Page 8 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)
TRIPP
“Liner to short. Clean hop and an absolute bullet from Martin to second, with time to kill. Graves steps on the bag for the easy out. And . . . no flip! That’s going to be ruled a hit after no throw to complete the double play at first.”
My lips purse as I imagine the groans from the crowd. I turn to face the wall with my head down and the phone speaker held up to my ear. Missing most of the game tonight to try on wedding attire seemed inevitable when I first became aware of the girls’ fitting party scheme.
Then, I remembered Riley was on the call tonight. I don’t miss her play-by-plays for anything, so pulling up the radio broadcast when I finally got the chance was a no-brainer.
Growing up, the local junior college would send free tickets to us boys at the group home. A city bus would pull up outside the gate, and we’d run at full speed from the house to catch a ride to the field.
The coaches and players knew us well. We had our own little spot behind the bullpen in left field, and I ate up every minute of it out there. After I moved to Westridge when I turned eighteen, I stopped going to the games, but I never quit being a fan.
For me, baseball started as a distraction. My head was too full of things that scared the hell out of me. Sad things. I savored every morsel of serotonin that the team gave me each spring.
I was never allowed to play organized sports as a young kid.
As I got older, I didn’t have the money to join a team or someone to drive me to practices and games, either.
Despite never getting a shot to play for a team myself, over the years, I fell in love with the game and never missed following a season of college baseball.
There’s been a mix of good years and bad, just like with any team. Midway through conference play this year, the team is currently shittier than the bottom of my damn boots, but there’s a lot of season left.
I have full faith in them as long as they can pull this one out and regroup.
It’s embarrassing to admit how much of my current emotional state is invested in the outcome of this weekend’s series.
Between that and waking up with blue balls every weekend, I need this win and then a good, toe-curling, head-clearing fuck.
With those two things, I’ll be back to my normal self again.
I shake my head, realizing how truly pathetic that sounds.
“A head-scratching missed opportunity to turn two there, folks,” her color commentary continues.
“Chatter in the infield isn’t doing much to silence recent rumors surrounding this young defense’s lack of chemistry.
Inning’s alive here in the bottom of the eighth, with two outs and down four.
Cougs fans are retreating early from their seats, and I don’t think it’s to avoid traffic.
Some movement in the bullpen, though. We’ll keep our eye on it as Ladd searches for some composure on the bump. ”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
“Another L?” Gage asks.
I chuckle, witnessing Gage’s discomfort in a tight suit. He attempts to lift his elbows and then fails miserably to cross his big arms in front of his chest.
He’s more of a football guy and doesn’t follow college baseball as closely as I do, but he’ll watch a handful of innings with me on a Saturday night.
“Not yet,” I say. “It’s not looking good, though.”
“Always next year.”
As a superstitious baseball fan, I’d like to sock him in the fucking jewels for mentioning the words “next year” before we’re even in the postseason. As a realist, though? Yeah. Maybe next year.
I’m not sure why I defend the team with an 8-10 record, but I do. “We’ll be fine.”
I revert my focus to the radio broadcast just in time to catch Ladd’s outside fastball. He’s been my favorite pitcher this year. There’s no missing the distinct ding when the batter makes contact. I wince and hold my breath, hoping it’s not going to find its way out of the yard.
“A shallow pop-up gives the Cougs the final out they’ve been searching for, courtesy of center fielder, Burgess,” Riley commentates with a barely detectable sigh of relief.
“He’s caught more flies than a bug zapper out there since getting a second chance at starting yesterday.
Coach would love to get his bat going, as we heard in the presser after last night’s loss. ”
I continue to listen even as Blythe narrows her eyes at me and a stranger in a sleek pencil skirt stretches a tape measure from the base of my neck to my lower back. My hand cups around the bottom of my phone to help drown out the noise in the room.
“And that’ll do it for the eighth inning.
It’s seven to three in the second game of our weekend match-up, and with a series loss on the line, our boys have a lot of work to do at the plate as we head into the ninth.
You’re listening to Cougars baseball on Junior College of West Texas Radio.
We’ll be back after a word from our partners. ”
Instead of waiting for the next inning to start, I exit the game app and pull up my contact list again. I can’t stomach a loss from my favorite sports team and another night of not getting laid on the same day.
Three weeks with no sex may not seem like much for some guys, but it’s a torturously long rough patch in my book. I thought I’d be back to normal soon. Last night disproved that theory loud and clear. With gritted teeth, I scroll through a roster of girls and try to recall what each one was like.
I need someone exciting to pull me out of my funk. It’s fucking frustrating to think that the one thing I’ve always been good at and enjoyed more than almost anything else has turned into nothing more than a slump at the moment.
My dick can’t be broken. Things will click again soon.
Two knocks pull my attention away from my phone. When Savannah skips to the front door and opens it to reveal a girl with buns on either side of the top of her head, I know I must have been more fixated on the game and finding a hookup for tonight than I thought. Did I miss something?
The loose tendrils framing the girl’s face are a deep shade of crimson. My shoulders roll back, and a crease forms in the middle of my forehead when she speaks to Savannah.
The girls smile at each other and eventually hold hands as they make their way through the bunkhouse. I watch with curiosity, wondering if the new girl with pretty red hair will look my way. I don’t get a chance to wait and see because two hands wrap around my waist from behind.
My eyes cast down as a seamstress tightens a measuring tape until there’s no space between it and my bare skin under the suit jacket. It itches, and I rub a hand down my chest and abdomen when it’s finally pulled away.
By the time I look up again, Savannah and the girl have nearly disappeared down the hall. My eyes track them, and despite my lack of success with girls lately, I find myself pulling at the collar of my jacket with parted lips until she vanishes into a room.
Warren steps in front of me to cut off my line of sight just as I pull a stick of gum out of my pocket. His eyes narrow, and I shrug innocently.
“Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles.
Warren isn’t one to meddle and is unbothered most of the time.
If he’s worried about me having a little fun with his girl’s friend, I don’t know what to tell him. Because that girl who walked hand-in-hand with Savannah was cuter than anyone I’ve seen in a while, or ever.
No. She was fucking gorgeous. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s busy tonight.
I mentally run through the list of alternatives in my phone. They’re even less appealing now than they were before, if that’s possible. If Warren wants me to leave the new girl alone just because she and Savannah are friends, he better hope she has an awful personality or a venereal disease.
Warren’s expression softens a little bit. “Just don’t make an ass out of yourself.”
Blythe speaks softly to Gage across the room. Most of their conversation is inaudible, but I catch a name as if it floated through the air in my direction and was spoken just for me to hear.
Mesa.
Suddenly, the pieces fit together in my head. She’s no random friend. She and Savannah are very close.
Maybe that fact should deter me, but surely Savannah won’t care. I’ll play nice.
I unwrap the gum and pop it into my mouth with a slow grin at Warren.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I’ve never been one to lie, even to myself, so I’m not sure why I bother playing it off to Warren. The moment Mesa walks back into the room, I’m going to talk to her. He and I both know it.