Page 37 of Knox
We held onto the lead through the eighth, and by the time Wilner, our closer, stepped onto the mound in the top of the ninth, I was ready to add another game to the win column.
They had two outs and no one on base.
Crew crouched behind the plate, looking completely relaxed like he hadn’t been in that position for eight innings under the sun’s bright rays. From my vantage point, I could still tell he had called for a fastball inside based on the way he set up to receive the ball.
Wilner delivered, and the batter swung and missed.
The next pitch went the exact same way.
The batter stepped out of the box and adjusted his batting gloves. Once he was set again, it looked as though Crew called for a breaking ball.
The off-speed pitch caught the batter looking, and the umpire called strike three.
And just like that, the game was over.
Back in the clubhouse, music from Jacobs’ playlist pumped through the speakers connected to his phone. I was unlacing my cleats when Turner dropped onto the chair next to me and Crew.
“We’ve all been playing our asses off, it’s time to have a little fun tonight.” He smirked.
Crew unbuttoned his jersey and tossed it in the laundry bins. “Going to hit up Scotty’s?”
Scotty’s was the bar we’d gone to a few times since spring training had started.
Ramos shook his head. “We always go to that bar. Let’s go somewhere with some music, lights, and some ladies looking tohave a good time. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a bachelorette party to crash.”
I laughed, and Crew looked at me. “You up for it?”
I shrugged. “Sure. As long as Ramos doesn’t tell any women we’re the strippers they hired.”
“No promises.” Ramos winked and headed for the showers.
The club lightsflashed green and purple as our team walked across the venue as if we owned the place. Most of us wanted to grab drinks, while a few stopped along the way to chat up some people.
Crew and I walked hand in hand, following Turner and Jacobs to the bar. Turner ordered a round of tequila shots for everyone, and despite not being a fan, I took the small glass from my teammate’s outstretched hand and downed the shot.
It burned the entire way down, and I grimaced. Before I could search for something to help get rid of the disgusting taste, Crew passed me a lime wedge.
“Thanks,” I muttered, biting down and sucking out the juice.
“Amateur,” he teased.
“Says the guy who made the same face when he tried the IPA I picked up a few nights ago.”
“That was one time.” He glared at me playfully. “And even you have to admit, that shit was awful.”
We both laughed. It really had been bad, and I’d officially retired from picking out beer for the house.
Wanting something besides tequila, I ordered a bottle of Stella, and Crew opted for a vodka soda.
My man leaned back against the bar as he sipped his drink. “Looks like Ramos found what he was looking for.” He nodded toward a group in the corner.
Sure enough, Ramos was already surrounded by several women including one wearing a “Bride” T-shirt, and he was flashing them all a cocky grin. One who wore a matching “Bridesmaid” tee threw her head back and laughed at something he said, her hand lingering on his arm.
“He better be careful or he’ll be the one getting married.” I snorted.
Crew chuckled but then went quiet. “You ever miss it?” he asked after a beat.
I shifted to face him. “Miss what?”
