“Well, you thought you were famous before, kid. If you throw well today, it’s all about to change,” Ace said as he slapped me hard on the back.
I had noticed the cameras outside the locker room and heard some of the guys talking about this scrimmage being televised. Everyone was eager to see the new team in action, so this was it… my first step to stardom.
“Man, I hope I can make it through today,” Ace said. “That Holly chick is a wild cat, kept me up all night long,”
I really wasn’t interested in hearing any details. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“No, you don’t understand. She had me holding her against the wall, upside down, and no matter how hard I fucked her, she couldn’t get enough,” he continued attacking my ears without my consent.
It certainly didn’t sound like he had been a gentleman, but it wasn’t my place to judge. They both seemed happy, even if their stories didn’t quite match.
“You must have enjoyed it. After all, you let her sleep over.”
He laughed. “Oh no, there was no sleeping.” He was still laughing to himself by the time I’d dressed and was tying my cleats.
The next two hours were a dream come true. Everything that could go right, did. I threw the hell out of the three innings I pitched, allowing no runs, striking out one player after another. I even held my own at the plate, cracking one over the wall and landing a single from a perfectly placed bunt. I was proud of them both and still couldn’t believe I was able to even hit the damn ball. That thing came at me like a freaking freight train.
Following the scrimmage, microphones were stuck in my face, and I frantically attempted to remember the lines the PR team of the Beasts had coached me to remember.
Proud to be part of this club, just want to give them everything I have.
It’s a team effort.
Got lucky at the plate.
Glad I could help the team.
Bullshit like that.
What I wanted to do was whoop and holler, high five every person in the room. I did it! I fucking rocked my first real experience in the majors! No, it wasn’t an official game, but to me, it might as well have been the final game of the World Series.
Coach wasn’t lying about the paparazzi. After portions of that scrimmage game was televised, and the papers plastered my face all over the front page — the pitcher with the golden arm — it was impossible to go anywhere without cameras shoved in my face, balls pushed towards me with pens for autographs, and of course, women falling all over me.
I had to admit, there was something about it that appealed to me, but Whitney hated all the attention and kept saying she couldn’t wait until things settled down, and we could get our lives back.
I hated to tell her things would probably only get worse, so I didn’t.
Holly decided to stick around for the week, which kept Ace preoccupied trying to satisfy her at night and gave Whitney someone to sit with during the day while we practiced. I loved having her in the stands watching us play, but I knew all the women hanging around made her jealous. The other benefit to Ace being preoccupied was the fact he wasn’t tugging on my arm to go out and party with him, something I knew drove Whitney wild, and not in a good way.
“Hey, Calvin,” a female voice called from the stands. I turned and looked just in time to see a large set of breasts exposed for my benefit. Red paint tainted her skin to match my number — 10 — with the zero perfectly placed around her nipple. I smiled, laughed, and then felt the heat of Whitney’s eyes on me. Ace danced around the field like a fool, playing it up for all the ladies and egging the blonde to continue lifting her top.
I gave Whitney a quick kiss before I headed into the locker room. Her lips were tight and her body tense, so I knew she wasn’t pleased about the cheering from the ladies, mainly the one who exposed her massive tits at least seven times before the coach intervened.
“I’ll be quick,” I promised and then ducked into the locker room.
“Hey, hot shot!” Ace yelled out as I opened my locker. “You in trouble?”
I shook my head, not in the mood for one of his lectures on why I should be single.
“I think your girl was pretty pissed off about those titties,” he teased.
“She’s fine,” I lied, knowing good and damn well she was anything but fine. I would hear about it later, I always did. It was getting old and sometimes I actually thought about what Ace said on the field during practice.
Single men don’t get bitched at when women flash their tits, they get laid!
As expected, Whitney wanted to discuss the woman on the field. “Why didn’t the coach remove her?” she scolded. “That’s indecent and distracting.”
Indecent, no. Distracting, sure.
“Can we just have a good time tonight?” I begged. I knew the exhaustion in my voice was another issue we would discuss later, how I didn’t understand where she was coming from and that my attitude made her feel like a nag.
Well, if it quacks like a duck, and it looks like a duck, it’s probably a fucking nag!
“Holly’s leaving tomorrow, so we’re going to have a great night, and then I get you all to myself,” I said, hoping to interject some happiness back into our conversation. “It’s been rough having to share you.”
“Yeah, I have to share you all the time,” she snapped, the words flying at me like a whip. It pissed me off, especially when I looked down at another new outfit she’d bought. Two thousand bucks for a pair of shorts, a top, and some shoes. It made me want to snap back at her, remind her that her sharing me was keeping her well fed and dressed.
Finally, we were back at the apartment and out of the car where it felt like I was being suffocated. Here, I could sit and relax in front of the TV for at least an hour while she frantically got ready for our night out. Holly was at Ace’s — all her stuff was moved there a few days ago — so he couldn’t say they weren’t sleeping now. He was actually letting her stay the night, a rule that he once said couldn’t be broken.
“I won’t be long,” she promised.
“Take your time, baby,” I said, meaning take extra time, please.
I fell onto my recliner and pushed the power button on the remote. ESPN was on, and shots of our recent scrimmage were playing as the hosts were arguing over our chances to make it to the playoffs, or possibly even winning it.
“This new pitcher, Calvin Malone, he was born and raised in cow country. That boy is grass fed and ready to roll with a golden arm and an eagle eye. He’s going to take them all the way,” one of the hosts boasted.
“He’s young, na?ve, and I bet this city eats him alive before they even start the season,” the other argued.