Page 52 of Left on Base

“I wanna see what happens when he’s mad.”

“Nah, fuck y’all. You do it.”

“No way, bro.” I step onto the field, feeling the familiar crunch of cleats on dirt. “I’m not stupid.”

Jameson snorts and parks himself on the bench. “And I am?”

“Mmm. Debatable some days.” I shrug and take a few practice cuts.

“Bitch, whatever.” He rolls his eyes as I join Ollie in the on-deck circle.

I elbow Ollie. “Ya think Lou has a temper?”

Ollie wipes his face with his sleeve, thinking. “If anyone’s gonna find out, it’s gonna be King.”

“True.” Can’t argue with that. But right now, my mind’s split between tonight’s game and wondering if Camdyn’s plane has landed. Three weeks is a long time to go without seeing that smile she saves for me—the one that makes me forget about batting averages and ERAs and everything except her. But first, we’ve got a rivalry game to win, and I’ve got about six hours to get my head on straight.

We’re finishingup BP when I hear Jameson laugh. “Jax. Come look at this.”

I glance down the dugout, where he’s hunched over his bag like he’s guarding nuclear launch codes. Come to think of it, he’s been weirdly focused on that bag the last hour. “What?”

He waves me over, trying to look innocent and failing. “C’mere.”

I keep packing up my gear, taking my sweet time. “If you have another squirrel in your bag, no.”

“Nah, man. I don’t.”

After a long, suspicious drink from my water bottle, I make my way over, cleats scraping against the concrete. I keep mydistance—I learned that lesson in Texas when he “surprised” me with a scorpion.

“What? I’ma punch you in the face if that’s a snake or some shit.”

He points into his bag, grinning. “Look.”

Reluctantly, I peer over the edge, half-expecting something to pop out. Instead, I’m staring into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen on a cat. A tiny black furball looking up at us like we’re the weird ones.

“Jameson,” I sigh, already knowing where this is going. “Get that thing out of there.”

“No.” He pets its head like he’s found his soulmate. “He needs me. His mom isn’t here.”

“How would you know? Maybe she’s out finding food.”

“He’s not a bird. If the mom left, she ain’t coming back.”

I blink, trying to decide if this is classic Jameson bullshit or if he actually knows what he’s talking about. With him, it’s always a coin flip. “How would you know?”

He rolls his eyes like I’m the dumbest person alive. “I grew up in the country. I know these things.”

“Mhm.” I back away and grab my Gatorade. “You can’t keep it.”

“What are you, my fucking dad? Why not?”

I take a long drink, staring at him. “You live in a dorm room.”

“So? It’s not a dog. We don’t have to walk it.” Jameson cradles the kitten against his chest like it’s glass, and the little thing lets out the world’s tiniest meow. Great. “It really likes me.”

“Awesome.” I cap my Gatorade. “It imprinted on you.”

He frowns. “What’s that mean?”

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