Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“What? No, it’s nine. First workout is at nine-thirty. Did I get the time wrong?”
His expression turns deadly serious. “Aw shit, man. You missed the early drills. Rookie drills were at eight-thirty. You better get out there now, or they’ll make you do all the dirty laundry for the next five weeks.”
Panic kicks in, swimming in my blood. I can’t fuck up. He points in the direction of the locker room that leads to the diamond. “That’s where you need to be. Main field,” he says.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
I step away, ready to jet, when he sets a hand on my arm. “Give me your phone, rookie. Skipper will have a fit if he sees you with the phone in the locker room,” he says.
“Really?” My brain scrambles, trying to figure out if he’s screwing with me. I can’t remember the manager mentioning a ban on phones in locker rooms.
“Yes. Go put on your uniform. Get out on the field and do the drills. You can thank me later when the coach doesn’t pitch a fit.”
I breathe, exhaling heavily as I hand him my phone. I hightail it to the locker room, pull on my uniform, and grab my glove.
I run to the field as the team streams in, but they’re not doing drills. They’re . . . milling about by home plate.
That’s odd.
The third baseman strolls over to me, holding his cap in front of him. “I can do the triple lift,” Crosby Cash says by way of greeting. “And I bet all these guys that I can do it. They don’t believe me. You in?”
I pat the back pocket of my baseball pants for show. “I don’t have my wallet with me.”
Scoffing, Crosby turns around. “He has no dough. Who’s covering the rookie?”
Seconds later, Declan’s voice calls out. “I’ve got his back. Fifty bucks says you can do it, Cash. You hear that, rookie? We’re betting for him.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, gulping.
Crosby turns, shoves his hat at Chance. “You in or out?”
Chance grabs a bill from his pocket, tosses it in. “I’ve seen you fail at it. A hundo says you will again.”
“You’re wrong.” Crosby turns around, pats the weight belt on his waist, then sets the hat on the ground.
“You ready?” The question comes my way from Crosby, and it’s time to improvise. I’ve no idea what the triple lift is.
But I won’t let on. “Absolutely.”
“Cool,” he says, then points to the grass. “Get on the ground. Lie down.” I do as I'm told while Crosby calls out to two other rookies, guys I know well from Triple-A. “Sullivan! Miguel! Get over here too. Grant’s in the middle.”
Sullivan trots over, his dark eyes eager as a puppy dog’s, and drops to the ground next to me. Miguel flops on my other side.
“Hook elbows around the other guys,” Crosby says to the three of us. “I’m going to lift you all at once.”
This doesn’t feel like a drill, but I get in position, the sun shining brightly in my eyes. Crosby leans over like he’s about to grab the waistband of my uniform to haul us up over his head.
Instead, Chance sweeps in, squeezing a red bottle at my face.
Before I even blink, I have red goop all over me, my hair, my uniform. I look like a one-man crime scene, and I crinkle my nose at the vinegary smell of ketchup.
Sullivan takes a direct hit of bright yellow mustard next to me, then Crosby is shaking another container on the three of us, dumping an avalanche of baby powder that flies everywhere and coats us in a layer of white talc.
I spit it out, laughing and grossed out at the same time, then Declan gets in on the act, dousing us with a couple of cans of whipped cream, spraying the dessert topping all over us.
My face is covered in condiments. My uniform is toast. But I wipe off the food with a grin.
This is not a drill. It’s a rookie hazing.
And I’m loving it.
Even when the manager walks onto the field. Fisher stops when he spots us, parks his hands on his hips, shakes his head in exasperation . . .
Then laughs his ass off.
I might look like an utter dipshit, but I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
5
Declan
That was necessary.
For the team, of course.
But hey, I don’t mind that our hazing helped squash that inconvenient bout of lust brought on by The Insanely Hot and Adorably Charming Rookie.
The guy is too cute and too damn likable. Grant is like Captain America, but ten times sexier than any movie superhero.
He needed to be covered in ketchup.
Too bad he can’t wear condiments and baby powder for the next five weeks. Maybe that would put a damper on this attraction that sprang out of nowhere.
I’ll be fine.