Chapter Eighteen
A creepy fog hung over the stadium lights. Slugfest’s parking lot was practically deserted, and night had fallen quickly during their drive from the university. Razor looked over the hood of her truck and saw apprehension on Ashton’s face.
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Over your idea? No. But you have to admit this is how horror movies start. The unsuspecting victim is taken out to the middle of nowhere, and by the time she figures out she’s in danger, it’s too late.”
Razor laughed and clasped Ashton’s hand. “Don’t worry. No axes or chainsaws here.”
She was happy when Ashton didn’t pull away, but she was surprised when she felt Ashton interlock their fingers.
Razor looked down and smiled shyly. Ashton’s smile was mild as well, but the blush on her cheeks told Razor the move wasn’t an accident.
As they neared the door, when Razor normally would’ve let go, she squeezed harder and prolonged the contact until she had to open the door.
They entered the warehouse, and the warmth was a nice reprieve from the chill of the night. Razor made a beeline toward the cage at the far end of the row but stopped when Jimmy walked through the lobby door.
“Hey slick, I thought we were meeting up at your place.”
Razor groaned. “I forgot to call you. Change in plans, I’m afraid.” She gestured. “This is my friend, Ashton Sharpe.”
Jimmy tipped the bill of his hat. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“We actually met,” Ashton said. “I was part of the group that came to recruit Razor in January.”
Jimmy’s smile broadened, and he shook her hand vigorously. “Oh, well, then I’m really happy to make your acquaintance.”
“Why’s that?”
“Anyone that can put the pep back in this one’s step”—he slung a finger at Razor—“has my heartfelt gratitude.”
He eyed Ashton in a way that didn’t sit well with Razor. It was as if he was silently telegraphing I have a lot of stories about this girl that I’m dying to tell you. Razor cleared her throat and tried to distract him from doing just that.
“Jimmy, help me get a few pieces of equipment, please. Ashton, if you want to go down to the last cage in the row, I’ll be over there shortly.”
Ashton smiled and walked away. When Razor turned back, Jimmy sported a knowing grin.
“Don’t,” she said.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied and followed her behind the counter.
“Ashton is a friend, not to mention my coach. She wanted to learn how to hit, and I’m providing that opportunity.”
“But I thought you were postponing private lessons until the season ended,” Jimmy said.
Razor huffed as she grabbed helmets, a bat, and a tee stand. “She got some good news today, and she wanted to celebrate.”
“So, this is a date?”
Razor shook her head. “No, it’s not a date.”
“I’d hope not,” Jimmy replied. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve been on one, but a woman like Ashton looks like she deserves a nice dinner, maybe some dancing.”
“Where is there dancing around here?”
“The Barn Bar has it Friday nights.”
Razor scoffed. “That’s line dancing. Not really romantic.”
Jimmy instantly chuckled, and she realized her mistake. “So, you do know what romance is.”
Razor looked over her shoulder to make sure Ashton hadn’t come looking for her, then turned back to Jimmy and whispered, “If I tell you something, will you leave me alone about it?” Jimmy nodded.
“Okay. Would I like to be more than friends? Yes. Would I like to take her on a proper date? Absolutely. But as I mentioned before, she is also my coach. I don’t want to put her in a precarious position that could jeopardize her career, and I refuse to cause any team chaos. ”
Jimmy nodded and slapped her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He turned and walked away. As Razor grabbed a bucket of balls and turned the opposite way, she heard him shout, “Good-bye, Ashton. I hope to see you again real soon.”
Razor grumbled, “Jackass,” and wobbled down the row with all her equipment.
* * *
Ashton ran up to Razor and grabbed the bat and bucket before she toppled over. “You should’ve asked me for help.”
Razor dropped everything in front of the cage. “You’re the guest of honor. You don’t carry anything.”
Ashton’s cheeks warmed, and she nodded in acquiescence. “Very well. Where shall we start?”
“Get in the cage,” Razor ordered. Ashton did as she was told and watched Razor set up the tee stand and put the ball on top. She then placed a helmet on Ashton’s head.
“This is a bat,” Razor announced, holding it sideways out in front of her. Ashton arched her eyebrow at Razor’s coy smile and snatched the bat out of her hand.
“All right, smart-ass, you don’t have to go that far. I do know the mechanics, so can we skip a few steps?”
Razor snickered and gently grabbed Ashton’s shoulders.
Immediately, Ashton’s body reacted. Her spine straightened, her leg muscles tightened, and she squeezed the handle of the bat.
Razor glided them over to the tee stand.
