Thrown by a Curve

Sweat poured from him. He was relentless, muscles bulging in his arms as he rolled his hips over her, shattering her. He kissed her when she cried out, groaning against her lips as he emptied inside her. They shuddered together as they climaxed, her body tightening around his cock as they rode it out, both of them sawing out breaths as if they’d just run a marathon.

Spent, she lay with her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating. She wanted to tell him how she felt. There were so many things they needed to talk about, but right now she was content and satiated and utterly exhausted.

That big talk about important things could wait for another time.

For now, she just wanted to sleep.





TWENTY-SIX


AFTER A GRUELING DAY OF WORKOUTS AND PRACTICE, Garrett had been called into Manny Magee’s office.

They’d be heading to Chicago tomorrow for the season opener. He was hoping he’d get to pitch in this series. He already knew he wasn’t the first-game starter. The ball had been given to someone else. But he wanted to pitch—he was ready to pitch.

Alicia had been brought in with him. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. The look she gave him told him she had no idea, either.

Manny came in, along with Bobby, the pitching coach, and Phil and Max.

Manny, never one to take a seat behind his desk, leaned against the edge of it in front of where they were all sitting.

“Let’s get right to this, Garrett. We’re going to work you back into the rotation.”

Garret’s stomach tightened. Excitement drilled through him. This was what he’d been waiting for.

“Right now we want you to pitch middle-inning relief. We don’t think you’re ready to start just yet. We want you to get some pitches in, and a couple of innings a game is a good way to warm you up.”

His stomach dropped. Fuck. Not what he wanted to hear. “I can start, Coach. My arm’s good. I’m ready.”

“Bobby and I feel that middle-inning relief is good for you right now.”

“The MRI and scans we did on you show you’ve healed,” Phil said. “A very good sign. Now it’s just a matter of time until you get your mechanics straightened out.”

“I am straightened out.” Garrett focused his attention on Manny. “You know I can pitch a good game for you.”

“I know you can. After you do a few games in middle-inning relief, we’ll move you back into the starting rotation. Work with Bobby on tweaking the finesse of your pitches and continue your therapy with Alicia.” Manny stood. “You’ll get back there, kid.”

The one thing you didn’t do was argue with Manny Magee. Once he slotted you into a position, that was your position. If you didn’t like that position, your next alternative was AAA ball. Or maybe a new job outside of baseball.

The meeting was over, and Garrett knew it. “Sure. I’ll give it my all.”

Manny slapped him on the back. “Knew you would, kid.”

Garrett walked out of Manny’s office, unable to process what had just happened.

Middle-inning relief? Fuck. He’d rather be a closer than spend time as a middle-inning reliever. Hell, he’d rather not pitch at all.

“You’re pissed,” Alicia said as they walked down the hall after everyone else had dispersed.

He shot her a look. “You think?”

“Garrett.”

He was eating up the hallway with quick, angry strides, Alicia hurrying along to catch up. Not now. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He’d rather head down to the workout room and take out his irritation on one of the punching bags or the weight bench. Maybe he’d run a few miles out on the track. There was a goddamn fire in his belly, and right now it wasn’t motivation. It was pure, white-hot fury.

But Alicia grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “Listen to me. You’re going to pitch. At least you’re going to pitch. This is good practice for you.”

“Practice? You think I care about that?”

She kept her hand on his forearm. “I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

“No. It isn’t at all what I wanted. What I wanted was to be a starting pitcher again.”

“And you will be if you stop being such a baby about not getting what you wanted.”

That got his attention. He glared at her.

“So you aren’t starting a game. Do you think you’re the first pitcher to come out of rehab and not start right away? You’re lucky you get to pitch at all. Many of them sit on the bench for months, unable to throw a pitch. Your arm is strong, but your mechanics are off a little. This is a way to get your finesse back without losing control of the game. So quit feeling sorry for yourself, pay attention to your pitching coach, let me continue to work with your arm, and let’s get you back on the mound as a starter.”

He turned and walked away.

“Garrett.”

He didn’t look at her. “I’m going to the therapy room. Come work on my shoulder. It feels tight after today’s practice.”

There was nothing worse than being called on the carpet by your therapist of all people.

She was right. He hadn’t taken the news well. He’d wanted to start in the rotation, not do middle-inning relief.

But he was going to pitch. And she was right about that. He could have ended up benched.

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