4. James
4
JAMES
“ You still have a month of training left, so don’t count on getting called up tonight.”
Yeah, right. Way to lull me into a false sense of security. It doesn’t matter though. I think. My heart’s pounding, but weirdly, I’m not that nervous, even though it’s my first time pitching in a major league game. This is my shot.
Still, I play it cool because I know how this works. I have to give the batters what they expect: a rookie pitcher who came straight from university, skipping right over the minor league. I’ll let them think I’m flustered, nervous, and terrified. A couple of slow practice wind-ups, an extra breath or two, maybe even a quick wipe of my forehead. All mind games, and I’m pretty solid with those.
Their next batter steps up with an annoyingly cocky grin plastered across his face. Alright, bud. Let’s play ball.
For the first pitch, I throw what looks like a simple, easy fastball right down the middle. He makes solid contact, and the ball flies into foul territory. Second pitch: another fastball to lull him into a false sense of security.
Now it’s the third pitch. If I play things right, he’ll strike out. I wind up, slow and a little unsteady, pretending to be nervous. I subtly fix my position and spring into the throw, the curveball leaving my hand just as I practiced. He swings late and off-balance, missing completely. Strikeout. For effect, I shrug and smile, as if to suggest that this was only a fluke.
We’re up by one heading into the top of the ninth, and I’m still on the mound. Even so, with such a tight game, I can’t slip up. One mistake, and we’re facing extra innings, or worse.
After an anticlimactic strikeout, Washington’s next batter steps up and locks eyes with me. I dig my cleats into the mound, gripping the ball tightly as I adjust my position before winding up and pitching. My fastball is solid and right on target, dashing straight toward the batter. He swings, connects, and sends the ball flying high into the outfield.
That’s not good.
My heart rate climbs steadily as I watch the ball race further and further away. I mutter frustratedly to myself, wondering why I gave the guy such an easy shot at scoring a home run. This is definitely not how I wanted my first game to play out, but as I keep reminding myself, these things happen. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Ethan. He’s tracking the ball and sprinting faster than any outfielder I’ve seen before. It’s coming down fast, but he’s faster.
Ethan leaps toward the ball, stretching his long arm up toward the sky. After a terrifying, stomach-churning two seconds, he snags it, all while managing to look super smooth in the process. Washington’s dugout deflates as Ethan jogs back to position, all calm and composed like he didn’t just make a game-changing catch. He tosses the ball back in, and I shoot him a nod. One more out. That’s all we need.
Back on the mound, I stare down the next batter. The tension is off the charts, but I push it aside and focus.
I can tell he’s dying to make something happen. Slowly, I wind up before releasing my first pitch. He swings, and the ball shoots toward the ground. It’s a hard grounder to our shortstop, who scoops it up cleanly. He pivots and fires it to first. The throw is sharp and Dave, our first baseman, stretches out, his foot firmly on the base as he makes the catch.
Out.
We did it.
The team races back to the dugout and we all celebrate excitedly, recounting the highs of the game and congratulating each other. Ethan is getting a ton of compliments on the catch he made in the ninth, and he looks a lot happier than he did earlier in the evening. I offer a few praises of my own before heading into the clubhouse for a shower.
We’re all done showering in no time. Since we have the morning off tomorrow, some of the team veterans are already rounding us up, their sights set on what they call a go-to spot near the ballpark. We head over to the bar and order, but I’m not going too hard tonight. The team still has a mandatory practice tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t want to show up feeling like shit.
As I take a sip of my beer, Ethan slides up next to me holding a glass of something carbonated. “You crushed it out there tonight,” he says with a grin.
I shrug, trying to play it off. “Just keeping up with the team. That catch you made in the ninth? You saved our asses out there.”
Ethan gives a small laugh. “Group effort?”
Sheesh. He’s humble. With his skills, most guys would brag endlessly, but I haven’t seen anything get to Ethan’s head.
Taking another sip, I reply. “Seriously, though. You’re good . We’re glad you’re on our side.”
Ethan flashes a smile and we clink our glasses together.
Gabe, one of our catchers, leans across the table unexpectedly. His eyes are drooping and he’s clearly already a couple drinks in.
“So, James, you wrangle up any girls yet? Figured you’d have a few lined up by now,” Gabe says with a smirk, clapping my shoulder with a bit too much force.
The table erupts with a mixture of laughter and “knowing” glances. My stomach tightens. This whole rumor that I’m dying to fuck wherever I walk is getting old.
Pressing my mouth into a tight line, I throw a look at Ethan, and he’s cautiously suppressing a smile.
“James probably has a group waiting for him back at the hotel,” Ethan says. He gives me a grin, but his eyes don’t meet mine.
I laugh it off, shaking my head. “Nah, I’m just here to chill with the team tonight.” This whole thing bothers me, even though I’m trying to stay chill about it. Knowing that even Ethan’s heard my fuckboy rumors hits harder than I expected. He wasn’t there. Nothing happened, but that isn’t how everyone else saw it.
I’m not that kind of guy. I don’t want to be that kind of guy.
Sure, I hooked up back in university, but it was nothing crazy. Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t a fuckboy. Hell, between classes, studying, and games, I barely had time to sleep.
I’m unusually quiet for the rest of the night as I nurse one beer, keeping my face set in what’s hopefully a neutral, not-pissed-off expression. I’d prefer not to be seen as a player, especially by my teammates, and definitely not by Ethan. But once you get a label, it’s hard to shake.