of my first game as the Sillys’ starting catcher.

As much as I wanted to blow this popsicle stand, I was stuck here.

My knee was back to how it felt before it started giving me issues. So, it wasn’t the pain that was holding me back from my job. Being behind home plate was my domain. I felt at home there. Literally and figuratively. Straddling the plate was no longer a chore thanks to the surgeon who put me back together. My reaction time was still a little sluggish, but I chalked that up to the downtime I had in recovery. One week of rest and recovery was like losing four weeks of conditioning. It was a huge hill to climb after being down and out like that.

It was my batting average that tanked the most in my off time. I was second or third in the batting rotation in March and April. Early batting rotation placement meant you were reliable enough of a hitter for the coach to give you more chances at batting.

As soon as I got the all-clear from the doctor, every spare moment I had was spent in the gym. I used to push myself, but now I stop while I’m ahead. Being my age, in a rigorous physical sport where you’re bent in all sorts of positions, was just asking for trouble if I went beyond my limits. It sucked that I had to be more careful now .

My practice at-bats have improved since I arrived here. I still wasn’t getting the power behind my swing, but I was finally hitting the ball more consistently with my timing. Having a change in coaching staff helped me more than I thought. It gave me some new insight into what I was missing.

Field and batting practice was only the half of this recovery nonsense. The other half was dealing with the coach-from-hell day in and day out, Cadence Andrews. I’ve had some real doozies for coaches but for some reason the short, strawberry-blonde, dancer with freckles across the bridge of her nose, took the cake.

First, it was her attitude that got me. But being stuck on her radar every day made it difficult not to admire her whenever I could. As for that, I couldn’t stop staring at said freckles. Or her ass. Or the fact that I secretly looked forward to seeing a different matching sports bra and yoga pants outfit every practice.

Even though I couldn’t seem to get her out of my head, she certainly couldn’t be bothered to give me the time of day. It was as if she went out of her way to punish my ass for being a shit dancer. It wasn’t my fault I had no rhythm.

Day in and day out it left me in this frustrating push-and-pull conundrum of daydreaming about the sway of Cadence’s hips while simultaneously being pissed off at her. She was like a mental puzzle that I kept coming back to, unable to solve it. Everyone else had her figured out. Why couldn’t I?

“You’re making that face again.” The first baseman, Benson, chuckled as he toed off his cleats while seated on the bench next to me in the locker room. He was tall but built with solid reflexes. An ideal man to have at the first stop around the baseball diamond.

“What face?” My head shot up as I attempted to nonchalantly rearrange my expression. With our fieldwork practice, I’d gotten to know the guys. They liked to razz me like a rookie, but they were a good group. A talented bunch of players.

“The one you always make when coach is around.” Truitt leaned down to my eye level with a wicked, knowing grin that flashed white through his scruffy beard. My brow furrowed. Did I make a face around the head coach? Was it a bad face? A weird one?

“What? I don’t make faces.” I tried to make my face as impassive as possible before I bent down to unlace my cleats. “Topper’s a good coach.” And he was. He was a tough old bird with only one expression, but damn he was good at his job.

“I wasn’t talking about coach coach.” Truitt was egging me on at this point. From the corner of my eye, I caught his brows wiggling playfully at me as I fingered the tight knot in my shoe. “Coach Andrews. Cadence. ”

There was a resounding mix of laughter and random chatter as I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the guys. My heart traffic-jammed into my throat. There was no way that I’d been that fucking obvious. While I wasn’t fond of the dancing portion of the daily schedule, I didn’t make a face over it. At least I was sure that I hadn’t. But now these guys were making me think otherwise.

“I don’t make a face,” I grumbled as I fumbled with my other shoelace. But my brain couldn’t function normally. I was too fixated on the fact that the guys were giving me shit. Giving me shit over the one person that already had my brain all out of sorts lately.

“Dude, every day it's the same face.” Benson laughed as he waved his accusing finger in my direction. “Even now you’re making it.”

“This is my normal face.” I shrugged them off as I managed to get my feet free from my cleats. I wanted to bolt clear out of there. But that would make me look even more guilty of what they accused me of already.

“Dude you just have to give it right back to her.” Arlow shrugged as he kicked off his grass-caked cleats, sending the thin blades into a chaotic flutter onto the concrete floor.

Fuck if my brain didn’t go immediately to the gutter.

Once my thoughts got over their unexpected X-rated scene that starred Cadence and me with her bent over the bench I was sitting on, I let out a mental sigh of relief. They weren’t giving me shit about staring at her. They were giving me shit for the permanent scowl that had been on my face from day one.

