Nama-fucking-ste

Wednesday

“So, what did you think?” Ellis Steel, our team physical therapist, and shortstop Amias’ little dark-haired, curvy, and Greek as fuck wife, asks as I wipe down my mat.

I glance at Amias, and he shakes his head as he walks away.

“You and I have had an understanding since my intern days.” Ellis quirks a brow. “Don’t hold back.”

“You sure about that?”

“She can handle it.” Amias’ words are said with pride.

Fuck it, I think, and then I unleash.

“A bunch of beefy guys, all bulk and muscles, trying to contort themselves into positions only pretzels have any business being in.”

“That’s you feeling uncomfortable about doing something you deem feminine.”

“The word feminine alludes to the softer side of women.” I move my head from side to side. “There’s not much soft about the downward dog position.”

“What is it with men and the downward dog?” She rolls her eyes.

I glance at Steel again as he leans against the wall, toweling off his face, and decide to show some respect.

“I’m used to chasing after fly balls, but trying to imitate a pup’s morning stretch? I’m pretty sure me and half—” I pause and begin again. “No, scratch that—every damn one of the guys in here looked more like a confused baboon than a dog downward or otherwise.”

Steel tosses me a towel.

“Then came the warrior poses. Not for one second did I feel like a gladiator ready to take on the world. I felt more like a WWF towel boy trying to wrestle with a rubber band.”

They both laugh.

“Oh, I’m not finished,” I assure them. “With all that twisting and bending, I thought I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. My body was protesting like a rookie umpire facing down a Blaze Sr. on the pitcher’s mound—with a lot of grunts and curses.”

“And …?” Ellis smiles.

I paused, not wanting to admit quite yet that she was right. “You want me to tell you that there’s something about the calming music or the soothing voice of the instructor that had me feeling like I was floating on cloud nine?”

“Did you?” she asks, knowing damn well I’m not giving in that easy. As she herself pointed out, that’s not how Doc Steel and I roll.

“I get how yoga can be a game-changer for MLB players,” I say, holding the door open so the three of us can exit the yoga studio. “Flexibility and range of motion, core strength and stability, injury prevention and recovery.”

Smiling, she nods. “And mindfulness and focus for your mental game.”

“Right now, I’m mindful that my hamstrings are still screaming for mercy.”

Amias chuckles. “You’ll get used to that.”

“And maybe one day I’ll master the art of the downward dog without face-planting into my yoga mat. But until then, namaste, my friends.” I fold my hands into prayer position and bow to them. “Nama-fucking-ste.” Then I turn in the direction of the exit.

The plan is to catch some Z’s before coming back here for the pregame team meal and to kick some Maverick ass … again.

My hands are on the door when I hear, “Hey, Rocky, you got a minute?”

Fuuuckkk.

I turn as Justice Steel walks toward the stairs, taking them two at a time as he heads up to the second-floor offices, where the property owners, Cyrus, Jase, Zander, Xavier Steel, and the ladies who love them, even though each act like men-children, especially when the four are together.

All but one of their kids used their trust funds to buy the Jersey Jaguars. The one who hasn’t bought in on the purchase is Amias Steel, who played for the Jags before they bought it without him knowing. We’ve all heard some of the new players to the team mumble about him being a nepo baby. This could not be further from the truth. Since joining the team, the kid works harder than ninety percent of us.

I walk into the conference room, unable to hide the smirk creeping up on my face as I count, “One, Steel brother, two, three, and four. Gen twos representing, as well. Damn, I was expecting a talking-to for the fight at O’Donnell’s, not a party.”

Max leans back with a shit-ass grin. “Sorry I missed that.”

Jase whips his head around and glares at him. “You couldn’t give us five minutes to see if we could get him to sweat?”

Xavier leans forward. “I’m with Max and also against sweating unless it’s on the field, at the gym, on stage, rocking out, or between the sheets.”

Zandor holds out a fist, and Xavier taps it.

Cyrus clears his throat. “I’d have liked to see where your breaking point is, but the reality is we wanted to tell you it was cool you paid for the damages without being asked to.”

“Even though Frangula threw first.” Ranger, Brisa Steel’s husband, shrugs.

“Mama Locke raised a gentleman,” I state because it’s better than asking the question burning in my mind. Nah, screw that, I must ask. “How is it that Brisa the Barbie ended up with tatted Tarzan and not some Ken-looking frat dude?”

