7. Casey

CHAPTER SEVEN

CASEY

The excitement of the game tonight was spreading across Mapleview like a fever. Yard signs boasted the Muskrats’ starting pitcher, Austin Healey. Businesses posted banners in their windows cheering us on. It was on local talk radio and news stations. Reporters bantered about our season, statistics, and the likelihood of winning. Tonight we were up against our biggest rival, the Rainier Cougars, Marcus’s team.

I could only imagine the anxiety Austin must be feeling going up against his lover. This game was riding my shoulders hard. The Cougars, like us, were ?undefeated. This game would determine who took the top rank. Pulling into the lot at Dixon’s Diner, my gut tightened as I spied the red-and-gray Muskrats banner in their window. The bell on the door jingled as I entered and approached the counter.

“Hey Stacy, can I grab a coffee with no cream, just sugar? ”

“Sure thing, Coach.”

As I stood there waiting for my order, two guys approached. I recognized them from the high school athletic department. “Are you ready for the big game, Coach?”

“You bet. How’s your season shaping up?” I asked, trying to deflect some of the pressure.

“We’re looking great this year. I’ve got some genuine talent to send your way next year.”

“That’s great.” I clapped him on the back. “Good to hear it.”

“Here you go, Coach.” Stacy slid my coffee across the counter. “It’s on the house. And I packed you a piece of freshly baked apple pie.”

“Thank you, Stacy, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, Coach. You can save it for later, to celebrate with.” She grinned confidently, like she was absolutely sure we were going to win tonight.

I wish I felt as confident as she did. Marcus’s team was tough to beat. He had real talent this season, and he’d molded my best player. He knew what he was doing, and he knew I was worried. Which meant he was in my head, and he knew that, too.

I’d be damned if I’d give him the advantage over me.

I grabbed the white paper bag with my pie in it, and the to-go cup of coffee and turned, intending to get out of there before more well-wishers approached me. I made it two steps before I hit a brick wall.

“Motherfuck…” I spluttered, jumping back as hot coffee soaked through my shirt, burning my skin. I’d bet al l the short curly hair on my chest was singed off from the scalding liquid.

“Gotta watch where you’re going, Coach,” a familiar voice warned.

I looked up into the face of… “Baylor.” I spit the word with as much ice and disdain as I could muster.

“You look…” He raked his eyes up and down my body, pausing to stare at the wet shirt plastered against my chest. “Sticky. I bet you could use a nice hot shower right about now.”

His gaze continued down to my groin, and he licked his lips. My dick kicked against my will like it had a mind of its own. For fuck’s sake, he was staring at it! As if remembering what it tasted like, what it felt like in his mouth, in his ass. And now I was remembering as well. It kicked again!

“Maybe you could use a cold shower instead,” he amended. There was mischief burning in his eyes.

“Are you fucking stalking me?” I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorted. “Are you stalking me ?” he asked, finally returning his eyes to mine.

I shoved the nearly empty coffee cup at him and the bag of apple pie. “Fuck off, Buchanan.”

“Good luck tonight, Coach,” he called, laughing behind my departing back. Before I hit the door, I froze. Was that a warning? A threat? Because I was hard-pressed to believe he was actually wishing me luck.

Turning back, I asked, “Are you calling the game tonight? ”

“Me? No. I’m calling a game in—” He pretended to think about it, rubbing his chin as he tried to recall his schedule, and then his eyes lit with that fire again. “My bad, I’m calling the game in Mapleview tonight. I guess I’ll see you there,” he said jovially.

Definitely a threat!

I had just enough time to run home to grab a shower and change before rushing to the stadium. As I stood beneath the spray—hot, not cold—I did my best to think about anything besides the man who had caused me to take a second shower today.

“ Old MacDonald had a farm …” I scrubbed the sticky sugar from my chest. “And on that farm he…” Like I said, I was desperate. Even if it meant singing nursery rhymes as I shampooed my hair. “With a moo-moo here and a…” With thirty minutes to spare, I changed into a fresh Muskrats jersey and gray athletic pants before hitting the road, trying like hell to get across town in time.

Traffic was a bitch. Not only was it rush hour, but everyone was headed in the same direction as me, to the stadium. Thankfully, I pulled into the lot with time to spare. Not much, but enough to get my team together and prepped.

We gathered in the packed locker room, standing shoulder to shoulder. My voice echoed off the metal lockers and tiled walls.