“Yeah, give her that attitude right back. She’s all bark and no bite. Stand your ground. Even though she is pretty scary sometimes…” Designated hitter, Martin Pitt, thoughtfully scratched at his facial hair along his chin. He and Schmidt were the only two of the guys who were married. They probably had better suggestions on how to navigate uncertain waters with a woman. There was a resounding murmur of agreement from the guys within earshot. “Although she has been in a different sort of mood lately. ”

“Shit.” Kellan’s blonde head shot up from the process of peeling off his socks. “Maybe she’s in the Danger Zone again?”

“For this long?!” Tomas’ Dominican accent was almost sing-song in his exasperation.

“I said again , Tommy boy. You know, from that monthly thing?”

My eyes were certifiable ping-pong balls as they bounced from one end of the locker room to the other with all the guys chipping in on the conversation. Meanwhile, my brows could have knitted a sweater from their furrowed position of utter confusion. I didn’t want to admit the fact that I was pretty sure her attitude was due to dealing with my untalented ass.

“Truitt, did you remember to bring Cadence her Twix bars during that last cycle?”

There was a moment of utter silence as the men waited with bated breath. Cycle? As in a baseball cycle, where a player hits a single, double, triple, and a home run? A resounding swear slipped from under Truitt’s breath. All the guys groaned.

“Dude, it's all your fault. You fucked poor Jamie over!” Camden exclaimed to his teammate as he waved his hand in my direction.

“Uh…” I was lost. What the fuck was all this? Was this some sort of code? A weird superstition?

“Yo, guys, I didn’t mean to!” Truitt wailed as he plopped his forehead into his hands, his elbows propped up on his bare knees. This entire conversation had gotten entirely out of hand in seconds flat.

“You’d better bring her some tomorrow,” Martin warned as he whipped off his shirt. “Just in case. ”

“Appease the goddess.” Benson chimed in as he flipped off his headband, sending his dirty brown untamed locks in all directions. The guys laughed. I didn’t.

“Look, we’re just joking.” Schmidt, the backup catcher, laughed and slapped a hand on my back. “We love Cadence, we really do. But during certain times of the month…the goddess needs a sacrifice to appease her.”

“Sacrifice ooh-ha-ha!” The chorus echoed around the room.

That’s it.

They were all lunatics.

“Honestly, it's to save all of our asses.” Schmidt slung an arm around my shoulders as he plopped down on the bench next to me. “I’m kidding. We know baseball is a guys’ world. We’re lucky to have such a kick-ass coach like Cadence. It’s amazing she can deal with us assholes daily. So…when she needs it, we all bring her in a little something when she’s feeling… crummy .”

“Usually it's chocolate.” Truitt offered since his forgetfulness of said sacrifice was now fresh in his brain.

“Or flowers,” Schmidt suggested.

“Or candles!” The guys each took a turn offering suggestions for Cadence and appropriate “sacrifices”. Even though they were a bunch of insane asylum escapees, they all had a heart of gold. A misshapen heart of gold, but a gold one, nonetheless.

“You know, for that time of the month.” Rising, Schmidt moved back to his locker cubby. “Or whenever she needs a pick-me-up.”

“Or breakups!” Ender added while the guys nodded in agreement .

“I take it that she dates a lot…?” I prodded carefully since the guys seemed overly willing to divulge information at this rate. Any glimpse into Cadence’s world might help me figure out the enigma with curves to a more manageable point.

“Oh hell no.” Benson laughed as he slid off his sweat wristbands and flung them into his locker. “At least not since Roman. And that was like two years ago.”

“Wait…” I whipped around to glance at Roman, the team’s second baseman. He bashfully shrugged in noncommittal agreement. My voice dropped as I leaned in towards Benson. “You mean… that Roman…?”

“Duh. Who the hell else names their kid Roman?” Benson snorted in amusement before getting beamed in the head with a balled-up sock by the same person he insulted. The irony was not lost on me as Truitt had told me Benson’s mom watched too much Law & Order: SVU when she was pregnant.

“So…Cadence dated Roman?” The words came out in a sharper tone than I meant. The guys on the team treated her as if she was completely unattainable. Untouchable. Not that I was fishing for tips on how to ask her out or anything. Because that would be daft.

“Heh, yeah. He said they had fun on their handful of dates, but she bunted him right back into the friend zone.” Benson shrugged.

“Oh, shut up, Benson,” Roman muttered. There was a hint of disappointment there, but the man didn’t look all that upset about the whole ordeal .

