look.
Coach made his way toward us, lightly dragging his foot over the chalk line on the way just to fuck it up a little. Respect. I turned to Gladden. “You did good, kid. Hold your head up when all these peckerdicks cheer for you. Got me?” I cracked a smile.
He grinned. “Thanks, B.”
“Good game, Gladden. Let E mop up for you.” Coach stopped a few feet away and held out his hand for the ball. Gladden placed it in his palm, and the stadium thundered as he walked to the dugout.
I looked out to right field and Andre the Dickless Giant was mowing down the grass with his cleats as he jogged out toward us.
“Glad he's on our side,” Coach said.
I glanced over to Coach and smirked. “Nice observation. Thank God we have someone like you around, sir. To impart these gold nuggets of wisdom.”
His head slowly turned until his eyes met mine. “Suck my dick.” His words were a low whisper, almost like a sigh.
I did my best not to break character, but it wasn't easy. I glared back and mumbled. “I wouldn't suck your dick with Easton's mouth. And I'd love to make him suck a dick. A whole factory of fucking dicks, Coach. We're talking Costco in bulk dicks here.”
The corners of his lips curled up. Forty-five thousand people surrounded us, and we still behaved like twelve-year-olds.
He slapped the ball in my mitt. “Don't fuck it up, Braden.” He turned and headed toward the dugout.
“Yeah. Yeah. Go sit on your fat ass and let us make you look good.”
“Plan on it,” he called over his shoulder.
Jesus, how the fuck could he hear me?
I turned around, and Easton was right behind me, staring me down from above, Children of the Corn style. “Jesus.” I shuddered.
He laughed. “Can I have the ball, princess?”
“What'd I tell you about sneaking up on me like that, bitch?” I handed him the ball.
“Sorry not sorry. Can I go to work now?” E adjusted his cap.
I reached down and latched a shin guard that had come undone. “Yeah, man. You know the drill with this cunt.” I nodded toward their hitter. “Chases low and away.”
“I'm on it.” E tapped his glove on mine.
I trotted back behind home plate. Once there, I held up my pinky and index finger to everyone. “Two down. Focus on the hitter! Runners don't mean shit.”
I had to tell them even the simplest of things, because they would constantly forget.
I squatted down behind the plate, my knees popping and cracking just like every other catcher's. Leading the team had always been hard on the knees.
Easton tossed a few warmup pitches. Once finished, I glanced over to the net. Nikki, Kyrie, and Kasey were in their usual seats. Nikki blew me a kiss, and I smiled. Kyrie had finally put her fucking Kindle down and was staring out at Easton. Kasey scowled at me, made a jerk-off motion, and flung ghost jizz in my direction.
I caught it and rubbed it into my chest protector, obviously.
Focus.
The big batter next to me dug his cleat into the dirt and twisted his foot as if he were squashing an imaginary bug.
Show me the other foot, butternuts.
He followed my instructions like a good little bitch and brought his front foot to rest slightly angled out to left field.
He's sitting on fastball.
I called for a slider away, and Easton shook me off like a Neanderthal, so I threw it down again. He came set, and checked the runners. At the last moment, I slid to the outside corner like a goddamn ninja and flipped up my glove to give him a target.
He exploded toward me. I saw the familiar dot on the ball from the rotation of the slider and caught it six inches off the plate. The idiot to my left whiffed hard enough to start a typhoon on the other side of the world.
I laughed and tossed the ball back to Easton. “That a kid. Listen to Daddy back here. He knows what's up.”
“The fuck you laughing at, prick?” The big dummy of a hitter stared down at me.
“A goddamn circus clown. What do you think?” I chuckled again and nodded at
Coach made his way toward us, lightly dragging his foot over the chalk line on the way just to fuck it up a little. Respect. I turned to Gladden. “You did good, kid. Hold your head up when all these peckerdicks cheer for you. Got me?” I cracked a smile.
He grinned. “Thanks, B.”
“Good game, Gladden. Let E mop up for you.” Coach stopped a few feet away and held out his hand for the ball. Gladden placed it in his palm, and the stadium thundered as he walked to the dugout.
I looked out to right field and Andre the Dickless Giant was mowing down the grass with his cleats as he jogged out toward us.
“Glad he's on our side,” Coach said.
I glanced over to Coach and smirked. “Nice observation. Thank God we have someone like you around, sir. To impart these gold nuggets of wisdom.”
His head slowly turned until his eyes met mine. “Suck my dick.” His words were a low whisper, almost like a sigh.
I did my best not to break character, but it wasn't easy. I glared back and mumbled. “I wouldn't suck your dick with Easton's mouth. And I'd love to make him suck a dick. A whole factory of fucking dicks, Coach. We're talking Costco in bulk dicks here.”
The corners of his lips curled up. Forty-five thousand people surrounded us, and we still behaved like twelve-year-olds.
He slapped the ball in my mitt. “Don't fuck it up, Braden.” He turned and headed toward the dugout.
“Yeah. Yeah. Go sit on your fat ass and let us make you look good.”
“Plan on it,” he called over his shoulder.
Jesus, how the fuck could he hear me?
I turned around, and Easton was right behind me, staring me down from above, Children of the Corn style. “Jesus.” I shuddered.
He laughed. “Can I have the ball, princess?”
“What'd I tell you about sneaking up on me like that, bitch?” I handed him the ball.
“Sorry not sorry. Can I go to work now?” E adjusted his cap.
I reached down and latched a shin guard that had come undone. “Yeah, man. You know the drill with this cunt.” I nodded toward their hitter. “Chases low and away.”
“I'm on it.” E tapped his glove on mine.
I trotted back behind home plate. Once there, I held up my pinky and index finger to everyone. “Two down. Focus on the hitter! Runners don't mean shit.”
I had to tell them even the simplest of things, because they would constantly forget.
I squatted down behind the plate, my knees popping and cracking just like every other catcher's. Leading the team had always been hard on the knees.
Easton tossed a few warmup pitches. Once finished, I glanced over to the net. Nikki, Kyrie, and Kasey were in their usual seats. Nikki blew me a kiss, and I smiled. Kyrie had finally put her fucking Kindle down and was staring out at Easton. Kasey scowled at me, made a jerk-off motion, and flung ghost jizz in my direction.
I caught it and rubbed it into my chest protector, obviously.
Focus.
The big batter next to me dug his cleat into the dirt and twisted his foot as if he were squashing an imaginary bug.
Show me the other foot, butternuts.
He followed my instructions like a good little bitch and brought his front foot to rest slightly angled out to left field.
He's sitting on fastball.
I called for a slider away, and Easton shook me off like a Neanderthal, so I threw it down again. He came set, and checked the runners. At the last moment, I slid to the outside corner like a goddamn ninja and flipped up my glove to give him a target.
He exploded toward me. I saw the familiar dot on the ball from the rotation of the slider and caught it six inches off the plate. The idiot to my left whiffed hard enough to start a typhoon on the other side of the world.
I laughed and tossed the ball back to Easton. “That a kid. Listen to Daddy back here. He knows what's up.”
“The fuck you laughing at, prick?” The big dummy of a hitter stared down at me.
“A goddamn circus clown. What do you think?” I chuckled again and nodded at
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