Ranger purses his lips together, hiding what would either be a smirk or a sneer.

“Careful planning.” Justice chuckles.

“She played the long game,” Max adds. “Fifteen, and she was telling him she was legal.”

I look at Zandor to see how he feels about that.

“I can’t blame her. He’s got good ink.”

“Would have been a different story had I not done some digging.” Ranger shakes his head.

“Fuck yeah, it would have,” Zandor agrees.

“All our kids picked well,” Cyrus states. “Which is why none of us are behind bars.”

“True story,” Jase agrees.

“Point in asking you up here is Frangula’s GM called. He’s talking shit and will probably be doing the same on the field.”

Zandor adds, “He’s got the whole team convinced our entire infield jumped in, and we don’t want shit to go sideways at the game tonight.”

“Not one of the guys jumped in because they didn’t need to. Pope pulled me off him. Danny Aiken, from back home, was here, and he assisted. He’s?—”

“We believe you and would have your back even if you did start it,” Xavier cuts me off. “I don’t want issues with Frankie, tonight, is all.”

“We need you on the field, but if you want to sit it out and?—”

“Fuck no,” I cut Jase off. “I don’t want to sit. I wanna slaughter them on the field. He wants to run his mouth, that’s no skin off my ass. He takes it off the property after the game, that’s another story.”

“Think maybe we could wait until after the series?” Zandor chuckles. “We have them here two more nights.”

“Been waiting for the opportunity for a while now.” Since I heard the rumor he was playing grab ass with Gwen. “I have no problem waiting it out.”

“Question,” Cyrus asks, standing.

“Shoot,” I do the same.

“This over the game or a girl?” he asks, amused.

“No reason to fight over baseball. The calls are the calls, and the score is the score. The game’s nothing to throw fists over.”

* * *

Sliding out of my vehicle, I see our catcher, Nour Uyar, outside with a little white pup.

“What’s up?” I ask, walking around the back and grabbing my bag.

“AJ and I moved in next to Roman yesterday.”

I must have missed that, I think as I tap the button to close the hatch.

“Yeah? He let you have a dog?”

“The pup’s his. Elle, meet the Jags’ third baseman and your neighbor, Locke. Locke, meet Elle.”

I squat down and give her some Locke love, and she licks me. “The bitches love me,” I joke. Well, sort of, because it’s not a lie. Standing, I glance around. “Lots of vehicles. Hart’s family in town?”

“They’re staying until we head out of town,” he says as we walk toward the back decks of the townhouses. “Neighbors got a full house, too.”

“Yeah?” I ask to be polite, and yeah, I get some intel.

“Heard the owner was from your hometown.”

Well, shit, I laugh to myself and ask, “Danny and Chloe Aiken?”

He shakes his head. “Cecilia Shaw?”

“Doesn’t ring any bells.” But I suspect it has to be someone I know. Our middle and high schools shared a building. Walton, Texas, is one of those towns where everyone knows everyone. For the same reasons that it was charming and an excellent place to be raised, it was also a pain in the ass.

I nod toward my place. “Going to catch a pregame nap.”

“You work out today?”

“Just getting back,” I call to him as I head right.

“Yoga?” he asks, sounding as shocked as I was that I participated.

“Namaste.” I laugh.

“Great workout. Stick with it; it gets easier,” he suggests.

I nod and smile while thinking, Fuck that.

Once inside the door, I drop my bag and peek out the window like a little bitch, waiting until Nour heads inside, because as soon as he’s in, I’m going to do some investigating, like Gwendolyn York does. However, there’s a twist since I’m investigating her.

The minute I step outside and to the edge of my deck, I see Zane Marks, Gwendolyn’s partner, and Danny Aiken in Cecilia Shaw’s backyard.

“Fate, you beautiful bitch you.” I chuckle as I head back inside to catch some Z’s, knowing that if all goes well, it’s going to be a late night.

* * *

After a quick shower, I lie in bed, ignoring the fact that no open windows are carrying the salty breeze or scent of the sea, mingling with the mild aroma of driftwood and sun-kissed sand my way. No rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore, soothing and calming my mind before a big game. And I focus on that, too, because if I don’t, I’ll focus on Gwendolyn York being next door, and everything will be off for tonight’s game. Or should I say games—plural.