I take a long sip of my water and grab all of my catching gear before heading back out on the field for drills. Hart hops over the barricade into the stands to talk to Lauren while I head to the sideline to stretch.
Taking a seat in the grass, I lean back on my hands and bend my knees at a ninety degree angle. Moving my knees from left to right, I warm up the joints in my hips. Then I stretch out over one knee and repeat the process on the other side.
Everytime I come out of my stretching position, I catch Sydney watching me. Her tongue flicks out between her lips and her eyes glaze over in a sultry stare.
I hold back my smirk. I guess it’s good she at least likes what she sees even if she doesn’t like me. I have to take the wins when I can from her.
I might as well give her a little show if she wants to watch. I face the infield and give Sydney and everyone else in the stands my back. Bending over I touch my toes, then drop into a squat. I press my elbows into my inner thighs and stretch until it burns. Then I grab the sides of my cleats and straighten my legs. I repeat this for a few sets of a ten until it feels like my limbs are loose.
I glance over my shoulder, pretending to look at something in the dugout, and make sure I still have Sydney’s attention. She has her phone out, typing away, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s alphabet soup on her notes app because her eyes are glued to my ass.
Good.Getting down on my knees, I slide from knee to knee mimicking the same motions I would catching pitches on either side of the plate. I spread my knees apart and alternate stretching out my legs with each pass. I’m close enough to the ground I’m practically humping the grass.
What I wouldn’t give to have Sydney underneath me instead. Now is not the time to be thinking about sinking my cock into her. I don’t need the guys to notice and talk shit about warmupsmaking me hard.
“You ready?” Wyatt asks. He readjusts his hat and pulls at the black hairband he’s wearing on his wrist. “Or do you need some more alone time with the grass?”
“I’m good. Are you warmed up?” I pick up my chest protector, throw it over my head and clip it on.
“Yeah. I threw the ball around for a bit with Miller.”
“Good. We need to win out the rest of the season if we’re going to make it to the playoffs.”
“I know,” he says, annoyed with my reminder. Ever since Wyatt came back from spring break he hasn’t been in the game like he was before. He still gives his best and plays to win, but his heart isn’t in it.
It’s almost like he’s playing for us and not himself anymore.
“Enzo’s been talking more shit. He said they’re going to take us out in our last set of games.” Enzo plays for Alabama State along with his little brother, Marco. Their dad is a professor here at Newhouse and they decided to attend one of our rival schools to put some distance between them and their dad.
“They could do it.” Wyatt throws the ball into his glove as we walk toward the pitching mound.
“We aren’t going to let them.” I want another championship. I love my friends but I’m not willing to hand them the win. They will have to fight us for it.
“No we aren’t,” he agrees with a curt nod.
I put my helmet on and pull the mask down over my face. I take my place behind the plate and it feels like coming home. This is where I feel the most comfortable.
Iwas six years old when I put catching gear on for the first time. My dad wanted me to play in the outfield or first base like he did in high school.
But I loved the idea of being behind the plate. I liked having my eyes on the entire field. A lot of people think the pitcher is the one who controls the game, but I have to disagree.
I see what’s happening behind the pitcher’s back. Like when a runner is going to steal a base. I hear what a batter mutters when he swings and misses. I can figure out what pitch will send his confidence reeling and have him striking or fouling out.
Behind the mask, I don’t have to hide my emotions. No one can see what I’m feeling based on the look on my face. Like right now, looking up at Sydney, I can smile at her and enjoy the way her hair blows in the breeze.
She has no idea how many of my smiles she owns.
Hart steps into the batter’s box and I focus back on my job. I give Wyatt the signal for a fastball right down the center. He shakes it off. I knew he would. Hart would smash it easily out of the park.
“Is he going to give me something I can hit?” Hart asks.
“Probably not.” I signal for a slider and Wyatt nods in agreement. Hart manages to get a small piece of it and fouls it off down the line. “Nice try,” I say, grabbing a new ball and throwing it to Wyatt.
I signal for the slider again. I want to see if we can get him to swing a second time. Wyatt throws and Hart doesn’t move a muscle as the ball lands in my glove.
“I’m not going to fall for that bullshit twice. Tell him to give me something high and fast. I want to see if I can hit the ball down right field.”
“Alright.” Wyatt doesn’t like the call but he throws it anyway. Hart swings hard and the ball flies down the first base line into the corner. It would easily be a double if not a triple.
