Sweet Spot Read Online Free Page A
Author: Rae Lynn Blaise
lead.
I’m up at bat again, and I narrow my eyes at Donaldson. It’s game on, now. I have big plans for this bat, and all of them involve destroying the Tiger defense. But my knee flares up a bit and I strike out. Fuck.
“You’ll get ‘em next time,” Jamie thuds me on the back. “At least you aren’t 0-2. This is killing my batting average.”
“Shoulda paid more attention at practice,” I tease him. “Good thing you aren’t our DH.”
“Hey!” Octivio points over, a laugh on his face. “Don’t trash talk my spot, man. DH is serious business.”
“So start batting like it.” Jamie shoots back.
Have I mentioned I live for this? The banter, the laughs, and ass grabs. We talk shit but we love each other like brothers. It’s the most incredible feeling ever. I have never felt more at home than I do in the dugout.
A fly-out ends the inning and we hit the field. I swallow down another ibuprofen before running out. I’m going to have to be a little more careful from here on out. I just wish their defense wasn’t so on top of it today. Much as I love the competitive edge a close game gives, my knee could really use a break.
And it gets one. It’s another 1-2-3 inning with no balls lobbed my way. Two strike-outs and a fly-out to center field. Quick and easy.
“Give me more of that!” I slap Edwards on the back. “Destroy those Tigers!”
He flashes a grin, which I know means “Go fuck yourself,” and we all laugh and watch the bottom of the order go lay some damage on Donaldson. We walk away from the inning with two extra runs. My knee feels better.
Tigers score one more run, but it’s still easy going for me. I’ve learned how to jog without putting too much pressure on my knee. I’m up to bat and I’m fucking pumped . I’m ready. The crowd is loving the game and I’ve got a promise to keep. No more strike-outs.
I sit a solid line drive up the center for a double. Carlos comes up and hits a ball off the foul pole, batting me into home. The crowd goes wild and I shoot two fingers in the direction of the Sweet Spot. Two down, one to go.
The atmosphere in the dugout is electric. We fight and bat and throw and fight some more. We stop plays and have killer relays. It’s not enough, though, and the seventh inning turns particularly brutal. Edwards loads up the bases and allows a grand slam with no outs. They are only down by one.
Coach takes the field and we all go run to the middle to send off Edwards. He threw a good game, but it’s time for a pitching change. Edwards looks pissed, but I know it’s not at Coach. He’s a pitcher, after all. All those guys beat themselves up if they are pulled during the game.
“You threw a good seven innings.” Coach pats him on the back. “Time to go.”
We all pat Edwards as he leaves, but his shoulders are low. If we lose, he’s going to feel accountable. It’s all good, though, I want to tell him. I still have one more run promised. And I never break my promises.
Knickers comes out and Jamie and I high-five. He’s a killer reliever with a solid arm and a great curveball. Detroit won’t be able to touch him. We scatter back to our positions and get ready for the easy outs.
And then he lets another home run score. Well, shit.
Knickers slumps on the dugout bench after Detroit has another fly-out, his head in his hands. Coach Duff is talking to him quietly, so we all give them their space. We battle it out through the rest of the seventh, and eighth, with no progress on either side. They are as determined as we are to make some magic happen.
“All right, boys!” Coach Holstead calls out before we go up to bat. “Way to keep them staved off from scoring any more runs. I know these boys gave us more than we bargained for, but we’re the Royals and we win. You got me?”
“Yes, Coach!” We call out.
“Now let’s show them what our bats can do!”
“Yes, Coach!”
I’m up first to bat. Jamie smacks my ass and I feel the whole of
I’m up at bat again, and I narrow my eyes at Donaldson. It’s game on, now. I have big plans for this bat, and all of them involve destroying the Tiger defense. But my knee flares up a bit and I strike out. Fuck.
“You’ll get ‘em next time,” Jamie thuds me on the back. “At least you aren’t 0-2. This is killing my batting average.”
“Shoulda paid more attention at practice,” I tease him. “Good thing you aren’t our DH.”
“Hey!” Octivio points over, a laugh on his face. “Don’t trash talk my spot, man. DH is serious business.”
“So start batting like it.” Jamie shoots back.
Have I mentioned I live for this? The banter, the laughs, and ass grabs. We talk shit but we love each other like brothers. It’s the most incredible feeling ever. I have never felt more at home than I do in the dugout.
A fly-out ends the inning and we hit the field. I swallow down another ibuprofen before running out. I’m going to have to be a little more careful from here on out. I just wish their defense wasn’t so on top of it today. Much as I love the competitive edge a close game gives, my knee could really use a break.
And it gets one. It’s another 1-2-3 inning with no balls lobbed my way. Two strike-outs and a fly-out to center field. Quick and easy.
“Give me more of that!” I slap Edwards on the back. “Destroy those Tigers!”
He flashes a grin, which I know means “Go fuck yourself,” and we all laugh and watch the bottom of the order go lay some damage on Donaldson. We walk away from the inning with two extra runs. My knee feels better.
Tigers score one more run, but it’s still easy going for me. I’ve learned how to jog without putting too much pressure on my knee. I’m up to bat and I’m fucking pumped . I’m ready. The crowd is loving the game and I’ve got a promise to keep. No more strike-outs.
I sit a solid line drive up the center for a double. Carlos comes up and hits a ball off the foul pole, batting me into home. The crowd goes wild and I shoot two fingers in the direction of the Sweet Spot. Two down, one to go.
The atmosphere in the dugout is electric. We fight and bat and throw and fight some more. We stop plays and have killer relays. It’s not enough, though, and the seventh inning turns particularly brutal. Edwards loads up the bases and allows a grand slam with no outs. They are only down by one.
Coach takes the field and we all go run to the middle to send off Edwards. He threw a good game, but it’s time for a pitching change. Edwards looks pissed, but I know it’s not at Coach. He’s a pitcher, after all. All those guys beat themselves up if they are pulled during the game.
“You threw a good seven innings.” Coach pats him on the back. “Time to go.”
We all pat Edwards as he leaves, but his shoulders are low. If we lose, he’s going to feel accountable. It’s all good, though, I want to tell him. I still have one more run promised. And I never break my promises.
Knickers comes out and Jamie and I high-five. He’s a killer reliever with a solid arm and a great curveball. Detroit won’t be able to touch him. We scatter back to our positions and get ready for the easy outs.
And then he lets another home run score. Well, shit.
Knickers slumps on the dugout bench after Detroit has another fly-out, his head in his hands. Coach Duff is talking to him quietly, so we all give them their space. We battle it out through the rest of the seventh, and eighth, with no progress on either side. They are as determined as we are to make some magic happen.
“All right, boys!” Coach Holstead calls out before we go up to bat. “Way to keep them staved off from scoring any more runs. I know these boys gave us more than we bargained for, but we’re the Royals and we win. You got me?”
“Yes, Coach!” We call out.
“Now let’s show them what our bats can do!”
“Yes, Coach!”
I’m up first to bat. Jamie smacks my ass and I feel the whole of
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