“Yeah,” Benson snorted as he glanced back at me. “Cadence deserves someone better than the sorry likes of us.”

“Talking shit about me again, Benson?” Cadence’s sudden appearance had us all aligning our spines ramrod straight in surprise. Her playful quirk of a smile had molten lava pooling low in my belly.

That was until she spotted that it was me who Benson was talking to. Her vibrant gaze tore apart from mine as she moved to look anywhere but at me. The brightness of her smile melted into a muddy puddle. What the hell was it about me that she couldn’t stand?

“Gotta get the rookie caught up on all the hot gossip while we do our nails.” Benson laid it on rather thick with his pantomime. It got a snort out of Cadence. I let out an annoyed huff myself at the mention of “rookie”. I hadn’t been called that in years. But the guys seemed determined to overuse it. Even though I was the furthest thing from a rookie, with this team and their antics, I sure as fuck felt like one again.

“Yeah, your cuticles could go for some conditioning, Benson.” Cadence jested right back after avoiding my entire presence in the room. Maybe if she ignored the fact that I was here she wouldn’t be so grumpy. I decided to keep my eyes on the floor and my mouth shut to see if my assumption was correct.

“Maybe we need to go back to that nail salon you took us to last year.” Schmidt chimed in as my brow went sky-high. Wait, Cadence hung out with this lot outside of work? On a semi-regular basis? At a fucking nail salon of all places?

“Ooh yeah. The place with those massaging chairs!” Truitt butted in as I tried to make myself blend in with the locker room bench even more. As unhinged as this conversation was with a woman and a bunch of grown men, it was kind of nice to hear a taste of why the guys respected this woman so much. She didn’t treat them like baseball gods, she treated them like they were her siblings.

“Not for me. Mine got stuck.” Tomas grumbled and it sent the locker room into laughter.

“Aww, poor Tomas.” Camden mock-pouted as he slung an arm around the shorter outfielder’s neck. “I’m sure they fixed the possessed chair by now.”

“You know you don’t have to use the massage option on the chair, bud.” It was Cadence’s tender tone that cut through the lighthearted jesting in the room. “Although if it really is still possessed, I’ll bring some Holy Water and be sure to unplug the chair for you. Or I’ll just end up stabbing it with a nail file. Either way, I’ll protect you.” That sent the guys into uproarious laughter while Tomas grinned with relief.

She didn’t bat an eye at the guys with their antics. In fact, she fed into it. Encouraged it. Maybe she was even a little unhinged herself.

During practice, she was one tough cookie. In the locker room, she was someone I could hang out with. Obviously, the guys saw her as such. This whole interlude had me rethinking that maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

“Yo, we should bring Jamie with us next time. He could do with some pampering.” Arlow clapped me on the back. I froze. Had Cadence forgotten I was there? This was the true test to see if her issues really were just with me. Was she going to revert to her sour self at the mention of my name?

“Yeah, he needs to dissolve the rod up his ass.” I rolled my eyes at Truitt’s jab. He’d act the same way if he were in my demoted cleats.

There was an audible feminine squeak that shot my gaze in Cadence’s direction. I only managed to catch her wide eyes for half a second before she took an immediate about-face with her entire body. That wasn’t exactly the most appropriate reaction to hearing about a metal object existing in one’s anal cavity. I guess she and I both weren’t fond of the idea.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you guys are just too deranged for this ancient major leaguer.” If they could dish it, I could send it right back to them. I wasn’t a stuck-up asshole. I knew how to have fun. Although I was a bit rusty.

The guys cracked up even more. At least they thought I had a sense of humor despite the rod between my ass cheeks. Small victories.

My eyes moved to Cadence, who still couldn’t look me in the face. Instead of sticking around for more fun, she made a beeline towards Topper’s office. Thank fuck she hadn’t arrived ten minutes later when she did. She would have gotten an eyeful from quite a few of the guys. How the guys treated her appearance in the locker room led me to believe that this was a regular occurrence. Guess I’ll have to keep that at the back of my mind.

Women were a huge no-no in the locker rooms in the majors. Not even wives. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the guys snuck someone in down there at one time or another .

Cadence was the first woman I’d met that baseball was seemingly just as important to her as it was to me. This was also her world. Why was I even thinking about this? I didn’t come here to find someone. I came here to play ball and hopefully get my life back on track and back on the majors’ roster.

However, there was one grumpy dancer who was making that chance very difficult at the moment.

“Hey Jamie?” I glanced up at the mention of my name from Arlow, pulled from the haze of my thoughts. “You’re making that face again.”