Chapter 6 #2
"Now, for your stance, you want your feet apart, about shoulder width.
Good. Throwing hand goes behind your head like you know to do, elbow up.
" A chuckle. "Maybe not that far up. There you go.
You do all this naturally, like when the ball is up like that?
Take a step." I do. "See? Your opposite foot is gonna step out first. Look down--see where your toe is pointed?
That's the direction the ball's will go. "
"Whoops." My toe is turned in, and I straighten it.
"Another way to gauge your aim is where your elbow is pointed."
"Double whoops," I say on a laugh, since my elbow was pointed in the opposite direction my toe was. "Does that mean it would have gone straight?"
A snort. "I wouldn't count on it. Now the reason you threw the ball backward the other day is the release point.
" I watch as he winds up with his left hand so I can see what he's doing.
For a second, I get distracted by the strong line of his brow, nose, lips.
"You want to let it go about when the ball is level with your ear.
Do it too early and you drop the ball behind you.
Too late, and it'll just dribble in front of you. Give it a shot."
I screw up my mouth, thinking about my feet and my elbow and my hand and what it's level with, chucking the ball. It dives into the ground and rolls away.
"Too late?"
"Too late. Take a deep breath and hold it," he says, retrieving my ball.
"Now let it out." I do. "Good." He pauses in front of me and puts the ball in my glove.
But I'm glued to his eyes as they pin me to the spot.
"This time don't think about it at all. Don't think about anything, just pick a spot down the field and throw it. "
I nod like a bobblehead, and he steps out of the way. Empty headed, courtesy of his proximity, my eyes land on a spot on the fence across the field and I throw the ball. It sails maybe twenty feet and thumps to the ground to roll another five or six.
Again my jaw pops open, and I swivel to look at him. "Magic."
A puff of laughter through his nose. "Biomechanics." He puts another ball in my glove, the pleased look on his face doing something hot and tingly to me. "Again," he commands.
So I throw it. And another. And another. Each one goes farther, and by the last one, I'm giggling like a crazy person, and my poor, rarely used arm is burning.
"How did you do that?" I ask, incredulous.
"I didn't. You did."
My gaze sweeps the heavens. "You know what I mean."
"I do," is all he says, handing me a bat. "Okay, show me how you're gonna hit it."
I try to remember all the things…knuckles in a line, back straight, feet apart, swing. I look to him for approval, but he's already moving to get behind me. One big hand rests on my hip, and I can feel the heat of his body like a furnace. My pulse ticks faster.
"Loosen your grip a little. Wider stance.
" Again, he nudges my feet apart, and again, very dirty thoughts blast through my brain.
One hand is still on my hip, the other closing over mine to adjust my placement.
"Don't just swing with your arms--use your whole body by turning your hips.
" He guides the bat in a slow, mock swing, pulling my hip back at the same speed.
His back knee and thigh meet mine, bending it with the twist. His hips are nearly against me, so close that if I shifted even a little, I could fit my ass against them.
Instantly, my brain scrambles. When he steps back and lets me go, I almost fall backward.
He's standing in front of me with his own bat, in one hand and a ball in the other. "Watch. Like this."
In one perfect, smooth motion, he tosses the ball in the air, winds up, and cracks the thing right in its sweet spot. I watch it sail away, blinking at it when it lands a mile away. It's the hottest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
Seemingly unaffected, he's now in front of me with a fresh ball and no bat. "Your turn. Ready?"
"Nope."
He chuckles, bringing the ball back underhanded with a little nod.
Once again, he's managed to remove all thoughts from my brain, so when the ball comes my way, I swing, my hips turning, eyes locked on it.
Thwack. The force reverberates up my arms and to my shoulders, and the ball flies straight at his shoulder.
He only seems to shift a little in order to catch it.
I'm laughing and dancing and cheering, feeling like I'm going to explode. "I hit it! I hit it!"
"Told you you could." The pleased look on his face this time is enough to singe. The heat of it swarms low in my belly.
"You're a wizard!"
A snort. "Come on. Do it again."
So I do. Boom. Then again. Crack. Each time, he lets me giggle and celebrate, finally laughing. Out loud. With a whole smile. With teeth.
I have never been so happy in my whole life. Nor have my arms ever worked so hard. Out of breath and sweaty, I flop to the ground on my back.
"Okay, Coach. I think that's it."
