21. SHANE
TWENTY-ONE
SHANE
We are on fucking fire tonight. Me and Stone specifically. Jed hit a grand slam in the fifth and, damn, was it sexy. He knew it was gone the moment he made contact, and the confident swagger in his step really did it for me. Like uncomfortable-wearing-a-cup did it for me.
Last night has made everything so much worse. It did nothing to get him out of my system. No, now he’s taken up residence. He’s in my bloodstream, and I need more. As the great Christopher Walken would say, I’ve got a fever…and the only prescription is more Jed Stone Jr.
This game is almost over, and we’re so close to finally bringing in a win.
It’s the top of the ninth, we’re up by two, one out, and they’ve got a guy on first. So close.
I’m a little nervous because Slater, our closer for the night, isn’t hitting the strike zone well.
He already walked the guy who’s parked at first. We cannot lose this with walks.
He fires one in. I can tell it’s sailing outside before it even gets to the plate—but the batter goes fishing for it. God knows why. I mean, I do get it. Sometimes you can’t help but reach for it, then feel like the biggest sucker after.
Woo. Strike one. Two more. One batter at a time.
We’ve got this. Slater manages one over the plate and—fuck—contact.
It’s a sharp grounder straight to short.
I sprint to the bag, gaze locked on Jed charging for it.
He dives, glove extended, and—shit, if he misses this, we are royally screwed.
He’s fucking got it. He doesn’t waste precious seconds getting up; he shotputs it to me from his stomach.
The second it hits my glove, I spring off the bag and whip it to first just as the runner comes sliding into my bag.
The ball lands in Roche’s glove, and it’s not even close. Out. Double Play. Game over.
We won.
We broke our losing streak.
A grin splits my face, and Stone and I jog toward each other. He lifts his forearm.
“Fuck, we needed that,” he says.
I bump his arm with mine. “That was a pretty play.”
“Looks like we’re finally figuring out how to work together.”
“Guess all it took was some shared orgasms.” I wink and jog off to high-five Paulie, Jed’s choked surprise trailing behind me.
I piggyback ride East into the locker room.
I am on cloud nine. It has been so damn depressing here lately.
You’d think you just walked into a different clubhouse with how rowdy everyone is now.
Paulie slaps me so hard on the ass that both East and I eat shit.
We’re laughing, trying to catch our breath on the floor, when the skipper walks in.
We hurry to sit up, and the room quiets—kind of, it gets less loud—but it’s pretty hard to contain the joy flowing through this room right now.
“Short and sweet, guys. Good job out there. Don’t let it go to your heads. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” Dominguez turns to me. “Michaels.” He scans the room and stops on Jed. “Stone. Keep braiding each other’s hair. Clearly, it worked.”
The room erupts in snickers. “Hey, if I have to rock braids for us to win, I’ll take one for the team,” I say and get a few more laughs. “I’d look damn good in braids.”
“Man, you rocked a thong to get us to win,” Paulie says, his laughter rolling through his voice. “Braids are nothing on that.”
“And on that note, I’m wrapping this up,” Dominguez says, but his lips curve. “Bus leaves at nine a.m. sharp. Don’t make me chase you down. We have a long stretch of away games coming up, starting in Hartford tomorrow, and we need to ride this win.” He gives us a short nod and leaves.
Olander rolls over to me, eyebrows comically high. “I need details.”
Devereux slaps him across the back of the head on his way to the showers. “Why do you want details of Michaels in a thong, dude?”
The light in Olander’s eyes instantly dies, and the color drains from his face. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he sputters. But Dev has already disappeared around the corner that leads to the showers.
“It’s a fantastic story,” Paulie says. “Dev’s loss for not wanting to hear it.”
“Truth.” I turn to Olander, and my gaze catches on Jed’s. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching me. “You know Giambi’s golden thong?”
His lips twitch, and he shakes his head. I wonder if our superstition talk from last night just popped into his head like it did for me.
I look back at Olander. His brows are set, and he’s nodding. “Of course, man.”
“So, two years ago in Double-A, we were in a horrible slump. Like I’m talking a ten-game losing streak.”
His eyes widen. “Dark times,” he whispers.
“Yeah. And we tried everything to get out of it. Nothing was getting us out of our heads, though. So, I was like, I know one fool-proof slump breaker. The one that worked for Giambi. For Jeter.”
He tilts forward. “You got Giambi’s thong?”
The awe in his voice makes me cackle. “Nah, I wish. I ordered a bunch online and convinced the entire team to wear them.”
Paulie leans between us. “We won. And let me say. Do not recommend catching in a thong. Zero out of ten.”
Olander and I wince in unison. Yeah, didn’t think about that when I came up with the idea.
Paulie chuckles. “Was worth it to finally break the streak, though.”
I glance back up to find Jed still watching me. “The superstition stuff works. Don’t disrespect the woo-woo.”
“Well, in that case. Everyone needs to make sure they do exactly what they did leading up to today’s game. To the fucking T,” Olander says.
My smile turns sly. “You hear that, Pebs. Whatever you did last night? You need to do it again.”
“Or who!” Araujo calls out.
The locker room breaks out in laughter.
Jed lifts a hand to cover what I know is a smile. He rolls his eyes, pushes off the wall, and heads toward the athletic trainer’s room.
I hurry after him, and we fall into stride.
“Looks like we’re going to have to break your one-night rule,” I murmur.
He keeps staring straight ahead. “Nice try, Michaels.”
Ick. Michaels? I don’t like that. I want Sunshine back. “Come on, man. I know it’s such a sacrifice. But think of the team. Do it for the team.”
He slows to a stop outside Duncan’s room and turns to me while he waits for Roche to finish up on the table.
“You are literally the most ridiculous human.” But he’s smiling.
Not with his mouth, but there’s a rare glimmer in those steely brown irises.
So, I’ll take it. “It’s not happening again.
Despite your obsession with superstitions, it would be the opposite of good for the team. Nice try, though.”
“You think it’s that easy?” I wing a brow. I lean forward and drop my voice. “You think you can resist this?”
He leans forward. “Yes.”
Then he continues by me and walks past a departing Roche into the trainer’s room.
Well, fuck.
I bite my lip, gaze trained on his flexing thighs as he hops onto the table. That’s when the best idea ever in the history of ideas comes to me… I hurry out of the locker room and head for the skipper’s office.