“Listen up, team. Never forget that you are Muskrats. You are mighty. You represent Mapleview, and you represent the University of Oregon. You also represent the best of the best. Each of you is a talented athlete, specifically chosen for your position, because no one can do it better than you can. You’re gonna go out there tonight and play your best, and I bet it’s enough to score a win. Just remember one thing: second-guessing yourself is a fatal flaw. One bad play, bad pitch, bad catch, or bad swing, and you can spend the rest of the game doubting yourself, slowly letting your confidence slip away. Don’t give the Cougars your confidence. You mess up? Shake it off. Just keep playing your hearts out. Who are we?”

“Muskrats,” they shouted in unison.

“Who are we?” I asked louder.

“Muskrats,” they yelled, banging on the locker doors.

“Let’s play some ball!”

The guys finished tying their cleats and adjusting their equipment. Three men I didn’t recognize shouldered their way into the locker room. “Can I ask what you’re doing here? If you’re not on the team, you’re not authorized to be here.”

“Hey Coach, my name is Sean. This is James and Corbin. We’re with the journalism program. We’re working on a project to report a live story, and we chose your team.”

“What’s the story here, gentlemen?” I asked suspiciously.

“We’re just going to interview the players. Pitch them some softball questions, pun intended,” he joked, although he was the only one who laughed. “Before each game, we’ll get to know them a little better. We’ll be live streaming to social media, and we hope it will improve support and attendance for the team. ”

Hard to improve upon it when the whole town was in attendance. “Just don’t get in the guys’ way. They need their heads in the game.”

“Will do, Coach.”

I stepped back to watch, giving them free rein in the locker room. They interviewed several players, asking what position they played, and what they were majoring in. They asked the guys a few personal questions, although they were easy and shallow, like they promised.

“Austin Healey, star pitcher for the Muskrats. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

He grinned that million-dollar smile. “Chocolate with peanut butter,” he answered easily.

“Nice. Jairo Garcia, what position do you play?”

“Shortstop.”

“What are you majoring in?” they asked.

“Business management.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Do you know that red one with the bubblegum flavors in it? I think they call it superhero,” he laughed.

The guys filed out of the locker room one by one, headed for the dugout. Leaving me for last, the students rounded on me. “Coach, you’re an alumnus of this school, aren’t you?”

Like a good journalist, he’d done his homework. “I sure am. Go Muskrats.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Rum raisin.”

“Thanks, Coach. Good luck tonight. ”

Using my teeth, I ripped open the plastic bag and popped a piece of saltwater taffy in my mouth, chewing my anxieties away. I’d been known to finish off an entire bag before the seventh inning. We had a two-run lead on the Cougars, but we could lose it at any moment. I started to whistle to keep from jumping out of my skin, focusing on the rush of air moving over my lips. Then my team started to act up, mooing like cows. Turning, I glared, in no mood for roughhousing.

“Enough, this isn’t a goddamn barn.”

“You’re singing the farm song, Coach, the one we sang as kids.”

God dammit, Baylor. He was to blame for that stupid song getting stuck in my head.

Austin glanced over his shoulder, moving faster than I could blink, and beaned the ball toward the second baseman, trying to catch the runner stealing second. The runner dove for the base just as the ball slammed into the second baseman’s glove.

“Safe,” Baylor called.

“Bullshit,” I erupted, my face heating. “He was out by a mile. You saw that,” I accused, jabbing my finger at him. “Who saw that?” I asked, checking around me. The fans of the home team booed loudly.

“Safe,” he said again.

“He was out,” I insisted, getting right up in Baylor’s face. “You can’t be that blind, Blue. I know you’re not that blind.” Because earlier at the diner, he’d stared at my cock until it kicked and then he’d licked his lips.

“Watch it,” he warned, widening his stance with his hands on his hips. Baylor was challenging me, but I knew I was right.

“The runner was out. It was a bad call. I’m not gonna let your bullshit bias cost me this game or the season. He was out,” I insisted. “O.U.T. In case you spell as bad as you see.” I watched with satisfaction as his nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw ticking repeatedly.

“Back to your dugout, Coach.”

I could feel my blood pressure rising, making my heart beat wildly. I was beginning to sweat. “Don’t order me around like a fucking toddler. I’ll go back to my dugout when you change your call.”

“I called him safe. It’s final.” My temper exploded in a rush of foul curses. “You’re out of here,” he yelled, pointing at the clubhouse. “Get off my field.”

“You’re kicking me out of the game?” I asked incredulously.

“You bet I am. Out,” he insisted with satisfaction, “O.U.T. In case you spell as bad as you hear.”

Asswipe . “That was one bad call too many, Buchanan. You’re gonna pay for that,” I warned.

“I look forward to it,” he called out to my retreating back.