Page 21 of Crew
“I guess you’re right. Just sucks.”
After we left the clubhouse and went through all the pregame stuff, I watched from the dugout as Stratton jogged onto the field and took my spot at first base. Because the dugout was on the right side, I had an unobstructed view of him as he and the other infielders tossed the ball around while our pitcher warmed up.
The umpire called for the game to start, and the first batter hit a grounder to Neal at second, who then tossed it to Stratton for the first out. The next two Brewers players hit fly balls that our outfielders easily caught.
As the game continued, neither team found its groove, offensively, and we were down 2-1. With my eyes glued to Stratton as he stretched to catch an off-balanced throw from third, I didn’t hear Davenport, our designated hitter tonight, come up behind me.
“He’s not half-bad out there, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
I glanced over my shoulder, my brow furrowed. “What?”
“You’ve been staring at Stratton all night. Figured you were worried about your job.”
When the game started, I may have been thinking along those lines, but my focus had shifted as the innings went on. Watching the guys not play any better without me in the starting lineup gave me a tiny sliver of satisfaction. It meant my struggles at the plate weren’t the only thing holding back the team.
Of course, I wanted us to win. I’d be a shitty teammate if I didn’t. But not feeling as if our wins and losses fell squarely on my shoulders allowed me to enjoy my view of the sexy-as-hell, six-foot baseball player standing at first.
“He’s decent, but I don’t think he’s after my job.” I chuckled.
By the eighth inning, the score remained the same. My teammates and I leaned against the rail, hoping someone would step up and start a rally. All it took was the first pitch, and Neal led off with a single. Davenport followed with a base hit, and it seemed as though the entire stadium could feel the momentum changing.
Stratton stepped into the batter’s box, and I mumbled a low, “You’ve got this.”
He fouled off the first two pitches, and as the opposing pitcher prepared to throw again, everything moved in slow motion. Stratton smacked a grounder into center field, allowing Neal and Davenport to score easily, finally giving the Rockies the lead.
We cheered as Stratton slid into second. The excitement didn’t last long because the next two batters struck out, and then Payne hit a pop up to the third baseman.
Thankfully, our closer was on fire, and he struck out the side in the top of the ninth, earning us a win we desperately needed.
The clubhouse was moreupbeat than it had been in a while. Music was playing again, and the guys were joking around, having a good time. It felt more like the MLB locker room I’d imagined when I was playing in the minors.
A freshly showered Stratton dropped into the chair next to mine. “I hope you’re back out there for tomorrow’s game.”
I smirked. “Why’s that?”
He shook his head. “Because I prefer playing behind the plate.”
“So, you’re not after my job?”
He laughed. “Nah. I sort of like having you on my team.”
His response wasn’t anything that would sound odd to someone if they overheard us, but the heat in his eyes had me believing his statement held more meaning than what was on the surface.
Once the rest of us cleaned up, got dressed, and demolished the food spread, everybody started to leave. No one mentioned going out to celebrate, which made sense. We’d won tonight, but one gamedidn’t cancel out our numerous losses. We still had a lot of work to do to pull off a decent season.
“Night, rookie,” Stratton said as he followed a few guys out.
I grabbed my backpack from my locker and pulled out my phone to slip it into my pocket. That’s when I noticed a text from him:
You should come to my place tonight
I glanced at the door again, but he was already gone.
I threw my bag onto my shoulder and headed to the player’s parking lot, where I slid into my rental. Before starting the car, I typed out a response:
I like that idea. See you soon
I raised my fist to knock on his door when it flung open, and Stratton tugged me inside.
