Chapter 8 Cam #2
“Fuck you, Kallias.” The asshole. This was par the course for him, and Paulie, if a pitcher was rattled. Come out and tell a joke or make a crack about the batter’s mother. Anything that worked to calm us down.
“I feel good about an inside curve then that slider for this chump,” Yanni said, his mask atop his sweaty head, face covered with dark whiskers.
“Got it. Inside curve, then the backdoor slider. That’s good. I’m feeling good tonight.”
“Just pound the zone. Trust my mitt. We’re fucking Batman and Robin.”
“You said ‘pound’.” I couldn’t let it pass. I was a twelve-year-old deep down it seemed.
“You said ‘backdoor’.” Yanni jogged back to home base, snickering like fucking Beavis.
Hernandez gave him the oddest look before stepping back up to the plate.
I blew out a deep breath. Inside curve. Inside curve.
Inside curve. The pitch was dead on, sweet as granny’s candy, appearing to the batter as if it was going to be a ball before it broke sharply down and in, toward the inside of the strike zone.
He took an awkward swing. The grounder was weak, rolling to the shortstop, who got the easy out at first. The crowd cheered.
Okay, one down, two more to go. I suspected this would round out my night on the mound as Kitterman was warming up in the bullpen.
I needed to get the next two out neatly and show Jari I was… what?
“A stud,” I whispered to myself, eying the next man in the lineup.
Easy out. Their catcher was good, but his hitting left something to be desired.
He went down in three swings, each one a fastball that he was sure he could knock to the river.
“You are a stud,” I repeated as the DH stepped up to bat.
Now that pitchers no longer batted, we faced a designated hitter who stepped in for the pitcher.
A rule change that I didn’t mind because I hated always being the weak link in the offensive lineup.
This guy was a slim, small dude who could run like the wind if given a chance. I didn't want to give him that chance.
My first pitch was a ball, the second a strike, and the third met the bat with a crack that made me flinch.
My sight followed that round, white, hardball.
The ball soared high and to the right, arcing downward and into the mitt of Jackson Toss, our left fielder.
I sighed in relief, then made my way to the dugout, taking a moment to tip my cap to Jari before disappearing from view.
I was now a spectator. The relief pitcher was on the mound as I started hitting the water hard.
One of the trainers handed me some menthol rub for my shoulder.
I massaged some in as the seventh inning began.
It sucked that we couldn’t have our cell phones in the dugout.
I was anxious to hear what Jari thought of the game so far, but electronic devices were a no-no.
Sign-stealing was a big worry, so no phones were allowed.
I’d have to sit here on my hands until I got back to the locker room to text him about that maybe burger.
I hoped he had been slightly impressed with my performance.
I wouldn’t delve into why I was so worried about his being awestruck by my athletic grace and prowess. Nope. We would not go there…
It was close to eleven when I finally broke free of the press after our last win of the season.
So many questions about my plans. I planned to play ball and maybe go have a damn burger with a new friend.
Those were my plans. Jari had been incredibly kind to wait for me in a little micro pub in a corner on North 2nd Street called Jane’s Juke Joint.
I’d had to stop myself from running to the bar; I was so eager to spend time with him.
The place was packed with younger patrons.
Younger, meaning under thirty. There were signs pointing to a rooftop seating area that I followed to find Jari sitting alone in the corner, watching a group of college kids playing beer pong.
The atmosphere was loud and rowdy, making Jari seem horribly out of place. He was the polar opposite of rowdy.
“Hey,” I yelled over the hooting of the beer pong winners coupled with the thumping of a new song by Kehlani. “This place is gas.”
He cocked a slim eyebrow as I dropped down beside him at the small round table. “Yeah, I guess. It’s making my eyes ache.”
I chuckled and then removed my jacket. Giving the room a once-over, I finally found someone wearing an apron, so I waved.
“Where are your buddies?” I shouted at Jari to be heard above the music.
“They wanted to go to a club to wheel some chicks.” Some skinny guy bounced off the back of Jari’s seat, drunk out of his gourd, but still had the courtesy to belch out an apology. “They said this place was…”
“Gas?”
“Yeah, ‘gas’.” He took a sip of his orange soda. “They say the chili burgers are great, so I figured we could try it. We can leave if you want.”
“Do you want?”
“No, it’s fine. I like chili burgers.”
The server was still over at the bar talking to a girl with pink hair. I waved again. She nodded. “I think I may die of dehydration.”
“Sorry.” He shrank into himself a little more.
“No need to be sorry. It’s not your fault the service isn’t great. It’s a Friday night. It’s fine. So, I saw your final preseason game against Washington?” I was sure it was Washington, but mostly I’d been watching Jari. “Podcasters are talking about your soft hands.”
See? I could talk hockey.
“Oh, they say that all the time,” Jari said, dismissing the words as if they were nothing.
The server arrived. I ordered a seasonal ale, pumpkin spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, as well as two chili burgers with curly fries.
Jari nodded at the order. Off she went into the crowds.
We fell into light conversation, generally about our sports or charities.
I chatted about Kind Bridge because they were having a fall fundraiser for Halloween.
The more big-name jocks we could get signed up, the more funds would pour in, so I talked up the event quite a bit.
Since his captain had already committed him, I wanted to reassure him that it would be fun.
Our food arrived sans my beer. I asked the server where it was and got that oops look before the server disappeared again.
“You can have some of my soda,” Jari said before wrestling the biggest, messiest burger I had ever seen to his mouth.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve not been kissing anyone with a cold,” he tossed out with a playful wink that knocked me right out of my lucky socks.
Before I said something stupid about his prettiness, I stuffed my mouth full of fries.
Little talking took place while we wolfed down our late-night meal.
The food was incredible. The pumpkin ale?
No clue, as it never materialized. I did end up washing down my final bite of burger with some orange soda.
The crowd was growing louder and rowdier the more soused they became, so when the check came, I jumped on it.
I wouldn’t dwell on how I had planned my night around Jari. Nope. Not going there.
“Let me pay half,” Jari yelled over an old Drake song that had the kids bumping and grinding even though there was no dance floor. Drake will do that to a person.
“Nah, I’ve got it, you can do next time.”