The lobby was swamped with players, all restless and pacing over the navy blue carpet as they waited on the shuttles. “I have to observe,” she said quickly, gripping her briefcase to her side as she exited the elevator. Her legs were long, lean, and looked to be toned in those expensive high-heeled shoes. The slit in her skirt was high enough that I could see her upper thigh as she took a step. The jacket she wore covered the thin blouse that was buttoned up to her neck. She wasn’t showing off anything, even though I was certain she had plenty to flaunt. Damn, that was making my jeans tighten.
“I’ll see ya out there,” she said without eye contact. I watched her glide through the players and outside the doors. She slid into the backseat of a white car as the driver closed the door.
“You ready for this?” Luke asked, pulling me out of the trance I was in. The white car drove away, a group of shuttles arriving almost instantly after.
“Yeah,” I said confidently, even though I wasn’t sure if I was ready to deal with Calvin.
The guys began pushing their way out the front doors and into the waiting shuttles. I followed Luke, climbing onboard the second shuttle as Calvin loaded onto the first. There’d be plenty of time to deal with him. I at least needed a cup of coffee before we had to strategize together, since I woke up late and missed breakfast.
“Morris, Malone, you two work together today,” Coach yelled after we all piled into the locker room.
I watched Calvin’s eyes roll over me. His irritation was visible. Chuck it off, Morris.
I pulled my gear from the canvas bag the assistant handed me upon arrival, stuffed it into the locker in front of me, and started to get dressed. Most of the other players were already in their gear, causing me to rush while the coach shouted out his expectations. I’d already heard enough. He wanted me to work with Calvin, just what I was dreading.
The field was somewhat desolate with the few fans that had arrived early. The air was warm, but still brisk as I stared out into the open field.
“You ready for this?” Calvin asked.
I turned to find him standing over me as I tightened my knee pads on the bench.
“Yeah, let’s talk strategy,” I said, eager to get our issues behind us and start playing ball.
He sat down beside me, didn’t loosen the tightness in his face, and shook his head. “No strategy to discuss. I’ll just fill you in on what’s been working.”
Wow, so he’s one of those pitchers. I knew he was arrogant, and that he had the talent to back it up most of the time. But the fact remained… a good pitcher is only as good as his catcher. And, that was me, whether he liked it or not.
“Like it or not—” I started to say.
“I don’t,” he cut in.
“Yeah, this is not what I wanted either. But if we want this to work, we have to work together.” I fought back my desire to spout off a few more items on my agenda, like he didn’t deserve Whitney, or he was lucky to be back in the game after his injury, or the fact that he wasn’t as good as he thought he was.
“The way I see it, you’re the only one who needs this to work. You have nowhere else to go.” He smirked and tossed a baseball in my direction. My reflexes kicked in, reaching out and snatching the ball that floated past me. My fingers tightened around the leather as I tried to control my anger. I wanted to toss it back toward him, but not soft and easy like he’d done. I had a strong arm, stronger than his — I could hurl a ball to second while lying flat on the ground if I needed to. I could knock him down a notch or two if I wanted, but I needed my pitcher cocky, at least a little, in order to get the best game from him.
“You might wanna do your homework. This wasn’t my last resort. Rhett paid a pretty penny to get me here,” I chuckled, loving the look on Calvin’s face as it turned from smug to bewildered.
It was true. He had paid far more than he should have. The Mets were obviously done with me, worried that I’d tarnish their squeaky clean image, or their insurance policy, with my wild antics.
Calvin grabbed his glove, stormed away from me, and headed toward the field. All those notes I’d taken, focusing highly on the guys already here were a waste, I guess. At least for now.
I finished gearing up and made my way to the plate. I squatted down, took position, and watched as the coach sent up Singleton for the first pitch. Calvin spit on the mound, kicked at the dirt, and looked as if he were in agony to have to make eye contact with me. This was bullshit.
I signaled for a fastball to land on the inside corner of the plate, and of course, Calvin shook it off. Luke loved to crowd the plate, and he was a heavy hitter, so keeping the ball low and close was important. I shook my head, signaled for a curveball. He shook it off again. What the fuck?
“What do you want?” I yelled out in irritation.
“Is there a problem, ladies?” Coach called out in my direction.
I shook my head, signaled again, and again, until Calvin finally agreed to a knuckleball that Luke hit over the fence. He paraded around the plates with a victorious stance, waving to the empty stands as he rounded third. I was pissed. Calvin knew I was pissed.
Finally, practice ended. Calvin had been a real pain in the ass out there on the field. He wasn’t willing to talk strategy with me, listen to any of my calls, or even consider that I may know a thing or two about my job.
“Sorry I was so hard on ya out there.” Calvin slapped me on the shoulder.
I turned, surprised to hear anything positive from Calvin Malone. I wondered if he realized that by trying to do it all himself, he wasn’t much good. He needed me as much as I needed him if this was to work.
“I can take it, but the game can’t,” I said. “Your last catcher was young and green. I know your competition. Hell, I was your competition. I know who crowds the plate, who has a tendency to step in the bucket, who is anxious, impatient, and who has the best short-to-long swings. You need to listen to me.” It felt good to get that off my chest.
His lips curled into a smile, almost a smirk, but still genuine. Another pat on the shoulder, no words, just the pat, and he walked away. Was he just toying with me?
A beautiful Wide Glide Harley Davidson sat in the parking lot, the chrome glistening against the Florida sun. I stopped, admiring the beauty, the power, and the sheer sexiness of the bike as Coach strolled up beside me.
“You know that’s off limits. Any of your dumb stunts here and you’re gone.”
Before I could agree, disagree, or come off with a smartass remark, Coach was gone, heading to the first shuttle.
“We’re all going out for a drink later, you wanna come?” Luke asked as he passed by me. I was still staring at the bike, wishing it was mine. I’d already researched the area and knew there was a place up the road where I could rent one. Who did the Coach think he was anyway? He couldn’t tell me what to do no more than the Mets' coach could.