Page 9 of Wild Pitch
Nope, no way was he going to see that I was still living at my parents' house. He wasnotpicking me up until I was out on my own. Besides, I’d much rather keep everything about my dating life completely quiet until I was certain there was something to tell.
Me: Maybe next time. I’d prefer to meet somewhere instead.
Luc: Do you like Italian food?
Me: Yes!
I answered immediately, even though I had a whole serving of leftovers in the refrigerator, I could eat Italian every single night if I had the opportunity.
Luc: Great. Let me do some research. Would you mind if I sent you the name of the place the day of?
Me: Sure.
Luc: Great. It was nice talking to you again, Kylie. Goodnight.
Me: Goodnight.
I wondered if I should have made Luc work a little harder before agreeing to a date. He seemed genuine, though but I honestly had no time in my life for games.
CHAPTER 6
LUC
Coach Bill Blanks had been with the Minutemen for more than ten seasons, a career feat that was unusual for pitching coaches. His wife had recently been diagnosed with a chronic illness, and he was transitioning out of the head coach role over the next few months. I was brought on at the beginning of the season and to take over that position.
I had held other pitching coach positions in Florida, LA, and Seattle, which was where I had previously worked with Sam Drummond. As the current ace pitcher, Sam’s perfect game had cemented my belief that he was a once in a lifetime talent. It was a major coincidence that the woman I had met on the plane also happened to be connected to Sam, and that added to the many things that could go wrong if I attempted a relationship with Kylie.
Her age was just one of the many reasons.
My season started early to mid-February each year, and if all went well, I worked through October. The playoffs were always a wild card, and the last time my team made the roster, they had sailed into the postseason with the best record in baseball. And then they were eliminated in the first round.
My schedule had contributed to my divorce, although it wasn’t the primary cause. Years of infertility had created stress and strain that weren’t something we could overcome. Our physical connection, which had initially drawn us together, wasn’t enough to hold us together when the focus was on fruitless baby-making. The battery of tests we both underwent offered no explanation and no cure. In the end, the blame always fell on me and my schedule.
Skylar’s insistence that I change careers had been the last straw. She had made a fortune before she turned eighteen, and her career continued to blossom in her twenties. With my trust fund fully available, neither of us needed to pursue day-to-day careers. She had expected me to transition into sports commentating versus continuing to coach. While it was something I thought I might pursue after I retired from coaching, I wasn’t ready to give up the daily grind. I loved the game and wanted to continue being a part of it for as long as possible.
Our divorce had been timed perfectly with the opportunity in Boston that had cleared the path for me to make a new start. And while my marriage and divorce were still in the back of my mind, I was more than ready to move on from the past.
So far, the season had kept me busy. Upon returning from my trip to the West Coast, I learned that they suspected Sam Drummond had the yips—a sudden, unexplained loss of his pitching ability. He’d been put on the disabled list, but with no explanation for his issues—certainly nothing that could be traced to an injury. We had to hope that his problems would resolve the same way they’d popped up.
I spent hours poring over the videos of his pitching, both before and after his unexplained issue, and there was no smoking gun. His mechanics had been unchanged, but every pitch he threw went bad.
Fast forward to his perfect game, and I tossed out the playbook of suggestions I’d spent a week developing. His cure was supposedly a cute redhead who had shown up with an infant strapped to the front of her in a baby carrier. Now, add to the equation that this good luck charm also happened to be Kylie’s sister.
Could this all become messy? Hell yes. Was I going to push forward anyway? Uh-huh.
Me to Jack: Sorry to tell you, but you were wrong. It wasn’t too late.
Jack: Let me guess, you played the ‘It’s been a while…’ excuse?
I didn’t respond. Jack was absolutely right. We had a long history of never giving the other one a point, even when they deserved it. I had assumed honesty was the best policy, but I guess there was something a littlePoor meabout telling Kylie I was rusty at dating.
Rusty, with the mechanics of dating, didn’t mean that I hadn’t spent several nights fantasizing about the games she and I would be playing. There was something about the way she looked at me—an innocence, a vulnerability that spoke to me on a deeper level. The way her fair skin flushed when she got excited had been enough for me to jerk off to every night since I had met her. Kylie was young, but she was exactly my type.
When we touched down in Minneapolis, I had a few hours to myself to explore before I had to be at the stadium. After more than ten years of traveling to the same cities, I had a few favorite haunts in each location. In Minneapolis and St. Paul, I had bookstores where I liked to shop.
Me to Kylie: Have you finished the first book in the series yet?
I browsed the shelves, holding two copies of the second book in the Mistborn trilogy in my hand, and waited for her to respond. I moved from the Fantasy section to sexuality and contemplated picking up a book on BDSM culture, but then put it back down. The lifestyle would best be discussed in person, rather than introduced through a book. And what if she walked away once she found out what types of things I liked in bed?
