Page 10 of Pitching for Keeps
"Tracy, you're stretching your quad, not your hamstring."
I switch legs. "I knew that."
"Want company?" He's already stretching—correctly—and I try not to notice how his shirt rides up. "I know a good route. There's a park with a baseball field about two miles out."
Of course there is. Because the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "Just a casual run between two people who barely know each other."
We jog, and I concentrate on not dying. Jay kindly keeps the pace easy, though I catch him hiding a smile when I start breathing hard after half a mile.
"So," he says conversationally, "twenty-one strikeouts."
"Was that a lot? I couldn't tell."
"You marked my release point changes between the fourth and fifth innings."
I almost trip. "You saw my scorecard?"
"Ted noticed you in the stands. Said there was a woman charting pitches like a scout." He glances at me sideways. "He asked if the Stars had hired someone new."
"That's... embarrassing."
"That's incredible. Do you know how much I've missed having you watch me and understand what I’m doing and why?"
The words hang between us in the humid morning air. We run in silence until we reach the park.
The baseball field spreads out before us in the early morning light, dew still glittering on the grass. My feet automatically carry me toward the mound.
"Remember when you taught me how to throw a curveball?" I ask, stepping onto the rubber.
"You mean when you demanded I teach you so you could, quote, 'properly appreciate the artistry'?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
He joins me on the mound, standing close. "Want to see if you remember the grip?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. He takes my hand, positioning my fingers on an imaginary baseball. His hands are warm and calloused, exactly like I remember.
"Two fingers here," he murmurs, adjusting my grip. "Thumb underneath..."
I look up at him, and he's looking down at me, and we're definitely not talking about baseball anymore. The sunrise is painting everything golden, and Jay's eyes are doing that soft thing they used to do right before?—
"Yo, is that Jay Talley?"
We jump apart like we've been electrocuted. Two high school boys in baseball gear are jogging onto the field, equipment bags slung over their shoulders.
"Dude, it is him!" The taller one elbows his friend. "Twenty-one strikeouts last night!"
Jay shifts into professional athlete mode, but his ears are pink. "Thanks, guys. You here for early practice?"
"Yeah, summer training." The shorter one's eyes shift between us, and his grin turns wicked. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt your... morning run."
"We were just—" I start.
"Getting private pitching lessons?" The tall one smirks. "At six AM? On the mound?"
My face is on fire. "I like Mounds. They're very... moundy."
