My locker was untouched, left just as it had been when I walked out of here last year. I opened it up and pulled out my practice uniform, slipping out of my jeans and tight designer t-shirt. It felt good to have my name and number on my back where it belonged.
“You been doing okay?” Marty asked. He had real concern in his voice, something I hated about the guy.
“I’ve been great,” I answered, tying my turf shoes. “Just ready to get back at it and bring home the big win this season.”
This was the guy who couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with a Buick. He had one of the lowest batting averages on the team, and if anyone was going to be traded, it should be Marty.
“Yeah, that was brutal last season. Felt good to get so close though,” he said. “Coach really laying it into you, huh?”
“Yeah, he wanted me here early, and I blew him off.”
I knew the only reason he called me in early was to talk to me about my attitude. It’s bad, what’s there to talk about? It didn’t affect how often I sent a ball into the stands.
“He just wants respect,” Marty sighed.
He patted me on the back and headed to the field. What a tool!
“Ace!” I looked up to see our owner, Rhett Hamilton, standing above me and controlled the urge to groan. I wasn’t exactly happy to see him, and the look in his eyes dictated a lack of excitement for seeing me as well. “I just wanted to talk to you a minute before you headed out.”
Great, another talk.
He sat down in the chair beside me, pulling it too close for my comfort, sliding his arm over my shoulders like a teenage boy would do to his date at the movies. “I expect great things from you this season.”
I shook my head while a growling laugh escaped my lips. “Rhett, you get great things from me every season.”
“When you take it seriously, you’re amazing.” His condescending tone made my balls shrivel.
He smiled, smirked really, before giving my shoulder a squeeze. “I like you, Ace, I really do. But, I have to say, if you don’t take this season seriously, this team seriously, your coach, me…” He squeezed my shoulder again, harder this time. “It doesn’t matter how much I like you, you’re gone.”
Oh, so it’s two strikes you’re out. I thought we were playing baseball.
“Got it,” I muttered and stood, pulling away from his grip.
“Good, I’d certainly hate to lose you. I know the Beasts just wouldn’t be the same without good old Ace Newman.”
There was that word again… old, what the fuck?
“Not old, and there’s no worry about that. You can count on it.”
I grabbed my glove and left him sitting there as I walked out of the clubhouse, shaking off the negativity with each step. Fuck them. I’d show them how serious I could be.
It felt amazing walking into the practice field, but I missed the sun scorching my face while the brisk wind spiraled around me, but I’d get that soon enough. Spring training was about to start, and soon, summer would be in full blast and women would be wearing short shorts, bikinis, and have that sun-kissed skin I love so much.
Damn, I couldn’t wait to get to Florida for spring training and my first peek of that!
The winter had been long and harsh, and all the women in New York were still bundled up to their necks, not even showing a glimpse of leg, even now with the sun shining so bright. Not the women at Home Plate; I could guarantee they were wearing short skirts and tank tops. Mmm, yes. They would be ready to show Ace Newman some skin.
Luke Singleton proved to be a pretty good pitcher. His knuckleball wasn’t so fast and furious, and it was proving tough to hit, but he was no Calvin Malone. I was watching him dig his fingernails into the ball as I stood in front of the plate with my bat held high over my shoulder. I smirked, spit onto the plate, and then calmly changed positions.
Yeah, I noticed he wasn’t controlling the ball as well as he would have liked for the right-handed batters. So let’s try left handed, big boy.
His face filled with stress; remind me to play poker with this kid. I kept my eyes on him, not the ball, as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. I smirked, nodded, and then focused on the ball in his hand. His fingernails were digging into the leather, his knuckles pushed up high, and I knew he was planning on slamming it to me hard.
I loosened up, my shoulders relaxed, and watched the ball heading towards me. Whooweee, that almost hit me! I smirked again as his face grew pale. I knew he didn’t mean to lose control of it that bad, but it was a wild pitch and the fact remained, he almost hit Ace Newman.
“Sorry,” he called out. I could smell his fear.
The fingernails didn’t dig into the leather this time. Instead, he argued with the catcher with hard shakes of his head until he finally settled on a more controlled pitch. The ball rolled in his hand, his fingers found their spot, and he wound up the pitch. I could hear it coming; the sheer power behind it would shake up most guys at the plate, but not me. I smirked and winked before swinging the bat with my own display of strength and cracked it deep into the nets.
“Ace Newman is back, ladies!” I yelled to my teammates as I made my way to first, second, and then third with little effort. Coach Griffin shook his head but couldn’t hide his smile.
Rhett, on the other hand, sat in his box, and even though I couldn’t see more than his silhouette, I knew his eyes were burning daggers into my chest. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like me, old Rhetty boy. You need me!
“Man, I’m sorry I let that pitch go like that,” Luke apologized hours later when we headed back into the locker room.
“Don’t worry about it, kid.”
He was walking fast to stay by my side, going on and on about how he idolized me.
“You wanna get a drink, kid?” The invitation was partly to allow him to continue his worshipping while I had a drink in my hand.
“Me?”
“I don’t see anyone else standing here in my face.”
“Yeah, absolutely, I’d love to… I mean, can you?”
“Can I what?”
He looked down at his feet. “Drink? I mean, I heard you had a problem.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he took a step back. “Wow, now there’s a smart way to get your young ass kicked early in the season. Don’t listen to everything you hear, kid. If I had a problem, I wouldn’t be a Beast.”
His comments irritated me, but not so much because of him, more so because of whoever had been telling him all this false information.
I stripped out of my uniform and wrapped a towel around my waist while the kid stood there looking dumbfounded. “You plan on washing my back?” I snorted.
“I’m s-sorry.” He was stuttering like a nervous bitch as he backed away.
Good ole’ Frank Lewis, the centerfielder, was already in the showers, singing and acting a fool under the streams of water. I wondered why a man who had such an obviously small dick would purposely draw so much attention to himself while naked in a huge open room surrounded by other men.
“You going out for a drink tonight, Frank?” I interrupted the chorus of Welcome to the Jungle.