It was only when she stepped around to the other side that Ashton’s body slumped forward and relaxed.
“Now, the key is to keep your eye on the ball.”
“I said we can skip ahead.”
“This we cannot skip,” Razor said, her tone serious. “This is the key to being able to hit. Now, get into your batter’s stance.”
Ashton did as instructed—right hand over left on the bat handle, her feet in a wide stance in the batter’s box, and the head of the bat high over her head. Razor came around and tilted the bat downward in a slow rotation.
“The important thing to remember is if you see the ball, you can hit the ball. Bring the bat to that spot.”
Slowly, Ashton rotated her hips, and with minimal guidance from Razor’s grasp, she lined the bat up with the center of the ball.
“How does that feel?”
Ashton wiggled her hips and shook out her arms. “A little awkward, to be honest.”
Razor placed the bat back on Ashton’s shoulder and stood behind her. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
Ashton closed her eyes to stave off the reaction of her treacherous body to Razor’s sultry tone. Only, it probably wasn’t sultry. Rough, yes, but not sultry. No matter what her body thought.
She nodded and felt the light press of fingertips on either side of her neck.
“It’s important to keep everything in line when you swing. Your neck stays in line with your shoulders and your hips.” Every body part Razor mentioned was accented with the lightest touch. Only when she touched Ashton’s hips did she apply a little more pressure and persuaded her to turn.
“As your hips move forward, make sure you twist your torso and bring the bat down on the same line.”
They moved in unison as Ashton shifted her weight forward, keeping her eyes on the ball. Her arms came down and the bat lined up perfectly with the ball’s center.
“How’d that feel? Better?”
“Much better,” Ashton breathed.
“Reset. Try it now at full speed.”
Razor’s touch disappeared, and she backed up against the fence behind them.
Ashton took a deep breath to clear her head and focused on Razor’s instructions.
Her gaze burned a hole in the ball as she ground the toe of her front foot into the turf.
She shifted her weight back and brought the bat head down.
Hips, shoulders, neck, all in line. When she made contact, she looked up and watched the ball fly through the air.
She smiled, euphoria building inside her.
For the first time in her life, she’d hit a softball.
Razor clapped and cheered loudly behind her. “Woohoo! Ashton Sharpe just hit a walk-off single. The Hornets have won the championship.”
Ashton let the bat dangle from her hand and laughed at Razor jumping up and down like a cheerleader.
“Why wasn’t it a walk-off grand slam?” she asked.
Razor waved her off and placed another ball on the tee stand. “If you do that ten times in a row, then we’ll see if you’re grand slam level yet.”
Ashton picked up the bat and went through her motion again. This time, though, she hit the top of the tee stand, and the ball dribbled onto the turf. The next one yielded a mildly better result, the ball rolling slowly across the floor.
“Don’t forget to keep everything in line. And take your time. We’re not in any rush.”
Ashton took a deep breath and slowed her pace. Each hit, while it wasn’t the grand slam, progressively got better than the last. By the time they emptied the bucket of balls, Razor crowned her with the title Queen of the Swinging Bunt.
“It’s a title I happily accept,” Ashton said.
She helped Razor pack up all the gear and waited patiently when Razor gave closing instructions to Jimmy and a young girl. As they exited the warehouse, Ashton rubbed her shoulder.
“Make sure you take ibuprofen and put ice on that when you get home,” Razor said.
“Will do. So, where to next?”
Razor stopped by her truck. “What do you mean?”
Ashton wasn’t ready to let their evening end. “This wasn’t the only thing we planned to do to celebrate, was it?”
Razor gaped at her like a fish. “Well, it was all I had planned, but I’m up for doing something else. What did you have in mind?”
“I’m starving after that. How about you?”
Razor nodded and fished her keys out of her pocket. “I could eat. Do you have a place in mind?”
“I know this great little pizza place near campus. And my house is just around the corner.”
“Perfect.”
They climbed into Razor’s truck and pulled out of the parking lot. Ashton, still on a high from the hitting lesson, bounced up and down in the passenger’s seat.
“This has been such a great day. My study got approved, I learned how to hit a softball, and I’m on a date with my favorite person.”
Razor slammed on the brakes and turned to Ashton, wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry,” Ashton said, not sure what else to say to erase the look of panic on Razor’s face.
“Are we on a date?”
Ashton considered her next words carefully. “Um…yeah. I guess. In the sense of being two friends hanging out and getting dinner. That’s all.”
Please buy that horrid excuse.
Razor nodded and started driving again. It wasn’t until they passed the sign into Bono that she finally spoke.