Grass crunches under his shoes as he approaches, blotting out the lights when he's standing over me. He's huge. From this vantage, he looks like a Viking god. "What was that, six pitches?"
I grab a nearby ball and try to nail him with it, but he catches it easily. And then he does something that surprises me.
He sits down next to me.
"I really was worried I'm hopeless." I say as he stretches out, angled toward me, his ankles crossed, palms in the grass behind him.
"Hopeless?" He chuffs a laugh. "You're the sunshiniest person I've ever met. Even if you never hit or catch a ball in your life, I suspect you'll still have hope."
My cheeks flush deep and hot. "Thank you," I manage, "But I actually meant--"
"I know what you meant," he says. "Anyway, you'll get the hang of it. You just proved you can do it all."
"Thanks to you."
"That was all you, Molly."
With a fierce fluttering in my chest at the sound of my name on his lips, I roll over onto my side and prop my head on my hand. "You're like a coaching savant."
"Pft. Just been doing this forever, that's all. And don't praise me too hard--you'll forget all this by tomorrow. But every time I remind you, it'll get easier to lock in."
"You just might save me from embarrassing myself in front of the team after all."
He looks like he wants to say something, but he never does.
My gaze drops to the lush, green grass and run my fingers through it, the blades tickling my palm and fingers.
He's a good coach. A great coach. He's been looking out for me since I first came to town.
Sitting here with him is so easy. Surrounded by lush green turf and loamy earth with him, I feel safe.
Some sort of nerve rises in me. Maybe it was my success hitting the ball.
Maybe it's just him. But I'm feeling confident. Bold. Maybe a little reckless.
He was so eager to coach me with this that I wonder, would he be willing to coach me through anything else?
"I was thinking," I start, still watching my hand as it runs through the grass. "Since you're such a great coach, maybe you could coach me through something else."
"Oh yeah? No guarantees I'll be good at anything else."
"I doubt that," I say, laughing. "I need a drinking coach."
A pause. "A…drinking coach."
"Mhmm. I've never been drunk before, and I think it's time. I've been wanting to for a while now but…well, nobody knows, and it's not exactly something you can just blurt out."
"Don't you think Cass would be better for something like that?" He sounds uncomfortable, and I curse myself. Maybe I crossed the line. But I've already come this far. Might as well go all the way.
"Maybe, but she has a weekend without Cricket, and I don't want to burden her. Plus, I feel like she'd egg me on."
He chuckles. "Probably. Shelby? Jessa?"
"I don't really know them well enough."
"You don't know me."
"True, but you're my coach, and you're so good at it. I have a feeling you're pretty good at drinking too."
"I've had a little practice."
I finally get up the nerve to look at him.
His face is closed off, unreadable. "It's just that, I don't know.
I'm not sure how I'll behave, what I'll do, and I don't want to do anything I'll regret.
I trust you to look out for me, to make sure I don't do anything stupid, and to get me home safe.
" He doesn't say anything when I pause, and I falter, looking back at my hand as it plays in the grass again. "It's too much to ask. I'm sorry--"
"I'll do it."
My gaze snaps up. "You will?"
He nods. "I'll get you home safe and look out for you."
"And teach me how to drink smart?"
That little smirk drives me wild. "Sure. Tomorrow, eat a big, carby dinner before you come out. Drink lots of water through the day. I'll take care of the rest."
I sit in a flash, bouncing and grinning. "Oh, Grey, thank you! Thanks. I mean it. I've been wanting to do this forever and a year. I'm so freaking excited! Should we have like a code word? In case I get too woo-woo? Or like if it's time to go home?"
"What'd you have in mind?"
I think on it for a second, then just start saying whatever pops into my head. "Toaster strudel. No? Um…pickle juice! Platypus! Moose nugget!" I've got him laughing, and I feel like I won the lottery.
"Bubbles? Glitter bomb? Pineapple?" he suggests.
"Pineapple?" I say on a laugh.
"They're all things that make me think of you. Peaches?"
A dozen follow up questions blow through my brain, but he didn't elaborate, so I figure I should keep them to myself. But I'm smiling like a loon at him. "Oh, I like peaches. Let's do that."
"All right."
"All right."
We smile at each other for a minute longer, until he stands, extending a hand to help me up.
When I take it, it's big and strong and warm, rough with calluses, tanned from the sun. Experienced. The sight of my hand lost in his sends heavy heat through me. And I only have one thought left in my un-yipped out brain.
I cannot wait to see what happens tomorrow night.